1. Wednesday, June 18, 2003

    while tony is on holiday, enjoy this selection from the busblog archives 

    Saturday, June 22, 2002

    dawn is taking a poll on what fantasy she should write for the busblog, and more than a few women writers have asked me for an example as to what im looking for, but fortunately a decent submission was sent in this morning by ms. svensa swenson of eu claire, wisconsin:

    pizza boy came home from a hard day of delivering pies.

    his teen exgirlfriend was busy doing teen things,

    his busty other exgirlfriend was drinking with her coworkers on the wesssssside,

    his cuban lust affair was through with him, the nba cheerleaders were in maui recovering from the grueling season, so he figured he’d immediately change into his pajamas, turn off the phone, sip rum and watch hbo.

    david spade’s “joe dirt” was scheduled to be broadcast.

    as the microwave bell tinged that his frozen burrito was warmed, he heard a familiar knock at the back door.

    a curvey tanned girl in her early twenties waved at the backdoor cam.

    big smiles.

    he opened the door, she came in, he didnt hug her she didnt hug him but in minutes they were on the couch

    going at it.

    just like they should.

    pizza boy might not have been blessed with good looks, rich uncles or funky dance moves.

    but he had been born with an uncanny memory of city streets and addresses

    and an equally creepy way around a young woman’s body.

    creepy good.

    she didnt seem to mind that he was in his red flannel pajamas, that the ball game was on the tv, that porn was streaming on the computer, or that he didnt offer her any of the steaming hot chicken nuggets.

    she didnt even notice the thirteen tiny sauce bowls on the coffee table with variety of dipping choices.

    there was hot mustard, bleu cheese, ranch, salsa, hot sauce, bbq sauce, mc donalds sweet and sour, hunt’s catsup, soy sauce, zancau garlic paste, honey, lemon pepper, hummus, and what nugget isnt tastier than with a dab of ecstacy.

    which our writhing guest was obviously in the throws of.


    hot fudge was ready.

    now this was a girl who hated body hair in the same way pizza boys hated rodents.

    she had beautifully long hair hair, perfectly plucked eyebrow hair and three curls that our hero was up to his eyebrows in.

    thanks to the internet, pizza boy had every great song ever recorded ever

    stored in his sixty gigabyte hardrive which was connected to his only real extravagance, a two hundred watt mcintosh thx dolby home theatre whose speaker wires crept through all the walls of the small apartment including the far south wall where a pair of descretely placed infinity speakers hung beside the futon mattress of his hollywood crash pad.

    she backed away and started doing things to him that will never be shown on national television

    and he wondered why

    he looked outside, it was the first night of summer, and he thought about all the things that he’d seen on national tv like death, lies, wars, tragedies, and wondered if he would ever see a young man and a young woman seriously get it on to a point where clothes were ripped off and clothes were pushed aside, and sounds were made, unmistakeable sounds, and both people were beautiful and said beautiful things to each other

    and then


    hard and fast.

    pizza boy knew he was the luckiest man in the world. he’d just gone to an astrologer who said that there was a good luck convention going on in his house. the astrologer said go to vegas, play every game there, play the lottery, smile at every hot babe you see and watch them All smile back.

    and again the microwave tinged.

    the girl returned with a second dish of hot fudge.

    being that pizza boy was handcuffed

    and gagged, he had a pretty good idea about what was going to happen next.

    but as always, he was wrong

    for, hark, what’s this?

    is that a knock at his front door?

    only the mail man knocks at that door and it was now nearly midnight.

    the girl gave the steaming fudge another stir and hopped up and skipped to the door, a blur of white cotton panties, little tennis socks with the fuzzy ball above the heel,


    she came back holding the hand of her miniskirted

    highheeled best friend

    who’d always wanted to meet the world greatest

    pizza boy,

    who couldnt take his eyes

    off of her glittered

    black leathered


    until her twin sister slammed the door, stormed through the apartment

    clomping over the hardwood

    with her cowgirl boots,

    crashed past the two x’ing girls,

    and ripped off his whippedcream covered

    strawberry stained leather gag.