busblog

nothing in here is true

  1. Wednesday, November 30, 2005

    today is the birthday 

    of two of my favorite people in the world. miss danielle k and miss flagrant dis regard.

    danielle and i worked together at the xbi several years ago. often times people ask me why i believe in the Lord and sometimes i will tell them that its because He knows when youre low and will send you an angel.

    when i was undercover at E! i was working in a department for a boss who didnt respect me, champion me, help me, nurture me, or stoke me in any way. i was on my own and behind the eight ball from the get go.

    out of nowhere my supervisor, who i love, said oh tony youre gonna like this new girl over at Style. and people say those things and you think, oh it must be another of the long line of hotties they got over there but wait are you saying i only like hotties how dare you!

    but then danielle came bounding off the elevator dressed all classy in her bohemian chic with that long blonde hair with those dazzling eyes and her goofiness that some people dont get and i was all damn bitch youre awesome.

    we talked about books and poems and music and cali and finally we were told to break it up that we were supposed to be working, aka hating life.

    so we exchanged emails and two weeks later we were hanging out every day at lunch at breaks and sometimes even after work.

    my life sucked but hers sucked worse and because shes not a sadist she got the hell out of the job and got into grad school and moved away from me and now lives on a boathouse in la jolla.

    shed often wonder why i never girlfriended her and id say its cuz youre a Sag and Libras and Sag’s never work, but i will take a gazillion pics of you and she was all DEAL and she’d pose, america, in any way that i’d ask. she’s a sweet girl and a perfect model and has a heart of gold and i miss her dearly.

    now she has a surfer boy bf and theyre in domestic bliss and she wins trophies and she spends his winnings at anthropologie and on $8 salads and thats why she hasnt updated her blawg in two months but you know what — good. cuz if you read her blog 9 times out of 10 she would post when she was super sad or super mad so if shes not going there to vent that means shes happy.

    which is what she deserves to be. so bro must be doing her right.

    now flagrant disregard is a totally different ball of wax entirely.

    ive never met her, ive never exchanged more than a half dozen emails with her, ive only talked on the phone once with her, and for all i know it was a total put on, but i dont think so.

    flagrant continues to keep the shroud of mystery going on her blog and i love that. i have been one of the very few people that shes ever linked from on her deal and yet she wont return most of my emails or requests to be interviewed podcasted or anything. shes a cheapskate but she wont take my bait and allow me to send her a copy of Stiff free.

    Tsar plays Saturday at Spaceland and as much as she loves good music i doubt that she will go.

    but now that i have a car i hope she knows that if she ever needs anything like a drone to go to Target for her in the middle of the night for some corn-free vitamin C i hope she will email me or call.

    typically the rule of thumb with blogging is someone who doesnt show their face but claims to be a model probably isnt a model, but every time you start to lose trust in ms disregard she flies off to cuba and brings back a few killer photos in her unique style and you go shit that lil ho went off to see castro without me!

    ive met pretty much everyone who ive ever wanted to meet. from elvis costello to paul westerberg to hillary clinton to mc marc brown. theres a part of me who wants to be flagrants best friend forever and theres part of me whose very happy with this weirdass relationship of me talking about her and linking her several times a month and her ignoring everything that i do and say and instead focusing on the demons in her head.

    in a perfect world i would have a mansion and she would live in the haunted guest house and she would ring the bell and my assistant would be at her beck and call and she would make art in the courtyard in the dark late at night with noone to bother her and if someone did she would bang the gong and that person would be fed to the crocks in the moat.

    i have no clue really who she is but shes fucking awesome and i love her and im glad she made it to another birthday.

    at least im hoping she has, bitch hasnt updated in a week.

    happy birthday ladies, youve made my life far better because of your presence.

    first interview with flagrant + danielle poses, a film + a hot photo essay with danielle

  2. 2005 anna award winner – best female blogger: xTx 

    i dont link her enough, i dont talk about her enough, i dont praise her enough

    but this year’s winner of the anna award is totally worthy of the highest praise

    not only is she a committed writer, but shes real with her feelings, and takes risks where others dont.

    so many people who dont know californians claim that the people are fake. xTx isnt fake, she lays it out there, she goes for it, she rules, and we’re all very lucky that she’s blogging.

    shes crude, shes funny, she gets drunk, she gets high, she goes to strip clubs in vegas, she watches porn, she sits in her favorite hot tub and lets the jets do her, she loves the jerk, and just this year she discovered the eagles.

    but best of all she writes down what she goes through which is exactly what bloggings all about.

    heres a nice little post she whipped out last month:

    i hate that things take time. i hate that it took three hours to do something today that I didn’t know would take three hours. i hate that things are changing. i hate change. i hate that drinking a tasty slimfast shake for breakfast and another for lunch with healthy snacks in between and a sensible dinner does not make me lose wieght. I hate that i can’t spell weight. i hate that i can’t do math. i hate that the new girl who started working for me, who actually liked Howard Stern, quit after two weeks because she had to move to Texas. i hate reading resumes. i hate reading resumes with spelling errors or resumes that tout skills like, ‘have a valid california drivers license’ or ‘can access web pages’. i hate that i won’t be a millionaire until my dad dies. i hate that i won’t win the lotto or super mega millions lotto or a lotto scratcher. i hate that i can’t cook dinner every night. i hate that i downloaded a free trial of cinema tycoon and the stupid icon is on my desktop. i hate that i can’t play video games all day long and get paid for it. i hate that stephen king doesnt have any new books out except for this one that i just bought but it’s like a 50′s detective mystery shit. i hate that certain people have too many activities. i hate that they’re coming out with the movie of Narnia cuz now kids won’t read the book fuck that. i hate that i don’t have a master bedroom. i hate that santa is posting on my blog just kidding clausy. i hate that i dont have any friends anymore. i hate that i can’t paint or sing. i hate that i gave a survey person 15 minutes of my time today for no reason. i hate that i might have to update my resume. i hate that life isn’t predictable. i hate that i don’t have an earthquake preparedness kit ready. i hate that every time i pet my dogs enthusiastically i get slobbered and dog smelled. i hate that i can never think of what to blog and then it stresses me out and that is wrong. i hate that people can’t see how great i am. i hate that i don’t think i’m great at all. i hate that i haveta make everyone like me. i hate that i clear my throat all the time like a tourette’s retard. i hate my thighs. i hate that i am not a girl. i hate that i had to walk under a prickly bush to take out the trash and parts of the bush fell into my buttcrack and now i have bush particles in my crack. i hate that people hate. i hate that children’s beauty pageants exist. i hate feeling stupid. i hate every room in my house. i hate not sleeping at night. i hate my hair most every day and am perplexed and awkward when people tell me they love my hair. i hate that i am ugly. i hate that i am a slob. i hate that i am lazy. i hate that i enjoy tv. i hate not going to the movies everyday. i hate never watching the news. i hate not living in new york. i hate losing a hundred thousand tokens on pogo playing texas holdem. i hate people who wish you “gg” or “nh” on pogo cuz that’s gay i don’t know you stop being nice. i hate that i waste a lot of time on worthless things. i hate that alluva sudden my digital camera at work won’t upload pictures to my computer so now i have to walk all the way down to the studio to upload pics. i hate that the famous rapstar guy didn’t talk more. i hate that my washer and dryer are outside in the garage and i have to leave my house to get the laundry. i hate folding clothes. i hate that i will never be on price is right. i don’t know how to end this so i just am going to end it now.

    2004 anna winner flagrant disregard + 2004 anna winner raymi le minx + no time to say it

  3. my hundred monkeys broke out of their room last night 

    while i was passed out and they went straight for the garage and cracked open the soda fridge.

    i caught them this morning trying to defrost some rib roast.

    they flung feces at me, but i had some of my own and im a better shot.

    fuckers.

    corralled most of them before kickoff this morning but i think theres one around here hiding cuz i can smell cigarette smoke.

    during their rampage they knocked over the tommy chong bong and got bongwater all over my computer and now my box needs its button pushed and held before it will turn on.

    and no, im not talking about clipper girls cousin.

    so i tried to burn my porn real quick off my hard drive just incase this thing has a short thats dying to pop and fritz out this whole mo fo and the computer shut off about 5 minutes into the burn, so this might be my last dispatch till tomorrow.

    this all might be karmic payback for not picking up the phone when the 90 year old landlady called.

    it was her on tuesday who the firetrucks and ambulance was for.

    on thanksgiving day she called me while i had a fork full of hot steamy soul food and she wouldnt tell me why but insisted that i come over.

    i did.

    she said her backdoor was open and unlocked.

    gross.

    got over there and she had me adjust her pillows.

    she had locked herself inside her room. instead of a bedroom door she had a screen door. it was ripped by the handle so she could lock it from her side but if someone needed to come in they could slip their hand through the rip in the screen.

    she really isnt that crazy.

    she told me she was making a will, what did i want.

    i told her i wanted some of her mothers original paintings.

    she said, which ones. i said the ones youve been looking at all these years, and i pointed to the ones behind me.

    there was a totally uneaten can of wet cat food on top of a table. it had been mushed at a little, and its consistency was sagging so at a quick glance it looked like a heap of shit on a plate. but it was just cat food.

    her cat cowered beneath the table.

    the place smelled of piss and she told me that she couldnt walk any more, that it was right where her left front pocket would be if she wasnt wearing a housecoat.

    she said she couldnt walk anymore and showed me a little trash can where she said she would probably use

    she said her new girl was black and good but wouldnt be around until monday

    she said her doctor was out of town until monday and he had left the number to the doctor who was going to cover for him, but she didnt remember his name.

    she asked if i was going to be in town this weekend.

    i lied and said no.

    just then the phone rang. it was her best friend in illinois. she had told me about him before. she said hi cliff to him and told him to call her later and he slowly said that he would.

    i looked around. i liked her place.

    she told me to go look in the living room for anything else that i would want.

    she had old records, great old books. i wanted everything.

    i returned and she told me to make sure i had closed the screen door in the living room.

    i told her all i wanted was this old book of mark twain stories.

    she said, is that it? that i had been so nice to her.

    i hadnt been so nice.

    she bought me a chocolate tort once.

    she had me write down the numbers of people like this animal rescue guy who she wanted all the left over stuff to go to.

    she wanted him to have most of her money cuz she loves animals.

    good thinking, i told her.

    she called a few hours later. i didnt answer. she knows a lot of people.

    she also knows 9-1-1.

    she said her biggest fear was what would happen to her cat.

    when she called 9-1-1 on tuesday they told her that they would have to take her to the hospital. she said what about my cat, they said who cares about your cat.

    so she didnt go to the hospital.

    next day she realized that the animal rescue guy would take care of her cat.

    i know if i promised her that i would take care of the cat she would give me everything that she has, records, books, new tv, 100 year old original american art that really is good

    cases of ensure.

    but i dont like cats.

    even mellow ones who pretty much just hang out.

    i barely like monkeys.

    originally posted two years ago today on the busblog

    today is danielle‘s birthday + and flagrant’s + awwww the Christmas spirit lives

  4. Tuesday, November 29, 2005

    yesterday i was traveling halfway across the country 

    so i wasnt able to follow up on some of the questions that some of you had regarding comments in blogs.

    so here goes.

    there are several ways to be a pussy ass bitch regarding comments.

    the grandaddy of them all is to be an anonymous negative commentor. that is someone who strolls into a blog, says something negative and doesnt leave a real email address, blog address and/or real name.

    theres no reason to be this much of a pussyass. we’ve discussed this before, at length.

    but whats funny is theres always an asshole and his friend who will try to defend the practice by saying something completely stupid like, “well shit tony, if you dont want people to say fucked up shit, you shouldnt have open comments where people dont need to register.”

    uh, no. thats not a good excuse.

    my real name is tony pierce. i have several ways to be contacted. you can write me at tony at tony pierce dot come, you can write me at busblog at gmail dot com you can even write me at busblog@yahoo.com.

    you can send me your panties, nudes, cash, loveletters, your bands cds, dvds, christmas gifts, or even kwanza gifts to 4845 Fountain Ave. #15, Hollywood CA 90029.

    you can leave comments here at the busblog or on my Buzznet account at tony.buzznet.com

    i am as open a book as can be.

    im not in hiding like a jagoff like negative anonymous commentors. and its not because i dont talk shit, because you know from yesterday i talk hella shit. infact i talk more shit than probably anyone.

    i said i was glad ronald reagan was dead when he died, i said i was glad the pope was dead when he died, and i even said i wasnt all that happy that the chicago white sox won the world series last year.

    pretty much nothing that a negative commentor could say could equal the ire that those statements could create.

    but the reason that pretty girls want to make out with me, and people read my shit, and my books sell, and people jockey to hire me, is because a) im right about my beliefs b) if im not 100% right im funny in how i present my arguements c) i have the courage to put my fucking name next to what i say

    and my precious email address.

    which brings us to the chickenshits of the anonymous negative commentors who say that one reason that they dont want to leave their email address next to their bullshit is because of spam – either man made hate mail or computer generated annoyances.

    earth to idiot: youre full of shit.

    yes its true that i have a pretty healthy following. and its also true that im an xbi agent who has a lot of friends. and its true that i have readers of all walks of life including fans who work in the armed forces, the heavilly armed forces, and some who like me work in the shadows between good and evil.

    trust me when i say that we’re not at all interested in having an email war with your pansy ass.

    similarily i have had the busblog rolling since August of 2001, and it has had comments since August of 2001. since its inception ive had comments that produce hundereds of comments each week. not once have i had anyone ever say that their email address got spammed because they left a comment on this blog.

    and you know what, if you get a little spam in your box, delete it. this is 2005. nearly 2006, spam is one of the very small annoyances of living in this modern world, yes you might get a few penis enlargement ads sent to your ass, but its probably because of some dumbshit thing you signed up for through aol and not because you left your email address on the busblog.

    and genius, there are several ways to get around spam like doing something so elementary that i cant even believe im wasting this second by teaching you this but here goes. if your email addy is jagoff@jagoff.com, in the busblog comments just type it slightly off like jagoff@jaggoff.con or jagoff@jaggoff[removethis].com

    children know this.

    so yes, if youre going to say something stupid and negative, leave your name. and leave your email address. and if youre really a tough guy, leave your web address or myspace page. otherwise you will be called names and they will be accurate.

    just because i have open comments doesnt mean that im asking for idiots to hide from the bushes and snipe at me. i have open comments for one reason – so that hot babes can hide in the bushes and tell me that they love me.

    but thats not an anonymous negative comment, that is an anonymous positive comment. those are allowed. theyre allowed in the real world too.

    just like you wouldnt drop an envelope under someones door and say “youre fat” and not sign it, you shouldnt do that on the web. not only isnt it nice, but thats a dick move.

    however, if you wanted to send someone some flowers and a note that says “youre hot and im too shy to say it in person,” that would acceptable.

    im all in favor of constructive criticism. yes ive been blogging for a little bit longer than the next guy, and yes people call me the blogfather, but i dont buy it. im not in the technorati 100, im not making $100k a year off my ads, and im not getting that much pussy off my shit. so obviously i have a ways to go.

    but i will never listen to someone who doesnt have the guts to put their name next to their whines. ever. especially someone who hides behind the fucked up excuse that they dont want to leave their email address because theyre afraid of retrobution or spam.

    i have far bigger fish to fry than to waste my talents getting caught up in an email flame war with some ass who doesnt even have a blog.

    i would much rather make a post about it, educate the kids, re-establish the tone and groundrules of the busblog, and then link people who have said something nice about me.

    and yes, on average its right to ignore the one or two naysayers in the peanut gallery, but every now and then its good to remind people that its your house, that you have rules, and that you are the master of your domain. literally. and if you can write better than the chickenshits, you should whomp their asses so visciously that no one else dare poke their stupid fucking heads out of that molehole.

    its one reason why you dont see alot of bullshit in these comments.

    ben allbright + diana + dave the pa + someone admitting to crimes + her accomplice

  5. i have some good news and some bad news. 

    since im a positive person lets start with the good.

    as you know there were some issues between the publisher of How To Blog and me regarding the cover of the book.

    i was under the impression that the artist Shepard Fairey of the iconic wilding posters that are so prevelant here in Los Angeles and other cities would love to have his images in as many places as possible, which is why he allows for downloading of his posters and instructions on how to put them up.

    the publisher was more like, yeah, whatever, it’s still his art and you should probably get permission to put it on the cover of something that youre about to sell a shitload of.

    they told me this on friday.

    busiest day for consumerism here in america.

    and they put the book on hold unless i changed the cover.

    so, i changed the cover. i whitewashed out the andre the giant image and they accepted it. the sales went on as i wrote an email to the creator of the obey/giant revolution.

    who i admire greatly.

    whose work always makes me smile whenever i see it. be it on the side of a mailbox or a street sign or firehydrant.

    whose most recent portrait of the president is so good that the la weekly put it on their cover bleeding fangs and all after he won re-election.

    so i wrote shepard an email and i posted about it on the rare chance that he would actually come to the busblog and see that it was a legit request.

    little did i know that more than one reader of the busblog knew the good gentleman, and wrote to him on my behalf.

    la is a small world. be nice to people.

    and before i knew it i got an email from the man himself:

    Tony,
    It is fine for you to use that image. You have my permission.
    A mention of me and my website is all I need.
    I’d love to get a copy when it comes out.
    Take care.
    -Shepard

    how unbelievably cool is that?

    now heres the bad news, which might not be bad news after all.

    there are some books that were ordered and produced that do not have me mentioning the good mr fairey and there are some books that were ordered and produced that do not have the original cover, they have the whitewashed cover.

    those books, like i predicted, will be incredibly rare. my advice is that you hold on to them. less than 20 were made.

    if however you want the official version of how to blog just mail the rare one back to me and i will exchange it for you.

    now allow me to say a few things about cafepress

    i think theyre an amazing company. i had to talk to them via email and phone about a half dozen times on making this book. mostly because im a dumbass and i hadnt done things right.

    every time i talked with them they were friendly and intelligent and polite.

    all you can ask for.

    they have a toll free number, and youre normally talking to a real person within thirty seconds. love that.

    and the product is gorgeous. you really need to see it to believe it. it looks like a real fucking book. it feels good in your hand. the colors are bright, and its shiny. it’s great.

    all i need is an isbn number and a barcode and i could sell these to book stores. thats the only suggestion i can give them, sell those things and you’ve done it all.

    i highly recommend cafepress for any author who wants to self publish their work.

    big or small.

    i can see online when the orders go in, what stage of production it’s in and what, if any, issues are delaying things.

    its verrrry easy to change/edit/redesign things. maybe a little too easy. i suggest using a crazy password.

    another little known fact is shipping is normal shipping prices, theyre not insane. and they only charge a buck each for shipping each additional book.

    again, impressed by the company and by the kindness of strangers.

    thanks to everyone.

    obey giant + stiff + how to blog

  6. Monday, November 28, 2005

    dear anonymous asswipe 

    who said my post about the chicago buzznet meetup was boring,

    who the fuck asked you?

    and who the fuck cares what you think?

    theres a reason your momma named you anonymous, it was cuz her dick smelled like shit and her mouth was full.

    why didnt you leave your blog address? the one thats burning up the blogosphere and people are falling all over themselves to link to you? was it because after you signed up for dipshit.blogspot.com you forgot the password?

    its bushcheney just like all your passwords genius.

    i bet your dick is huge. i bet you get lightheaded when you sweat to the oldies with richard simmons. i bet you look great in your peter pan outfit and your angel wings.

    i bet right now youre stocking up on peanut butter to rub all over you as you starve your poodles in preparation.

    let me tell you something about this blog negative anonymous commentor, this is as good as it gets. its the best because we dont allow pussy ass bitches to fuck up the program, we treat them like whiteheads: we identify them, analyze them, squeeze them, and then sterilize the infected pore. sorta like what God did to your momma after she shit you out and left you in that dumpster to die.

    but even hell didnt want you so you had to move away to the cold, get raised by constantly lactating dobermans so you could leave fucked up lies on peoples blogs.

    i came to chicago i drank booze i ate hot dogs i drank more booze i danced to fucking shania twain i drove pretty girls home and i woke up with a hangover in hangover park for your ungrateful ass, and then i fucking wrote about it and posted pictures so that you could be entertained for the hour and a half that it took you to sound out the words and you thank my by saying it was a zzzz post?

    fuck you and your sore asshole. fuck you and your sadness. fuck you and your political and religious beliefs. fuck you and your kiddie porn.

    im sorry that people want to come out in the rain and the shit and the cold and party with me and dance and drink and leave their shit in the back of my car and write about meeting me in their blogs and take pics with me and link me at the top of their shit. to be honest i dont know why anyone does it but they do. and theyve done it now in ny, la, vancouver, and now my sweet home of chicago.

    im sorry i dont suck cock for crack like you do and then write about it so you’d find some sort of deeper bond than me. im sorry i use my real name unlike you and your pussy ass. im sorry i live a life worth writing about and you have your hairy palms and oprah reruns.

    and im sorry youre such a loser

    mr delay

    but as soon as bushie pardons you you can go back to sucking on the teet of america and living off the fears of the redstate nation like youve done all these years.

    just do us all a favor and keep your dumbshit comments out of the blogosphere

    or if you insist on acting a fool, be a man and leave your name email address and brilliant blog url so we can all be enlightened with your prosedy.

    hell is full of dullards and liars, my comments are full of angels, so either change your tune or stay the fuck out.

    out like your daddy

    out like your facist party

    out like your ip address which will be right underneath the phone number that you scrawled on the bathroom stall at the little league.

    senator.

    and next time you leave a comment tell the truth which is you love my shit. leave the bullshit for the grand jury.

    natural kinds + chad + raptor blog + bunny

  7. dear jessica simpson, 

    dont be sad that youre divorcing nick. you know what i say about boybanders: kiss em but dont marry em.

    you dont see my girl anna k marrying enrique do you?

    no, and thats cuz gay boyfriends are fun, but gay husbands arent so fun. they want you to clean up around the house, they want to play dress up when you want to be in sweats, and they end up just breaking yr heart babydoll so dont blame yourself, blame nature.

    now the good book says a lot of things about married women and divorce and technically i cant really marry you since youre always going to be married in the eyes of the Lord to nick.

    but.

    but we dont have to get married. and to be honest, youre so fucking hot we dont even have to get it on. and from what i could gleen from your tv show it didnt seem like you were that into getting it on anyways.

    so heres what i propose. i propose that you move into my hollywood bachelor pad and be my girlfriend. if you wanna buy a dog you can buy a dog. if you wanna call tuna chicken you can call that shit chicken and you know what i’ll do, i’ll say baby i love you. thats what i’ll say.

    you know who tells someone as sweet and as hot as you that youre wrong and ditzy? xhusbands.

    youre perfect. and you look good in uggs. you sing like youre having sex and i cant name one song of yours but you can sing em all around the house and i’ll just say louder baby louder.

    and then we’ll get some food delivered and heres another thing, i will never interrupt our days or nights by watching college hoops and calling my buddies on the phone in the middle of the game and say holy shit that was a fucked up call.

    what i might do is call them up and say jessica is dressed up as a school girl and shes thinking about buying a new purse.

    yes i know im not handsome, but your handsome boy just broke your heart.

    yes i know im not buff but people who are constantly making their muscles grow are making up for a muscle that will never grow

    their heart.

    i know youre being passed around by the jackass boys but you need to get out of that world cuz dudes who are that nuts about getting their balls shot at by firehoses and aligators dont know how to treat a dainty southern girl whose dreams have been crushed.

    what you need is a blogger.

    a failed poet.

    a hetrosensual.

    a very old one who will look at you from across the room and say stand up on that coffee table baby and spin around real slow.

    and when you do it he’ll say damn girl.

    you might even persuade me to move to calabassas, but only if tsar can play in the backyard on new years.

    the state im in + dave the pa + welch was in the LA Times yesterday

  8. Sunday, November 27, 2005

    i had such a great time at the Chicago Buzznet Meet-up 

    that i dont even know how to explain it. maybe it was the wonderful variety of people, maybe it was the excellent location, maybe it was the endless amounts of rum and Goose Island Beer that kept getting sent my way, maybe it was the redheaded slut (pictured) that Dave the PA insisted that i shoot with him,

    or maybe it was the fact that midwestern people are the greatest in the world.

    no offense, canada.

    who knew there would be traffic on the expressway heading into the city at 7pm on saturday night, but there was. all because the city has a toll booth charging eighty cents just past the rosemont horizon which is now called the allstate center. even people with the speedpass couldnt get through quickly because traffic was backed up well beyond the oasis. i was to be late for my own party and there was nothing that could be done because that stretch of highway had no off ramps, so i just cranked the ipod and prayed for a miracle.

    then i called my mommy and asked her to call my brother and let him know that i was to be tardy and for him to tell everyone who was waiting.

    but because im a dumbass i got lost getting off exit 44a and started driving and i didnt ask for directions until i was already a good 45 minutes late. chicago sure has changed, but wrigley field has been around 100 years and yet the dude at the liquor store gave me a blank look when i asked him which way to wrigley. was i that far away from it?

    so i said, clark, addison, waveland, irving park, do you know where any of those are?

    so he said, this is devon, keep going that way and you will hit clark.

    i drove down devon and went down Little India basically which was very interesting and i would have loved to pull over and take pics but i was late. then i had to ask someone cuz Clark just wasnt anywhere to be seen, and they were all, yeah keep going.

    found Clark but the street sign said 5600 Clark and underneath it it said 1600 Clark, i was all W T F!!! make up your mind. and then i saw Evanston 1 mile so i knew i was heading the wrong way so i flipped a bitch and headed south to the mecca of all things perfect, Wrigley Field, which was situated next to where i was to meet all the great Chicago Buzznetters and Bloggers.

    got to the place a good hour and fifteen minutes late and no one approached me, not one person wanted my autograph, and there were no hot babes asking me to go home with them – this was not my beautiful home! and where was my brother?!?!

    so i called my momma and she said my bro was sick but she had called the place and they said that four people were there waiting for the Buzznet dealie and just when she said that i saw my old kindegarten buddy bobby d at the bar with two of his pals and i sat down with them and the drinking began.

    within a few minutes more people arrived, and then more, and we moved over to the fireplace, and more showed, and then more.

    whew, the kids had all decided to be fashionably late, which was great but it scared the shit outta me.

    so i met Dave the PA whose is a PA not a PA, the lively and gentlemanly Brian from thestateimin, his two Depaul pallies bassonist akhdarbazzoon and opera singer mistywordpower, mba student dailytravails and his hottie sweetpickles who arrived with Buzznet pins which was killer, and elginroots and erin the oakparkmaster, and bob and his two friends – a cozy group and you know what, perfect for the setup at the uncommon ground because we could all sit by the fire and talk about how much we loved Buzznet because just like the meetup it wasnt a circlejerk of myspace whores or the lost-in-the-supermarket feeling of flickr. people are sweet to each other on buzznet and there were always new people to discover.

    i totally agree. buzznet is the perfect size right now, i know it wont always be this way as we’re growing like mad every day but currently its killer.

    uncommon ground decided to make last call at midnight, which was fine with us because one great thing about being in a city is a short cab ride to another bar. my man bobby d knew a cool place up the road so we piled six of us into a cab and jessica and erin gave me sips from their flask of vodka and we were good. we spilled out across the street from the sweet p? the sweet t? the pee p? somewhere, and it was crowded in the front and sorta empty in the back. bobs buddy lit up a smoke and i was all you can still smoke in bars in chicago? thats awsome.

    turned out you could only smoke in the front, which is why it was packed there, and we pissed off the only other table back there, but you know what go back to russia if you dont like it commies. i dont even smoke and i believe that in america you should be allowed to do whatever destructive shit you wanna do – its why its called a bar.

    bob got a tray of booze and we pretty much drank it all. then we hopped in another cab and went to an after-hours country bar. i have no idea what it was called because at this point the endless shots and beers had begun to hit me. and that worried me because i had to drive back to the suburbs. and even though im an excellent driver and i hold my booze beautifully – while taunting the youth of america by pointing at my empties saying SEE SEE! ISLA VISTA IN THE HOUSE BITCHES, i really frown upon drunk drivers.

    so at the country bar i bought old styles for the ladies and sipped on gingerale and danced off my buzz to the band.

    the place was totally packed by the way, and i dont think anyone there was really into country music but it was 4am and it was open so why not dance to a cover band of 40somethings in ugly clothes singing johnny paycheck tunes. yes i danced yes i took blurry pictures yes i started a squaredancing circle yes i tipped like a coke dealer, yes i had a fucking awesome time in part to my buddy bob who found all the best places and also thanks in part to erin and jessica who kept it lively and fun.

    so around 4:30 the girls had disappeared so i bid adeui to bob and his bro and took a quickie little taxi back to my mommas car. and swung by the country club one last time to see if the girls just might be outside waiting for a cab and sometimes your spidey senses are right on the money. not only were they there but so was bob. so i drove bob to a hotdog place where he had parked his car, and me and the girls grabbed dogs and we cruised by wrigley and took a pic. and then i drove them home.

    on the way there i cranked Tsar and jessica was in shock as to how much she liked them and i was all baby i have lots of friends in bands but theres a reason im constantly hyping tsar – its because theyre that good. she rewarded me by eating half of my hotdog despite allegedly being a vegitarian.

    when we arrived out front of their house they invited me in for some late night board games but i had to decline because my mom would probably wake up any minute and see the icy rain coming down and fear that her only son had sped off the expressway and met his untimely death.

    but ladies, trust me, under any other circumstances i would have taken you both on and triumphed left handed. so maybe this summer when i return to wrigley.

    i got home at 5:20am and sure enough my mom had woken up a few minutes beforehand and didnt see the vette in the driveway and was a tad worried and heard me in the hall and said oh im so glad youre back and i was all ma you really should trust the Lord if youre gonna call yourself a Christian, which is a little joke i have for her because her favorite hobby is collecting mangers. i said my prayers and passed out within seconds.

    at 11:30am i woke up just in time for some orange juice, advil and the nfl today pregame show, and then watched the bears beat tampa bay. and not only did i not have to use my AK but i cant imagine a better 24 hours than what i had just encountered.

    thank you Chicago for everything, i will return, im thinking maybe we all go to a Cubs game and have a sleepover at erins house.

    more + pics + here and more to come when i upload mines

  9. Saturday, November 26, 2005

    when i tell you that its buttcold 

    it means even your butt says wtf, fool?

    you want to be sweet to your momma you want to be sweet to the illini you want to be sweet to the lady youre holding the door open for, but at some point you say fuckit youre all on youre own im going to where its warm and you shut the door and run for it.

    yesterday it was blah blah blah below zero. numbers really dont matter because anything below zero is fucked up. today it was 40 degrees when the sun went down, which means when i make it to the buzznet meetup its gonna be below freezing.

    you wonder how people can live this way but then you see the incentives – you can buy houses without having to rob banks, you can buy big houses without having to “know” someone, and you can have a little land around your house without living two hours away from the city.

    and the people are the nicest in the world.

    outside of that, you’d still have to sucker me to move back here, which i know hurts my mommas feelings but what can i say, i like wearing shorts, i like keeping my windows open as i sleep, i like chewing the air.

    when i get back to a wifi situation as opposed to this dialup test of wills i will upload some of the many water towers that i have photo graphed.

    im not exactly sure why they have water towers here in the midwest and they dont in the west but it must have something to do with everything freezing for 1/3 of the year. like a dipshit i left my ipod in my mom’s ferrari and this morning when we drove from my sisters house i turned on my ipod and instead of seeing the familiar black apple, i saw a sillhoutte of a middle finger.

    but then luckilly it faded away as it defrosted so i could play my devil music for mi madre.

    when we got home i popped in the Chapple Show season one on dvd uncensored and she asked me if he was popular in california, i said thats rick james! hes worth $50 million to comedy central and she looked closer and didnt see the value, insisting that i was worth at least $20 million if he was worth 50.

    but what was shocking to me was my beloved Stratford Square.

    when i was a lad it was the newest, coolest, hippest shopping mall in town. it was built so that the good people of Roselle, Bloomingdale, Itasca and Hanover Park wouldnt have to drive a whole 21 minutes to go to Woodfield Mall.

    we saw all the latest movies and hung out there and met girls and ate at the Sabarro’s pizza. now id say 1/4 of the shops are empty and the JC Penny has lost its shimmer. my have the mighty fallen.

    so if youre reading this and youre in the chicagoland area, we’re meeting at Uncommon Ground on Clark near Wrigley Field so come out and have a pint with us and if not, fine, i dont blame you, its cold as a witches tit and on Monday im going directly to the beach right after getting off the plane cuz this shits insane.

    it is nice though seeing Ditka on local tv.

    tim + paige + monique + after before and before after

  10. Friday, November 25, 2005

    today is my sister’s 23rd birthday. 

    trust me when i tell you that it’s not easy being my little sister.

    throughout the years i did things like chase her around with knives, i threw her keys on the roof of the house, i vandalized her posters and magazines, i may have killed one of her dogs, hid a variety of things, listened in on a few conversations of her talking to her friends to find out if they had crushes on me, and continually lobbied to my mother that she was being far too generous with her. normal brother stuff.

    but the worst thing i did was get born. and worse, i did it a year before she did.

    i steamrolled through elementary school, junior high, and high school like a tornado. every teacher, student, and principal knew my name and either totally hated my ass or fell in love. and because we didn’t look very much alike, people would constantly say, “you’re tony’s sister?”

    what little kid wants to be known as somebody’s sister? especially when she was an angel and i was far from that. look at that body language!

    angie and i could not be more different. i was super good at sports and terrible at getting good grades, my sister was an honor roll student and a cheerleader. because of that there were a lot of clashes within the pierce household, and when my mom got a stereo the common war zone was the living room and the soundtrack was ac/dc’s back in black, which angie got for a gift and which i instantly purloined and cranked as loudly as possible every day for many years while she practiced her flute.

    if there was a career in how to torture your sister i would be a zillionaire. i believe there were incidents of locking her into basements, closets, neighbors houses, cop cars. i remember certain moments where fellas would come over to court her and i told them they were at the wrong house. and of course there were the firefights.

    and yet my sister stuck by me. probably because i never narced on her during some of the many stealth parties that she threw when my mom was out of town. and i was always there to protect her in the shadows of school, like any brother. not that she needed my protection, there was very little that anyone could have done to torture her that she didn’t experience in the safety of her own home.

    years later my sister met the man of her dreams. and the funny thing was, i liked him right away. dave is mild mannered, smart, patient and still calls my mom mrs. pierce. thats respect. they bought a huge house. filled it with all the animals that angie loves, comfy couches, pretty much everything that she had in the barbie dreamhouse that i turned x-rated and then lit on fire but now it was full-sized and wonderful.

    so what has my sister done lately? no offense to my friends with kids, but she and dave brought to the world the cutest little girl in the world. kyla joanne, named after my mom.

    then they had the most mellow little boy ever, tyler, after the singer of aerosmith.

    then they moved out of the dreamhouse and bought a bigger one.

    when they visited me in hollywood, kyla was sick but never cried. it was amazing. i dont know what they put in her bottle but all that little girl ever did was look at you and smile and point at you and hold your finger and laugh. if she closed her eyes and started to get irritated, my sister and my brother in law knew exactly what to do. it was crazy. full on esp. they should write a book.

    and it appears that that know-how has only been finetuned with tyler, or babybrother as everyone calls him.

    so heres to my sister, bears fan, bulls fan, cubs fan, def lepard fan. her first concert, with me, was the jackson five, but then i think her second one was rick springfield at great america. if i was a good brother and ever called her, id know.

    happy 23rd angie. i love you so very much. i love that you call mom “mother”, i love that you still live in the silly suburb that we grew up in. i love that you are your own person and nothing like me and a much better soul. i love that you let me steal your “back in black” back in the day at Christmas and never bothered me to ask to return it.

    and i love that you are my sister.

    my sister was in the paper yesterday + she has the coolest house in barrington + shes a realtor