then they come for the haters, then they come for the theives.

fuck the fakers the toothless giants grunted as they bashed rocks and nibbled on the pebbles,

flossing their teeth with trombones.

finally we had time to watch the apprentice on tivo and i was telling them that theres no way trump should have kicked out the asian chick for lifting her skirt for twenty bucks.

but whoever wins will be running one of his companies a wood nymph whispered to her butterflies who spelled it out against a waterfall backdrop.

a buffalo was the first to call bullshit but im a loudmouth and i said

donald trump dares to judge how people conduct business?

donald trump who’s most famous television show, before this game show, was a beauty contest where during one segment the women infact lifted their skirts.

sorta.

the hawaiian punch volcano belched and then errupted and of course i was wearing all white including my new suede fedora. but it’s all right.

and then it stopped.

and then we went back to playing cards

with the cigar smoking pitbulls.

and the moose noticed the sissyphus, and asked dont you have anything to say to us?

he said happy hanukkah

happy hanukkah?

happy hanukkah.

and we danced.

a pdf of yesterday’s daily nexus photo issue + jarvis continues to expose the fcc + i made blogger news!

im pretty sure she watches it every day.

to thank her for the great dinner party that she hosted last night, heres some excerpts from the Seinfeld Dictionary

A

Airport Pickup – 1) a binding social contract to pick someone up at the airport 2) a commitment (to pick a someone up at the airport) that someone makes after foolishly betting a friend on something that they have no chance of attaining (ex. a short man betting that he can jump up and touch an awning)

Anti-Dentite – someone who is prejudiced against people of the dental profession

Assman – 1) a Proctologist 2) a person who displays his/her name on vanity license plates.

Astronaut Pen – 1) a pen that is capable of writing from an upside down position 2) a pen that a crabby old man from a retirement community gives to someone, with the hopes of creating nasty gossip, before Degifting the pen

B

Bad Breaker-Upper – someone who ends a relationship by saying mean things that people don’t generally mean – but means them

Bald Paradise – a period of the 1930’s when all men wore hats so women wouldn’t notice that they were bald or had unattractive hair

Ball Man Experiment – when an out of work, good for nothing, and unlikely candidate for a job as a ball man (boy), gets a job as a ball man (boy) at the US Open Tennis Championships (and injures a top-seeded lady tennis player in the process)

Beef-A-Reeno – a canned pasta dish (similar to Chef Boy-Ar-Dee) that is bought in large cans from warehouse clubs, and then fed to horses, who in turn emit a foul odor

Big Salad (Taking Credit for a) – when a person hands another person a large salad, and takes credit for getting that person a salad, when in reality the person handing over the salad never actually paid for it (someone else did)

Big-Toe Captain, The – a failed comic bit about how the big toe is the captain of the other toes on the foot, written by an out-of-work comic wannabe

Bipartisan Mirror – a mirror that is situated in a clothing store with the intention of making a customer look better than they actually are, when they are trying on clothes

“Bizzaro” Jerry (or any proper name)- 1) the exact opposite of everything that is associated (ie. his/her friends, mannerisms, the layout of his/her apartment, etc.) with a given person 2) when a person (usually a loser) does the exact opposite of everything he/she usually does to realize success (and sometimes failure)

Boombox Incident – when a short, stocky, and balding man takes a teenager’s boombox away at the beach for playing it too loudly, and tosses it into the ocean

Break-up By Association – what happens when a man and woman break up, and the man’s friends no longer associate with the woman

Breathtaking – what to say about a person (or baby), when trying to be polite (especially when you don’t mean it)

Bubble Boy – 1) a foul-mouthed, bratty boy with an Immune Deficiency Blood disorder who must live inside a plastic bubble to keep him in a germ-free environment 2) the same brat who enjoys squashing people at Trivial Pursuit

Buck Naked – what a man might call himself under the following conditions; a) he is trying to convince his mother that he isn’t gay, but is a porno actor under that name, b) he is trying to convince his girlfriend that he is gay, so they can break up (only she doesn’t believe him, hence he tries to turn her off by telling her that he is a porno actor under that name)

mlah + me saw you + miss daisy duke lactchkey simpson pierce

(we’re experiencing some global cooling. and it sucks.)

Q. Do you own a winter jacket?

A. yes, but it only comes out when it’s below freezing.

Q. Do you like the winter mountain sports? Skiing, boarding, sledding, snowshoe, etc…

A. yes, in theory. it would take a might special occasion or a pair of hot chicks to get me out there though.

Q. Big Bear, Mammoth or other?

A. ive heard of those places. i hear theyre close.

Q. Favorite hot drink?

A. swiss miss with a shot of warmed spice rum to chase it.

Q. Heater setting?

A. i have never turned on my heater in the four winters that ive lived in this apartment, although i am considering it. but when it is cold like now i use the fireplace or a space heater. usually on the middle setting.

Q. At night, more blankets, more pajamas, more heater are all of the above?

A. one mexican blanket and one electric blanket. no pajamas. no heater. subsititute a cheerleader for a blanket on particularilly pleasant evenings.

Q. Do you go out and enjoy the cold or bundle up and stay inside?

A. i stay inside even during the summer.

Q. Cold temps. Stay for a while or bring back the 70s?

A. no way will i tolerate another week of these sub-70 temps. i might have to move to maui.

la blogs + opera dork + wild bell

a lot more questions than we saw last night. but it seems to me that there was a nice little path that he could have taken when dylan said that he wouldnt be able to write the sort of songs that he used to write.

you know, the classic ones.

which isnt to say that he still isnt putting out great records, because he is. despite the fact that most rock stars cant make good records as they get older. let alone continue to make great records after theyve made their two or three masterpeices.

dylan said that the great records of old were from the great wellspring of creativity. so that means the followup needs to be, so why cant you as an older man get to that wellspring again? is it an age thing? is it a luck thing? if its magic does that mean that its pure luck, or part science?

they should have given him the whole sixty minutes.

it’s dylan for pete sake.

i woulda said, is it too emotional to go back to that wellspring? is it too painful?

there was a time when i was in college and i tapped into something and all this darkness was in there and hidden were these beautiful treasures. but i was terrified to go back in there years later because of all the darkness required to wade through.

is that what dylan was saying?

not that he Can’t write those types of songs again, he just doesnt want to?

i would have asked if he gets tired playing those old classics show after show. cuz one thing about dylan is he will play blowin in the wind for your ass be it at madison square garden or the bakersfield bowl.

i would have also asked him if he feels proud that springsteen was supposed to be the next dylan and never was able to really do it.

i would have asked him why he seems so sad and pissed off.

and alone.

i would have asked him what he thinks about johnny cash and all the cover songs that rick rubin had him do in his twilight years and if he was interested in doing some albums of current music.

and if i recall, ed bradley didnt ask him why its been 20 years since his last tv interview and if there was a reason for the cold shoulder or what.

i would have told him that he was great in the wilburries, touring with the dead, touring with petty, and even when he was in we are the world, and i would have asked him if he plans on teaming up with someone else again soon, like tom waits.

golden fiddle + candied ginger + maizzy

only time this blog will give you the weather in la is when it rains.

or when its cold.

it was cold and rainy today in la.

karisa was having a little dinner party. usually i would pass. but last night i had such fun with my friends that tonight i hung out some more.

no, it wont be a trend.

karisa made stuffed mushrooms, she had brie, then she made a shrimp pasta dish, and a former coworker of hers made a delicious terra misu.

always the multitasker i brought over a pillowcase of dirty laundry to undirty.

as we drank and nibbled and watched football and listened to music i noticed that i was playing with the only cat that ive ever really liked

bad kitty.

and i remembered how this cat and his brother, good kitty, were a terror as kittens and how they got super sick and how one of them got hit by a truck.

and i remembered how many times i had either told karisa to kill the cats or sell them or toss them out a moving car or anything other than have these expensive headaches.

but fortunately nobody listens to me.

karisa would lay on her couch and mother these cats and totally care for them no matter what often times falling asleep cuddling them.

she taught them to be outside animals and somehow she taught them to come to her when she would whistle – or even open the door.

some say she mastered those skillz on non-cats, but im telling you, she had both good kitty and bad kitty perfectly trained.

and the lesson that i learned tonight was to never give up on pussy

no matter how crazy and unmanageable it might seem in the early stages.

for if you hang in there

it could end up being the best youve ever had.

and when i went out to get my laundry out of the drier, bad kitty followed me out,

cuz it can be crazy out there on the cold wet streets of hollywood, at night.

fimoculous + aaron’s baseball blog + science blog

in twenty years tonight on sixty minutes and he said that theres no way he could write some of those old classics today.

he said he can do other things, but he said he couldnt pull off tunes like it’s alright ma or blowin in the wind today even though he wrote the latter in ten minutes thirty years ago.

he said that those songs came from the great well-spring of creativity.

a magical place.

he said magic like four times.

bob dylan one of the most articulate and prolific writers of all time boils it all down to magic

cuz what else would you call it.

bob dylan

bringing it all back home

cbs records, 1965

“it’s alright, ma (i’m only bleeding)”

Darkness at the break of noon

Shadows even the silver spoon

The handmade blade, the child’s balloon

Eclipses both the sun and moon

To understand you know too soon

There is no sense in trying.

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn

Suicide remarks are torn

From the fool’s gold mouthpiece

The hollow horn plays wasted words

Proves to warn

That he not busy being born

Is busy dying.

Temptation’s page flies out the door

You follow, find yourself at war

Watch waterfalls of pity roar

You feel to moan but unlike before

You discover

That you’d just be

One more person crying.

So don’t fear if you hear

A foreign sound to your ear

It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing.

As some warn victory, some downfall

Private reasons great or small

Can be seen in the eyes of those that call

To make all that should be killed to crawl

While others say don’t hate nothing at all

Except hatred.

Disillusioned words like bullets bark

As human gods aim for their mark

Made everything from toy guns that spark

To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark

It’s easy to see without looking too far

That not much

Is really sacred.

While preachers preach of evil fates

Teachers teach that knowledge waits

Can lead to hundred-dollar plates

Goodness hides behind its gates

But even the president of the United States

Sometimes must have

To stand naked.

An’ though the rules of the road have been lodged

It’s only people’s games that you got to dodge

And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it.

Advertising signs that con you

Into thinking you’re the one

That can do what’s never been done

That can win what’s never been won

Meantime life outside goes on

All around you.

You lose yourself, you reappear

You suddenly find you got nothing to fear

Alone you stand with nobody near

When a trembling distant voice, unclear

Startles your sleeping ears to hear

That somebody thinks

They really found you.

A question in your nerves is lit

Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy

Insure you not to quit

To keep it in your mind and not fergit

That it is not he or she or them or it

That you belong to.

Although the masters make the rules

For the wise men and the fools

I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.

For them that must obey authority

That they do not respect in any degree

Who despise their jobs, their destinies

Speak jealously of them that are free

Cultivate their flowers to be

Nothing more than something

They invest in.

While some on principles baptized

To strict party platform ties

Social clubs in drag disguise

Outsiders they can freely criticize

Tell nothing except who to idolize

And then say God bless him.

While one who sings with his tongue on fire

Gargles in the rat race choir

Bent out of shape from society’s pliers

Cares not to come up any higher

But rather get you down in the hole

That he’s in.

But I mean no harm nor put fault

On anyone that lives in a vault

But it’s alright, Ma, if I can’t please him.

Old lady judges watch people in pairs

Limited in sex, they dare

To push fake morals, insult and stare

While money doesn’t talk, it swears

Obscenity, who really cares

Propaganda, all is phony.

While them that defend what they cannot see

With a killer’s pride, security

It blows the minds most bitterly

For them that think death’s honesty

Won’t fall upon them naturally

Life sometimes

Must get lonely.

My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards

False gods, I scuff

At pettiness which plays so rough

Walk upside-down inside handcuffs

Kick my legs to crash it off

Say okay, I have had enough

What else can you show me?

And if my thought-dreams could be seen

They’d probably put my head in a guillotine

But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only

ebay + shards of a dream + tiffany

this is exactly the problem

im having with my computer

unfortunately the thread got hijacked and the question was never answered

but its nice to know that im not alone

and by kids i dont mean drank beer with the kids last night

i mean, actual children.

midget-like creatures.

then we ran into friends who had babies inside of them (pictured)and i swear i wasnt trying to set that picture up,

in fact i recognized laura and bonnie from behind and i was all, oh great lets get a picture of laura and bonnie, and then they turned around and i was all, oh yah, i forgot. duh.

lots of my friends were there. lots of singing and drinking and eating and yapping.

someone had brought a bottle of russian vodka that looked nice and old timey. i put my bottle of rum down and made greyhounds all night.

i ate kentucky ham sandwiches and i put little squares of cheese in there and hot mustard

and someone came around with sugar coated nuts.

easy.

i got to talk to some people i hadnt seen in quite a while, i met some nice new people, and i got to hang with my friends who i have known for so long and yet we hardly get together much any more.

around midnight our hosts, kim, my laywer, and os, the host of this blog, stood up in the middle of the room, and announced that they were announcing a date.

everyone gasped.

everyone was so excited.

and then os said, yes, on june second we will be expecting the birth of our baby.

incredible.

then the guitars came out and everyone started singing some more.

solomon was so happy he sang “autumn” even though it aint autumn out there.

greg and molli drove me home and molli told me a little story about their two year old who said the sweetest thing that morn

and molli misted up a tad.

very sweet.

i have the best friends.

drunken pictures + vaine + nothing special + os and kim

kurt cobain was downstairs watching a cockfight. i had just played a pinball machine that helped me tie up loose ends via some esp bullshit that allowed angels to read my mind and do whatever dirty deeds i hadn’t been able to complete before my untimely demise blah blah blah.

upon completion i got a high five from kurt, which i believe might just had been his very first high five ever, and i was escorted upstairs by

twin japanese catholic school runaways

with tattoos and wicked smiles on their faces.

the room we entered was perfumed and pink and soft and in the center was a round bed that rotated ever so slowly. mirrors everywhere, disco ball, disco music, fog machine, bubble machine, porn on twenty thirteen-inch tvs and shag carpet on the walls on the floors on the ceilings.

only rugs in the place, if you know what i mean.

the twins spoke simultaneously. one stroked my fro the other rubbed my feet. i reclined on the bed as they disrobed me and complimented my dull dough.

we like little bellies.

ooooooooooh we really like scars. that’s right you were in the xbi.

they were visually excited. cheeks flushed, nipples poking out from sheer nasty brasseries. they had garters with bows, chokers with leashes, thigh high boots, glitter, lip gloss, lust.

i was floating inches above the bed as were they so they strapped me down. and told me this.

this is the bonus round. welcome to the bonus round. here is the question, a question that you should know the answer to, and for each correct response, from out of that door will enter a woman, one more beautiful than the next, one more sultry and intelligent and wild and soothing. trust us when we tell you that you will love every moment with every woman and you will be able to have each of them all at the same time.

all we need to know from you is for you to name each of the ten commandments. for each one you get right, a woman will join us.

ah heaven, i said.

the one above fed me grapes. on earth i never liked grapes. in this room i loved them, the juices dripped down my cheek.

thou shalt not steal, i said.

a redhead with long legs, red all over, black stockings, high heels entered.

thall shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain.

blonde, blonde, white stockings, pink trim, white shoes, perky boobs, baby doll tshirt that said busblog preshrunk so as to allow her bellybutton to peek under.

was that a diamond in her belly pierce? of course it was.

honor your mother and father, keep the sabbath holy.

two punk rock girls crawled in like cats. one had dyed pink hair, the other dyed red. they made out with each other. their stockings were torn, their leather miniskirts shined in the flashing lights. they rolled around. they bit. they drew blood. they licked the blood and looked at me. i said hi. they growled.

don’t lust after your neighbor.

the twins looked at each other. a bell rang. the judges had accepted the answer.

a woman who looked just like lindsey lohan but not really walked through the door. she had on a long white fur. full length. diamond choker. she opened her coat. nearly blinded us all. whitest woman around. looked like a statue. gorgeous.

thou shalt not kill.

skaterchick with ripped jeans and a tight baseball shirt ollied over the writhing punkers and told me she read my blog every damn day.

have no other gods than the Lord

a lightskinned black woman who looked like a young mariah carey entered in a pink bikini. she sang like an angel. she told me that she would lick my entire body. i thanked her for the offer and said,

thou shalt not commit adultery.

and a woman who looked like a black Princess Diana appeared. sounded like her too. quite.

i counted nine girls. what could the tenth be?

the asian princesses told me that if i got this one right that i could spend the entire day with all of the women and unlike on earth there would be no “down time” and gazed down at little tone which had never looked so majestic and wonderful.

the women who had lined up for me couldn’t stand still. they all wanted me so badly. they whispered some of the poems i had written and touched themselves. some touched each other.

for the life of me i couldn’t remember the last one.

and then, i said,

do not bear false witness upon your neighbor.

and they came charging at me, and trailing the pack, was a woman who looked just like an old marilyn monroe, who, when she entered floated slowly past the others and landed next to me and kissed me right on the forehead.

and unlatched my restraints.

instapundit + tim blair + ken layne

i do.

did you know that the busblog got more hits and visitors last month than ever before?

true.

infact january of 2004 i had about half of what i got in november.

yes some of it had to do with the elections. the days before the elections and the day after were the biggest spikes of the month, but lots of you hung in there with me.

thank you!

and now youre hanging in there with meas i hype my book and i appreciate your patience, and out of that appreciation i will make a deal with you.

we have sold 41 copies of how to blog.

the goal is 100.

i sold 100 of the original Blook two years ago, way before i had all the traffic that i have now.

i dont think it’s wrong to expect at least that sort of sell-thru now. do you?

first of all this blook actually looks like a book and not a college reader. secondly the writing in this collection is so much better. sheesh.

thirdly, you get the entire trip into hell with kurdt kobain. thats pretty much the price of the book alone, if you ask me. simply for the fact that nobody else went to hell with a famous grunge star And blogged about it FROM hell itself.

not even our pal the instapundit did that.

now heres the deal, once the 100th book is sold, i will feel complete and i wont hype it any more. sure, maybe i will still have the ad for it in the left hand side but no more hard sell, like this, if you call this a hard sell.

one more thing. people have been writing me, pleading that i work out some way that i can provide autographed copies. if you desperately need an autographed copy and you refuse to get a book unless it has my signature… fine.

email me at busblog at gmail and i will write you back with the terms. count on paying something like twenty five bucks plus shipping. and i will do my best to get it to your recipiant by christmas, but i suck at mailing things.

ok are we cool?

hope so.

once again the point of all of this was to thank you for your support all year.

like jay z said, you could be anywhere in the world and youre here, and i appreciate that.

and out of that appreciation i put together a book so you can read it on the john.

which i have recently found out, this book is Perfect for.

so perfect.

goldberg + sutter + sk smiff