Anti abandons the internet.

it's finally over, thank fucking god.

Friday, February 28, 2003

meet mark

mark is so mental he gets $900 month from the government.
it's true.

so i have to get building permits, and nobody tells me that i don't have to go downtown.

i think i have an ear in-fuct-ion. hurts.

took this picture from when i inspected Jason Lee's house.

i'm painfully honest and people love me and hate me for it, and mostly i have my foot in my mouth. but i never lie, unless i'm talking about myself.

jamie's blog is radical, and totally gnarley, bra...

Wednesday, February 26, 2003

i miss my pops.

i DO think it's true that one can't become a man while still getting help from mommy or daddy, and i'm grateful that i can say that. but that's the hard part. i wanna see how proud i know he'd be, if he knew how far i've come, AND with nobody's help. i feel like forgiving him all the time, then i think about how humiliated it felt to get rejected for a goddamn JC Penny card, in front of a chick no less, because my credit is so fizucked that like 75% of the country has better credit than me.

all that sappy cumbiah hippy bullshit crumbles into a nasty look on my face and a slight growl, "Grrrrr!!!"

i think credit is the anti-christ. some articulate black-dude philosuphy major in Santa Cruz explained to me once...

something about how money is more important than race more and more. like how a rich black man is (these days and in general) "better" than a poor white dude. there was way more to it, and it made sense when he said it. but all i wanted was to bum a smoke, not convert to whatever.

dreddy rules because she brings me taco bell while i'm busy busting my ass typing feverishly at the Global Headquarters. When she was bartending in Balboa, down in Orange County some dude paid, or some shit, to drink a pint of her piss. being the accomodating type, she went and filled 'er up, and he DID. or so the story goes...

if it's true, i hope that dude enjoyed it. cuz it makes me wanna barf.


Tuesday, February 25, 2003


either they are holding me hostage at work so that i can deliver the "rush" file that the client needs. because once they sent this other chick from my office who pissed off the clients so bad that to this day people ask, "is she fired yet?" so i have to wait and wait, because they can only trust someone as charming as me, so i smoke a million cigarettes, and bother Amy#3.

then.... when i actually DO have shit to do, people stand over me while i work, with nasty coffee breath, TAPPING my shoulder, asking me trivial questions that i don't have time for, when it's obvious i'm busy AND have headphones on, and make me be a dick to them. it's THEIR fault. especially when they're fucking foriegners with intense accents that bug the shit out of me. i'm the nicest dude normally. it's true. i swear.

there... dreddy officially cannot run for president

Monday, February 24, 2003

during the daylight i'm working, in the night time i'm getting loco. this is what makes working on the weekends hard. sleep just moves wayyyy down the list of priorities. right now it's a battle between me and my eyelids, Anti=2/Sleep=0. oh yeah dood, i'm winning!!! i never cared much for sleep anyways. i always do it wrong, and hurt my poor back. sleep is a waste of time. you're just lieing there in the dark with your eyes closed. and the fucked part about sleep... is that when you're sleeping, you don't wanna get up ever. whoever invented the snooze button on alarm clocks is, at the same time, a genius and satan's reincarnate. it's like so tight because you KNOW all you REALLY want is ten more minutes (that's the genius part), but then when that ten minutes is up....
"ten MORE minutes won't hurt." (enter Satan)
i'm a snooze button junkie, and i want to go to Snooze Button Anonymous. i'll usually lie there and try and figure out how much time i'll need to get ready for whereever it i'm off too. it's proved to be a complete disaster time and time again. i want all my friends to have an intervention thingy for me.

i'm such a fuckin loser optomist that my piece of shit cup is overflowing.
...with shitty optomism.
so fuck off and die.

i guess either i have developed some Hyper-Sensitivity super power of sorts OR my feet are starting to smell like rotten carcasses.

and although i don't plan on, correction: never will have any kids (i hate stupid fuckin ass kids), i would totally let them say fuck, bitch, shit, cunt... whatEVER. i'd be proud if my son's first word was, "bitch", i mean we all end up saying all that GOSH-DARN-Stuff anyways.
i know this one lady through work that won't ever "cussss" because those are "badddd werdssss", and everyone thinks she looks like a psychopath saying shit like, "dang it! that guy who just called was a Meanie!!" all the time, when any Normal person would have said, "fuck you fucking fuckface motherFUCKER"

Friday, February 21, 2003

i wanna learn that cool as fuck snoop dog language where every word has an "izzle" in it. it's like SOO much cooler than ebonics.

damn those crafty homless dreggs to hell!! they pulled one over on me, and tomorrow they're gonna meet the adolf hitler version of anti, and i'm gonna find JOY in making their weekend a nightmare. they already made it one for me. now all i want to do is get so drunk i piss myself... i already got me a bottle of crown royal. it's canadian, just like raymi shraymi. i'm drenched with impatience for her to hurry up and visit...

i can't find my fucking SHOT GLASS!!! oh well, full throttle to the bottle...

East LA, here i come.

i'll be doing this "advertising" gig there all weekend. drive by and flip me off, if you're in the area. i'll be the shmuck hammering car sale signs into the grass while my car sits running and blocking your lane. i stop hearing honking after weekends like this. you become oblivious.

oh and i "get" to monitor the homeless people i hire as sign walkers. take a wild guess on whether or not they're a pain in the ass? g'head, g'head. i'd get my friends to do it, but they're even bigger bitches.

but i haven't even gotten to the best part... this whole thing, it's illegal. so if i'm seen by a cop hammering a sign, or throwing it up on a freeway off ramp, he's gonna pop me. and that's so annoying.

so why do it? because it pays a butt load of cash.

East fucking LA, here i fucking come.

i hate you.

Thursday, February 20, 2003

it's warm, the sun is shining... i have a severe case of bedhead.... it must be time for work!!

"hi, i'm here to inspect the house"
hi, i'm here to inspect the housemy friend wrote this to her other friend who i sorta know, and then had me read it. and it rules.

M is for mediocre

do you have any idea how afraid i am. i am scared of everything. but most of all i am afraid to be alive. i had never been afraid of that before - not until recently....that is. who are we? what are we doing? we are nobody and we are doing nothing. nothing labowski - NOTHING. You know - i was so naive; I soooo thought i knew when i had no idea. I thought it had to get better but the thing that i am realizing is that it doesn't HAVE to do anything. certainly NOT. and certainly not better (which is just an abstraction anyways). everything is an illusion. and nobody is ever going to tell me how to be again. I always used to wonder, when am i going to grow up and BE something. when will i be a woman and not a girl. well, none of that shit matters. its all an illusion - girl, woman, success, maturity. those preconceived notions are never going to define anything for anyone. ever. yeah... YOUand you cannot play by the rules and survive - but nobody has to be a dick about it. people who are dicks are miserable because they BOUGHT IT. they were had - and that's hard to handle. DON'T BE HAD. because THEY will try to fuck you. and they WILL fuck you. oh yes - they will....... and sometimes they'll make you do the fucking - and you will do it and hate your self for it but you will do it anyway - because somebody's got to do the fucking, right? I mean SOMEBODY!!!! wrong. nobody HAS to fuck anybody - and that is no illusion. shit is crafty and people are so crafty. and everyone has their agenda, agenda. but open your us watch you. see - that's what everybody says they're doing - but man, they're not doing that. because if they were.....well, because if they were we'd know it - because it would hurt. them and us. you know?! got it? fuck you - you don't got it. because there is no such thing as it. that's the thing. everyone is lying because its so scary to be alive. its not scary to die - that's as easy as getting fucked - you just pretty much close your eyes and wait until its over. but LIVING, man that's some scary shit because this is one fucked place to inevitably you WILL fuck it all up...... but that's just it - by the very act of fucking it all up you activate that subtle randomness that allows you just the opportunity to escape - to get out. if you see it. do you see it? i cant see it but i KNOW its there. so, am i crazy? did i lose it? abso-fuckin-lutely. not. i am reaching out as an extension of myself and hating you. hating you for me. hating you because you hate me. do i validate you? i hope to fuck not. nothing is valid. not if you want it to be. if you want it, it is total bullshit and i will never give it to you. suffocate on all that want for all i care. i hope you drown in it. because that is just that and this is the way it is. choke on it. i do everyday. you emanate from all sides of me. i will use you to destroy everything. i bite at your eyes with the false teeth of a civilized society that will shit you out and cover you with dirt.

Tuesday, February 18, 2003


i never rock a soft pack.

why is eating so hard to remember to do?

and if another ATM machine tells me it can't read my atm card i'm going to totally freak out. wanna watch me? it's usually very entertaining... or so i've been told.

and it feels like i just got my laundry done... but i guess that was early january... i only remember because i paid somebody to do it for me. that's how retardedly unmotivated i am sometimes. but hey!! i still have clean towels. lotsa times i just use the same towel over and over again, because it's like, fuck man... i'm CLEAN when i use it, right?

i waste money by paying for every meal, and then try and save money by not eating. brilliant!

grocery stores are for beer, condoms, and... uh... those coin counting machines they have in the front. i go mental counting coins. i'd rather grocery shop at 7-11 anyways. at least 7-11 has slurppees.

i wish more things in life were drive-thru. like a drive-thru clothing store, or drive thru hair cuts. i'd get so much more done.

and how the fuck did all these promotional companies get my private fax number? do they think paper and toner fucking grow on trees? paper sorta does, in a way, i guess.... but still...

i get so mad when i black out. i think back to my weekend and can only remember the first parts of them. like i do NOT remember taking a taxi home from las palmas... but my friends swore they couldn't find me, and i got home SOMEhow....
and i woke up the next day with a million missed calls on my cell phone. and all these voicemails like, "anti... where the fuck are you? we're all outside waiting..." and then they started sounding like, "anti, we're at the pad... bring chicks if you're with any..."

the party in thousand oaks was tight because they had strippers and a drug pinata, and for some wierd reason noone wanted the coke. they only wanted the weed. i'm up scraping the last of those baggies right now. damn coke to hell. but we only stayed there like an hour....

i'd totally sell coke, but i don't trust myself. the old rule of, "don't get high on your own supply" never works out quite like i want it too. i need a break from it. a cocaine vacation. a coke-vation. at least 2 weeks off....

raymi just sent me a text message saying she fell asleep on the floor whilst watching gladiator. i don't blame her. i hated that movie.

right now i have a huge fucking head ache from forgetting to eat all day. at about midnight i rode over to the taco stand.... but it's too late... my head is pounding so hard i think my eyeballs might pop out of my skull. why don't i ever have normal ppl drugs like an aspirin? shit... i'd settle for a cough drop at this point.

i think i'm gonna go jerk off in the shower...

Monday, February 17, 2003


hi fags. it's raymi. me and anti decided i should start writing here because he wants to ride my coattails to the top. or to the bottom. did you know i'm bringing my big homosexual self to the west coast soon? well, it's true. anti is going to plug me with his big horsemeat and make ejaculation shoot out of my nose. maybe. that's how it works, right?

i feel like i am riding this never-ending shitbag high and i am never getting anywhere or anything done. i can barely rent movies.

luv raymi

Sunday, February 16, 2003

i'm, really too drunk to write anything thatn wpoujlmd be woirhrb while///..,.,m,.so here a p[ic odf ,e amd spike on ab beerf rhujn.">

tonight i wemnt to throusandsa oaqks qhwere my klast name is worth shit, but whatever., there was so much booze and peeps try9ing tpo be alll whatevs... it;s like. fuck off and die. i'm going to sleep nknopw

Thursday, February 13, 2003

fuck man, there i was in compton driving around taking pictures of peoples houses for my job, and with out warning... i had to piss like a fucking race horse. like, "ZAP! ...bladder full..."

normally this is where i'd pull over and piss on the side of the road, but compton is one of those cities that's just overrun by little bratty shits getting retarded all over the place. i get the feeling it's trendy in compton to never be inside your house.

so anyways, there's really no time to find a Popeye's Chicken, or a Church's Drive-Thru that might have a place to piss, i'll have pissed myself by then, so i gotta improvise. i KNEW my collection of half dranken McDonald's cups would come in handy. Sometimes i'm so thankful imma pig.

i bust into some random parking lot, dump the old-as-fuck soda out the window, throw my seat back, whip out my thing-thang, and filled that cup up. thank god i always super size my shit... i would have been fucked with a smaller cup.

also, in case somone reads this and trys it, i have to warn you that you have to OPEN your car door and GENTLEY set that cup down on the ground. so far you managed to keep you pants and car piss free, why fuck it up now?

can't i just install a bigger bladder? having to pee is really starting to get on my nerves.

Wednesday, February 12, 2003


when i'm roaming the streets or freeways of HELL A. i barely watch the road in front of me. i start staring in the rear view mirror, a habit i picked up as part of my cop-look-out, so much that when i snap out of it, and focus back on the road, i'm always amazed at how long it's been since i was paying attention. sometimes i'm just doing it to make sure i'm still wining that Lincoln Navigator.

my truck is a filthy mess. a combonation of taco bell, mcdonald's, and jack in the box bags are slowly taking over the passenger seat, with so many random half drranken fast food sodas occupying the drink holder thingies. the worst part is it smells so bad in there that i got a hundred bucks saying there's a dead chimpmunk hidden somewhere, under a taco wrapper or some shit...

and my balls are buggin the shit out of me. they're like forever stuck to one leg or the other. it's like, "damn you balls... do as told!". but the fuckers have a mind of their own.

about a million times aday i go through this ritual where i FREAK out because i can't find my cigarettes. i check my pockets. i pace back and forth acrossmy shitty little apartment. they aren't on the desk. there's just a mcdonald's cup and my keys and my wallet on the kitchen counter. the smokes aren't over by the door. FUCK!

and oh, great. it's raining here tonight for some godforsaken reason, and all my half smoked cigarettes in the ashtray outside are fucked.

i start to tense up... i think to my cars ashtray... see if i can remember a long'un being in there...

just then it hit's me. i go to my other pants, check the pcokets... and ahhh... YES! YES! my precious camel lights. shit. i would have taken virginia slim 120's at that point.

cheers to stupid habbits that make me stand in the rain!

Monday, February 10, 2003

i hate cliff, and i don't understand the purpose of this thing

this is where i used to live.

but most of it looked like this

what if i died? i think about that way too much.

i always feel like it's prolly going to be soon. some car wreck, in the wrong place at the wrong time, whatever. i don't want to kill myself or anything, i've thought about it yes, but not more than the average highschool angst-filled loser. i just have a hard time believing that i'm going to live past 40.

old people scare me too. i see old men hunched over due to the obvious back problems they've given themself. shit... i have major back issues ALREADY! and because i smoke, growing old with damaged lungs, cancer, and heart disease all freak me out. it just seems like a lot of suffering. dieing scares me too. i don't believe in heaven or hell really, but if there is such shit, i'm sure i won't be going to the nice one.

mostly though, i wonder about who will care that i'm dead, who will be sad, who will buy me flowers and shit like that. i wonder if people who read my blog will find out, or if they will just think i got over it. what will it look like? will i be burried? cuz i don't want to be. but then again... having a tombstone is kinda cool. i want mine to say something funny like one of those ones from the haunted house ride at disneyland.

the highschool suicide fantasies where kinda cool. like outta a movie or some shit. i was dressed like some vietnam commando, with an uzi, and it was some math class where i took it over and held everyone hostage. i killed off the shitty people, and after a long stand off with the cops, i went down in a very intense and dramatic blizzard of bullets. now if i picture myself dieing, it's more like some drunk driver plowing into me... and not by my own hands at all.

oh well. i've should have died a million times already.. everything from my robbery, to my near drowning at age three, to the countless car accidents i've already been in, and tons other shit. just my friggin luck... i'm invincible.

Sunday, February 09, 2003

great, now i have something else to ditract me, and keep me from working.

fuck you new toy from hell. i hate you.

and here's some more drama for your mama:
whitey paid for all of our taxi home from hollywood the night what's-his-name got his DUI, and we stopped for beer on the way so the grand total was like $65.00 for the cab, plus whatever the beer cost. but it was all good, because whitey had found a hundred dollar bill earlier at city walk.

the comedy part of it is that it turns out it was what's-his-name's hundred bucks that whitey had found... but i think it's only fair that what's-his-name paid our cab fare. it was his fault we were stranded, his fault he lost his money, his fault he got arrested, ect....

sure sucks to be what's-his-name.

tonight i'm bored, unmotivated, and obbsessed with getting the endless ammounts of eye-snot out of my eyes. lovely, huh?

and i'm over the britta. i've cooked up enough water in that slow-as-fuck thing to realize that i'm all about the instant gratification that tap water gives me. who cares if your water tastes like someone dropped a penny in it?

Saturday, February 08, 2003


part 1 "nobody ever listens to me. and they fucking should."

i say, "universal city walk is the lamest place i've ever been" but they all go there anyways. i sorta feel like whitey and i got kidnapped, because we were begging to be let out so we could walk home. no dice.

and was i right? was i right?!...

you can bet your fuckin ass i was right. it was some sort of wierd deuling piano guys, battling it out with showtunes, the drinks there were weak, and i'll never let someone drive me, or be without my car, again.

"can you say, uhhhh..... fun?"

part 2, "on the way home"

so halfway home from the city walk, everyone turns genius on me, and says, "let's turn back and hit up that club that goes till 4 in the morning!" even though i tried everything in the book, including bribery and blackmail, to get them to just keep on driving home.

so when the driver gets pulled over and initiated into the DUI club, do i wanna say, "told you so, fag breath"? hell fucking yeah.

hmmm, maybe i'm not talking just to hear the sound of my own voice. and holy shit, this'll make your fucking head spin: when i tell you something, listen to it.

because i'm right.

2:36am Sunday
please leave raymi's boring email account alone, whoever you are. that's like ten miles past being a pain in the ass. man c'mon... how evil can you be?

Friday, February 07, 2003

i heard that CNN is calling drug smugglers "narcotic terrorists". i think they're throwing around the T word a little bit too much. no?

drinking beers throughout the day is such a mistake in Los Angeles. everywhere i drive to seems to be at least a half an hour away... making it a gaurantee that i'll have to pull over and pee on the side of the road.

did you know that if you get popped by the cops doing that, you know... public urination, then you have to register on the list of sex offenders in the community. fuckin a, man....

i'm drunk, not a sex offender.

but i am kinda a perv.

what the fuck am i talking about anyways?

Thursday, February 06, 2003

i don't know if i'm just too used to being shit on, but it's really hard for me to accept compliments, presents, or whatever. when someone does something nice for me, it just makes me feel uncomfortable, and a little guilty. sucks, huh?

if jack in the box wasn't open 24 hours, they'd be so out of business already. their food sucks, especially their "philly" cheese steak. they're not fooling anyone.

one thing that keeps me from quitting smoking is the fact it gives me something to do if i'm ever waiting, or an excuse as to why i need yet another break.

"ok, while you do that, i'll have a smoke outside"

when i was in highschool, i learned to chain smoke, because at El Porto Market employees are allowed to take as long a break as it takes to smoke. so why only smoke one, right? and i felt like because it was this SAME market that sold me cigerettes when i was 13, it was payback. karma's a bitch...
"re-stock this! you zipper-heads!"

Wednesday, February 05, 2003

semi trucks. big rigs. 18-wheelers. i hate them by any name.

frequently i have to make trips back and forth from Long Beach to San Pedro. i used to not care... but these bridges are grinding me down like some kinda giant pepper mill. if you have to pee, you might as well piss yourself or pray for an empty coke bottle in your car. the fuckin thing is only two lanes (i hate things that are only two lanes!!!) and the truckers are making you as upset as this guy.

if you're smart, and/or not me, you do have in your car:
-good music
-food or drink
-windshield wiper fluid
and enough time to drive the speed limit

i was going to add porno mags to the list... but i think i do have a few in there somewhere.

the only advice i can offer to people who drive all day like me, is to play road games. fuck with people. if you're busy making other people go mental with rage, you won't notice how pissed YOU should be. lately a favorite game of mine is called the "tea party". you just drive the same exact speed as someone who needs to change into your lane. they'll speed up to go in front. they'll slow down merge behind. but they won't be making any lane changes today.... OR making that exit...
because their feverishly-honking, middle-finger-flipping, no-green-card-having, dumbass is my entertainment. and that's tough shit for them

just make sure it isn't some crazy fucker who will hunt you down and kill you. now go try it and tell me how great it works.

Tuesday, February 04, 2003


i have BO, no weed, and no cigarettes. my car needs gas, it's oil changed, a wash, and two new rear tires. i have two pairs of clean underwear left, no more clean socks, and i need staples for my stapler. all i can hear is the steady hum of my computer, and the click clack of my upstairs neighbors high heels.

i talked to raymi yesterday and she won herself the honor of being the quote of the day, "fuck you and your climate, man..."

and for those not familiar with southern california, it's nothing like that show Saved by the Bell... except for the fact that Zack and Screech keep pulling pranks on Mr. Belding. but you hardly even notice after a while.


SOOOO PISSED. within a few pushes down rosecrans avenue on my board, i hit a fucking rock or some shit, and my combo #5 and large horchata go splat on the pavement, and my knees get all scratched up in the process.
fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"why don't you all fucking take a picture? it'll last longer. fuck you!"

so i scoop up what i can, slam it into the trash can on the sidewalk, and try to wipe off the refried beans on my arm by smearing it on the wall.

i would have gone back in and had those bastards make me a new #5, but i was just too friggin angry.. i would've flipped out and done some wierd shit for sure.

why'd the gods hate on me? i was on my best behaviour all day dammit! this'll teach me to eat food that isn't delivered.

i tried to find a pissed off picture of myself.
this one will have to do.

oh and read about the partying me and brian did saturday. you'll be jealous.

Sunday, February 02, 2003

i used to wear glasses. it's true. i was a four-eyed geek. without my glasses everything in my life was a blurry piece of shit, unless it was within a three foot radius of myself.
just me and kermit chillin
so i got laser eye surgery.

they make it sound so easy, "oh suuuure... it'll only take 15 minutes. it'll be no sweat." and it DID only take 15 minutes. but the "no sweat" part was bullshit.

they told me that i'll have to stay awake, and do three things:
1. hold perfectly still, and straight.
2. never stop staring at the blinking red light.
and 3. keep both eyes open at all times

sounds easy enough, right? wrong. they put some clockwork orange eye-opener clamp thing on the eye they're working on, wich makes thing-i'm-supposed-to-do #3 near impossible. so they're all, "OPEN THAT OTHER EYE!!" and that makes me nervous, wich makes me break thing-i'm-supposed-to-do #1. so they're all, "STRAIGHTEN UP".

thing-i'm-supposed-to-do #2 ain't a walk in the park either. at this point, they've cut open a flap on my eyeball, sorta like a can of beans. that made the tiny little blinking red light blurry, and simultaneously making it look a million time bigger. it's like i'm staring at this huge blinking red sky. so i'm not even sure if i'm really looking at it... it's everywhere.

i would have totally pussed out if it weren't for those sexy nurses. oh, and the valium helped too. and now i can watch TV with my head on a pillow, and see that trees have leaves.

Saturday, February 01, 2003

this bar in hermosa is closing it's doors. tonights the last night. me and the staff are gonna trash the place. this dude might go too.

sometimes i hate peoples dogs. usually on home inspections is when i hate them the most. "oh my dog's nice..." right. sure. i beleive you. but if you don't lock that doberman up in some cage, i'm leaveing. jebus christ! and i have to measure these biuldings, so i step in dog shit way to often for a normal human being. and if that happens, trust me, you wanna keep it a secret. one time a homeowner was all, "i'll wash that for you" and she fuckin ran water straight up inside my shoe. thanks. nice.

but i DO love my job. it's like i'm constantly taking grand tours of the beutiful county of los angeles. see, in the right spot... even san pedro is slightly not an eyesore. i took me and my dogshit smeared shoe up there for an after work joint, with a view. then i felt slightly less irritated.


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Tony Pierce