last night with the Owens’ of Ventura, howard and billie, as lovely a couple as you could imagine, who treated me and my pal matt to choice seats behind home plate.

perhaps you have read howard’s wonderful blog that not only sports some level-headed political thought, but great design, and the courage to publish ones own poetry. i admire acheivements like those since i dont have the fortitude or ability to do any of those things.

howard is also a fantasy baseball geek like myself. and as matt is slowly becoming one himself it was fun to toss around some ubergeeky thoughts about rookie pitchers, strategies on autodrafts, and whether or not you should pinch run for old men like fred mcgriff when youre down by three runs.

i felt a little bad for billie who was completely surrounded by baseball nerds, but i imagined she knew what she was getting herself into. but maybe she didnt know the ridiculous depths our sick passion for the national pasttime would sink to when we started contemplating exactly where the pitcher should bunt the ball in the top of the seventh with two runners on.

the correct answer is “in play.”

it was candlestickian cold last night at chavez ravine. but after an eighth inning hot cocoa i was completely satisfied.

thanks to the ultra slow style of hideo nomo and jake peavy, four hours later the game was finally entering the ninth inning.

i didnt care.

baseball is pretty much the only thing that could keep me outside in the cold, happilly.

i love you baseball, classiest sport there is.

48. The Coyote’s Bark

after being dropped off i chatted on the internet with pretty much all of america and when they were done with me i was able to do a mini photo essay about the evening which i hope you all approve of.

today is wednesday. which means the brezney astrology for last week is almost over.

im happy it’s almost over because it said i was gonna cry this week.

i didnt cry even once.

i take that back. i nearly did when a hot chick told me she had zwan tickets for me saturday night.

on the floor.

rupaul + moby + mc brown

it would scare the holy crap out of you.

typically i get about a thousand hits a day to the site and the blog. lately its gone down a little. whatev.

in a perfect world you would think that as the popularity of blogging grows, so, therefore, my hits would steadilly increase. but that doesnt make sense. because with more blogs comes more choice, therefore less hits.

regardless, that southern gentleman, the Instapundit gets 100 times the hits i get and the growth of the web seems to only build his readerbase. but he and i are playing different games.

im trying to make something out of nothing. people come here and they have absolultely no clue what theyre going to get. mostly because the author has no idea what he’s going to give.

instapundit is going to tell you all the things you wish your newspaper and cnn would give you: news, politics, law, and current events in a trustworthy, intelligent, concise manner.

busblog is going to probably just break a few hundred rules of grammar and spelling in a roundabout way of talking about Self.

thus 1/100 of the popularity.

for some reason i consider Instapundit a peer. which is like a mite considering a crocodile a peer. sure they walk the same grounds, feel the same sun, and God loves them in the same way, but theyre not damn peers. one is an incredible super creature. the other is a fucking mite.

this mite is very comfortable believing that the thousand points of light are really a hundred, but more like ten: chris, karisa, azarock, madpony, basart, and my little brother who rips my shit off and puts it in collegehangover dot com.

i dont look at myself that way out of any sense of humbleness, although i am incredibly humbled by the talent and popularity of other bloggers in the blogosphere, but i guess in a way i dont even really think that the thousand people who read this are real readers and some are loyal readers and some are famous and some work in super cool places, and some might even work in places that i might even talk about.

with that said, Google, i love you.

Blogger, i love you even more.

im sorry if i made you think otherwise.

i am so loyal you dont even know, and all i wanted to do last night was let my man Bunsen get his props on the left hand tally.

im doing a weird little thing where im asking perfect strangers to give me, a perfect stranger, ten bucks for a car.

you know how ridiculous a concept that is?

its a science fair art project that if the Instapundit wanted to abuse his power he could be a millionaire in a week.

100,000 times $10 = InstaMillionaire.

i dont want to be a millionaire, i just want a car.

if i was a millionaire i would think all these babes were after me just for my fat wallet.

wait up.

where was i?

totally spaced out.

san dimas highschool football rules!

blogger + google + paypal + new photo spread

i normally say roy jones jr.

except i have a little more toned belly.

i do love the internet.

hi internet.

hi tony, baby.

ive gotten so much from you.

youve given so much.

concert tickets, mp3s, smut, driving directions, pizza, pharmaceuticals from canada, admirers, fashion tips, dates.

chopper one is rigged with the internet and i don’t know how they do it but they do. i don’t ask many questions, i just fly the damn thing and press the right buttons.

my favorite button, and i think ive discussed this before, is the low frequency destablizer.

it was improved this weekend and today we got to give it a real-life test.

these bad guys were hiding in a garage, we could see where they were thanks to their body heat. so we aimed the destablizer in their general direction and sent out beams of super low frequency sound waves.

imagine sudden sea-sickness.

imagine wanting to vomit, needing air. needing anything other than what you are having right now.

fuckers ran out retching within seconds, right into the waiting hands of the ground agents who allowed them to finish losing their breakfast jacks and then took them away to our holding cell of misery.

thing about the xbi is because we’re not really even supposed to exist, its not like you can take the rest of the afternoon off thinking that you just had a good day. at any point one of the criminals can come at you, or the cops, or the fbi, or the cia, or anyone.

so its not cool to say to someone, damn, im having the best day.

they’re afraid if you say that you’ll jinx it.

i don’t believe in jinxes.

i just believe in you.

which is a helluva question because the only reason i was staying true to blogger was cuz i felt that Ev deserved the loyalty until he got rich.

and if he isnt on his way to getting rich after getting gobbled by google, then i certainly cant help him.

ive enjoyed my time with blogger. it’s a good system that allowed me to talk to all of you, and for that im grateful. and it has certainly given me what ive paid for.

there are parts of moveable type that i think i will like better.

as you know from my homepage (tonypierce.com), i dont rely on blogger for hosting. my man os supplies that wonderfully.

speaking of which, he and i have been deluged with requests for people who want tonypierce.com email addresses.

why do you people want those things?

madpony@tonypierce.com

anna@tonypierce.com

iwastecompanytime@tonypierce.com

me and os figured it out that if people are serious about these things that they can email me at stokeme@tonypierce.com and this is what you need to write in your note:

1. the email address that all the @tonypierce.com mail wil get forwarded to.

2. the prefix that you would like to request.

3. your full name.

what will happen is we will send you a PayPal invoice for $6.66 which will give you that email address for one full year. you can change where that @tonypierce.com address will get forwarded to once for free.

all proceeds — all proceeds will go to my man Os who has hosted this three-ring circus even before it existed, which is a tough trick, let me tell you.

back to Blogger. this blog is serious business. when my left-hand column is unable to be updated the way it is today, people write me mean(ish) emails. i need software that doesnt have these sorts of bugs. or i need to be a fulltime employee of bloggergoogle blogging while traveling the world.

or i need to move over to moveable type.

we’re through the looking glass, people.

i went to sleep at three am last night and i feel like a damn king this morning.

thank you, nasty girl, who left me the best email this morning.

layne + welch + owens + weekend box office charts in full on detail

i had all these messages. ignored em. turned on e!, they were having the golden hanger awards.

i dont care what any of you say, i like joan rivers. shes a classic.

made a pot of rice. i have this little pot. heats up the rice fast. im not cooking for eight.

saturday i george formaned six chicken breasts, and ive been eating them like crazy. i put the rice in a bowl, then a hunk of chicken on top, microwave it for two minutes.

heat up some peas.

eat, repeat, eat, repeat.

ive been eating like a damn pig.

got ten bucks from bunsen today. i was a little nervous cuz there was no flow for a week.

didnt help that i hadnt talked about it for a week.

you know this thing is going to work, dont you.

47. bunsen

i think i have rounded down the choices to a mini cooper or a saturn.

ive had ridiculously good luck in saturns.

anyhow, to celebrate the flow from my man bunsen, heres another picture of meesh.

she just told me the greatest story.

her story.

i have heard some pretty interesting tales from some truly interesting women, good people.

strange and beautiful stories, my friends.

starring hot girls and the men… and women… who lusted them.

after i ate my chicken and rice i got on the instant messenger and this young girl. legal, but obscenely young.

she said things to me, even after seeing my picture.

i sent her two just incase.

big ones.

she sent me some pictures of herself and typed the most perfect pleas.

it took everything to resist stealing a car and driving all night.

i was distracted by lisa marie presley being interviewed by howard stern.

are all the women in the world perfect today?

howard: [regarding michael jackson first kissing her] did he tounge you?

lisa marie: did he do what?

howard: did he give you the tounge?

lisa marie: will you… stop it?

howard: yes.

lisa marie: thank you. {pause} i married the m-f, so…

howard: did he spank you?

lisa marie: no.

howard: did nicolas cage spank you?

lisa marie: i dont want to talk about it.

howard.: he did. i knew it. i would tie you up and spank you.

lisa marie: really?

howard. yeah.

lisa marie: good.

howard: absolutely.

lisa marie: good.

howard: you wouldnt even know what hit you. right, robin?

robin: thats right. but can you even tell us… were you sexually satisfied by michael jackson?

lisa marie: um, you know… uh… see…

howard: the answer is either yes or no.

lisa maire: the answer would be, would i have married someone that i wasnt.

saturn + mini cooper

and cold and wet and miserable, im not sure this day could be any better for me.

i got a comment from my long lost pal Meesh (scantilly pictured) who has updated her site with news from her winter wonderland. apparently shes not in the best moods. and she thinks she looks fat in one of her pictures.

oh meesh.

you dont look fat.

do you have any idea how many times a week i have to tell super hot babes that they dont look fat?

if i had a french kiss for each time i had to convince a total knockout that she was, indeed, a total knockout, i would probably have dual US/French citizenship by now.

anyways, meesh, you have my phone number, call me, i promise i will pick up this time. use the 666 number. or the cell phone. whatever. i miss you. im happy youre alive.

be my roommate.

marry me.

bear my babies.

divorce me and sue me for alimony.

reconsile with me after a year or two separation.

break my heart and make it better.

hit me with a flower.

do it every hour.

none of her pictures do her any justice.

meesh is one of these women who float down from Heaven and walk with us, all the time pretending to be one of us, but theyre not fooling anyone.

who do you think youre fooling?

some of these women will drink with you, or toss pills in your mouth, or just smoke to appear mortal but even their bad sides are good.

karisa is like this, and she doesnt fool anyone either.

chris fools the fools, and even fooled me for about a week.

meesh is phat.

i like that.

i miss her. i want her to move back to her daddys house and invite me up to drink homemade tom kha kai soup.

this time i promise i wont say no.

meeshness

so of course the subway had hour-long delays.

because somehow rain affects the trains a mile below the dirty boulevard.

a good writer would make a perfect segue into the fact that Anger Management was the weekend box office winner with a whopping $44.5 million. the second-biggest opening by far this year.

the good people at Variety have amazing charts for things like this and this one illustrates how amazing this weekend’s feat was. the sandler/nicholsen comedy outdid the action adventure blockbuster Daredevil which pulled in $45 million on valentines day with help from its stars Ben Affleck and that chick from Alias.

number three this year was Bringing Down the House at $31 million, followed by How To Lose a Guy in Ten Days which had a $23.8 million opening weekend.

even though Jack co-stars in Anger Management it’s really an Adam Sandler film, and this weekend was a personal best for both stars. Variety reports that Sandler opened with $41 million with Big Daddy, and Jack hit big with Batman at $42.7 million on its opening weekend.

strange thing is, even though these are two of my favorite actors, i have no desire to see this movie.

it looks stupid.

stupid as a subway being shut down cuz of a few inches la winter rain.

alecia + oish + zak + no use for virtue

for a pulitzer.

sux.

woke up with clippergirl next to me this morning. she was playing with what little hair i have.

you have the longest eyelashes for a boy she told me.

i mumbled something about carrottop and rolled over.

she said no no no its early lets seize the day, lets maul the morning.

i swear to you she said maul the morning.

please tony please lets actually do something today. ive been good.

she had been good. so i told her that we could do anything that she wanted today.

she asked anything?

i worried for a second and said, sure, why not. anything.

a full eight minutes later she kissed me on the cheek and asked me what i wanted to do today.

i told her that i wanted to go to hollywood park but it was closed.

she said, what about santa anita?

i said, i thought you didnt want to rack up miles on your miata.

she said, fuck the miata, lets go to the races!

went to the track. im a mess at the track cuz all i want to do is drink and swear. and take pictures.

clippergirl says ive been annoying with my new camera lately taking pictures of every damn thing, so she asked if we gave the camera a day off. i told her it was palm sunday and how great would it be to take pictures of palm trees today.

she told me how great it would be to just enjoy the day, like adults, holding hands, drinking white wine, watching the horses with the san gabriel mountains in the background.

i reminded her that she was a cheerleader and put on my gwar shirt and gave the finger to adulthood.

clippergirl persuaded me to put on a different shirt and we went to the track.

we lost all our gambling money after the third race. im not a good bettor. fortunately our drinking money wasnt even close to being tapped.

when i was right at the point of either being too drunk to drive or just buzzed enough to deal with being at the races without betting, she started asking me questions that i only hear when she is one wine past drunk.

do you love me tony?

of course i do.

who do you love the most?

my mom.

who do you love love the most?

chris.

still?

shes only gotten better with age.

who do you love the least?

probably anna kournikova.

why would you say that?

i only love her for the material.

on a scale of one to ten, how much do you love me?

i brought my right hand to my nose, looked up into the blue sky, sniffed and said, eight and a half.

and i’d be lying if i didnt tell you that it was a quiet ride back home in that miata.

dan the goose + the fat guy + the buzz machine

have made womens tennis totally boring.

and yet the brotha named tiger has made

golf

magically watchable

even on television.

my man had to chip out of the fucking sand yesterday in hopes to par the 18th so as to make the cut to even play today.

chipped it, parred it, hes still in the Masters.

so after starting this morning in 43rd place, motherfucker tucks himself to sleep tonight in

fifth place

after completely making a joke out of all the finest players in golf

on the most famously racist and sexist course.

the marines at the agency always want to bring up nicklaus and palmer and to piss them off i tell them that theyre so lucky that they didnt have to play tiger.

then i tell them about stockton and malone, which is what arnie and jack would have been if tiger was a hundred years older.

my kids will never ask me about the mailman.

some asswipe will get lucky with the pickandroll in 2020 and pretend like he invented it, but we’ll know better.

its raining tonight in hollywood and im thinking about guys who never won shit, and guys who always found a way to win, and its good to think about both of them.

i dont care that im not making a lot right now.

scottie pippen didnt make a lot until his 6th world championship.

what if to get your ideal job you had to take a 25% cut in your already ridiculously low salary?

and i am crazy enough to do something like that.

start from the bottom, at my age.

but at least this time it’s the bottom of something i totally love.

tiger was 40 feet away from the hole

tapped it right of the cup

it had to go up a hill a little

made it up okay

then it had to curve over to the left hard while going slightly downhill

about twelve feet away

curved left

hard

rolled downhill

and slowly so very slowly

found its way into the bottom of the hole.

that sixty six moved him up thirty eight spots

and now hes only four shots from the lead

for your sunday afternoon asses.

[update: never mind]

jason sutter + jason shellon +kottke

i think it would be funny to see Ass in huge red letters as you drove down a street. i admire people who can take something people buy every day and turn it into a huge chain.

like how the guy from Blockbuster made Blockbuster. and how Dominos Pizza just one day was everywhere. people seriously stopped going to their local, folksy, funky pizza palors and stores and started renting at Blockbuster and buying books at Barnes and Noble.

i think the man or woman who figures out how to launch the first adult video rental store chain deserves the buttload of money that they will receive.

and i think it would be awesome if they called the place Ass.

i would also like to have a club called Prom.

once a month there’d be a prom. tuxedos, dresses, punch, limos, eighties music.

i know i’d like to do prom over again.

it wouldnt really be a great place for a first date, but it would be a perfect place to go once you were starting to get serious with someone.

hey, would you like to go to prom with me?

omg, are you serious?

why, yes.

yes! yes i will!

then a bunch of her friends would want to go, so then youd get some of your buddies. rent a limo. everyone gets some.

tony gets paid.

if i had a book store id call it The Springfield Book Depository.

unlike most book stores i’d have a whole wall of Charles Bukowski books. it would be the ultimate place for bukowski stuff.

there would be a poetry reading room in the back, but i wouldnt ever go, i dont like poetry readings.

thered be a tiny record store upstairs full of out of print bootlegs, and posters.

if i had a liquor store i’d call it No Smokes

cuz cigarettes will kill you.

bettie girl + anti + ginacide