hi man on the moon

hi tony, hows it going?


republicans got you down?

ever heard of a train, man on the moon?

a choo choo train?

no, a gangbang. when one guy after another has sex with a girl. they call it a train.

oh yeah. a train. i mean, huh?

i feel like i got caught up in a train today.

im sorry, tony. why dont you talk about it, sometimes it helps.


go ahead. i’m all ears.


seriously, it would be my pleasure to help you. you’re always there for us.

bitching about stuff is for bitches.

as an astronaut i can tell you, the planets are all f’ed up. dont take it personally.

got outta work late tonight, walked a mile to the busstop, realized i left my wallet at the office, walked back. turned out it was in the garbage can.

what the hell was it doing there?

who knows?

tony, can i ask you a serious question?

sure, moon man.

are you on drugs?

thats the sad thing. im not. i got pretty drunk last week, but not room-spinning drunk.

no pot, no acid, no coke?

i told you, on halloween those wizards offered me some weed and i said no, ask moxie she was there. i said no.

hugs not drugs?

hugs not drugs.

well tony, shit, you read the bible. you know the story of job.

i aint job.

well, duh, but that doesnt mean that sometimes the good Lord doesnt let the devil at you for an hour or two.

but a whole day?

sure, why not. maybe two days sometimes.



so im supposed to just take it.

uh huh.

and hope it gets better in the morn?

it probably will.

and what if it doesnt?

then suck it up. be a man. what do you want, a shoulder to cry on?


good, now shape up. the kids look up to you.



okay, thanks astronaut guy.

youre welcome tony. get some sleep.

k, night.

jack bogdanski

The New Style

(Diamond, Horovitz, Yauch)

And on the cool check in

Center stage on the mic

And we’re puttin’ it on wax

It’s the new style

Four and three and two and one (What up!)

And when I’m on the mic – the suckers run (Word!)

Down with Adrock and Mike D. and you ain’t

And I got more juice than Picasso got paint

Got rhymes that are rough and rhymes that are slick

I’m not surprised you’re on my dick

B-E-A-S-T-I-E, what up Mike D.

Ah yeah, that’s me

I got franks and pork and beans

Always bust the new routines

I get it – I got it, I know it’s good

The rhymes I write – you wish you would

I’m never in training – my voice is not straining

People always biting and I’m sick of complaining

So I went into the locker room during classes

Bust into your locker and I smashed your glasses

You’re from Secausus – I’m from Manhattan

You’re jealous of me because your girlfriend is cattin’

There it is – kick it!!!

Father to many – married to none

And in case you’re unaware I carry a gun

Stepped into the party – the place was over packed

Saw the kid that dissed my homey and shot him in the back

I had to get a beeper ’cause my phone is tapped

You better keep your mouth shut ’cause I’m fully strapped

I got money in the bank – I can still get high

That’s why your girlfriend thinks that I’m so fly

I’ve got money and juice – twin sisters in my bed

Their father had envy so I shot him in the head

If I played guitar I’d be Jimmy Page

The girlie’s I like are underage (Check it!)

Girls with boyfriends are the kind I like

I’ll steal your honey like I stole your bike

Your father – he’s jealous ’cause I’m making that green

I’ve got the girlie’s numbers from the places I been

that is…

You wanna know why – because I’m

October 31st – that is my date of birth

I got to the party and I did the Smurf

Taxing all females from coast to coast

And when I get my fill I’m chilly most

We rag-tag girlies back at the hotel

And then we all switch places when I ring the bell

I chill at White Castle ’cause it’s the best

But I’m fly at Fat Burger when I’m way out west

K-I-N-G-A-D whammy

All the fly ladies are on my jammy

Went to the prom – wore the fly blue rental

Got six girlies in my Lincoln Continental

Met this girl at the party and she started to flirt

I told her some rhymes and she pulled up her skirt

Spent some bank – I got a high powered jumbo

Rolled up a wooly and I watched Colombo

Let me clear my throat – Kick it over here baby pop

And let all the fly skimmies, feel the beat…drop

Coolin’ on the corner on a hot summer day

Just me, my posse and M.C.A.

A lot of beer – a lot of girls – and a lot of cursing

Twenty-two automatic on my person

Got my hand in my pocket and my finger’s on the trigger

My posse’s gettin’ big – and my posse’s gettin’ bigger

Some voices got treble – some voices got bass

We got the kind of voices that are in your face

Like the bun to the burger – like the burger to the bun

Like the cherry to the apple – to the peach to the plum

I’m the king of the Ave. – and I’m the king of the block

I’m M.C.A. – and I’m the King Adrock

I’m Mike D. – I got all the fly juice

On the checkin’ at the party on the forty deuce

Walking down the block with the fresh fly threads

Beastie Boys fly the biggest heads

sarah’s a hottie

i’ve lived a long time and i cant think of one girl ive met named sarah that wasnt a hottie. this one is 18 or 19, i cant remember, she takes a shot of tequilla right out of the bottle and then a glub of marguirita mix straight out of another bottle, then kisses a boy with lemon on his lips then licks a girl with salt on her belly.

then falls back on the couch and finshes her slice of za.

but hotness and coolness isnt enough to get yourself linked on the busblog, it helps if you can write and you have something to say.

sara is an undergrad at the Michigan State University, magic johnson’s alma matter, the very same school that is in the national spotlight because of some dirty dealings with the football team.

thanks to the hosemonster, i clicked over to my girl to find out the skinny on the spartans and i was blown away by how well she nailed the story but how entertainingly she spun the yarn.

first off, great lede:

Here in East Lansing, we have a saying.

“Go Big or Go Home.”

This philosophy has been perfected by Abbey Smith and this season, our football team took notice.

They knew they sucked from the get-go. They didn’t care. The only people that cared were 70,000 fans filling up the stadium and thousands more watching from tee-vee.

being from the midwest i can tell you first hand that 70,000 people at a college football game isnt bad. ive seen bigger. hell, at illinois state university they got that many kids in the damn band.

she continues by talking about alleged cocaine use on the team:

And I understand how easy it is to get involved and addicted with cocaine. When you’re at all the right parties, you meet all the right people, and you do all the right drugs. It’s free because it’s always free at first and they just want you to feel like this. And you know how good other things feel and you wanna know. So you let them give it you. And then you understand, you do feel like this. But then you feel like that and you know you’re going to die if you don’t feel like this again very, very soon. And then you’re a monster because everything in your life is to try to feel like this again.

now do you see why ive been linking her ass?

this is what we call a keeper.

this is the type of girl who if i was the advisor of the daily nexus i would set up a scholarship fund to throw money at.

you really only need four or five hot babes who can write their asses off at 19 to inspire other smart kids to work at the paper and begin (or continue) a dynasty.

when i was at ucsb we had amy collins, jenny ogar, genevieve field, melissa lallum, jen adams, sandy brilliant, bonnie bills, chris zeigler, matt welch, debbie urlick, stacy teas, my girl jeanine, and many others who are going to kick my ass for not writing down their names who not only busted but looked great doing it, and left most of us dudes in the dust.

whatev. read the rest of her peice here.

go team.

my wrist was sore from typing and i rubbed it while i listened to my publisher take a call

kurdt he chewed on a blueberry muffin. it was 7pm.

century city at night is a beautiful place. if you’re a lawyer. if you have a mercedes waiting for you. if you have a receptionist in pressed pants right outside your door. if you’re on the phone hearing good news. if you’re on the other side of the desk. if your name is larry.

century city at night is a scary place if your name is tony and you’re not sure which bus you should take home.

he hung up the phone, lowered his glasses down his nose and looked at me.

“how many pre-orders did we get.”


“ten? that’s bad.”

i thought to myself that ten was awesome. a hundred bucks plus shipping in my account just cuz i typed some words in a software program promising something that everyone knew didn’t exist yet. ten was incredible.

“the book is going to fail, tony. it’s not even a book if all you have is ten on the first day. deepak chopra had thousands of presales in his first day.”

larry had financed the new age doctor’s self published book way back when.

i considered asking the publisher to show me the web page that deepak used, but i passed. i also passed on signing the papers in front of me.

“don’t be an asshole tony.”

larry wanted to “front” me $1,000 and make a book that actually looked like a book. then he wanted to take that book to a real publisher. then he wanted 30% of whatever i would make out of the busblog book.

i told him he had a blueberry in his tooth.

“nobody makes any money publishing themselves. how many books have you published? i’ve published 30 just this year.”

a diamond sparkled in his earlobe under a tuft of gray hair. he threw around that word like it meant something. i had never read any of the books he talked about. i hadn’t even heard of the authors. plus most of his titles were non fiction. the rest were porn. dull porn. who writes dull porn?

i took a piece of paper from the waste basket.

i wrote: I, Larry S., will give Tony Pierce $1,000. Tony will put my name on the back of the book. Tony will consider this an advertisement. Larry can call himself the publisher of the book that is currently titled “The Busblog Book.” Larry will receive no monetary benefits from this book and there is no agreement currently for any future earnings on this book or any others written by Tony.”

clintonsthen i signed it and i slid it over to him.

he read it and balled it up.

“why do you want to be an asshole?”

i wanted to be an asshole because i couldnt believe i had found myself in this position. i knew better than this.

“you think you’re an artist. you’re not an artist. you know how many artists there are? five. and they’re all broke.”

larry had his opinions about things and he kept his door cracked so the skinny redhead right outside could be impressed with his theories. he spoke past me to her. he treated me like a kid. that part i didn’t mind. i counted how many times he called me an asshole and i tried to get the number up. i would take a shot of rum later for each good one.

we were up to ten.

“nobody in the world would accept this sort of bullshit deal.” he told me.

i wished i had known which import he was driving so i could take the elevator downstairs and let the air out of his tires.

i thought about the redhead. how could i get a date with her. surely she had hit bad times if she worked for this guy for more than a day.

i had seen her there each visit that i made there. sad sad blue eyes. pale skin. she stood when i came in. she remembered that i didn’t drink coffee or tea and always had a water with no lemon with ice waiting for me when i arrived for these meetings of two amateurs salivating over the hundred pages.

“i don’t need your advertising. i don’t even need you, quite frankly. you need me. my brother does your taxes i know exactly how little money you make. you cannot finance this yourself. and if you do it will look shoddy and cheap and you will never find a big time publisher like what i got for deepak.”

i wondered what the woman looked like who got naked for him. everyone has someone who loved them.

i thought about who loved me.

about the people who got naked for me.

about the girls who did stuff and seemed to like doing stuff.

i thought about the times when i was being joe businessman and talking shit and the times when i was being an asshole and how they weren’t that different of characters. but both were not tony. sweet tony. happy tony. happy tony could make magical things happen too.

larry flipped through the manuscript and looked at me and leaned back and said, “you’re not even that great of a writer.”

every single teacher who had ever given me a C minus came to my consciousness.

larry hadn’t realized it but he relaxed me with that comment. i was in familiar territory. suddenly i knew how i would get out of this room.

i know im not a great writer, larry. i said softly.

he chuckled thinking he had broken me. but it was a nervous chuckle.

if i was a great writer i wouldnt be sitting here, i said and reached into the garbage can and picked up the balled up piece of paper from the wastebasket.

i ironed out the big wrinkles from the paper with my flattened hand and i said, this piece of paper alone is worth a thousand dollars because this you can eBay in a few years for a grand. and if you sign it you will get your name on the back of a book that is nothing if not genuine despite being full of lies. and it is good and it is funny and it will sell and it is the first of its kind and it was written before and after 9/11 and somepeople find interest in those sorts of things.

it is a love story and a spy story and a hollywood story and a bachelor story of a guy who rides a bus and gets laid way more than he should. your porn guys wished they had these sorts of plotlines. it’s the best book you’ll ever get your name on and it’s just the beginning. the sequel has already been written and by saying no to this youre saying no to your one shot at art. i am the fifth artist alive. and regardless what your brother thinks he knows, im not broke.

“you are so delusional.”

not an asshole, no drink.

if you had your name on the back of every Catcher in the Rye you’d be on a tropical island right now and not trying to break the balls of the best thing to walk into this office since your receptionist out there.

“we have an agreement, tony.”

we have nothing. i signed nothing. i didn’t even shake your hand.

“we have a verbal agreement.”

says you, a guy with crumbs in your beard and lies on your tongue. your brother cheats the irs and you cheat your wife. we have no agreement and now i’m going to rip up this deal in three seconds if you don’t sign it and i will never come back here again.

i had my pointy finger on the scrap piece of paper.

was it worth a grand?

i do have a kickass autograph.

it was quiet.

red had stopped fake typing in the waiting room.

one, bigshot.

“you are a hardheaded asshole.”

mmmmm rum.

“you have no idea what you’re walking away from. you don’t have to do anything and you will have books with your name on the spine. books you don’t even have to pay for. books you can give your precious friends.”

oh, i’ll pay, all right.

two, fancypants.

“asshole asshole asshole.”

could he read my mind?!

two and a half.

red giggled.


and i yanked the paper away. stood up and ripped it into quarters and then eighths. i wondered if he would tape it together one day and sell it anyhow. doubt it. i woulda. thompson shot a book with a .33 as an autograph, this woulda been ten times cooler. a ripped up pierce “contract” of his first publishing deal? shit.

i took a square of contract and put my number on it.

left larry calling me names. shut the door and handed the young lady nine numbers that would change her life.

thanks for the water, i whispered in her ear.

dior? i asked.

she nodded.

rode the elevator downstairs to the garage.

2KJA012 was scribbled on my hand. larry shouldn’t leave his parking tickets on his shiny redwood desk.

some asshole might spy it and find his car and let the air out of his volvo.

six days left to pre-order the book