winner of the day


super sad day in sweetness and America.

you’d have thought Hostess was too fake to fail

but I guess this proves nothing lasts forever

and sometimes the end comes

like a thief in the night.

It’s good I didn’t win that enormous lottery earlier this year because if I had any left

I woulda def bought Hostess

and made Giant Twinkies

and opened up some Deep Fried Diabetes joints in tourist traps

and given the profits to charity.

cuz who wouldn’t buy a ho ho if it was tax deductible.

roseanne would never have let this happen. #ImpeachObama

adios last ding dong

i may have eaten my last ding dong.

how messed up is that?

not because im getting more healthy (god forbid),

not because i lost a terrible bet.

but because for some reason Hostess is going out of business in part because of a strike.

im sorry but i have a hard time believing that if Rosanne had become president, we’d still have Hostess.

theres a reason i didnt vote for Obama. this isn’t it, but it reinforces my lack of support.

i know his beautiful wife is all about eating right and working out, but when i was in school

(aka the age when health didnt matter)

Twinkies and Suzy-Qs and Ho Hos were in every kid’s lunch box.

its all part of our American Experience.

to let that just fall by the wayside over petty things like money and power,

i’d think requires intervention from the executive branch.

but no, Barry just flies around eating wraps from Whole Foods being skinny and out of touch.

Hostess is the American Dream.

it’s what separates us from not just apes, but from all nature.

it sucks that the next poop i take will be the last remnants of the last Ding Dong of my life.

i may start crying right here in my cubicle.


ten years ago today, the daisy princess and the busblog became dunzo

hard to believe it was that long ago. sorta seems like yesterday. but i guess time flies.

November 16, 2002

“i was going to be eight minutes late for work”

and i knew my boss was going to get on my case and i wondered if i should tell him the truth when he would ask me why i was late.

would i lie and say subway problems?

or would i tell the truth which is blonde girl showed up on my doorstep at 2am. the shoes that she came to retrieve were nicely packed into a box next to the satellite dish. in the box was a magazine with her favorite band on the cover and under the magazine was a tape of an hour of her favorite actress on it.

i might not ever talk to you if i break up with you, but if theres a box on a doorstep from me to you, odds are theres probably gonna be some good shit in it.

unfortunately, like most things, this made her cry.

she cried and knocked on my door. tap tap tap tap.

i snored peacefully.

bang bang bang bang.

more snoring. very little can wake me from my slumber. its the only time this haunted mind can stop dreaming and talking and rest. and when it rests it shuts off completely.

however, the nice woman who lives upstairs can be woken from her slumber.

disturbed, she got up and went to her balcony and her hardwood floors squeaked and somehow i woke.

knock knock knock knock.

i went to the door, turned on the porch light, opened the door. daisy princess sobbing. can i hug you she asked.


did you guys see giselle last night when the protesters hopped on the catwalk? she didn’t miss a beat. every step she made was exactly the step she would have taken if no one was there. my visitor never blinked.

i allowed the twenty year old into the home. let her hug my back. i turned off the porch light. shut the door. went back to bed and quieted the disturbance that my neighbor was experiencing.

perhaps this isn’t what a pro would do. and obviously im no expert on women. i am a victim. anything that happens to me is because they make it so.

when i was in college i learned from the frat boys. they were handsome and rich and they had nothing inside of them other than mgd and semen but what i learned was no matter what ignorance they spewed or how many times they’d listen to “legend”, because they were surrounded by women with low standards, they were always satisfied.

so i learned to show up in places where there would be hot babes, keep my mouth shut, and have a clean apartment with a second pair of sheets somewhere.

all my body wants is peace and quiet and a nice hand to hold.

ashley is much more than that, and she isn’t right for me and im not right for her and the frat boys would sometimes throw stephen stills in the boom box and you know the one, where the eagles fly with the dove.

some people can let the sands of the hourglass stream through as they wait for their dreams to come true. im not so patient. i have no willpower.

i might not ever find the girl of my dreams who also thinks im the boy of her dreams but im not so sure its a great idea to sit around alone while i figure out the answer.

she apologized and made promises and asked me if there was anything that she could do to prove that she was sorry and i thought of a few things.

let me sleep with all of your friends.

she sniffed and hiccuped still sobbing a bit.

even the fat ones.

she said, im the only fat one.

then i said take off your clothes.

leather chaffs at three am when you’re trying to sleep.