busblog

nothing in here is true

  1. Wednesday, March 31, 2004

    when i think of this years nfl season 

    the first thing i recall is janet’s nipple.

    then i recall New Orleans Saints receiver Joe Horn scoring a touchdown, going under the field goal post to retrieve a cell phone and making a phone call as the crowd cheered.

    then i recall former 49er receiver Terrell Owens pulling a Sharpie out of his sock and autographing a football after he caught a touchdown pass.

    what do you remember from last year?

    probably less than that.

    but the NFL in all their lack of soul has decided that they will go back to penalizing players and teams for such “outrageous” activity.

    this isnt anything new to the sport that so desperatly wants to be the national pasttime, after the Redskin “Fun Bunch” had well-choreographed dance routines after touchdowns, the league instituted a policy of zero tolerance for these post-touchdown “celebrations”.

    they eventually repealed their decision.

    but since the winds of change are now blowing from the conservative white house and effecting all aspects of american life, this decision to re-instate the banning of touchdown celebrations should come as no surprise.

    which is stupid.

    everything in football is about the touchdown. if you are to believe the marketing of the nfl.

    we true sportsfans know that football is about teamwork, defense, special teams, strategy, AND offense, but when was the last time you saw a great block on Sports Center.

    boo-ya, look at that guard pull!

    and no offense, paul tagliabue, but this penalty is slightly racist.

    the receivers who usually have the most exciting, innovative, and outrageous post-touchdown activity, are of color.

    when brett favre made the Lambaugh Leap popular nobody said anything. that was a post touchdown celebration. it had no soul. but it was unusual. and there was no action taken against him.

    so whats up with that?

    and whats up with not involving the fans? the fans love that shit.

    the fans love terrell owens grabbing the pom poms from the cheerleaders and dancing with them after he scores.

    consider this post my challenge. i would like an instant replay on this decision. the nfl was leapfrogged by the nba who encourages personalities and showmanship.

    as a wise man once said

    dont hate the player

    hate the game.

    im hating you nfl.

    all of the nfl except for the raiders who were the only team who voted against this schlock.

    new empire lounge + sk smith + kitty bukkake

  2. although i dont find it necessary 

    to have a president who knows how to snowboard, or look cool trying, i do think it’s nice. i also think it’s nice for a president to be forthcoming when discussing things like what he knew right before and right after 9/11.

    thank you.

    i would also like a president who knows how to juggle.

    i would also like a president who can tell me a joke a day.

    its twelve noon, you are listening to npr, national public radio. and now for the noon time joke, the president of the united states of america.

    two whores walk into a bar…

    i would also like a president who isnt afraid to actually take the information that the citizens ask him to investigate and actually do something with it. nobody is complaining about indecency on the television or radio.

    we have a war we’re barely winning. today they were dragging dead US soldiers through the streets of iraq, fuck this fake debate about the pledge of allegiance, fuck this fake debate about half million dollar fines if the f bomb gets dropped on the air when children might be listening. fuck oil presidents getting away with jacking up oil prices to all time highs and then saying well if you prorate the prices to todays cost blah blah blah.

    i want a president who will say right after the war the prices were a buck sixty and now theyre two twenty, somethings fucked in denmark.

    i want a president who doesnt look like some asshole’s son. and act like some kid who just got his first suit. we’re the united states of america. whats up with canada kicking our ass? im sick of my country acting like we’re scared of having our shit blown up every ten seconds. did goliath have terror alert charts? did andre the giant run around saying someones looking to kick my ass?

    of course people want our asses kicked. but theyre not going to. which is why we call them third worlders. which is why our God is better than their god. which is why they cant get a record in the top fourty. which is why they cant snowboard worth fucking shit.

    i want a subway sandwich with turkey breast, mayo, mustard, lettuce, oil, vinegar, swiss cheese, on that crazy italian bread with parmesian on it and seeds in it, and cloves or some crap in there. i want to be overpowered by its foot-longness.

    we are full of shit + brit coal + the ward

  3. they say you shouldnt ever get used to having people shoot at you, 

    so i keep it to myself.

    7am this morning they were shooting at me. little shots. about one every twenty seconds. quickie little pops coming from behind a dodge dart. or was it from that window. or from behind that dumpster.

    is amazing how tired you can be at 6:45a and how awake you can be at 7am.

    and how dead you can be at 7:01am.

    someone was dead at 7:01 and it wasnt me. no more pops from the backside of the dart.

    now i only heard pops from the window. third floor. no fire escape like on tv. no moving van to climb on like in the movies. i coulda used the gas grenade but the whole 10 story apartment complex could catch fire like waco. fuck that. xbi is quiet.

    pop… pop.

    i knew i was going to have to go through the front door and up the stairs and through that bastard’s front door and bring death or meet it. fine. mark pryor is hurt, cubs dont have the chance that they did a few months ago. so fuckit.

    i nodded to my partner who popped back at the window so as to keep them occupied.

    fucked up thing about windows. it could be a grandma, it could be a kid, it could be a dad, it could be the guy we wanted. could be some totally random guy who thinks hes protecting his neighborhood. you never know until you break down the door and shot and jump out the way of their shot.

    ran to the front door. but first grabbed the bulletproof vest from the back door of the escalade and threw it on. felt like a pussy. death doesnt own me. i own life. huge difference. actually im leasing it from jesus but i want you to think im a badass.

    pressed every doorbell on the front of the apartment most people told me to fuck off, some dumbshit buzzed me through. i could be anyone!

    ran up the stairs. kicked through the door that shoulda been the right one. didnt see anyone. stuck my head through the window, saw my partner pointing to my right and holding up one finger. ran out of the sad little apartment and busted down the next door and shot twice one high one low and dived to the left.

    the high shot missed his head by an inch the low shot shattered his knee. fuckr.

    he cried like a baby and i lunged at his dropped .22, broke his nose with my elbow. and told him to shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up motherfucker im death.

    he shut the fuck up.

    shot the fucker up with needle full of demoral and threw him into the back of the roller. i went back there with him. he was our guy. he was in shock. fairly new to la but already used to owning the lapd. he had only heard of the xbi and never experienced the majesty.

    wheres the money fuckface. i demanded as we rolled past the ambassador hotel fast, like we had a destination. we had no destination. we were going to get money or we were going to shoot this motherfucker.

    what fucking money? he asked.

    we went past a tommy’s burger near where otis parsons used to be. i was all, wheres tommy, fuckhead.

    he looked at me like i was crazy. he was about to either pass out or vomit from the demoral. i didnt care if he vomited, but we need him to be awake. sleeping crooks tell no tales. so i plucked a chesthair from beneathed his ripped shirt.

    who the fuck is tommy!?

    pull into that alley i told my dude. he pulled. we stopped. i aimed my weapon at his crotch i told him to start talking or there would be nuts or pussy all over my partners back seat.

    my partner hissed, probably pussy.

    i no nothing the guy whispered. he wanted to die.

    why were you shooting at us.

    you were shooting at me.

    only after you started shooting at us.

    i yanked another chest hair. then another. he had lots to chose from.

    i eyed his bloody knee and licked the corner of my mouth it was my next target, would i squeeze it or punch it or bang it with the handle of my .38. decisions decisions.

    cuz i cant go back to jail.

    whats in jail?

    they’ll fuck me over.

    im about to send you to hell in about a minute, so whats the difference?

    oh no, im born again, the lord is my shepard.

    i pointed at his huge bicep. it had the virgin mary tattooed on there. i said, did you read that your shepard doesnt like tattoos.

    he looked at me.

    dont make marks upon your body. leviticus 19:28, bitch.

    he had marks all over his body.

    dont steal, dont lie, love each other the way ive loved you.

    my partner chimed in, dont fucking steal huge fucking garbage bags of diamonds and sell them to the chicago russian mafia and shoot at the fucking xbi.

    sbi? he asked.

    x b i fucker like the x on your forehead where the highway to hell is being constructed.

    i rose my gun at his head and then lowered it to his knee and told him he had exactly five seconds to tell us where the diamonds were and where the money was or there would be a half alive motherfucker not dead definately not dead laying in the alley waiting for the pigs to pick his ass up.

    9-1-1 motherfucker, my partner said holding up his cell phone.

    there was a faint aroma of piss, an address, a name, a whimper and then the thud of a bad guy being tossed from a slow moving escalade.

    and the only good thing about waking up that early is listening to howard stern on your way to the booty.

    henry copeland + things magazine + anti

  4. Tuesday, March 30, 2004

    ive been eating like a pig and today im paying for it. 

    first i put on my dress pants to go undercover and it wasnt pretty. my gut, my big gut has this huge way of messing with my mornings. everythings fine when i wear my shorts when i get to fly, but when i have to walk the streets and dress like a grownup, it fucks my shit.

    ate some of those Wow chips yesterday and my poops have been insane.

    got a phone call from my good pal aj who is now teaching at ucsb. just for the quarter. have i told you that she invited me to teach one of her classes during the last week in april? all true. all wonderful. all awesome. i get to teach jim carroll’s the basketball diaries which were excerpts of his real diaires from when he was 12 to 15.

    im starving. im drinking water and listening to Lovelines. i want to eat cheetos, i want to eat famous amos cookies, i want to eat mint chocolate chip ice cream, i want to make a sandwhich, but im tired of my food shooting right through me like it was a slip n slide.

    aj said that the kids are going to love me. she says that she plays a few tracks of music at the begining of each class. today she played the replacements bastards of young and tori amos covering nirvanas teen spirit. the class is coming of age novels. aj rocks the world.

    robyn, our advisor, mentor, and role model, who has been teaching at the college of creative studies up at ucsb totally rocks the world and if you ever wanted to know why the earth is tilted its because all the coolness that robyn embodies is so heavy that the world just cant stand up straight.

    i wish i had something cool to give her when im up there next month. without robyn i would not be writing the busblog. thats for damn sure.

    woke up with a pretty girl today who said she wanted to marry me and have three babies with me. yes, im that good in the sack mr flynt. usually.

    funny thing about getting older. even the hottest chicks can come over and look great and be busting out all over and you will be able to ignore that mad passion for a good two three hours. you might even go to bed thinking, yeah, im not going to f her till the morn.

    things like having a headache actually win out over before-we-sleep sex.

    fortunately my penis is ageless and as the chickie and i were settling down to some sleepytime spoon, my little’n tapped her on the back and said, hey. hey you. you, the super fucking hot chick. yeah. down here. forget the loser im attatched to. hes gay. but me, i want to bang you hard and fast and long and deep.

    and it will wake up the hand and tell the hand to warm up her happy spot.

    and it keeps tapping on her back.

    yeah, you. babydoll. yeah. hi. penisman down here. ready to rock. hi. yes, im hard. im ready. hi.

    eventually, because shes not old, infact shes the perfect age, her ass starts grinding around and before you know it jay z in being played loudly and the penis has won another round of quit acting like a million year old guy who thinks this shit grows on trees.

    and just imagine if i had actually paid more attention in school

    bruner blog + la blogs + franklin ave

  5. people ask me if i miss bunny 

    i do. she was a sweet girl. but now shes gone and shes dead to me. until i see sweet pictures of her calling me on the phone so as to reminice about her spring break in hollywood.

    ah memories.

    i like bunny because shes not full of shit. you have no idea how many people who are entirely full of shit that i have to deal with here in la and online. it’s getting regoddamneddiculous.

    for example, over at jeff jarvis’s buzzmachine, a place that used to be a haven of intelligent discourse, theres a few knuckleheads who proudly claim that they dont listen to howard stern – judging him. sorry kids, you cant have it both ways. go back to burning books.

    who has the gall to talk about shit, let alone judge shit that they claim not to listen to?

    not bunny mcintosh.

    which is why i like her.

    the other day i was hanging with my girl moxie who is a devout republican, so obviously we have our differences, but whats nice about her is she doesnt try to puke those beliefs all over those who dont share her ideals. see, thats reasonable. she also sticks to talking about things that she actually knows about. i realize thats a radical idea for some, but… whatev.

    me and miss montreal watched our gov’nur in Pumping Iron last night. id never seen it. what a great documentary. arnold hasnt changed much. he was both charming and obnoxious, cocky and confident, big and bigger, dumb and dumber.

    for lunch the fellas went to versailles and had it waiting for me when i landed. very few pleasant suprises better than that. food and sex is the way to a man’s heart, america. and if you cant give the one, definately have the other waiting. especially if its roast pork and rice and plantaines.

    id tell you how me and miss montreal made beautiful lust last night while listening to dj noodle’s mix of jay-z’s the black album and nirvana’s unplugged in new york but larry flynt told me not to sixty nine and tell.

    wisdom goof + sahalie + cynical cyn

  6. dear janet jackson 

    please dont go on david letterman in your first bigtime interview since your nipple changed the world and ask him not to talk about the only reason that anyone has wanted to interview you since you left “good times”.

    people are going to want to talk about nipplegate for the rest of your life so i suggest you to get used to it.

    just like youve hopefully gotten used to being asked about your crazy brother

    your crazy sister

    and your crazy family.

    here’s how you should have handled last night’s interview:

    “yeah dave, it really was an accident. im really sorry that things happened the way they did. im sorry that my nipple caused so much controversy. im sorry that children saw my nipple. but im even more sorry that conservatives saw my nipple and decided to use it as a way to inflict their extremist ways on american broadcasting.

    “a black woman’s nipple shouldnt have that much power.

    “people have been fired from their radio shows, bono’s f-word has been re-classified as being indecent, howard stern got fined for something he said years and years ago. and yet i wasnt fined!

    “the fcc is really spinning out of control, and if the president doesnt get a grip on it he might be voted out of office because of my nipple and their reaction to it.”

    instead you tried to be coy and quiet and that only brings about more probing and questioning, and like condi rice, makes you look more guilty than you might be.

    even though you are probably lying about it being a mistake and an accident.

    dave asked you point blank “what was supposed to happen” and you didnt answer him.

    were you supposed to have a bra on? was a sticker with the logo from your new album supposed to be on your boobie? what was supposed to be there if not for your little nubbin?

    simple question that you should have expected dave to ask.

    he asks people questions, you realize, for a living.

    you looked lovely, by the way. and that frame around your bellybutton distracted us from your bosom for at least a millisecond.

    next time you might want to ask dave to let you sing your song first so that people remember that we should be paying more attention to your songs than your sex.

    but what do i know, i show my nipples all the time and the fcc doesnt say shit.

    next time claim sexism, cuz thats what it is you know.

    get on david letterman and say, its sorta sexism when men can do things that women cant on tv.

    and then let dave unfurl the comebacks.

    your pal,

    tony

    virginia anne + no matt + unswung

  7. Monday, March 29, 2004
  8. slow day at work 

    so i went to the barber shop to get my hair did. its always a good idea to talk to the fellas when theres nothing going on on the street. the problem with the marines is they always want me to hit the streets when the shits going down. aint gonna learn anything when its hot on the block.

    and on top of that, theyre going to know youre the heat if you only show up when there’s a bustle in the hedgerow.

    now that i dont have a fro they were slow to recognizing me. then they were all, whoa broth-aaaa!

    alot has changed in the barbershop. theyve taken down the nubian artwork and added a wall of tvs. they were on the same station, playing the same commercial. i was irritated cuz they used to play these neosouljazz mixed tapes that i really loved cuz id never heard anything like that before.

    sat down and told the guy i wanted it shaved down to nothing. i had maybe 2 millimeters of hair and i didnt like how it was growing in. i looked olde. dumb. mean.

    before the guy had a chance to put the smock on me an older man showed up asking for harold. harold is the young brotha who runs the place. harold has a huge fro so huge i have always thought it was fake, but you never know.

    a half white barber kid yelled out, harolds at the store.

    the sto? the old man questioned.

    my barber was all, no, he in the back.

    old man repeated even louder the sto? looking at the half whitey. and held the look.

    my barber put down the buzzers, ran in the back and collected harold.

    a bus sped by. a twenty. with an old ad for the nba allstar game on it. shaq.

    when harold and my dude came out together the old man complained about the tvs that i wanted to complain about.

    y’all selling tv’s in this place? what if i want to talk with these gentlemen?

    i looked around.

    apparently he was talking about us.

    the barbers didnt say anything. i laughed. the old man demanded a remote so as to turn down the televised hip hop. nobody went for one. B.E.T’s “rap city” was on. beyonce was dancing around in lingerie.

    i got a hammer in my ride if you cant find your clicker, the old man said. not moving from the point.

    the tv was turned down and we were able to conversate.

    the fellas didnt know the old man was my partner.

    a seven twenty rapid barrelled past the barber shop. a blur of red.

    twenty minutes later my head was fully shorn and i was being asked to pay $20. i slipped my man two twenties because the info was good.

    the ninety degree sunshine hit my bald pate and i walked down the dirty boulevard like i owned the place.

    cuz i did.

    kitty bukkake + tsar plays one week from today at the el rey + amy

  9. one of the best parts of this heat wave 

    is that everyone is bringing their pets out: cats, dogs, hiyenas, baboons.

    my apartment has no a/c and no heater. its pretty typical in hollywood. it only gets hot enough for a fan maybe 10-12 days a year, and only cold enough for a space heater for about a month. some would call the weather here ideal, which might explain why so many people move here and never leave.

    its so nice i want to get a haircut during lunch. im getting fat. i need to do other things at lunch than eat. i need to get into the gym. i need to read the bible more. i need to clean out my closets. i need new sheets,

    i need to decide if i will stop allowing people to post comments on this thing without leaving behind a valid email address or homepage url. people shouldnt be allowed to lie in the comments without having to put themselves on the line at least a little bit. im fucking right here. tony pierce. thats my name dont wear it out. the least someone could do, especially if they want to hate the player and the game, is put their own name on their bullshit.

    i need to start calling people back more. kitty bukkake is right. i will post her phone message but not return her call. thats punkass shit. im ashamed.

    i need to get this internet radio show going. i have an idea for two shows. one being the busblog talk show the other being Devil Radio where i play quote unquote devil music. the kids today are soft because theres not enough satan in their music.

    checked out the britney spears concert from miami last night on showtime. the bitch just doesnt sing. she sang one song at the piano but then FAKED PLAYING THE PIANO! then on the second verse grabbed the mic, walked away from the piano and there was no difference in the music. plus she dressed like a ho half the time and come on britney half your audience were in highschool and junior high. wheres the outrage? satan loves little hos how lie to their fans by pretending that theyre singing which is why i will play a britney song a show on devil radio.

    the devil also loves monopolies like Ticketmaster. right now i could get two tickets to see Madonna play at the Forum. these arent great seats. theyre good, but not great. 20th row, not floor, but Loge. $300 each. how does tickemaster figure that they can charge $22.50 “convience charge” for each ticket?

    its the same ticket that they print out for a $30 face value ticket where they ding us for $8.50 “convience” fee. if i was john kerry the first agency that i would investigate would be the fcc and the first business i would shut down would be ticketmaster cuz its one thing for madonna to say fuck you pay me, but its an entirely another thing for ticketmaster to be able to get away with a real monopoly in 2004.

    makes me want to buy every pearl jam record or let lose the baboons through the offices of ticketmaster which reside across the street from tower sunset in a black shiney devil dwelling of hate where you can bet this blogger will be near during the next la riot.

    the unsomnambulist + w-uh + who is heidi

  10. i guess everyone is bound to make a mistake or two. 

    but a million dollar mistake? i wonder how many of those ive made over the years. i suppose not buying amazon stock back in the day… or buying ebay stock.

    its hard going through life pretending not to give a shit about money and then being even slightly depressed about stocks during a beautiful sunday afternoon when the santa anas are blowing their hot winds through this valley like during a drunken grab ass.

    her name was chica. she was a showgirl. wild flowers in her hair. little beemer over there. tapped on my door in the middle of the night last night and i was startled because i thought it was super late but it wasnt it was only 930p but i had fallen asleep after the east coast showing of the sopranos. she wanted to know why i hadnt called her back after our last date and i have a hard time not telling the absolute truth on sundays and i said it was cuz i didnt think she liked me and she was all i like you and i was all why didnt you put out and she said that she wanted to that she didnt think that i wanted it and i was all guys always want it and she said girls always want it too.

    but i didnt want it. i wanted to turn back time and sign those option grants and pay my $500 and get my 45k shares so i could have a house and a car and all the troubles that come from having to answer the phones when people called asking for money and i wanted to be able to say where were you when i was working for the xbi giving all those bags of ill begotten cash to the poor. where were you when i was riding the bus in the middle of the night to get to miss montreals birthday party and you look in the bus and theres one two three four five homeless people sleeping and each one has a huge hefty bag of their shit in the seat next to them.

    and one of the dudes walks up to the busdriver as hes booking down wilshire at midnight and he said youre cool man i like you and the driver says thanks. and the dude tries to sell him sunglasses because he reportedly has one dollar to his name and the driver says oh its ok, im good. and the guy goes no try it on. and it couldnt be more midnighty dark. and the driver could have easily pointed to the sign that says any unnecessary conversations with the operator is prohibited. but instead he just goes, no thanks, i dont have any money and i wanted to say driver carries no cash.

    and a little voice says your reward is in the kingdom of heaven give to george washington whats george washingtons give to andrew jackson whats andrew jackson and give to ben franklin whats ben franklins.

    and a littler voice a more annoying one says a hundred grand would buy you that burrito hut in isla vista and there will be a girl in a bikini top out there from noon to six next to the keg and she will pour out buck cups and that will be your big attraction, the senior vista bikini buck beer girl and i look at chica and wonder if she even knows who shes trying to make out with and i ask her what records shes been listening to lately and she says bright eyes and im all hmmm thats a toss up and i say who else and she says john mayer and i walk her to that beemer and i vow never to see her again and convince myself that i wont miss her. and its that sort of logic that keeps me broke ugly and single.

    jessica + smile at me + whats your damage