busblog

nothing in here is true

  1. Friday, July 25, 2003

    the problem with spam 

    spamis that i do want a bigger penis.

    i would like to lose weight with Phentermine.

    i would like to buy direct and save hundreds on your auto warranty!

    even though my penis is nice, and i only have about 5 lbs left to lose

    and i dont have a car.

    the problem with spam is that it offers me things that i never thought i wanted, but there it is in my personal email account, there on my beloved home computer, in the nook of my home, and it wants me to click for more information.

    and then they lie to me because their products dont work.

    my penis isnt really going to get any bigger.

    im not going to save hundreds on my auto warranty!

    i clicked an email offer that promised that i could “watch fools in real street fights” and the email was empty.

    what a tease.

    i want to watch fools in real street fights .

    i like the spam that addresses me personally. even though i get a lot of real emails from real people about real thing, i like the spam that says, “Tony, Earn a Paralegal Degree Today!”

    Spam, thank you, i think i could use a paralegal degree TODAY!

    unfortunately i think i confuse the bots that collect my email addresses because on my website i oftentimes encourage people to write to me on various email accounts. ones that are specific to the topic at hand.

    for example i have a link on this blog that allows you to email me at blog@tonypierce.com, that way i know that people are using that link.

    when people paypal my ass they use paypal@tonypierce.com, my kazaa address is kazaa@tonypierce.com. (maybe i should change that one.)

    this creates spam that sometimes says things like “Paypal, Start Saving on Healthcare for You and Your Family” or “blog, Small Blue Pill, BIG Savings!”

    what i dont understand, though, is spam that is emailed to tony@tonypierce.com that says “Tony Pierce, how would you like to have Tony@TonyPierce.com?”

    unlike most people i dont get upset at spam because i read all my mail online now, which i highly recommend because it prevents most email-borne viruses. most.

    currently im using SBC/Yahoo as my email client since they provide my internet access.

    this week they have decided to put all my proper mail and send it to my Junk mail folder.

    meanwhile all the Junk mail that i have “reported” to them as being junk still finds its way easilly into my Inbox.

    because its friday and because i actually scan through all my folders i have found some of the mail that was incorrectly redirected and recovered it.

    but if i havent replied to your email by this Monday please dont have your feelings hurt, it was eaten by the evil. just resend it.

    if you want you can send it to godiloveyou@tonypierce.com

    orby online + brent devries + totally awesome

  2. Thursday, July 24, 2003

    i have nothing to say to you. 

    i hardly ever have anything to say to you. one day i will have something to say to you but today i have nothing.

    walked outside to check out the strawberries and saw that the aliens have carved out another maze in my purple haze field. crazy rascals.

    oh wait, it was paris hilton and lionel richie’s daughter.

    i still have nothing to say. i didnt ride the bus today. i got a ride from rosalita who was going my way. i didnt have anything to say to her either. we rode in silence and listened to howard stern berating his editor for dating a 20 yr old intern.

    howard: how old are you?

    gange: 34.

    howard: why are you dating a teenager?

    gange: shes not a teenager shes twenty.

    bababooey: she just turned twenty, howard.

    howard: shes barely even developed, what are you doing man?

    bababooey: oh, shes developed.

    everyone laughs.

    rosalita turns up the radio and shoots me a dirty look.

    rosalita is 28.

    im older than 34.

    im 109, turning 110 in a few months.

    rosalita wants me as her man and i dont want to be her man and i dont want to be the man of any teenagers neither but she wouldnt believe me if i told her that because some things you cant convince anyone of.

    plus i got nothing to say to her.

    stale silence.

    the worst sort of silence.

    the kind you get from two people who have ripped off each others clothes on several occasions in drunken sinfests and now arent really sure they even know each other let alone like each other.

    and now are stuck in rush hour traffic.

    listening to sit n sleep commercials.

    azarok + the king of all bloggers + a review of the neil young rock opera

  3. paris wants to know why i dont write about her any more. 

    i keep telling you my life isnt easy.

    my biggest problem is that the cigar smoking monkeys who type this blog have been churning out crap lately and cranking the faith no more isnt encouraging them the way it used to.

    so today you’ll have to settle for me.

    hi.

    last night was a weird one.

    someone stopped by my house to give me two presents as “a peace offerring.” I’m not really into people coming over to my house who im not in the best of terms with, but she was cute and she did have the Anna Kournikova maxim, so i accepted the gifts and went back to choking my monkey.

    i mean monkeys.

    i mean, going back to watching big brother four which was a sham, and now im gonna stop watching it.

    then i fell asleep on my couch. too much rum and thai food will do that to you.

    i woke up and might have had a conversation or might have had a dream. its hard to tell.

    if you call me and im mumbling im probably dreaming.

    its probably a good time to ask me all the deep dark questions that are burning in your little hearts.

    i remember a girls voice.

    she told me some things about how i took care of business that made me happy.

    but again, it may have just been a dream. but since i dont dream it may have been real.

    when i get home i’ll check the caller-id.

    i want to shake the hand of the man who invented caller-id.

    or hug the woman who thunk it up.

    this morning i woke up in a pool of my own blood.

    then i realized that really was a dream.

    and woke up again, but this time in my kingsized waterbed which i had thought had sprung a leak.

    but it was just the sprinklers from outside that had shot through my open window.

    ah, spring.

    paris and nicky spotting + another paris and nicky spotting

  4. Wednesday, July 23, 2003

    when im wanting to feel a little gangsta 

    i take off my shirt and put in death certificate and see what theyre saying about me on technorati.

    Jakester:

    Cool.

    Tony Pierce linked to me on his site along with about 5 or 6 other blogging Jasons. I don’t always agree with his politics and I am sure the reverse is true too but I have always really enjoyed his writing – he is one of the top creative writers on the internet in my opinion and I can’t believe those bastards in LA won’t hire him. In fact, I am a proud owner of not one, but TWO of his books. One of these days I will be able to auction one of those on Ebay for a ka-zillion bucks.

    Just heard that a meteorite has hit somewhere around western Washington. Excellent.

    Ok, back to the All-Star game.

    :: 7:58 PM [link]

    rotten little girls plaything:

    A new find.

    “it was my teenage belief that prostitutes knew more about the love-making process and as long as i made sure that they showered first, then they would be the correct teacher to send me on my way into manhood.” Tony Pierce.com

    lynn carrier:

    One last thing, thanks for the love Tony. During the last year I have read everything Tony Pierce has written. He has been such an inspiration and example for me.

    What really excited me isn’t that he is great, he is great too, but what stuck with me is that his writing improved and it didn’t have to because he was great from the git go.

    Check him out. Someday you and I will both say, we knew him when.

    ::: posted by Lynn at [8:12:17 AM Link]

    noah glass:

    7.22.2003

    tonypierce.com + busblog: “as if we’re not all gawkers at a terrible wreck on the highway”, damn, tony pierce’s lies contain so much truth…and for what it is worth, I think that you are insane in such an elegant way.

    11:28 AM

    this means whore:

    Wednesday, July 23, 2003

    tony made me promise that i would write 6 our of every 7 days. so i am doing this before i do anything else! even though i’m stoned and a little tipsy off of the half bottle of red wine i drank earlier with court… :)

    makeout city:

    everything tony writes makes me laff really hahd. honestly. it’s like watching a pauly shore movie, except you’re not laughing because someone paid for it.

  5. had to fight some actual crime today. 

    it put things in perspective.

    made me not be so distracted by things that arent important.

    trivial things.

    things like how long or short my hair is.

    things like how i cant get mtv west coast on my directv.

    things like how i dont have a nice tie to wear to coulter’s wedding on saturday.

    you learn a lot in the xbi, more than you would in any other agency because in this one people are not afraid to shoot and not afriad to kill and life and living and living in the moment is everything.

    every moment is precious.

    even this one.

    sometimes i’ll see someone kill someone or get shot at and i’ll think, that guy put a tupperware lid on his green beans last night.

    and now noones gonna eat those green beans.

    and theyre still perfectly good.

    but i aint eating no dead mans tupperwared green beans i dont care how good they are.

    i see some guys steal dead guys clothes, i think thats not so cool.

    people talk about bad karma. i dont believe in karma.

    i believe in

    fuck, i dont know what i believe in.

    i just want to have a good time and save the world.

    <3 kristin <3

  6. somtimes its tough to keep the busblog positive. 

    sometimes the shit flows downhill and you realize that youre at the bottom of the hill. sometimes you think that your ways arent any better than anybody elses ways and even though you have done your best to treat people with respect and class and gentle behavoir that they’ll still talk about you like youre some belching fratboy who literally does have notches on his bunkbed and he cant remember which one you are.

    and far be it for me to say that the good book teaches us any of this but it does. of course it does.

    even Jesus’s disciples, dudes who dropped what they were doing to follow him let him down on nearly every step of the way: outting him, and not trusting him, and lying about him, and dissing him three times before the cock crowed.

    stories that are important to remember because the underlying theme is: if this will happen to the son of God, your fate is even worse, fuckhead, so dont be so surprised.

    learn from everything is what the good angel says, dont be sexist, dont be racist, dont be religionist, dont be agist. bad angel says are you going to believe that shit? good angel says remember the bus.

    when the bus is full it will blow right past a busstop. fast as it can.

    if you can catch a glimpse of the driver he will give you the hitchhiker thumb which means “the next bus right behind me will get you.”

    theres another bus coming.

    one thats better.

    one thats not as full. one whose a/c isnt blowing like mad just because it *was* hot outside earlier in the day.

    one that doesnt smell of old tacos.

    one that isnt driven by someone who doesnt know how to gently apply the brakes.

    one who calls out the stops in a pleasant manner, and not in grumbles to himself, or not at all.

    one whose passengers are quiet or respectful, who dont gossip and spread lies.

    there’ll be another bus coming

    the wait wont be that long.

    it might feel like its taking forever, and it might actually take a long time

    but its coming.

    hose monster + alecia + kimbalina + noah

  7. Tuesday, July 22, 2003

    behind every great blog, theres a great host. 

    without todays birthday boy, mr oswald rosenkrantz the busblog wouldnt have ever existed.

    and before the busblog there was tonypierce.com and before that there was allstar install.

    and before that there was simply darkness

    and light.

    somewhere in the middle of all that came os.

    fluent in french, czech, and hillbilly the youngest rosenkrantz of the boise rosenkrants, os transferred into uc isla vista after being kicked out of princeton for delivering an oral presentation in a ridiculously high voice.

    as he tells it it was a fine overview in the downfalls of reganomics and its impact on southern californian auto sales and its correlation to the nations ultimate economic downward spiral, but because everyone in the classroom was laughing so hard the professor couldnt hear.

    and eventually he didnt want to hear at all and ordered our man out of the class and damned into new jersey.

    a pool shark, a poker cheat, a left handed stepchild who looks good in any hat, vest, or lampshade.

    hes the crosslegged doodad floating across your conscious always there always aware always near always dear.

    i call him mr. os because he brings the southern gentleman out of you.

    one whose bathtub gin tastes hauntingly different than yours.

    and thats because its from a meticulously manicured still.

    not a spare tub.

    class, bitch. class.

    os is the type of fella who could wear a pink beret at a rodeo and walk out of the rodeo with two pink berets.

    drunk.

    and yet appearing perfectly sober.

    until the cawwing begins.

    happy birthday mr. os.

    only one more year till 100.

    that broken girl + leah + nothing special website hosting

  8. i have a date on friday night. 

    dita i hope she knows it’s a date, cuz im treating it like a date.

    she better think its a date, cuz i want to go on a date with her.

    a real date.

    flowers, wine, movies, ruffies.

    it was all through friendster. i sent her a message. i said, hey let me take you on a date.

    she said, i would really like that.

    i said, great, how about this day, she said, maybe but this day would be better.

    that day was friday, universally known as hot date night.

    and since shes a hot girl and im a… guy, that means she must know that this is a hot date.

    as in dont make any plans with anyone else that night night.

    as in wear something sultry night, cuz i will.

    as in be prepared to get liquored up real good cuz at some point i will be asking to investigate tan lines.

    and unlike the santa monica police force, im a thorough examiner.

    i hope this girl wants it to be a date.

    dates are great.

    if youre reading this hot babe: lets have a date.

    be nice. i’ll be nice.

    first person who isnt nice has to take off their top and kiss me.

    a good kiss too.

    none of that phoney baloney air kisses.

    fuck i hope its a real date.

    sublog + sk smith + vacant

  9. people mistake me for ll cool j all the time. 

    tyler but only when i take off my shirt.

    some hot chick is sending me letter after letter.

    each letter has a square of a picture in it.

    eventually i will have the entire photograph and because im a man im hoping its a wonderful nude.

    although with my luck it will probably be a still life of a fern.

    bus came on time, train came on time. woman had a little kid with her. he started crying and she pantomimed punching him in the face.

    he cooed.

    when i got on the second bus i saw a different woman holding a baby. next to her was a little girl who must have been 6 years old. she was carrying the babies diaper bag.

    the baby was being held in the mommas arms in a sheet. looking freshly stolen.

    no stroller. no clothes bag. no bottle.

    the little girl seemed perfectly fine at 8 in the morning holding the diaper bag getting off the bus and crossing the street with her mom who couldnt hold her hand because she had both hands on the infant.

    get used to it little girl, i wanted to tell her.

    but i dont speak spanish.

    saw her staring at me though through the scratchy plastic bus windown, etched at by gangmembers

    she probably thought i was ll.

    she probably thinks a lot of things.

    i wondered if the real ll cool j had problems that i did.

    new poem + dye winter + inluminent