busblog

nothing in here is true

  1. Wednesday, December 12, 2001

    if you only knew how lame i am, you’d stop reading right now 

    japanese girl came over last night. it was fine. first dates are always fine. little does she know im an idiot, poor girl.

    good part about having a hot girl over is that afterwards i have a clean house and a decent buzz.

    but fuck that, let’s talk about Oprah and Dr. Phil.

    i’ve never seen two bigger fakers than Oprah and Dr. Phil.

    just the other day i was talking to a really good friend and we were reminiscing about what we were doing when we were 19. when i was 19 i quit my job at the record store and started selling computers. this was like in 1888 so computers were pretty expensive and they were like soooooo slow you wouldnt believe it. so it took a pretty decent salesperson to pull it off.

    one reason that i was able to pull it off was cuz i took this awareness course called Lifespring, which, people tell me, was a lot like this other course called EST.

    i dont know much about EST but I know a ton about Lifespring cuz i got pretty involved with it a few times in my late teens and twenties and Oprah’s Dr. Phil has decided to take every day in these courses and put it on television. Only problem is he doesnt give any credit to John Hanley, who invented the courses, and he runs around pretending like it’s his thing.

    He even changed the name of it to the “Get Real” course.

    lying fuck.

    Biggest problem that I have with this is that Lifespring was never intended to be shown on TV. it was intended for people to experience themselves without others telling them what it’s all about.

    Imagine, for instance that you were a space traveler and you found yourself trying to explain kissing. Would you show video of two people kissing? Would you have the aliens read pamphlets? Would you just talk about it? Hell no, you’d have the aliens kiss each other.

    The reason being is that sometimes you cannot explain certain things, you have to experience them. Some things, the more you explain them the more fucked up they sound and the more you ruin them. For example, have you ever tried to explain Star Wars to someone who hadnt seen it? You sound like a moron.

    So Dr. Phil has decided to take it unto himself to ruin this great course and what happens is guys like my hero Howard Stern gets 30 second blurbs of Dr. Phil yelling at people and Howard makes fun of it and guess what, it winds up looking ridiculous and Oprah gets another bag of money and Dr. Phil ends up getting his own show and gets to write a book and sell a bunch of worthless tapes.

    Fuck both of you.

    As lame as I am I will never tell you the ending of a movie, I will never ruin cool things that DURING THE COURSE drill into you how important it is not to ruin the thing, I will never plagarize, and I will never pretend to be someone who i am.

    now excuse me while i return to my job at the fbi and prepare for my lunch with the clippergirl.

    but before i leave this is what i hope: i hope Oprah and Dr. Phil are on the beach one day counting their money and I hope an airplane loses control and needs to make a crash landing and lands right on Oprah and Dr. Phil and their bodies get sucked up in the turbines and for the next 10 minutes it just rains Oprah and Dr. Phil spray all over the white sand.

    wanna know what i want, Dr. Phil? that’s what I want.

    home | Buy your friends t-shirts, for Christmas | buy me a Snoop Deville, for Christmas | email

  2. Tuesday, December 11, 2001

    A little bird told me that No Doubt 

    released their new cd today.

    You know you love Gwen. You know you love Tony.

    You know you love that crazy “Hey Baby” tune.

    Sure all the band members have mansions and famous friends.

    But I promised the little bird that I’d do this.

    So there you have it.

    Show some love to Gwen who looks bettern ever.

    Show some love to Sly and Robbie who produced some of it down in Jamacia, mon.

    Show some love to the drummer who likes to get naked and put lightbulbs in his drums.

  3. People are debating 

    whether they should give the death penalty to John Walker, the 19 year old Californian who faught for the Taliban and was captured.

    I thought this was war.

    I thought we killed people that we didnt like in war.

    Sure it’s a sorta minor-league keystone cops war where we kill more of ourselves than they do, but our President says it’s a war, so it must be one.

    Johnny went over there, learned the language, picked up one of those Russian rifles and aimed at people that were fighting for the American cause.

    If he was a Black guy from Detroit that had done this there wouldnt be any debate. And if he was an Arab-American who was caught we wouldnt even know his name.

    But what kills people is this is a young white kid from a decent part of Northern Cal who probably listened to too much Rage Against the Machine and bought in to that hippy bullshit that’s fostered over in places like Berkeley so he went over to a place where we were dropping bombs and chose to stand under a few of them. and if you ask me, he was on a suicide march anyway so why not give him what he was begging for?

    Take him to ground zero, pull out a huge sword and chop his head off. Isn’t that what you want?

    Johnny hates American oppression so much that he’s willing to die for what he believes in, then we should let him die for what he believes in.

    I mean, I still believe in everything that I did when I was 19. Don’t you? And have no regrets…

  4. howard stern is my favorite tv star. 

    i watch his show on E! at 8pm, 8:30, 11 and 11:30pm. People know that I love Howard and they ask me about his girlfriend Beth (pictured) who he has been with since he divorced his wife about a year ago.

    since Howard has set up a great scam where he has starlets and models and strippers and actresses come up to his studio and get topless and naked for him, everyone speculated that once he finalized his divorce he would take advantage of his fame and wealth and bang as many hot chicks as he could stand.

    what happened surprised lots of people, myself included: he found one hot young girl about half his age and remained true to her. no frolicking, no orgies in the backrooms of strip clubs, no embarrassing flings with loose-lipped bimbettes.

    George Carlin, who i adore, said recently that monogamy is a thing of the past. He said that in the olden days you’d find a nice girl, you’d bring her to your cave, you’d cuddle together to protect yourselves against the elements, you’d stick together and work as a team, you’d make your babies, and you’d die before you hit 30. But Carlin says that because we live so long and we dont have to worry about a partner for basic needs (food shelter water) it’s only logical that we should throw out this ancient concept of monogamy that is mostly based, he says, in guilt-filled religious teachings of centuries gone by.

    i dont know why Howard stuck with the first girl that he got along with, but i know why i dont carouse around as much as i thought i would: it’s dull. once you get over the fact that girls will let you put your hand down their pants, relationships, even sexual ones, need to go beyond more than the frivolous surface for it to remain interesting. the best relationships that i have are with people who ive known for a long time. misunderstandings aren’t taken as seriously, there’s more trust, there’s an unspoken guarantee of more fun in the future.

    Sure, Howard could have a new chick every night, but every night he would have to give them the tour of his penthouse apartment, he’d have to answer the same questions, ask the same questions, figure out what each girl liked and didnt like, remember their names… such a hassle.

    i bring this all up cuz i got the longest bitchout letter ever regarding the fact that this time next month Ashley will have moved to Orange County. the complainer, it appeared, would have preferred it if i would date more girls, act wild, and sow my wild oats than remain friends with the teen princess from Vegas.

    all i have to say is ashley has known me for nearly a year now, we’ve emailed, chatted or talked on the phone almost every damn day. she knows me as well, if not better than a huge majority of my really close friends. and she refuses to allow me to stop being a main part her life. but if it makes you feel any better, i do date other young women. not a ton of girls, just the coolest ones, so chill.

    i dont usually explain myself to belligerent Anonymous emailers, but what the hell, i realize that not everyone has the courage to put their name on something and stand behind it. and it’s Christmas, so fuckface, Merry Christmas, if you have any other questions disguised as judgmental rants based on shit that you dont even know about, my email address is heytony@hotmail.com. The mailbag is going up next week, and im sure you’ll love to see how great your writing looks on my page.

    Speaking of which, I have gotten a Ton of very very very nice letters from readers that I didnt even know existed who have supported me in many ways. To all of you I thank you for the time that it took for you to write, and I appreciate your kind words and your support. Don’t ever think that the negative things that strangers say bothers me, I find it amusing. And dont ever think that your nice notes dont mean a lot to me, they totally do. I will have something special for all of you next week, until then whoever you club over the head and drag back to your cave, I hope you dont get bored of them too quickly. Happy Hannakah!

    home | Buy your friends t-shirts, for Christmas | buy me a Snoop Deville, for Christmas

  5. Monday, December 10, 2001

    i dont like mondays 

    i dont like cold weather. i dont like holidays. i dont like being forced to give people things. i dont like religious holidays that have turned into such an absence of religion that it mirrors the sham that took place last week where a so-called Conceptual Artist put a flickering lightbulb in an empty room and called his art, “Bare Room with a Light that Switches on and off,” and won the coveted Turner Prize in England where not only did he rake in $28k, but Madonna presented him the award.

    So much wrong with all that, but so symbolic it’s frightening.

    The emptiness that we pretend to be substantial is ridiculous, especially on a brisk sunny morning riding a bus.

    when im unimpressed by myself i usually take risks to break out of it. sometimes it’s not all that amazing, sometimes it borders on self-destructive. this morning i chose to take a different route to work which was risky because i was already running late and i didnt know if the route would be quicker or longer and i didnt even know which busses i would have to take.

    took the subway north, got off on hollywood and highland, which looks pretty nice in the morning, maybe better than it does at night cuz it looks less fake and more like a real urban area. caught the 217 Fairfax. lots of working people, more whites than browns. turn down fairfax and all the blue hairs get on. the bus stops at every stop and it becomes apparent that im gonna be late – again – for work.

    nice old lady has been sitting next to me since ive gotten on. i have the window seat and i keep trying to look out the window but she keeps asking me questions.

    im hot in my stupid big jacket. the batteries of my cd player have gone out, but i keep the headphones on to give the old bag a hint. it’s too cramped to pull out my newspaper, and “Tund” is buried beneath my gym clothes and extra socks so im forced to smile pretty and count the moles on this nice Greek lady’s bearded chin.

    the bus pulls over and lets on a handful of people. one of the new riders is a young japanese girl whose hip-hugger jeans catch my eye immediately. my eyes move up and shes got on a thin jevi’s jacket, a cute scarf and the sweetest face. im such a sucker for the asian girls. are those mittens? whoa. i think to myself, there used to be a time when you coulda gotten that girl. you need to get back to that place. you need to be that dude again.

    old lady asks me if im married.

    yes, i have four wives.

    she says, “whats that dear?”

    i say, “i have four wives. i’d have more but my religion forbids it.”

    she says, “what religion is that?”

    i say, “im a Scientologist.”

    miraciously the lady quits talking to me and at the next stop she gets up and moves to an empty seat.

    I see an old man move to sit next to me, but wait, it’s Japanese girl who beats him to it.

    fate is a fucker and we dont usually get along, mostly cuz i dont believe in it, and it appears that the feeling is mutual.

    i dont know if this girl speaks english, i dont know if she’s legal, i dont know if i smell, i curse myself for not shaving or wearing something that is the least bit attractive. i see that shes not reading anything or listening to anything. i have no clues to what to say so of course i say nothing. im tounge-tied. this superhero that we read about on the ever-truthful Internet, in real life is a nervous geeky below average fake with bad clothes and no courage.

    we pass CBS Television City and i try to see if anyone is in line for Price is Right or one of those shows, but no, noone’s. there. today is Hanukkah. it might be the first day, it might be the second day. Fairfax isn’t super dead, but it’s less-crowded than you’d expect. I look at the huge building where I saw Tsar perform on The Late Late Show with Craig Kilborn, the building where I met Jon Stewart and got to see a taping of Politically Incorrect and I’ve always thought that I might be able to do something good there and I have never even tried.

    I thought about how this guy who used to write for my college paper went off and got his masters in journalism and is now covering the NFL for Sports Illustrated and there I was riding the bus. i thought even if this girl fell in love with me, how would i pick her up for our date, where would i take her, what would i wear?!!!

    and then something inside me made me go into my bag, get the huge yellow pen that said eBay on it and then i got my Directv bill and i flipped over the bill and i wrote on it these magic words, “you are so pretty i cant even speak. maybe i’ll do better on the phone.” and then i wrote down 3-2-3 and then i made seven big squares. i didnt even look at her. i just tapped her knee with the pen and i handed her the bill.

    she giggled. thats good. giggling is pretty much always good. infact i cant remember one time when it was bad. still trying to think of one time when it was bad, but cant recall it. so i handed her the pen. she didnt take it. i wrote a 6 in the first box, she said, “4” and then she gave me the rest of the numbers. and then the bus stopped at my stop and i got off and she got off.

    then she went to her next bus stop and i walked four more blocks to my work and i was out of my little rut.

    while i was walking i remembered something that Sonny had said a while back. he said, you should always do one cool thing each day, and if you can do it before noon you are the man. i couldnt wait to tell him i had done mine before nine.

    home | Buy your friends t-shirts, for Christmas | email | buy me a Snoop Deville, for Christmas

  6. Friday, December 7, 2001

    So, sorry I haven’t updated my main page, 

    or my links page in a few days. My mansion has been a wreck and Rosa has been with her famila in Honduras for a few weeks, and then shes flying back for Christmas, and it’s been so cold, so I’m just been going to bed super early cuz I cannot stand my filthy house and these cold nights. But the good news is I feel so rested. The bad news is, my site suffers. Sorry kids.

    Still people feel the need to call me on the phone at all hours including Gwen who said that she read my Blog and was pissed that I didn’t mention her or her backup singers or dancers at the Billboard Awards, all of which was a big thing for she and her band to parade out there.

    I told her I liked all the lesbianic mayhem that she and Pink brought to the stage and asked her if it was a new thing in pop music.

    She said, “gotta compete with Britney somehow.”

    Amen to that sister. Then I told her that Tony looked gay playing that stupid bass keyboard with his real bass pointing straight up like some phallic necklace. So she hung up on me. Which would have been so great, but she called back.

    Problem with all that is I just scored this super– SUUUUUUUUUUUUUPER cool voice anounce Caller ID system that calls out the number of the person who is calling you as the phone rings. Which is a perfect for when you’re sitting on the can and the phone rings or reading in the study with your pipe and you dont wanna get up to see who it is.

    But it’s not so great when you’re trying to sleep cuz not only is the phone ringing like crazy but then you have Gwen’s pre-recorded voice saying, “Hey Baby it’s Me!”

    Sorta drives you a little nuts.

    Magnavox came up with this technology when I was working there back in the day and they refused to give it to anyone else and they refused to make many themselves cuz it was costing like $75 at Target ten years ago when Caller-ID was still so brand new. The company gave me one, which was so great, but I knew my mom would really love it so I gave it to her a few years back and even though I love my mom I was hating the fact that I gave it away, and I always thought it was gonna be easy to replace, but it wasnt. Anyhow, God Bless eBay.

    Gwen called back and finally left a message, poutingly she said, “you could at least write about my little tie.”

    Gwen wore a little tie.

  7. Guns n Roses are playing at the Hard Rock 

    in Vegas this New Years Eve. Pre-sale tickets just went on sale a few minutes ago for a measly $300 a pop. If you dont think that I would have snapped them up if I had the cash, you’re crazy.

    I know Slash isnt there, or Duff or Izzy, and I saw Guns open for the Stones in ’88 and they sucked, but how do you pass up Axl at 2am in Vegas on New Years?

    I’m such a fool when it comes to concerts, it’s like a drug, I swear.

    People talk shit about drugs and I’ve always said that theres way worse things for your emotional and physical well-being than drugs, things like Love. Love will fuck you up, you’ll blow tons of cash over a girl, you’ll get a freaky, you’ll say shit you wouldnt, you’ll lie, some people even kill – and it’s all for that high.

    Right now on Springer I’m looking at two fat women in wedding dresses fighting over a fat man in a tuxedo cuz they both wanna marry him. Now they’re throwing wedding cake at each other. And I’m sure not all of it’s true, but I bet they both do want to marry that big ole dude and they’re willing to make themselves look like fools on tv for it. In all my days seeing druggies on the streets of Frisco or LA or IV, I have never seen wastoids dress up and throw shit at each other, other than the Battle of the Bands in IV but that doesnt count. Those bands deserved to get shit thrown at them. Especially the Long Haired Leaping Gnomes.

    But last weekend when I was renting a car I realized that Driving will make you pretty damn psycho as well. Normally I love mankind and only wish them well, but I was tooting my horn, flipping people off, getting all panicky inside, being pissed off about time, hating the radio – there was very little love going on – and I realized that driving can turn me into what you see when you see people in the wee hours fiending on coke: its ugly.

    I couldnt stop fidgiting, I had mood-swings where I’d be singing one minute and shouting the next. I got thirsty then hungry then I had to pee.

    These things dont happen when you walk to places, or ride your bike. I wish Congress or the Supreme Court would think about these things when they outlaw weed, but will give any buck-toothed kid a driver’s or a wedding license.

    ++++++

    Got lots more emails from people yesterday and today about the emails of the day before. All I have to say is, thanks for the support. Maybe next week I’ll start a mailbag section. When I was a boy, The 19th Hole was one of my favorite parts of Sports Illustrated, and the letters in Hustler basically taught me the facts of life, which might explain a lot.

    But don’t worry, I wont change cuz of a few emails.

    I hope you all have a nice weekend. Karisa recommends Amelie, which sounds nice. But I still haven’t seen Monsters Inc. and I’m about as Joe Sixpack as you can get.

    By the way, Bud Selig: you’re a dirty liar and you will burn in the deepest parts of Hell for lying about baseball, for not helping minorities make it into the Front Offices in MLB, and for not putting Pete Rose into the Hall of Fame. You know you’re fucking up when you making Jesse Ventura look even cooler.

    The love of money is, indeed, the root of all evil. Someone famous said that, I think.

    home

  8. Thursday, December 6, 2001

    I get a lot of mail. 

    Strangely, when I wrote yesterday’s Blog entry I didnt think that I would get the sort of mail that I got. But thank God for tiny suprises.

    Men like you make it impossible to believe in a good world for our future. I hope your girlfriend wakes up and realizes what a chump she has gotten herself involved with.” – sarah****@pacbell.net

    All you have to do is scroll down a little and you can see the entry that they’re all writing about, a simple tale of a young man confused with the good fortune that has come his way. Stuck at a crossroads between dating and commitment, mixed feelings, curiosity and realized dreams that wind up, sadly, unspectacular.

    “I have read your work a few times, my husband loves you, I think you’re a creep. Perhaps if you stopped dating school girls and sluts you’d find time to learn how to write. I have an idea for you why dont you just shut up and read a book, maybe some women authors, maybe the dictionary, your spelling is atrocious.” – green*****@hotmail.com

    Whenever I get an email from a woman, I know I’m in trouble. 9 outta 10 emails that I get from women are negative. 9 out of 10 emails I get from men are super-positive. I wish things were totally reversed, but the best thing that a writer could hope for is to get read. And at least that’s happening.

    “After reading Ken Lane and Matt Welch, I decided to give you a chance since they both have talked about you, God, what a mistake. Did you pay them off or something? You’re nothing like them. You’re nothing that I would ever want to associate with. Why do you hate women so much?” – rhope****@uu.net

    What fascinates me is I bet these very same women watch HBO’s “Sex and the City” and laugh right along as the women on the screen bad-mouth men and portray us in the most negative light possible. I have suffered though a few shows, and they dog a guy for being short, or for not being able to perform correctly in the sack, or for being too nice. They’ve reduced Kyle MacLachlan into a snivveling twit who, of course, has sexual issues so dramatic that he can’t even consumate his marriage to his new bride.

    Not even “The View” is as man-hating as “Sex and the City,” yet all the women love it, and it gets awards and praise and the women are perfect, and guess what: it’s as realistic and believable as an NBA cheerleader coming over to my house for chili!

    “Pig!” – Terri***@yahoo.com

    Terri, and the other women, quit lying. You know you love this page and my site, and me. Nobody “showed” you this page, you read it every damn day, and you can’t get enough. You’re just upset that not every man can be seduced by looks and sexy outfits and makeup and bullshit.

    If you came here from my friends Matt or Ken or Ben or Amy or whoever, go back there: those are educated people who know how to write, and write down interesting things about news and politics and stuff. They’re professional journalists! They’ll be nice to you unless youre a hack journalist. MeanwhiIe I am hoping that if you wrote me a nasty email, you’ll get bit by a dog.

    Last night I had a great time with one of the more spectacular women in all of Hollywood and not only did she make me a sweet vegitarian supper, but afterwards we drank wine and brainstormed how to commit the perfect murder.

    Juanita had been watching “Forensic Detectives” on A&E, and she said that you can’t use your own car, you can’t talk to anyone, you can’t do it near your home, and you must wear gloves. Despite what my critics say, I am a loving man who adores all humanity, including women, but crime has always been of keen interest to me, which is why I loved my time at the Bureau. And murder, the perfect murder, is more of a puzzle to complete, than anything evil – at least in theory, which is, of course, where all sins against mankind should remain.

    I suggested to her that you put your victim in winter coat, bind them with duct tape, but no tape can touch skin, rip open the front of the coat and then stab them with a collection of well-sharpened and solid icicles. Juanita scoffed at the idea, saying that you’d only get two or three good stabs at the body before the ice would melt and then break.

    But i disagreed quietly, arguing that with the correct arsenal this method could prove fatal. And even OJ knows that without the murder weapon, a jury has a very hard time convicting even the most deserving suspects.

    Afterwards, you put the body in a bag full of rocks, rent a sail boat, and dump the bag overboard far offshore to be eaten by the ever-helpful sharks.

    Juanita had her long hair tied up in an almost African-looking way – sorta like that chick from the Fugees. She sipped some wine and sat Indian-style on her comfortable futon couch, body glitter sparkling on her neck. She traced the edge of her wine glass and said so sweetly, “you’ve gotta bash their teeth out before you put them in the bag. The forensic detectives can identify anyone with dental records. Then grind the teeth down to dust.”

    I nearly kissed her.

    So sweet dream, ladies. But please remember, nothing in here is true.

    And although I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you nay-sayers, I do hope you each slip on some ice.

    home | I am really only worth a buck | email | buy me a Snoop Deville, for Christmas

  9. Wednesday, December 5, 2001

    clippergirl came over last night 

    poor kid. the house was a wreck.

    she called during halftime of the game and said she had a hankering for some chili. she’s the only one who likes my chili. tip for anyone who wants to make good chili: don’t be afraid to make it too hot. i also like to have a lot of white rice and saltines.

    you’d think that an average guy like me who has two hours to prepare for an nba cheerleader to arrive for dinner would make a special effort to clean up his bachelor pad, but ashley didnt seem to mind so i figured i’d push my luck. whattya know, she didnt care either. girls never cease to amaze me.

    my chili was real good and everything was fine until clippergirl made a detour after brushing her teeth after our late supper. she came walking out of my room with two medium sized strips of elastic.

    “what, may i ask, are these?”

    “those are bra straps,” i said, and rewound the Blockbuster Music Awards tape that I had been recording.

    if i had been looking at her i would have seen the dirty look she was shooting my way.

    “and who’s are they?” she tapped her little foot on my hardwood floor.

    “you know who’s they are.”

    america is a land of inventions and somehow an underwear maker had created a bra with detachable bra straps so if a girl wants to throw on something strappy or bare her shoulders entirely she can just undo the straps and viola, a strapless bra.

    clippergirl is 21, hot as hell, super smart, fun and likes me. you’d think that that would be enough, that i wouldnt play these dumb games, but if you ask me theyre not dumb. i have a big thing about privacy and i have an even bigger thing about girls who wear a bunch of makeup who think that im gonna stop living my life just cuz i hook up with someone a few times.

    i hit play on the machine and britney spears is dancing in front of the Belagio. clippergirl loves britney. even loves her cover of the Stones’ “Satisfaction”. this keeps her quiet for a while and I must say the water works going on is almost as amazing as the lip syncing, but what’s really amazing is that my dinner guest knows every move in the “live” routine and is performing it right there in my messy living room.

    young boys of the world: i would have rather been alone.

    trust me, i cant believe that either.

    heres the deal, the night before i had fish tacos in brentwood with my old girlfriend rene and just seeing her light blue eyes and rosy cheeks made my heart beat so fast that i couldnt stop kissing her cheek. that is what you need to go for.

    i know that maxim throws skinny girls in skimpy outfits on their covers and sometimes theyre interesting to look at, but you need to go with your heart. chase girls who you can hang out with. chase girls who make you want to kiss them repeatedly. chase girls who make you nervous as hell.

    she pouted as the bra straps laid guilty next to the unopened guacamole and untouched tortilla strips. she sipped her bud light and eventually she gave a big sigh and whispered in my ear, “say, mr. vegas, are you planning on holding at 19 or do you feel lucky?”

    it made me smile. smart girls are pretty damn cool.

    today she wrote me an email telling me it was walt disney’s birthday.

    weirdest thing about clippergirl: we never talk about the clippers.

    home | I am really only worth a buck | wishlist | buy me a Snoop Deville, for Christmas

  10. Tuesday, December 4, 2001

    other people have lives other than herself 

    so of course she calls me up at four in the morning saying that she has made it to Kosovo to entertain the troops.”

    “We’ve got troops in Kosovo?” I asked her.

    She’s all, “yeah, and they’re cute!”

    I go, “what do they look like?”

    She said, “most of them are really well-groomed white guys but theres a few Black guys, but a lot of them look like theyre from Egypt.”

    Mariah went on vacation to Egypt last summer and thinks that any Black guy with a thin moustache is Egyptian. So now i just consider it code.

    She was going on about how the food was real good and it was warmer than she expected and I was sorta dozing back to sleep and then I said, “Hey Mariah are there any cars on the street?”

    She said, “of course, why?”

    I said, “what do the license plates say?”

    She said, “Land of Lincoln.”

    I go, “is it sunny out now or is it dark?”

    She says, “it’s dark but it’s getting light.”

    I said, Mariah, “you’re not in Kosovo with the troops. You’re at a bachelor party in Chicago!”

    She dropped her cell phone and started yelling at people. Then people laughed. Then people got quiet. Then she got back on the phone.

    “Please take care of me, baby.” Mariah said to me.

    I said, “no can do, sweet cheeks, just keep pretending that you’re in Kosovo and ‘entertain’ people and everything will be ok. At least you’re loved.”

    She asked, “why do people want to always make fun of me?”

    I said, “because it’s easy and it’s fun. Just keep smiling. You look good, I’m sure. And if you wanna get back at them, just act out all the parts of Glitter, like you do for me.”

    She ignored me, smartly, then sang in her little deep voice, “they gave me a camoflauge bra and garters.”

    I said, “please shhhh. I’m trying to sleep over here.”

    She said, “thanks for making the E! True Hollywood Story not so nasty.”

    But I had already fallen asleep. While on the phone with Mariah.

    Again.

    home | Get Tsar’s King of the School EP | wishlist | buy me a Snoop Deville, for Christmas