1. Monday, June 14, 2004

    hi blog 

    hi tony, shouldnt you be resting your hands.

    work has been slow last week, and today wasnt slow but it wasnt insane, so i figure i got 15 minutes i can write you with.

    sweet, thanks.

    what do you think about what that dude from ucla said?

    i think you should get a second opinion and see if you could be doing permenant damage to your hands.

    i know.

    will you?

    probaly not.

    you suck.

    i do.

    dont you want to be a famous writer when you grow up?

    i am a famous writer.

    no, like really famous. like so famous that people will say, “holy shit, you want to put your new story in our magazine? yes! please do! and heres a basket of money!” ?

    you make it sound so much different than how i imagine it.

    well thats what its like. your hands, however, have to work properly.

    i just want to tell good stories.

    oh, well, in that case youre fucked. noone has any good stories to tell.

    i do i do!

    tell me a good story then.

    one upon a time i met a girl named anna kournikova. anna at the time had never made love with an american. or a black man. so we considered her a virgin. the way she pronounced it was were-gin. it was cute. eventually we were doing it all the time and it was great.

    (snoring)

    then one day she said, you know what, blogger, i think i do want you as my boyfriend. but i said, nah, you need someone better than me. someone cooler. richer. who has his own car, and a good job. i could get killed flying for the xbi and then where you’d be.

    tony, no offense but im sleepwalking. get to the point.

    and then we both got carpal and had to retire, the end.

    thats a terrible story, tony.

    i know bloggy, but my bus is about to come.

    ok, cool, write a better one tomorrow, k?

    k.