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so my man noah emailed me yesterday to tell me that my first audblog post had reached #40 on popdex.

today it’s still climbing at #36.

is there really nothing more interesting on the web?

this is my first answering machine message audio post.

not only do you get to hear kristin from madpony, allison from meltingdolls, but you get os calling long distance from france and not one, not two, but three messages from karisa.

and of course, it all starts with ashley

1. ashley “answer your phone”

2. karisa and kerrie driving to hardwick “we got a fucking suite for the wedding tomorrow.”

3. kristin, “i was calling to say hi and i have a question…”

4. os “i’m calling from paris to say go cubs.”

5. liz and karisa at 3am “call us back, we love you…”

6. karisa and liz at 4:30am “we’re just bored and calling you…”

7. allison “bye.”

im not really sure if ive worked that hard since, hell, its been a while, maybe back at the dot com when i was hiring 30 to 50 people a week.

its friday night. its eleven pm. the hot girl from last night is doing a shoot at the roosevelt hotel in hollywood and after she says shes coming straight over to finish what was started last n’ and i dont really talk sex talk in here but what the hell.

last night she said that she was wantin it but was a little sore in the hey nanu nanu. so i was totally cool with just falling asleep holding her. but this is a reason i date girls, as i was falling asleep she took my hands and was basically all, dude.

one thing led to another and shes whispering for me to take off her bra.

just so happens thats one of my favorite little hobbies.

had to do this one left handed , eyes closed, while kissing and this girl has something to put in that bra, lemme tell you.

maybe we should have a sexy story every friday night.

and the thing with curvy girls and their brassierres is that can add a tad more stress to the bra strap snapdeal, making the inital pinch at the buckle a smidge more difficult, which can mean the difference between a holy-shit quickie release of the bra and a oh-man what a struggle tug tug tug slow clumsy manuever.

outkast was on the boom box.

eventually got that bra off and she snickered at me for she knew how proud i’d smile after a lightspeed removal of the unmentionable

and i shared her snicker and she rolled onto her belly

and i was all

and then i put on a condom just like i do everytime while promising promises of a confident man calling his shot

which i highly recommend

cuz its hot

and its nice to see if the chick doubledares you or promises something back or checks you out while you put that thing on

and last nights girl did all the above

which is why she got invited to be tonights girl

and now ive got the drive by truckers on

and now im thinking about all the craziness that went down today

im thinking about how could it have all happened squooshed like that into one little day.

i think three girls told me they loved me, and one guy said he wanted to have my baby.

as many hits as drudge gets, how many times you think a guy tells drudge something like that?

actually, nevermind.

had kung pao scallops for lunch, delivered.

thought about getting a used car

got to read

on the bus

in peace.

aj made two excellent things this week.

from country punk corvids fame

is no one other than mr. ken layne

It seems that the critics

all agreed:

‘This is bullshit’

But one typey-typer

grinned and snickered,

‘Or is it?’

He would type-type the most

type-typed ravey of rants

and Mike Myers would pull

down the type-typer’s pants!

‘A blowjob, a rimjob,

a dinky-donk-plo job,

you’ll get what you

truly deserve!’

And every movie page ad

in the Snap City Tribune

and the Goblin Heights Post

and the Bough Bubble News-Goon

and the St. Trickly Times

and the Goobertown Gazette

and even the Roggo Flats Daily Tourette!

Will all put the type-typey’s

rave up on the top

with his name big & proud

his words bold & loud!

and the name of his paper

right underneath that …

a paper so odd they called

it the Strib

like a lake-muckian critter

with the face of a squid

And the parents perhaps

not so smart-smart to know

so they say,

‘hey petunia, let’s go see a show!’

So they wrapped up the

little ones in wide winters wraps

and the diapers & dribble cups

went straight in the night sack

And off to the mulgi-plex

where they waited in the line

with the Beasleys & Weasleys &

Flat Footed Small Frys

And finally oh finally when

the door monkey yelped

they ran and they ran and the

fatter folks fell

and the small ones their faces

were so bright they lit

but five minutes later the

sad truth had hit

they were stuck at the movies

with a huge piece of shit!

ken layne + do youself a flavor and get the new corvids cd

besides the obvious.

first being that it was shown on my television within minutes of being taken.

like it’s a trophy.

like “we finally got em”

like you did something hard or something.

i’ll tell you when you can feel proud, if thats what youre trying to feel.

feel proud when youre able to prove he fondled that young boy.

cant dust his lil’n

far as i know you dont have any video or eye witnesses.

all youre going to end up with is his word against his word

no proof

no evidence

unlike molestation of a female, what on earth could you retrieve from a scientific examination of a young boy weeks after the alleged assault?

and if one or two or a thousand kids come forward and say that that pretty young chinese woman in the picture did to them, it isnt evidence that he touched that kid that night at the neverland ranch.

pardon me from distancing myself from the hysterical, but nobody should be sent to jail for something as unforgivable as sexual abuse of a child solely on an accusation.

smile when you have some evidence, gentlemen, and give a man time to take his escalade to his jet before you lift high the mugshot to the slobbering press as if it was the ear of the most mighty bull.

what is the rush?

michael jackson didnt do anything to you.

and as unbelievable as you might think that it could be, but he might not have done anything to anyone else either.

you show your cards when you sneer at a press conference

you out yourself when you make sure that the press can get a picture of the handcuffed king of pop

and if you believe in karma, you fuck yourself when you break land speed records to release what is probably the most embarrassing and unflattering photograph anyone could ever wind up taken.

humiliation does not become you.

innocent until proven guilty might just be the core of what makes america the greatest country in the world which would make you rotten to the core if you deny a man that right.

freaky as the fucker may be.

my most favorite county is in the public eye

dont make me go up there and remind you what santa barabara is supposed to be

which is class.

espns pardon the interruption was on fire today.

as was my girl flagrant, which if nick denton is serious, should hire as his travel blogger.

me, i’m holding out for the fleshbot blogger auditons

but then there are days like these, when you’re waiting on the bus, filming trees, when i say oh shucks this guy really IS tuned in to something bigger than the projection of his ego. i like you on street corners…

Anonymouse

yeah, i get fucked up comments sometimes too. people have no sense. people dont know how to say things in a nice and polite way.

i wonder why they have to be that way and then i think its maybe cuz theyre bummed out that i bash their political party, or their favorite talk show host, or their favorite blogger named drudge.

or maybe they just weren’t raised right.

for example, how is smacking me going to do anything but get you ten smacks back? how is it going to teach me a lesson about my alleged ego?

i hate anonymous comment-leavers cuz theyre gutless, and gutless people shouldnt be listened to because theyre probably lying.

people who are telling the truth, ESPECIALLY in a blog, or in the comments of the blog, have nothing to fear.

liars need to worry.

and people who think that they can run around and smack people seriously need to worry.

let me tell you a few things about my ego, busbloggers. i have none.

i have zero self-esteem.

dont take that the wrong way, its not a woe-is-me zero self esteem, its a “im not good enough to make it to the next level, but i can kick your ass” thing.

it’s twisted.

one reason i like blogger so much is because i get to use it to write better, to practice.

i think i would be a great arts and entertainment section editor. i was a great editor. i love bringing people together and thinking up story ideas and touching up stories and managing the process.

as a writer i think im a not-boring blogger, but i think im way too punkrock for the mass media, and thats fine with me. it would be great if somewhere in journalism there might be a little sliver that i could fit into, but if not then cool.

but i have no ego. i think im ok.

i am shocked when people say otherwise and im supershocked when i see all the hits that i get.

ive said this before.

i’ll probably say it again.

meanwhile, if any of you have anything to say, use your name, link your email or web page, and if you feel like smacking me while im waiting for a bus, if i was you, id think twice, cuz i might be xbi after all.

raymi + xeni + blamb

guest-write a post on the busblog.

usually i say no. for kitty bukkake i say yes. always

Hi Tony, thanks for having me over.

I bought gray-blue corduroys and picked up takeout special from Hard Times Pizza, and here, in the new pants, I’m trying to eat dinner at my desk in my emptyish apartment, alone, with a cold.

I don’t even want pizza, but I couldn’t stomach lunch. Don’t feel like running either. Hard Times.

A crap year for my family, 2003.

So much, my superstitious mother won’t say goodbye at the end of a phone conversation. Only buona sera. She has been calling every night to see whether I’ve recovered yet, from this and that. Tonight I picked up as I came through the door, having just driven home through Griffith Park while the DWP was testing the light festival. I sobbed the distance.

Sorry but I did.

She asked what was wrong. “Same as yesterday Ma, but with holiday anxiety.” I have presents I can’t give. Things could be good but they aren’t.

I have an art career I would envy if it weren’t my own, but I still can’t get out of bed until twenty minutes before I have to be at my job. When I am sad I can either eat or sleep but not both. This time I sleep.

I wish I could talk to my Dad too, for some unconditional love, male perspective. There’s a fantasy. He’ll be 60 next week. I will call him. I will hold my breath for the duration. If I could just call Garrison Keillor, or Harrison Ford instead. Or Dr. Phil or Ellen. I don’t know.

Here’s a reality show: Suicide Island. Seven contestants, each on an island, alone.

Last one to kill himself dies.

Rusty told me I would not have survived the year if it had come four years ago. There’s my Thanksgiving toast. No, I’ll say I found a ten-dollar bill on the street last week, because that’s also true. And my life got bigger this year. I am grateful for that and the ten bucks.

I just went to Amoeba and spent more money, I had to get out of the house, in my pants, it’s not retail therapy, I haven’t done that in years. Got some Peaches, got some Wilco, some Elliott Smith, Kings of Convenience, Paula Kelley, got X’s Los Angeles reissued with bonus tracks.

Have I told you I have the greatest friends? Nope, still Kitty. Tony has them too. Mine are on grief detail. They are better than Dr. Phil.

“You can’t make a dog behave like a chicken no matter how much corn you feed it.” Right? We are what we are and that’s all. But I like dogs and chickens.

And corn.

Corny corn, like silver linings and hope and the magic of affection and endurance.

Love just don’t quit, so hard to see from where we sit.

Buona sera,

Kitty.

dear america, dear raymi, dear world, dear mom, dear paul westerberg, dear angus young, dear safe sex, dear giselle, dear flagrant, dear chick on the bus who offered me a puff of weed, dear inventors of wifi, dear glamour girl who’s going to come over here and fuck my brains out,

please help me.

everything is so fubar right now that i dont even know which way is up.

how is it that michael jackson is wanted as of press time, and rush limbaugh who is accused of being a primary player in a huge drug ring and who today is being accused of money-laundering isnt wanted?

how is it that larry king gets to be on tv every night and today had dr. phil of all people parade out all the ghouls of television-past including a droopy-chested liza minelli for his 70th birthday, and yet nobody is interested in getting twin peaks back on the air.

im tired.

im tired of this grind and anti feels it too and karisa feels it and i could seriously use a new weezer album.

they dont have to tour if they dont wanna.

just an ep if thats all you got.

its eleven pm and im out.

if the girl calls me again at two a.m. im going to have to refuse those long legs.

thats how tired i am of all of this.

fuck the o.c.

fuck the d.a.

fuck the e.i.b.

im reading the kurt kobain book that my bro ken is loaning me and you know what

some nights like this i really wish i was

alive.

anti + jaime + the cosby sweater

i hate to say it, but i think youre fucked.

i saw the press conference today of the santa barbara sheriffs, and the 60 deputies that they sent to your home in riot gear to storm your gates. i saw their smiles as they explained how the law has changed since 10 years ago, the last time you were accused of abusing a kid.

i made a note when they explained why they didnt come after you on halloween instead of when they did, yesterday, the day your latest greatest hits cd came out. they said they were busy ruining the halloweens of “50,000” partiers in Isla Vista.

apparently drunkards from uc san diego are more dangerous to santa barbara county than a reclusive alleged child molester if you read between the lines of the sb sheriff.

this accusation, soon-to-be arrest, and hoo-ha has gotten everyone who i work with to instantly deem you guilty.

just cuz youre freaky lookin

just cuz you were accused before

and just cuz you live a somewhat bizzare life.

obviously you have issues. but we all do. i blog like an addict. im obsessed with the fine music of rock group tsar. i ride a bus. but that doesnt mean that im a smooth criminal, no matter how many times i might be accused in the future.

just cuz youre a nut, doesnt make you a sicko, jacko.

so i will reserve judgement until the trial is completed.

and i will shake my head at officers of the law who smile over and over during press conferences about alleged child molestation.

call me crazy, but i think it is still entirely possible that multi-millionaires could be targets to fraudulent claims, and if i was a bad guy, and i wanted to ruin you and/or get money from you, the easiest way i could imagine is to bring up the kid stuff.

it does suck that you built this ranch that kids of all ages would love to visit. and it totally sucks that you love kids and everyone freaks out when youre near them. and it super totally sucks that any time theres a young boy near you everyone starts whispering.

and as a free man, innocent of any charges, you should be allowed to hang out with whoever you want to, especially if their parents said it was cool.

but as we say over and over on the busblog, life isnt fair. its not fair that you dance so good, or sing so well. its not fair that you sold all those gazillions of records. its not fair that you were thrust into the public eye at such a young age and it wrecked your childhood. it isnt fair that your dad whipped you and did who knows what to you.

its not fair that you got to date brooke shields and tatum o’neal and lisa marie presley.

its not fair that you should probably ixnay on having the kids overay, mj.

but it is probably a good idea.

for some people handling success is harder than getting it. for some people handling their private lives is tougher than handling their public one.

i wish you had been given better advice in relation to who your houseguests were.

and i really hope that what those smiling cops are saying isnt true.

cuz i think you rule.

love,

tony

michael jackson number ones + madpony + betsy

inventor of the internet, world ski jump champion, and the man who gave nirvana a chance and thus broke them on college radio.

born on a dinghy off the seattle sound, marc was swallowed by a whale and expelled off the sandy beaches of santa barbara where he befriended a volleyball and named him grungy

he lived on campus point beach for several years until the isla vista foot patrol discovered that he didnt have a permit for his bonfire, and after failing to pay his citation, arrested him and the judge sent him to ucsb for four years of hard time.

with good behavior he did five.

while in college he was the music director of the radio station. this was the magical time of the late 80s when hip hop, rock, metal, punk, and pop melded and bore a new music “grunge” a term mc brown bestowed on the joyful noise that was best represented from his hometown label, sub pop, in honor of his volleyball friend.

his popularity spread througout the campus and in 1990 he ran for associated student president, with help from his pals at the daily nexus, where he had become a media darling, occasionally writing music columns and opinion pieces, he won in a landslide. but always the pranksters, the nexus reported that he had only garnered 69 votes, a curious number but symbolic since it was the number on the LA Raiders football jersey that he was often caught ripping off his svelt frame and twirling above his head while dancing atop a picnic table at the local pizzeria, pizza marc’s, which many believed he owned.

and then he adopted a rap persona, mc brown and released the cult classic “mc brown goes to college” which was followed up with the smash hit “mc brown goes to night school”. the green 7″ singles were huge along the central coast, and peru.

since then marc has traveled the world, dated models, rock stars, and homeless women. he has started his own web design company with such clients as paramount pictures, rupaul, and most recently triumph the insult comic dog. who says affirmitive action doesnt work?

his macarthur park loft is so badass that hipster mag Dwell featured the inside of his pad and if you look closely in the first portion of Kill Bill you will see his garage as pretending to be the hospital garage where Uma finds the Pussy Machine.

founder, president, and inventor of Buzznet, the latest in blog technology that allows people to share pictures that theyve either taken from their digital cams or phone cams, marc continues to influence and feed off the ever-changing world of the internet like it aint no thing.

we are lucky to have marc brown in our collective lives.

which is why, when Thor Garcia finished his first book of short stories, he dedicated it to today’s birthday boy.

and why when you read this website and blog, you will see homages and praise doled out freely and lustingly in his general direction.

please join me in celebrating in mc browns birthday by either visiting his frequently updated blog, creating a buzznet account, pouring a gold bottle of boones farm on the ground like you just dont care.

wwmbd + marc at an art opening + the mc is a great photographer