she wanted to know if the entry i wrote about her was really about her or was it fiction. her accent is still pretty thick, or she was eating something, but i kept asking what?

she kept saying fiction, fiction, but it sounded like something else entirely.

we fought like crazy and she hung up on me.

then she called back and asked if i had hung up on her. i said no, that she had hung up on me. she didnt believe me. nobody ever believes me. people believe me when they shouldnt.

got a little call from the fbi the other day. wanting to know about the xbi.

i hung up on them.

fuck them.

they called back and asked me if i knew i had just hung up on the fbi.

i was all, rule number one of the xbi, if the fbi calls, hang up.

then i hung up again.

went to the tsar show last night. kristin convinced me to go. thanks kristin.

have i told you how much i heart kristin?

i do.

if i was a young frat boy at the university of oklahoma, i would wipe the crimson and cream from my face, i would stand outside kristins sorority house, i would hold my boom box high above my head and i would play the new tsar cd in the rain in a trench coat.

i have a new favorite tsar song cuz of last nights show (pictured), it’s called Wrong.

how whalen doles out these anthems is beyond me.

he was all uptight about the monitors, about the lack of bass, about the mix, but everything sounded beautiful.

me marc brown and brendan stood in the front and rocked out cuz thats where it was the loudest.

i took pictures but they never turn out the way you want them to.

i learned some things about my flash in relation to smoke machines.

i met two very nice people who are on a three month road trip and asked if they could take a picture with me for their blog.

maybe they’ll remind me what their url is and i will link it.

tsar are the gods of hollywood rock.

im glad i left the house.

splink is on the road + get well matt + inkgrrl

and i forget its the devil, i think im fucking something up.

two hot chicks followed me home from the store tonight.

one was invited, a sweet little el salvadorian number from the ninety nine cents store.

i forget her name but there was an x in there somewhere near the middle.

shaved eyebrows with a tattoo eyebrow making the most unnatural curve.

unbelieveable spanglish, long fingernails, tight body, and a turbo saab that her last boyfriend gave her before he found out that she was a cashier at the ninety nine cent store.

i was feeling a little depressed after work today because it seemed like i had been in a fight with every damn one and i wasnt even honking at the grocery store strikers and raising my fist any more.

went up to the smelliest fucked up homeless woman tonight with four ones rolled up and out and asked her if she had eaten dinner and she said, no thanks im doing something here and turned back at the pigpen-dirty wheelchair that she had been sitting in and readjusted the blanket that i believe she was pissing on while standing up

and somehow satan had convinced me that i shouldnt go to the tsar show tonight, reminding me that i hadnt written my five pages to my novel yet, how i hadnt written five yesterday neither and how only i would refuse the company of a big titted hotchick who had been giving in every way to i could remain pent up so i could write said novel but then not write but four pages and then peter off

like a bitch.

say what you want about the president of the united states but he never let the devil talk him out of doing something, even if he shouldnt be doing it at all under any circumstance.

god i hate the president of the united states.

there always has to be an asshole in the mix. doesnt there.

my true love called me today.

thats how you fight the devil.

my true love called and told me the most wonderful things.

this other girl at work she told me the most romantic story. a tale about a young black woman and the man shes in love with, a pakistani man whose parents want him to marry a pakistani woman.

my work has me On like thirty percent more than before.

i have almost no free time.

the type of crime we fight is so widespread right now that its like an infestation.

of course i need to go see tsar.

if only just for an hour.

then back to you.

then back to the book about hot sex between kick ass people.

one who works at a ninety nine cent store in hollywood california

and one who is so fucked up

its never boring.

<3 kristin <3

hi. i love you. problem is you got married and you didnt get divorced cuz of adultery, so sadly we cant make beautiful love according to the good book.

never mind that. whats important is you need a blog.

i know you have tons of web sites made by people who adore you, but you need a handsome young man like moi who could follow you around and spin your life into the butterfly charmbraclet dream that it is.

youre probably the most beautiful soul singer out there right now, and youre definitely the best singer under 30. and youre the number one best selling female singer of all times.

so whats up with not having a blog?

dont you think your lambs want to know what your day is like? dont you think your critics want to know how hard you work? dont you think the world could use mariah updates three times a day and a place for you to put your messages of love from your lips to our ears each and every time you even think about it?

of course.

im the number 492349057435798 selling male singer of all time and i can let people know how i feel about anything at any time. why cant you?

for example, here it is 6:22pm, its miller time, its time for me to drive home in karisas truck and prepare for a late night with Tsar, the finest rock band in the usa, and if i want to say my nutsack itches i can say it mariah.

if i want to say fuck bush fuck bush fuck bush, i can.

if i want to thank the sweet redhead who told me i could be her boyfriend if she could be my girlfriend, then i can say it.

if i want to not thank ashley for being mean to me on the phone while i was flying over the greater los angeles region in chopper one, i can say it.

dont you see the power and the glory that youre missing out on, mariah?

dont you see that the most lovely songstress to grace our lives in a long time needs a little more exposure, the right sort of exposure, the best sort of exposure?

cant you see that the book on mariah carey doesnt need to be written by the naysayers who wouldnt write a nice book about you anyway?

let me write that story. let me show the world that xtina and britney are just little girls compared to you.

let me present the facts as they are, big and bold and juicy and full of soul.

let me remind the world why you are here and why you arent going away and how youre not a step away from playing vegas forever like celine, that youre as viable now as you ever were, if not more so.

let me show pictures of that womanly torso.

your biggest fan,

tony

bloopy + bing + blinky

MEESH!

Tony,

well long time no write, it is monday,

still recovering from Halloween,

certainly the most decadent chocolate filled holiday here in Aspen, no doubt.

I crossed over to the other side that night, for real.

The mushroom cloud exploded over Aspen and lingered for the following 24 hours or so, as we all just scratched our heads and nodded knowingly to each other. Woah.

(I’m the gothic looking one, yeah duh, and that is my milkmaid friend who just moved here from Hawaii, the new freshman class has just arrived in Aspen and I can’t wait to corrupt the new groms)

The first snows began to fall yesterday, and right now the top of the mountain looks like a luscious chocolate brownie sprinkled with powdered sugar, and I can’t wait to EAT IT UP!!!

Planning a trip to Whistler in 2 weeks so I can poach the stash of some early powder as well as smoke masses of B.C. buds. hee hee

Super sorry I missed your bday, hope it was one to remember, mine certainly was aaaah 23. Picture attached. I’m in the blue!!

Also some insane pics of fall here.

I never experienced anything like that.

It was like someone put a couple hits of acid in my coffee each morning, the trees the mountains, on fire with golds and reds.

I am convinced that there is not one bad season here.

write me when you have time and know that someone in Aspen loves you!!

muuuuuuaaaaaaahhhh,

meesh

interview with meesh + nice mention of meesh + mas meesh

but i have to be inspired by puff daddy.

either the Diddy Does the City was the greatest rope-a-dope since Dubya took office, where we thought that no way could this fool pull off what he’s fixing to pull off, or both of these men are the smartest motherfuckers in showbiz.

Bro was partying in the Dirty South on my tv weeks before he was supposed to run that shit yesterday. he had a rum in one hand and a vodka in the other. his man friday was dancing like he just didnt care, the young girls were crying when the diddy was signing autographs in the club, the mic was handed to him and he said ho and they said ho ho right back. fool had a hangover the size of a georgia peach and he had to tell his crew that he couldnt work out that morning.

and still he got up yesterday morning, got his fat black ass out there, and he ran 26 point whatever miles and finished the damn new york marathon while all the cameras waited for him to fail.

i hate to do it but im going to have to give my man props.

his goal was to beat Oprahs 4 hour time. and he barely did it. his goal was to run and raise a million bucks for three charities, one being much needed funds for four NYC public schools. fucker raised two mil.

what i liked about the MTV special about him training for the marathon was it showed him eating too much, canceling training sessions, being an ass to his assistants, and even his entourage talking shit about him to his face and in the camera.

at one point he really wanted some fried chicken and everyone said nooooo! and he picked it up and ate it and everyone screamed.

then this dude said, Diddy Eats the City.

classic.

in another scene, the Bad Boy records president is sore from his training, so he slides into his tub and his people dumped buckets after buckets of ice into the tub to his protests.

let me talk to you. let me TALK TO YOU, he pleaded and they stopped putting ice in his tub.

and then they let him talk and then they dumped more in there.

and then one final cube.

it was funny.

im glad he got his money.

rock on soul brotha, now do us all a favor and spend as much time and effort on the music

the music

as you do on the hype and the clothes and the honeys and the money and the bling and the bling and the manservant and the who ha.

thank you.

evan + evan + goose

my pal amy says its gonna be 77 in NYC today, so let me ax you, how is that fair?

my ass had to unfurl the electric blanket last night. i also had to put the mexican blanket where the door should be that would connect the living room with the kitchen, then i had to put on the space heater.

all so i could not write my sex novel.

it was that cold, america.

today is novembrrrr third. ive only writen four pages of my thing. and i have to fight crime today. and i have to go see my favorite band tonight, and this mysterious chick who i dont know at all wants to find out if she should be a sex phone operator girl on me after the show.

i gave her my home number.

i dont know why i did that.

karisa does it all the time and somehow the crazies dont bother her too much. speaking of karisa, she called me last night from western mass, from the house that she grew up in, from the room where she lived as a kid. how cute.

sadly i couldnt talk to her because i was on the phone with my buddy solomon who was fixing my computer for me via pc anywhere and my cell phone. it was classic. it was creepy. it was wonderful.

it was the year two thousand. finally.

anyway, now its still cold in LA, and colder in the offices of the xbi. i can finally fly my chopper thanks to the fires being out, but i still have a lot of paper work to do since everyone basically took last week off to help volunteer and keep the looting to a minimum.

so i have my blogger hoodie on like the homeless guy (pictured), and i have my apple juice, and my high speed internet.

and i have you.

thanks for being there, whoever you are.

all of who you are.

especially those who have been there for a long long time.

its been a fun ride so far and this shit hasnt even truly zoomed off into the stratosphere where it will be soon.

hendrix had to play bass in little richards band for a while.

eveyone has to pay their dues.

the homeless guy + eric case + kimbalina

sends me a naked picture through the email or aim chat, it always startles me for a second.

and i always doubt that its really them.

everyone has pictures of someone being naked and who’s to say that those pixels arent them.

and i know that one day i’ll totally get punk’d by some asswipe pretending to be a hot chick who will catch me believing that some super cute girl from a faraway land would do anything for me because of something that ive writ or because of everything.

this girl is beautiful in a way ive never known. her english is really good which is remarkable, considering.

probably within five minutes of chatting with her i told her i loved her.

and she told me she loved me too.

and today i said what are you wearing

and she said a kiss me im irish tshirt and crotchless panties

and i said would you mind taking a picture of yourself and she said no problem and within a few minutes there it was.

and then a few minutes later there was a naked one.

dear la times,

nobody on your fuckin shit is getting hot swedish gradschool girls to get naked for them.

hire my ass for the blog you need to launch.

nothing is worse than failing to capitalize on a monopoly

it borders on laziness and disrespect

opportunity has knocked for you in such a way here in LA that it’s laying on its back in the front yard and spreading and waiting and you come to the door with the guy chronicles and tj simers.

a good friend said it and its true and its sad: if the new york times launched a blog in december, the la times would have one in january.

and you call yourselves men.

best thing ive seen on tv was the other day when this guy was getting shot at and he was hiding behind a tree that was maybe five inches wide.

the frustration this gunman must have felt missing

and missing

and missing despite such a huge target behind this skinny tree.

people ask me all the time, how come youre not doing exactly what you want to be doing

what you should be doing.

and i think its that fucking tree in the way.

so improbable to be of any consequence in any way

but all the difference in the world.

get it together, times.

your pal,

tony

michigan state in full effect + chokey chicken + bored housewife

so here i am in the relatively quiet xbi offices typing away to you because i love you.

and i havent felt this much love back in a long time. by long time, of course i mean days.

my man mist profiled me so nicely i dont even know what to say. nice pics too.

steph and lola say that im the only blog that they read every damn day! and for that i am rewarding them by stealing the pic of steph (right). thank you ladies.

jason g from blogger + google says that i am the buzzing and vibrant blogging super celeb that camila dumbulia says is missing in the blogosphere. gratzi.

the good doc searls was kind enough to quote me about my job offer to the chicago cubs and was nice enough to leave in my typo so as to keep it real. gracias, senior.

and even my man trevor from ten gallon hat made a photo essay documenting halloween in arizona, but although he took a picture of our girl alecia, didnt let us see what her costume was. trevor!

speaking of halloween costumes, ive just got two words for you melting dolls. yowza!

im also here at the xbi because karisa let me borrow her xterra for the week as she flew back home to stand up at her brothers wedding, and since i have use of her kickass vehicle and since my computer is broke at home, here i can write chapter two of my novel for november novel writing month blah bladdy blah.

i wrote chapter one last night while watching tv and playing playstation. i dont like writing out things longhand unless i have a great spiral notebook to write it in. and i couldnt find my spiral notebook that i got last year that has all these great skateboard stickers on it. but i promised myself that i would write five pages a day and at the end of the month id have a 150 page novel.

since ive never written a novel before and since im sure this one will suck, i have done a few things to make the experience interesting.

first it will be a novel of complete smut. it will be the dirtiest thing i have ever done and will probably ever do. it will include everything that i am scared to do as a writer and im terrified of future employers, lovers, friends to find out about me. of course it will be fiction but many times we write and are afraid that people will think that what we write is in the slightest bit true and then wont want to employ us or be our pals.

fuck that.

this is going to be the equivalent of Tarantinos Kill Bill which has been so critically and monetarily lauded that i even saw him on The View having his ass kissed by women who you wouldnt think would normally asskiss a guy who killed maybe 200 people in a film. mostly by sword.

at least that many people will be having sex in my novel.

and there will be drugs, satanism, drunk driving, people sending spam, cursing, poor dressing, unmade beds, lesbianism, indoor fireworks, bad grammar, dirty words, pop music, virgins losing their virginities, wild orgasms, orgies, alcoholism, petty politics, gun slinging, parallel parking, and double entendres like nobodys business.

and if that doesnt offend you i might even throw in some poetry.

im thinking about calling it 30 Days in the Hole, but i think of new titles almost every hour.

The Ho Who Loved Me

My Other Novel Is Way Better

Fuck Camile Paglia

Rush Limbaugh Sold Me Dope and then Showed Me His Schween

George Bush Is My Hero

Moby is a Dick

69 Ways To Say I Love You

Adults Only

Oprah’s Secret Book Club Book

in order to keep sex interesting to write about every damn day for five pages a day i have decided that i will not actually have any sex during the month of November. sorry ladies. and that means none with myself either. sorry me. and i will force myself to watch at least an hour of porn each day just to work myself up.

hopefully the pent up anxiety will make itself to the computer and novel.

and hopefully all of it will be deliciously sexy.

thats the point after all.

wish me luck!

give anti your money so he can eat or smoke or drink. hes seriously broke. and i flowed the brotha some. so you should too.