busblog

nothing in here is true

  1. Sunday, December 28, 2003

    me and clippergirl spent all night catching up. 

    its now 551am. im worn out. my cheeks are sore from smiling, and my head is sleepy from drinking.

    we drank and we asked each other why drinking is accepted in proper society.

    we drank and we agreed that a man or woman who can drink a lot is held in high regard. we toasted after reaching that agreement and dranks some more.

    we told each other that if we kept drinking we would find each other more attractive than we knew the other was

    and i thanked yahweh.

    we wondered aloud why our hippie friends , in some circles would be looked down upon by their illegal intake of intoxicants, but then she reminded me that most of them could also drink, and we remembered why they were our friends.

    as a graduate of uc isla vista im ashamed to admit that i dont think i drink enough.

    ive lived in ken laynes former home for, what, three years now, and i havent had a keg in my front lawn even once.

    i promised her that there would be a keg in my front lawn at least once in ’04.

    i always forget how good people look and i always forget how much i like them. i like clipper girl because everything for her is about twiceasmuch. one kiss turns into two. one movie turns into a lets-slip-into-that-one. visiting one girlfriend of hers turns into visiting two superhot girlfriends of hers.

    and having a body shot or two ends up having ten.

    and beers.

    and pizzas.

    and an impromptu pie eating contest.

    somehow it was discovered that i had two perfectly good apple pies in my kitchen.

    she was all, wtf you doing with two apple pies in your kitchen?

    i was all, nothin.

    so she went, how old are these?

    which unfortunately is a good question in my house.

    i was all, new.

    one pie was untouched, a gift from my maid who left it behind after she cleaned and scrubbed my home. on a papertowel she wrote, merry christmas tony, connie.

    the other pie was three quarters of the christmas pie that karisa and i barely touched after we feasted on spiral ham at her place.

    connie the maid left a traditional apple pie.

    the karisa christmas pie was a dutch apple from the house of pies.

    clippergirl clacked her high heels over to the fridge, pulled out a half gallon of whole milk and told me she loved me.

    i told her id love her back if she’d grab that big ass baileys jug behind the cream cheese.

    six nineteen i dont wanna go to sleep. i just want to ride this nice little good thing for just a little bit longer cuz if i go to sleep then i wake up and if i wake up i hafta do all these things

    we drank and didnt feel so cold. its fourty eight degrees in southern california tonight which is fucked up let me tell you.

    and even though it was cool that she split so i could write

    its gonna be freezing in there alone.

    at sixtwentyseven in the mornin

    who won the pie eating contest?

    some games, friends, have no losers.

    chokey chicken + christina marie + american black

  2. Saturday, December 27, 2003

    when warhol was asked what he thought of critics 

    he said they were right.

    same could be said of some of mine. i can at times be quite assholish. and fuck them for bringing it up.

    but maybe my worst trait is how many people there are who i wouldnt cry over if they died.

    near the top of the list is mr. george steinbrenner (pictured) who on one hand cares enough about his team that he will pay any amount of money to go after the players that he wants, but on the other hand continues to ruin baseball.

    yes hes a colorful personality and a legend and his own man, etc etc. but hes also a cock and a buffoon and a know nothing and a blowhard.

    but worse than all of that, hes not only a yankee, hes king yankee.

    and i fucking hate the fucking yankees.

    i hope george choked on some blowfish as he was trying to woo the newest asian import, i hope it got caught in that turkey neck and strangled him.

    i hope his head got all purple and his nose got big and the veins in his fat head turned green and throbbed.

    i hope the only thing he could do was sign language the only thing he ever learned how to sign language

    moe, larry, the cheese.

    fuck reggie jackson fuck don gullet fuck donnie baseball fuck ron guidry.

    much love to thurman munson and billy martin and yogi berra

    but fuck dave winfield and steve sax and jose posada.

    love for mickey rivers

    hate for mickey mantle

    the babe is cracking his knuckles at the knuckleheaded way youve done things in his house.

    when you die they’ll say lots of nice things

    cuz youre dead

    but they lie

    just die

    just die.

    blair + life rants + joz

  3. i think i could get used to these four day weekends. 

    i wonder what life would be like if i truly lived my life. does the lord want me to live a regular life or live a crazyass life. i suppose if he wanted the latter he woulda let me win the lottery a few times, or get hit by a porsche. im watching lolita.

    i just bought a bunch of stuff off ebay. i dont know why im suddenly buying things. i hardly ever buy anything. me and karisa drove past that trans am again that seems to still be for sale. she says its the perfect car for me. did i tell you i had a lovely christmas dinner with her? i did. it was pouring down rain like a bitch and she lives in the hills and the rain came down and then you could see light brown streaming down and that was the mountains, i had to run to sav-on to get some butter and ice cream. a young man sat under the awning spare changing, i gave him a buck, shoulda gaven him ten, he said god bless and then as i walked in the cold rain with no hat on my plastic bag broke and my gallon of water bounced a few times and then rolled and rolled but i got it.

    people were in there shopping. it was christmas at three pm. the peak of christmas. a young mexican girl rang me up. i asked her if she was getting paid extra for working that day and she said no. i told her that her boss probably appreciates it, and that i totally did. and she sniffled and smiled. she had the sniffles. i forget her name.

    guys were getting twelve packs everywhere.

    me and karisa drank a few beers, ate, drank a few more and then got really sleepy.

    i began farting.

    the cats didnt mind, the tv didnt mind. even though i had slept so much the day before i was still super sleepy thanks to the ham and the collards and the potatoes and the bread.

    if we had had a movie id have fallen to sleep on it.

    instead the rain stopped and i left early, drove home, and i laid down on the couch and i woke up at three and went to my bed like a hibernating bear. flicked on the electric blanket and said my christmas prayers into my pillow.

    my favorite part in the hobbit is when they eat like pigs and then sleep and sleep and sleep.

    my mom got me a dvd burner for my computer for christmas.

    thanks mom!

    dougie gyro + 21mm + new empire lounge

  4. My blog crush is 

    Allison.

    I want to be Steph for a day.

    I want to have dinner with Mindy.

    I want to go shopping with Kristin.

    I want to have a long conversation with Bunnie.

    I would like to go camping with Tiffany.

    I would trust my secrets with Alecia.

    I would take love advice from Welch, Rabbit, and Greg Vaine.

    I wish I could write like sk smith.

    Jenny should write more.

    I would drink with sutter, ev, jason g, kimbalina, and eric case

    Raymi should update more.

    Moxie should put up more pictures… of herself.

    mc brown is living a dream.

    My blog hero is Nay.

    Anti probably gets laid a lot.

    I want to help the Cubs with their problems.

    I would let Flagrant write on my blog.

    i would let Raspil redesign my blog.

    I miss Meesh‘s blog.

    I should read D Lo‘s blog more.

    i ripped this off of Pam

  5. Friday, December 26, 2003

    kid rock called. 

    he wanted to know why i didnt put him on the list. i told him i did put him on the list. he said oh.

    then he asked if he was above or below saddam.

    i said, saddam who.

    went to best buy and target and frys electronics today to cash in on the after christmas sales.

    best buy didnt have very good sales but had totally long lines to check out.

    i was going to get that stones dvd. four concerts for thirty bucks.

    one of the shows i believe was at that wiltern theatre here in koreatown, just south of hollywood.

    their preparty was at the conga room down the street.

    xbi was there.

    didnt get anything at best buy, went to frys and got a CyberHome recordable dvd player for my tivo.

    i also got a $29 dvd player.

    and a Holmes space heater to replace the one miss montreal talked me into settling for.

    there was this spindle of 100 recordable dvds that was marked at $19.99.

    i was pretty sure it was mismarked, but you never know. the lady at the cash register must have been 97 years old but she knew it wasnt the right price.

    then i went to target and filled up my cart for a hundred bucks. they had christmas colored m&ms, 14oz, for a buck twenty.

    i also bought a bunch of water cuz im gonna drink a lot of water in 2004.

    kid rock called back and wanted to know if he was ranked higher than snoop dogg and i said no because snoop might have made the prettiest song of the year and he had doggie fizzle televizzle which you must admit was pretty good.

    kid agreed, then gently hung up.

    blank baby + virginia sent me a lovely christmas card + the mollusk

  6. “this post makes you look like a total asshole. 

    >It totally sucks. Your writing has never been so irrelevant.” – Bill

    if i cared what i looked like id spell check. id fact check. id write at night instead of during my government-mandated fifteen minute breaks. id use three dollar words like the edjumacated. id trade in my bus pass for a leased beemer. id wear abecrombie. id cut my hair. id dumb down and play fair. id simply talk about jesus. i wouldnt tear your shit up to peices.

    if i cared what i looked like i wouldnt blog, id just write books. a guy can write a horrible book but he could at least call himself an author, not even pro assholes like your boy drudge wants to be called a blogger.

    but i do cuz i am.

    i am what i am. fuck what i look like. asshole. and at 110 years old im ok with who i am, a totally sucky irrelevant asshat collector who probably kicks your tail at everything.

    justin timberlakes fingers smell of britney spears and cameron diaz. right there he wins. he went on tour with his dumb little songs, trying to be black, trying to not be a boybander, and trying not to get hard every time he thought of how much money he and christina agueleria were making each night dirty dancing for the kids.

    if in your world that doesnt rate, your world is gay.

    what can i say.

    hugh hefner is 77 years old. his groundbreaking magazine this year turned 50 years old.

    he has six girlfriends.

    he has the coolest and best house in la, and it might be the best in world.

    inspite of how he gained his wealth, he is considered by most as one of the most envied and classiest men who ever lived.

    bro deserves his props, and if not on the 50th anniversary of his magazines birth, then when?

    then when?

    bill you might know how to form a sentence, but it takes a little more than that to enjoy the busblog. you have to approach it like i do, with an open mind.

    you have to begin by thinking that there are probably lots of different ways for young people to pay for college other than joining the military.

    and why are you so in favor of soldiers who are only there because they couldnt figure out better ways to pay for college?

    excuse me for wanting a military of people who actually want to be in the military!

    i had no scholarships, little parental financial help, and i didnt have to join the army to pay for seven years of college. i did things like have jobs, i got financial aid, and i got student loans.

    and, like many people i know, it was no big deal.

    if others feel like they couldnt get any other job other than joining the armed forces, i am proof that they are probably mistaken.

    and im black.

    during college i sold records at a record store, i sold computers and tv at an electronics store, i pumped gas, i was an ice cream man, i worked at mcdonalds, i worked in the school cafeteria, i worked at the arts and lectures events as an usher and a cashier, i wrote on the newspaper, i delivered donuts, i painted apartments, and i washed dishes.

    i was never rich, but i always had enough for food, rent and school books, and i learned a great deal about financial responsibility and taking care of myself. all very normal experiences for most college students.

    far be it from me for ever judging anyone with how they choose to pay for higher education, but i refuse to let slide this terribly weak arguement that the military is the only way some can pay for college.

    i submit that they could find far less dangerous and higher paying jobs.

    will those jobs be more rewarding, and more valuable to the country and ultimately the world? thats not the debate here.

    but in my entire life, getting paid to write for the college paper was the best job i ever had.

    perhaps, in part, because everyone there really wanted to be there.

    meanwhile i agree with malatemail that gov. arnold also should have been seriously considered. the old lug.

    sk smith writes ten times better than i + instapundit posts a picture of the madpony girls

  7. Thursday, December 25, 2003
  8. Wednesday, December 24, 2003

    so much has happened in the last 24 hours 

    that i dont even know where to start. so i wil do this. i wont talk about any of it.

    its sunny today in hollywood. this is the first time ive had a chance to write to you since yesterday morning and all i can think about is the weather?

    i know it’s the eve of my messiahs birth and its not thanksgiving, but i want to tell you all how thankful i am to have this blog, and to have each of you as my readers. it is a tremendous relationship and i am very grateful.

    i realize that there are a lot of other places on the web that you could have clicked on, so i appreciate it every time you come here.

    last night a hot girl came over. we were both sleepy so we just hung out on the couch and watched the lakers on tivo. little did i know that my home computer was crashing. i didnt care. still dont.

    she felt good in my arms. we were spooning. soon i was snoring in her ear. its been a tough year at the xbi and next year i want a new gig, but last night i was just happy not to be alone. i was glad i had a full belly, and an empty beer glass and someone nice to get naked with.

    some people dont have any of those things.

    id just gotten her a nice book at Wacko for christmas.

    i got her the little known sex book called The Guide To Getting It On, which is pretty highly rated over there at amazon.

    all i know is it had funny pictures and it was close to 700 pages.

    i also got karisa a pretty cool book too but i havent given it to her yet so i cant tell you what it is.

    have i wished you a merry christmas yet?

    merry christmas, blogosphere.

    aint no bad dude + i wish her blog came with footnotes + adrants

  9. Monday, December 22, 2003

    fuck you, time magazine. 

    do i look like a fucking bitch? do i?

    even if i do, do you have to treat me like a fucking bitch?

    i love our troops as much as the next guy, but fuck you with this shallow insincere pandering rah rah yellow-ribbon god bless ameribullshit.

    other than getting sent to war, seriously, what did the troops do that was all that amazing?

    is it sacrilege to say that? no it isn’t. they did their fucking jobs. just like school teachers and firemen and cops and bloggers. and if you don’t think that each of those gigs means taking your life in your hands try writing a post like this one.

    i have no problem with our troops. i don’t blame them for taking nine months to find saddam in his little dirt hole. i don’t blame them for being human pawns in a third grade political play.

    i don’t even blame them for telling that one abc reporter that they were sick of the war back in june and they wanted to go home.

    because i love them and respect them and support them, i want them to go home too.

    but they weren’t the person of the year.

    you don’t get to be person of the year when justin timberlake has a better year than you.

    you don’t get to be person of the year when pudge rodriguez has a better year than you.

    and you damn sure don’t get to be person of the year when hugh hefner is not only still kickin, but doing so with six girlfriends (still!), and a groundbreaking magazine that turned fifty.

    this year.

    a magazine that kicks the shit out of yours, time magazine, suck up, teachers pet, bullshitter, edge loser, money launderer, and sellout of the year.

    fucking rush limbaugh had a better year than our troops this year but you’re too chicken shit to say so.

    i fucking hate rush but i’ll say it.

    dumb fat son of a bitch fucking got accused of popping thousands of pain killers, got accused of being in the middle of a floridian drug ring, got accused of frauding the banks, got accused of having four doctors so he could quadruple his prescription pill intake, and all he ended up doing was five weeks in rehab where he got to do his second favorite thing next to gargling with oxycontin: talking about himself.

    he didn’t lose his lucrative and powerful job, he somehow avoided the wrath of being exposed as americas biggest hypocrite, and he (so far) hasn’t had to spend even an hour in a jail cell.

    there have been no arrest warrants, no mug shots, no jet rides to an awaiting Expedition to the county clink for fingerprinting.

    right before our eyes rush limbaugh has gotten away with doing what more than 60 per cent of american men in jail are serving time for: drug related crimes.

    and you know what time magazine, as much as your chin still has remnants of rushs dna, even he doesn’t deserve the person of the year this year, and one final time, no offense to our brave men and women in uniform who have the worst fucking job in the world as they freeze tonight in the godforsaken deserts of iraq, mere target practice for any motherfuckin punk motherfucker who wants to take pot shots at america, but they’re not the person of the year either.

    your pal osama bin laden is person of the year

    and you fucking know it.

    the terrorists have won. and you told us he was terrorist number one, and the president told us, and the vice president told us, as did colin and donald and candy and everyone.

    and im sorry if i look at the scoreboard and on one side i see the fucking terror alert at nearly the top of the scale, airports not allowing me to kiss a cheerleader goodbye at the gate any more, and her not allowed to pack a fucking nail file in her coach bag.

    and on the other side i don’t see osama getting found for the second full year in a row, but i do see george bush’s approval rating creeping up only six points after he “got” saddam.

    osama is the phantom menace and he is the golden ticket and whoever finds him wins and im sorry aol time warner but your person of the year did not find the real person of the year and you know it and they know it and its fucked up but that’s what time it really is.

    bitches.

    and even tupac came out with another record this year.

    And a damn movie.

    and its precisely this shit why nobody fucking reads your lame ass any more outside of a dentists waiting room.

    gilliam + anti + amy

  10. one reason the ladies line up around the block 

    for my elderly ass is cuz i keep my house so clean.

    actually its not me who keeps it so clean, its my army of maids.

    ive gone through, lets see here, one, two, three, four maids this year.

    most of them retire or shoot themselves after working on my many mansions, so ive been trying to do certain little things to keep their jobs jobs and not epic adventures through the soiled world of filth.

    as we speak i have a nice young el salvadorian woman named marta who is washing my dishes and folding my clothes and petting my llamas.

    last night i did a little prep-work that i would have never done before the last suicide.

    i picked up empty condom wrappers, i dumped out cereal bowls that had molding milk in em, i poured out half empty beer bottles, i put my dirty clothes in the dirty clothes hamper and the clean clothes on the bed with a little note.

    i fixed the lamp in the kitchen so she could see my dirty floor and my grimy glasses. i got rid of the dead plant in the closet. i put an easy listening cd in the boombox and pressed play and clicked the repeat button (miles – kind of blue).

    i even got some boxes and put my magazines from the floor of the reading room (aka bathroom) and placed them in the box.

    what happens is now she can just focus on the big stuff: the dishes, the floors, the bathroom.

    then i gave her a big fat tip in a christmas card.

    thats how you do it, fellas.

    i also made sure to leave lots of change around and baseball cards and celebrity memorabilia around, so that if she wanted to take something, she could.

    its not like i care.

    how would i know it was gone anyway?

    im a damn slob.

    now maybe miss montreal will come over and spend the night with me tonight.

    cuz she knows she wants to.

    gidge flibbit + blips + sheila