why would you invite me to a glamourous wrap party of my second favorite tv show at a swanky hotel private lounge party room with free champagne gorgeous women everywhere and at least one being turned away from the velvet ropes and not have any of the stars of the show attend?

i shouldnt complain.

i had a great time.

today i have the day off from the xbi.

i also have a brunch date.

caio!

whaddup money.

who you calling money? i heard you just got a deal with Nike.

heard right, g.

how much are they giving you?

$90 mil.

$90 million?

$90 million.

how many nba games have you played?

none.

how much are they paying you again?

who?

Nike.

$90 mil, bro.

for what?

cuz kids are going to buy my shoes, blogger boy.

$90 million worth?

well, and my jersey, and my sweat pants, and my wrist pads, and my mouth guard.

why would they want your mouth gaurd, thats gross.

no, not my mouth gaurd, a never before used mouth gaurd that has my name on it and a little swoosh next to it.

i used to think i was the luckiest man in the world. but once again im mistaken.

to be honest, im not going to be getting all of that in one lump sum.

what are they going to spread it out over 90 million years or some shit?

wow, i dont know. i better ask.

how much will your shoes sell for?

i dont know, probably $150.

$150 million?

no, just $150.

do you think a million people will buy your shoes?

no, but maybe a half million kids will buy my shoes.

but that doesnt add up to $90 million.

thats where the toof gaurd comes in. and the sweat pants. and the cologne and shit. basketballs. active wear. sweatbands. shit, i dont know.

lebron, dont you think it’s weird that the people who will be making your $150 shoes wont even make $150 the entire week of making your shoes, and you’ll be making $150 a dribble?

i think everythings weird, g. it’s not my place to think. it’s my place to put the rock in the hole.

thats a pretty good answer for a highschooler.

im not a highschooler any more. im an industry. get used to it.

it might be hard for me to get used to it.

just do it.

kieran + flingus + aint no bad dude

shit.

and a big fat one at that.

i guess the philosophy that simon enlightened us with about image meaning something as he would dismiss boys and girls of various shapes and sizes in the first two (and only watchable) episodes is worthless crap.

i guess americans dont really care so much what you look like, just as long as you can sing a notch above average.

ask phil collins.

so if image isnt a factor, i guess all the brothas who can truly sing will be allowed to make the cut next time.

fuck american idol if they dont.

no way can they be telling me that in this entire country, the two best unsigned singers of steve wonder songs is clay and reuben.

is this why radio sucks?

saw a dead pigeon on the side of the road. people say la isnt a real city cuz its so spread out. i say if theres pigeons, its a city.

when pigeons die all the other pigeons eat them up.

pecking and pecking

as if they were starving.

pigeons can eat anything. food all over and still they eat their buddies.

all they ate out of this one was his body. perfectly good wings and what looked like chicken bones poking out of the grand grey feathers.

i guess at least pigeons wait till their buddy has died until they start being little peckers.

american idol has always been little peckers so i guess reuben and clay are about as good as we’re going to get from them.

big fat black girl shoulda won anyways.

i like i like pretty things + indefinitely + autumn leaves + joy

and where do you think she wanted to take me?

theres a new bowling “lounge” in hollywood called Lucky Strike. nice name, fuckheads. like kids need more influence from big tobacco. they call it a lounge because theres only a handful of lanes, but plenty of room at the bar to get loaded.

as los lobos said, last night, i got loaded.

i truly do love karisa because shes like the next door neighbor that i never had. we ordered coronas for the first game. i think i bowled like a 175. not bad for the first time bowling in 8 months. and i did it with an 8 pound ball. and i did it left handed.

and blindfolded.

so then we went to the lounge and the barkeep poured us two kamikazes. big ones. karisa made a squooshy face. she didn’t like the ratio of vodka to glass. to her defense it was almost entirely vodka, very little whatever the hell else they put in kamikazes these days. we toasted to the finest ass in the house which could have been directed to either of us and we drank the first half, she complained, we took a deep breath, and finished that shit and slammed the glass down.

second game i started off with three strikes in a row. right handed but on the left hand side. the betting side.

any motherfucker wants to bowl against me from the left side, lets go.

karisa then started trying to get in my head. when she bowls she slides so far over the line shes practically breathing on the pins., then she bends to the side as her ball curves from one side to the other. its quite a scene. i caught some of it on video but i need to talk to rights and clearances.

spared the fourth and the fifth and had something like 118 going into the sixth. not a bad start. but i always bowl good buzzed.

with an eight pound alley ball.

bitches.

so then karisa says that she has something in her eye but she doesn’t want to pick at it cuz her fingers have been in the bowling ball holes and leans close to me so i can look into her eye for the troublesome eyelash.

which is mesmerizing. which of course throws me completely off cuz i do not under any circumstance look at karisa and definately not into her eyes. eyes that had glitter and eyeshadow and eyeliner and voodoo all around it just to trap the souls of black folks, etc.

gutterballed the next one.

picked up the spare.

finished the game with a 187 on an undercover cock.

went to the lounge for another round of coronas.

she shook her ass for two more games and beat me on the fourth.

we drove back to my place. she said she wanted absinthe. we challenge each other. so she did a shot, a big shot and looked at me and called me a pussyboy, so i had to do a shot, which i did, so i called her a pussygirl. so she did a shot and called me a name which i cannot type here because kids might be reading.

so then i did a shot and the walls melted.

then she did a shot and she melted and started to slur.

then we held hands cuz the world had turned upside down and we didn’t want to fall off.

then she asked me if i really truly loved her. and i said of course. then she said take off your top. so i took off her top. i mean i took off my top. then she told me told me to put my wallet and my keys on the table. so i did.

then i went into the bathroom. then i hurled. forgot i had had vegetable curry rice for dinner. brown rice. then i hurled some more.

then i went back out to the drawing room and saw that there was no karisa, no bottle of absinthe, no keys to the flying car! and no good night handshake.

still drunk made a goofy sloppy phonecall to an exgirlfriend whereby i told her that i missed her and loved her

then ate aspirin and fell asleep.

woke up and didn’t hear about a ufo taking a chunk out of a mountain or a building or a street so i figured that my bowling partner had figured out how to work the autopilot.

but that doesn’t mean that i don’t still hate her.

but it does mean that i wont be going to hollywood park this weekend to see the ponies followed by the ohio players… with her.

and one last bit of warning old chum if the fbi finds you with that vehicle which i stole from them they will be much harder on you than i will be so fly that shit back where you stole it from!

on second thought, no keep it. yeah keep it. i dare you. wherever you have it parked, just leave it there. yeah.

just like yes said, leave it.

anti + raymi + jaime

have i told you that life isnt fair?

have i told you that work is hell sometimes like on hot days up in a whirlybird when all you want to do is take off your shoes and walk on the beach for even 15 minutes.

i want to take off my shirt and lay in the sun and listen to floyd zep doors dead santana janes pixies angus malcom, me and the ladies went to rock n roll thai the other night and first they put in pixies doolittle then they put in porno for pyros and i couldnt have picked two better cds or ten better dishes that we munched to.

i want to borrow somebodys golden retriever and somebody elses frisbee and somebody elses girlfriend and somebody elses convertible and i want to drive everyone to zuma where i belong today.

have i told you ive had the most wonderful life?

do you know i have the bestest friends and the nicest inbox.

when im up here chasing criminals and listenening to all the drama in my earpiece the best way for me to protect my soul is to remember that this thing could collapse any minute and the next minute i will be a splat on the 405 only to be cooked by the firey explosion and rush hour traffic.

so i think about the nice things, like spider rings and candy necklaces on girls with experience.

the devil messes with my hairline and my dumb face and my kidneys and my confidence but the angels send a parade of miracles my way every damn day.

cubs are still in first place.

cubs will stay in first place.

this guy we’re staking out doesnt know there are twenty xbi agents listening to his every word.

he keeps singing living la vida loca to himself.

one of our guys is calling him gay, but our info says hes not gay. now the debate is whether or not its gay to be humming or singing or whistling ricky martin.

now one of our sharpshooters, a woman, is asking us why we men are so concerned if someone is gay or not.

now i cant get that stupid song out of my head.

now im singing it in my microphone.

now lots of people are singing it in their microphones!

now im laughing.

allison + sarah + oliver

is how do you blog about it?

gentlemen are taught to not kiss and tell. and one of the tricky dance steps of getting a girl to trust you is to ensure her that you wont blab all about her super soft skin, totally waxed everything, and the way she moved perfectly.

danish. blonde hair everywhere. little mermaid tattoo. if you’re lucky she’ll show you.

nineteen. n-n-n-n-nineteen.

how do these girls at nineteen know so much.

when i was nineteen i didn’t know shit. i still don’t know shit. but i certainly didn’t know about fuck.

and last night i fucked like i was nineteen – cautious, quickly, and apologetically.

what’s danish for oops lets try it again in a minute.

many moons ago she found me through a google search for “cheerleaders”. by the way thank you google. thank you. thank you. thank you.

her english is good but wasn’t always so good and at first i thought she was being mean to me and im very sensitive and i stopped chatting with her.

later we got to chatting again and she asked me what fuck was since i use it in so many ways on here and she was confused.

nineteen and naked in no time.

she said i didn’t look american and i said she didn’t look danish and i put on guns and roses and i was doing it with a girl i just met.

who am i?

what world am i living in what life am i leading what will my judgement day look like what will the neighbors think what is this girl who is so quiet thinking of how im doing what i probably shouldn’t be doing but why shouldn’t we be doing what we totally want to be doing.

didn’t last long. too turned on. far too hot in therre. blonde hair everywhere.

i wont kiss and tell but i’ll lick and lie

she said i will only be in town for three more days i said stay here she said she couldn’t and we held hands and looked at the mariah carey poster across my room and i told her that i wish i had a plasma tv, and i wanted to tell her that i could have taken the plasma tv that we swiped from a counterfeiter in the valley but gave it to an old folks home. guilt is a motivator.

i have a baseball that many of my girlfriends have signed for me to look at on rainy days.

im now thinking of starting a new baseball of girls who’ve wanted to kiss me because of this url.

you need these things when your self confidence could breakdance on the head of a pin and you have the memory of a goldfish.

she was tall and tanned and lean and quiet until she wasn’t so quiet and she said she had to get back to her girls who were probably destroying the hotel in anaheim and i walked her to her white rentacar and the security guards from the church across the street rode their bicycles in circles and watched

and then they talked on their walkie talkies

and then they just sat on their bikes.

and when she drove off i esp’ed to them that i didn’t understand any of this either.

beta blog + meesh + mc browns party pics + hft

lots. you have no idea how much.

there was a little gunplay in the office this morning, which is always interesting cuz you want to return fire and you know others want to pick you off if they can, especially if youre normally flying high in chopper one and unavailable for retaliation.

i heard something whiz past my ear and i aimed at where i thought it was coming from but there was only the hot new russian chick over there and unless someone was hiding beneath her desk it was either her or i was mistaken.

i intentionally missed her just to see her reaction, she gave me a look like wtf, negro. meanwhile the entire office was intentionally missing people which only multiplied the bullets being spread throughout our old building.

slugs got caught in the bulletproof glass sending spiderwebs of plexiplastic through the darkened windows, other bullets ricocheted here and there. none of us took cover, just shot more. it was silent except for a police scanner and plings vreeems and plinks, and of course the occasional, you fuck!

dude next to me got hit in the chest. good thing he had his bulletproof wifebeater on. still it got him pissed and he jumped on his desk and really started aiming at people so five of us aimed at his gun. one person shot it out of his hand but then another person accidentally shot it back into his hand and one missed entirely and nailed his kid rock belt buckle and ricocheted into the big screen which immediately exploded the picture tube freaking everyone out.

so then everyone shot at the television.

one of the marines made it down the fire pole with a shot gun and cocked it and yelled that the next person who shot at anyone would receive the wrong end of his wrath and for a second i thought about some trickery starting with aiming at the fire alarm bell and hoping it would ricochet into one of his eyeballs, but nah, fuck that.

everyone mellowed out and then everyone got yelled at and then everyone said they were going to take lunch, and then the russian chick shot once more at me and said she was sorry to the marine who aimed his big stick right at her cute little upturned nose.

he calls her frenchy for some reason, and i hope its cuz he thinks shes french.

otherwise itd be gross.

he took her upstairs to get reprimanded and the only sound i heard as i fired up my computer was the crackling of the small fire caused by the picture tube of the former television in the corner.

and the police radio that kept on going and going and going

bam.

and then it stopped.

my eastcoast girlfriends + a sorority girl out on her own + azarock!

i dont even know where to begin. yes tsar played, yes i met a dancer at my local bar, yes i got to hang out with my old pal aj and her lovely co-conspiriter, yes i got to see a ton of my friends, yes i got to take lots of blurry pictures all weekend.

yes, im the luckiest man in north america.

if only you knew, naysayers of the cyberworld.

tonight i have plans to do laundry with ms karisa the besta and we will do nothing but illegal things, anonymous comment leavers, and each time we do, we will raise a toast to you.

got an email that the xbi will be closed on friday and closed on monday to celebrate memorial day, a day that means a little more to us than it does to many other companies since so many of our employees are either former military or come from military families. because of that we have all agreed to let each other spend this weekend with family and loved ones.

plus its a four day weekend.

my good pals natasha and fidel offered me astros / cubs tickets at minute maid park, excellent seats they say. maybe the best seats in the house, but unfortunately i have to pass. i have no frequent flier miles to Hobby. but thanks, kids.

i have the greatest friends. have i told you?

whats really nice to hear is when other people think so too.

whats also nice is when hot chicks daydream about me.

whats also nice is when the big man links me.

whats also nice is when the cubs are still in first place.

treacher wants to know why i used to link him on the left hand side, but i dont anymore. the answer is because im a lame-ass and i need an intern to maintain my links. send your qualifications to lewinski@tonypierce.com

gratzi

treacher + dawn + blogcritics