busblog

nothing in here is true

  1. Thursday, November 28, 2002

    happy thanksgiving, america 

    i talk about the things im thankful about all the time, so why should today be any different? just know i don’t count my blessings all the time to show off or anything, indeed, most of the times i do it so that the negative parts of my brain take a little break. no matter what you might read in these posts, don’t ever think that im the slightest bit confident of anything. i have the lowest self esteem of all people, which is one reason i fill these pages with lies, because if you knew what my life really was like you’d feel bad for me and i don’t want that.

    ashley was late coming over and i took a little nap cuz i was pooped from waking up so early yesterday to take chris to the airport.

    i awoke to her little gloved hand tapping at the door, and the sweet daisy girl sobbing.

    why doth thou cryeth so, m’lady?

    the roads, my love, they’re so dark and the carriage bounces and the shadows throw shadows and frighten the horses. the bridge was out and we had to traverse across the river and i only had one new dress to wear and i had to take it off so it wouldn’t get wet. and the water was so cold. so i shivered but rode on beneath my new dress for you. and these dark horses tried to overtake us but you’ve trained my team so well and they rode like lightening, fearless, instinctually they knew how to come home to you. but still it terrified me and i cried all the way.

    sweet princess, no.

    and then i couldn’t find any parking!

    parking can be a bitch in modern day hollywoodland especially when the church is having their annual thanksgiving day food drive, and the weather being as mild as it was, so i held her as she sobbed in the drawing room, and whispered nice rhymes and promises and offered up a special goblet of nectar just riped for the season.

    i laid her down on the day bed and collected my hat and gloves and took the carriage and horses into the barn and dried them and fed and watered them as your horses are everything to you and if you don’t take care of them they wont take care of you.

    this was a lesson i learned in management and at all times id take care of those who were there for me.

    i gave each of them an apple right from my hand as i kissed their noses and stroked their hair.

    thank you dynamite.

    thank you hurricane

    thank you pityfuck

    thank you buttercup

    then a sugar cube each and fresh hay and clean buckets followed by blankets and born again coletrane. a love supreme.

    locked the barn and woke the coachman and handed him a new bottle of makers mark and slipped him a small pouch of gold.

    my man.

    he stumbled off to his cottage as i unlocked the back door.

    called pizza hut and got one of those new chicago style deep dish three topping pizzas. second one ive gotten in two days. pepperoni sausage chicken. got a medium one topping regular pan pizza for two ninety nine. pineapple for the sweet girl.

    her hair was still damp as i rubbed my whole face against it.

    from the couch i threw a match across the room and poof a fire in the hearth.

    one drop gasoline, two cups of hay, one duraflame log beneath two whiskey soaked pine logs, and luck.

    christians aren’t supposed to say luck but i cant imagine the good lord using up all of his blessings of the week on me.

    but if He was, thank you so much.

    and also i must thank my man in new jersey and me mate in australia and all the others who wrote in to wish me a happy thanksgiving.

    tonight we ride over to greg and mollis to taste one of coulter’s deep fried turkeys and drink and kiss the baby and sing into the night.

    wish you were here.

    snoop doggy blog

  2. Wednesday, November 27, 2002

    hi anna kournikova tennis star 

    hi tony pierce, bloggy star.

    hi anna kournikova super cute hot babe.

    hi tony pierce totally cute boy.

    do you love me, anna?

    yes, do you love me, tony?

    no.

    no? why not?

    cuz you didnt send me a thanksgiving card.

    who sends thanksgiving cards?

    my mom.

    did you send me a thanksgiving card?

    yep. go to your mailbox and you’ll see it.

    nah. im too busy being sexy.

    i hate you anna.

    aw dont say that.

    you dont love me any more. im gonna have to find a new russian tennis star girlfriend.

    please dont say that, tony. you know im incredibly jealous. and i do love you.

    prove it.

    how can i prove it to you, it’s love.

    tell me.

    i love you.

    show me.

    mwah!

    no, your boobies.

    ta-da.

    and your ass.

    hi.

    and your hey-nanu-now-now.

    whoop-a!

    okay i love you again, anna.

    awe-some!

    shot in the dark

  3. hi bob marley 

    leave me alone, im sleeping.

    people sleep in heaven?

    of course and no one wakes you up.

    but it sounds like i woke you up.

    who said i was in heaven?

    bob marley, of course youre in heaven.

    i am, but you shouldnt assume things.

    so i woke you up or didnt i?

    i was napping.

    do you dream in your naps in heaven.

    yep.

    were you dreaming when i woke you?

    i was already up.

    what were you thinking about?

    i was thinking about how great heaven is. i think about that all the time.

    do you play guitar a lot in heaven?

    yep.

    what song do people request you play?

    well, the lame people request “stairway”

    stairway to heaven?

    yeah.

    ok, that is lame.

    yeah. but this old lady requested “cocaine” yesterday, it was funny. so i played it.

    they have cocaine in heaven?

    of course.

    whats it like?

    i dont know, ive never been a coke man.

    what one thing do you do in heaven, bob, that you never did on earth?

    yoga.

    anything else?

    ding dongs. i never had ding dongs before. i eat a ton of them cuz you dont get cavities here.

    youre the best bob marley.

    no, youre the best, tony

    this is super dumb.

    yeah.

    marc brown kicks ass

  4. spent the night over at chris’s last night 

    and taking the bus over to the wesssside is like visiting your parents over the holidays: everything is clean, smells good, safe.

    we laid in her bed holding hands looking at each others eyes and catching up. we love each other so much you’d think nothing has ever changed, but tons has, all in good ways, mostly on her side. she looks better than ever, she’s successful as hell, her place is gorgeous and can you believe its the first apartment that was hers, all hers?

    its spectacular.

    far different than my hollywood bachelor pad where garbage tumbles down the alleyways and crows caw from the powerlines.

    in santa monica theyve passed a law against the wind, it’s not allowed to howl after 10pm. so sweet.

    we ordered chinese from our favorite place and i went back for thirds i was so happy.

    chris always has some pajama bottoms for me and a tshirt and hugs and hugs and hugs and maybe a kiss on the cheek or on the lips when im not looking but we know whats up, we’re best friends forever, but im still a man so when i catch her in the mirror changing out of her sexy work clothes i cant help but say real loud, “looking real good over there. shake it!”

    and of course she’ll shake it. why not?

    while she watched the gilmore girls i checked my email and then took a hot shower. everything in her place is in place. nothing like when she had to live with me. she has such class, such style. you’d think after five years id pick some of it up, but no.

    she beat my ass at scrabble even though i had the q z and x. fuck!

    she taught me a few new cheater words that id never known about like zee and she laughed.

    i jumped in her bed, which is the softest and most comfortable on planet earth filled with sleepable pillows and i said come in come in and she finished packing for the holidays and then the phone rang and then i passed out within seconds.

    this morning we woke up at 6am, hit the road at 630 and now my sweet exgirlfriend is jetting across the clear skies to her storybook family on the river in oregon, which only means one thing.

    party in santa monica.

    sam adams keg, three bands.

    my single mom life

  5. Tuesday, November 26, 2002

    the young girls write and write and write and i’ll tell you, theres nothing like girls who can write 

    they ask me about things and i’ll tell them whatever they ask.

    they question me about boys and whether they should break up with their boyfriends and i say stay with you man. we’re all the same, really, and in your youth you should figure out how to mend things and compromise, not how to break up.

    they ask me about sexual positions and i check their IDs and i tell them make sure he’s there and you’re there and thats all you need to work on.

    they ask me what its like to be 109 and i tell them its just like being 18 except you’ve seen everything hitchcock ever made.

    sometimes they’ll send me pictures, and thats nice, sometimes they’ll mail me gifts and who doesnt like gifts, but mostly they pay attention to me and i would say thats the best thing in the world for a single man and the worst for a not single man.

    and all of this because of you, blog. wonderfully arranged zeroes and ones laying resident on a box in a server in a cage far away from here.

    thank you zeroes and ones.

    thank you. like the jiggaman said, you could be anywhere in the world tonight, but youre here, and i appreciate that.

    some say this is all a grand experiement in communication. some poo-poo it. some dont even know what to think. the cynics call it the loudest bird call in modern history. i call it a miracle.

    one day my princess will come and i wouldnt be surprised if she came from the pictures and text found on this very blog.

    i just hope shes legal, lives nearby, and knows where i can find a decent paying job so i can buy a car and some clothes, and maybe a tv for the bedroom.

    and hopefully she likes to make out to my favorite rock group, tsar.

    bathtubgirl

  6. Iron Maiden – The Number of the Beast 

    The Number of the Beast

    Captiol Records, 1982

    The Number of the Beast

    (Harris)

    I left alone, my mind was blank,

    I needed time to think, to get the memories from my mind

    What did I see? Can I believe?

    That what I saw that night was real and not just fantasy

    Just what I saw in my old dreams,

    Were they reflections of my warped mind staring back at me

    ‘Cause in my dreams it’s always there,

    The evil face that twists my mind and brings me to despair.

    AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

    Night was black,

    Was no use holding back,

    ‘Cause I just had to see

    Was someone watching me

    In the mist, Dark figures move and twist,

    Was this all for real

    Or some kind of hell

    666 — the number of the beast

    Hell and fire was spawned to be released

    Torches blazed

    And sacred chants were praised,

    As they start to cry

    Hands held to the sky

    In the night,

    The fires burning bright,

    The ritual has begun,

    Satan’s work is done

    666 — the number of the beast

    Sacrifice is going on tonight

    (2:46-Solo: Dave Murray)

    (3:15-Solo: Adrian Smith)

    This can’t go on,

    I must inform the law,

    Can this still be real

    Or some crazy dream?

    But I feel drawn toward the evil chanting hordes,

    Seem to mesmerize me, can’t avoid their eyes

    666, the number of the beast

    666, the one for you and me

    I’m coming back, I will return,

    And I’ll possess your body and I’ll make you burn

    I have the fire, I have the force,

    I have the power to make my evil take it’s course

    soundbitten

  7. tony pierce 

    tiger woods?

    thats right, bitch, large and in charge, signing my name for whitey in hawaii. how you livin’ g?

    this isnt tiger woods.

    sho nuff m’ schnizzle. who else it’d be?

    “who else it’d be?” tiger woods doesnt speak ebonics.

    i know i know. im sorry tony, i thought you’d like it better if i “kept it real.” you dont talk about me much and im dying for your attention.

    so you figured you’d try to speak in ebonics?

    well, i see that you print the lyrics of missy elliott and eminem and nelly and nwa, and i figured that was one of the only ways that i could make it on your page.

    wrong again, stanford grad. in fact the best way to get your swill mug on the bus blog is to be requested by a loyal reader. i forget who always asks for you, but when she does she asks nicely and often.

    word up!

    i dont know tiger, in theory i should really love you and get behind you but theres something about you that rubs me the wrong way.

    is it my asian mom?

    no. i think shes sweet. i like it that she takes pictures of you with a thirty dollar 35mm camera even though any one of the dozens of pro photographers would just give her a picture.

    is it my crazy pops? he so crazy.

    nope. hell, seeing how much money you make, your dad is the smartest man in america.

    yeah i get by…. making those ends.

    get by? dude, you played in a total bs non pga event last weekend in japan and let the homeboy win, you placed a pathetic 8th and you still got a check written out to you for $49,673.

    who told you that?

    xbi, bizitch.

    i keep forgetting.

    and tigerwoods.com

    d’oh. i mean, shit, bitch, why those negroes gotta be all up in my business like that. exposing a player for just living as he should: pimped out, and stylin, yo.

    whatever tiger. $50k for a weekend is pocket change for you. you havent had that bad of a payday since the british open in july when you tied for 21st and only made $37,925.

    damn g, why you gotta bring that shit up?

    because i work my ass off and i wont make $37,925 this entire year!

    nice buzzkill, tony.

    f you.

    jealous or something? no one said you couldnt pick up a golf club when you were a kid and get on merv griffin.

    tiger, whatever. i dont care. im happy for you. if it wasnt you raking it all in, it would be some fratboy from texas. its all good.

    one love, my homie. ungh.

    for kicks though, how has your year been?

    decent, i won bay hill got $720k; won the masters three weeks later, mil; won the us open; mil; then the buick open; half mil; then won the american express; another mil.

    so about 4-5 millin in winnings this year?

    more like 7-8.

    still doing that swedish babe?

    which one? huh, yeah player, yeah!

    holy shit, tiger, is that fuzzy zoeller?

    where? where tony? hey where did you go tony? hey. hmmm. wait a plum second! wheres my wallet!!!!?

    kate sullivan

  8. mariah knows that im her number one fan 

    and she writes me the sweetest little postcards from where ever shes at, and she insinuates the things that go through her mind when shes engrossed with her rabbit pearl, and how she likes to read the busblog and how she wishes i would write dirtier stories, tales of love gone wrong and then how it’s righted, and how it ends happilly ever after.

    mariah gets mad when i talk of christina and anna and this one and that one when she knows this whole big ball of wax started with a lust affair over the girl who everyone wishes they could sing like.

    sometimes she’ll call me from the road where she had just done some bellboy or hot waiter or local dancer who thought he was a stud and she’ll send him on their way when shes done with them and she’ll say i thought of you the whole time.

    and i say, mariah!

    and she’ll sing, what a girl wants, what a girl needs, whatever makes me happy…

    mariah can be super funny sometimes, i love that about her.

    and she can be so sweet.

    she asked me if i could tell everyone that she’s got a new cd coming out next month and i was all, uh baby, arent you going to have a million dollar marketing campagin?

    and she said, yeah, but no one really reaches people like you.

    so since flattery totally works on me, here goes:

    party people of the world, lend me your beers. my girl mariah is about to unleash a new record. dont call it a comeback. its a Charmbracelet. yes, i know its dumb, but its my girl and i lust her. so maybe theres someone in your life who might want it, like me, so make sure you get it before she gets booted from this record label too.

    if anything mariah cds are fun to make out to.

    one night we were kissing and she said, who’s on your list?

    i said, you, christina a., anna, the dallas cowboy cheerleaders, and drew barrymore.

    she said, i cant be on your list, we’ve, well, im disqualified. i already gave it to you.

    i said, you will always be on my list.

    right at the top.

    my list

  9. today is my sister’s 25th birthday 

    trust me when i tell you that it’s not easy being my little sister.

    throughout the years i did things like chase her around with knives, i threw her keys on the roof of the house, i vandalized her posters and magazines, i may have killed one of her dogs, hid a variety of things, listened in on a few conversations of her talking to her friends to find out if they had crushes on me, and continually lobbied to my mother that she was being far too generous with her. normal brother stuff.

    but the worst thing i did was get born. and worse, i did it a year before she did.

    i steamrolled through elementary school, junior high, and high school like a tornado. every teacher, student, and principal knew my name and either totally hated my ass or fell in love. and because we didn’t look very much alike, people would constantly say, “you’re tony’s sister?”

    what little kid wants to be known as somebody’s sister? especially when she was an angel and i was far from that. look at that body language!

    angie and i could not be more different. i was super good at sports and terrible at getting good grades, my sister was an honor roll student and a cheerleader. because of that there were a lot of clashes within the pierce household, and when my mom got a stereo the common war zone was the living room and the soundtrack was ac/dc’s back in black, which angie got for a gift and which i instantly purloined and cranked as loudly as possible every day for many years while she practiced her flute.

    if there was a career in how to torture your sister i would be a zillionaire. i believe there were incidents of locking her into basements, closets, neighbors houses, cop cars. i remember certain moments where fellas would come over to court her and i told them they were at the wrong house. and of course there were the firefights.

    and yet my sister stuck by me. probably because i never narced on her during some of the many stealth parties that she threw when my mom was out of town. and i was always there to protect her in the shadows of school, like any brother. not that she needed my protection, there was very little that anyone could have done to torture her that she didn’t experience in the safety of her own home.

    years later my sister met the man of her dreams. and the funny thing was, i liked him right away. dave is mild mannered, smart, patient and still calls my mom mrs. pierce. thats respect. they bought a huge house. filled it with all the animals that angie loves, comfy couches, pretty much everything that she had in the barbie dreamhouse that i turned x-rated and then lit on fire but now it was full-sized and wonderful.

    so what has my sister done lately? no offense to my friends with kids, but she and dave brought to the world the cutest little girl in the world. kyla joanne. when we were in aruba this summer, kyla never cried. it was amazing. i dont know what they put in her bottle but all that little girl ever did was look at you and smile and point at you and hold your finger and laugh. if she closed her eyes and started to get irritated, my sister and my brother in law knew exactly what to do. it was crazy. full on esp. they should write a book.

    so heres to my sister, bears fan, bulls fan, cubs fan, def lepard fan. her first concert, with me, was the jackson five, but then i think her second one was rick springfield at great america. if i was a good brother and ever called her, id know.

    happy 25th angie. i love you so very much. i love that you call mom “mother”, i love that you still live in the silly suburb that we grew up in. i love that you are your own person and nothing like me and a much better soul. and i love that you are my sister.

    kyla’s first day

  10. Monday, November 25, 2002

    email exchange number two 

    from: birthday girl

    to: me

    subj: when was the first time you got high?

    hey tony!!!

    we luv you and we wanted to tell you!!!

    hey when was the first time you smked pot???

    me and my sister wanna know.

    to: birthday girl

    from: me

    re: when was the first time you got high?

    hi girls,

    congrats turning 21.

    ive never done anything illegal in my life and dont plan to.

    sorry gals, straightedge!

    tony

    from: birthday girl

    to: me

    re: re: when was the first time you got high?

    ok, well, ive done lots of illegal things. but here are some of the more tame ones.

    the first time i ever smoked pot.

    my friend wendy and i were 17 and we went out with two of our ‘friends’- chris and muggsy.

    chris was the rich boy in school whose father drove a porsche and the previously unseen cadillac alante. for some reason, chris drove a lame station wagon. even my car was cooler!

    well the 4 of us decided to go the traintracks down by the river, otherwise known as ‘love rock’. all of the keg spots in houston had dumb names like that- love rock,

    low rock, the field, the horseshoe, the cabin, y-camp. go figure. (the cabin, btw, is the place responsible for my first stiches ever!)

    so we went to love rock. and they informed us they had pot.

    now being that i hated my dad and previously did not smoke pot in protest of his habit, i usually would say no. but i was feeling weird and inspired by my recent research into sylvia plath’s descent into the bell jar, and i said ‘what the hell?’.

    but we didn’t have anything to smoke out of.

    thus comes my first experience of smoking pot…out of a bud light can. improvisation in its finest form. we used my hair clip to poke holes in the side, threw on some pot and lit it up.

    they say you don’t get high your first time. considering i was most-like conceived, incubated and raised on pot fumes, i was high as a kite. as was wendy.

    the first time i really got drunk-in the eighth grade- on cisco no less- i didn’t know how to act. so i thought i should just pretend to be passed out and let boys drag me around the grass. so with pot- it was the same thing. i didn’t know how to act- so i let chris kiss me. in the car. 20 minutes later i kissed muggsy.

    and no, i didn’t kiss wendy.

    but then it was over. and i wasn’t high anymore and i didn’t like either of the boys. so wendy and i made them take us home.

    i still don’t like either of them. chris recently got into a fight at my brother’s bar and got his front teeth knocked out. he is suing the bar b/c he says they didn’t do anything to stop it. muggsy is a city councilor. i didn’t vote for him.

    it was quite a memorable experience.

    that’s my ‘virgin-pot’ story.

    maybe i can de-virginize you one day

    ;)

    two hotter sisters