someone came up to my table and asked, “didnt i see you here a few years ago with anna kournikova?”
three years ago today on the busblog, where of course, nothing in here is true…
kill me now, tony.
not unless you kill me first anna.
i thought you were a gentleman.
gentlemen dont get laid, anna.
au contraire, i’ve known gentlemen.
betcha theyre not any more.
shoot me in the face, baby.
it’s just tennis, honeybunch.
you have no idea how it feels.
to be rich, gorgeous, blonde, twenty one, and famous? sure i do. ive had orgasms.
it’s terrible. losing. its the opposite of your joke. it’s like being impotent. the goal is right in front of you and you cannot acheive it. and you never acheive it.
have you been drinking anna?
you should, you sound terrible. monotone. insane. youre twenty one. capriatti got it together, and what is she 40?
i look at bridges in a much different way, recently.
thats a mighty pretty plate they gave ya.
yeah, but the winner got a real ming vase.
youre kidding me.
i was thinking about elbowing it.
i woulda married you.
if it makes you feel any better, i found a guy who does what i do better than i do.
nobody writes like you.
nobody loses like you.
does that make me the best at something, or something?
only in a dumb way.
are you gonna come to la and play at staples?
maybe, but probably not.
if you dont, lets go up to isla vista and get high.
stay away from bridges, second place girl.
stay away from the girls, my favorite boy.