Anti abandons the internet.

it's finally over, thank fucking god.

Wednesday, August 27, 2003

i'm not too worried about ariz-own-me this time, cuz i like to be alone. imma loner, dottie...
a rebel...

or some shit like that. pffffffffffffffft....

so anyways i might meet up with arizona people out there, and count on them to be awesome. meh.
no i'm not eating and of your wheat thins. barf. i hate those. and no i'm not an elite-ist(sp?), and no wheat thins do not hate me back. hey did you know they were having another concert at that park by my house. just now. i can't watch it before i go, besides, i hate all those park people, and from my balcony would work, but i just hate stalling the inevitable.

fuck it. two fat bong hits... and them i'm road-bound...

now check THIS out. my invisible flip friend got it somehow.

oh and this one too

oh and my new style is dirty gineuu sleazeball. i think it will work wonders.

Tuesday, August 26, 2003

blue blockers are the WORST shades ever. they're like crack for your eyes.... now the world is too bright for my bitch ass, and i hate everything

i'm going mental because i have to go back to pheonix... anyone wanna party or hang out or smoke weed there?

i feel like being a proffesional airplane passenger, i'll like get hammered and shit on the plane, and train/spy on the staff. and i'll get to prolly smuggle drugs that way, because they'll like "trust" me. what bitches

i like knowing that people hate me.

hate is so passionate it's awesome. it's like being loved. and better than being ignored and not thought about at all.

among things i've been called today, "the geek from the blog lagoon", "asshole", "tyranasaures dork", "the homo from monte christo", "count whackula", and "loser dickwad retard"....

and today was a GOOOD day...

sup suckas? so i was gonna get a weekend off from arizona and now they want to send me there AGAIN. the phrase, "fuckkkkk nooooo..." comes to mind. and listen to this... i'm gonna have to leave thursday at 4am to get there by 10am, and this time i'll be all alone. no helper guys, no fellow sign job dudes to party with. just me and the red roof inn, and my big 4-0. so far since i got my new apartment i've spent more time in arizona hotel rooms. but at least that way i get to watch cable, and like have a maid.

i swear i am so good at making people hate me. here's a recent email...

Subject: ...

Look dude, I'm sorry I'm emailing you this, but I don't have your phone
number. I am extremly pissed with you right now. And I'm not kidding. I
have to be up in about 4 hours, so I can leave the house at 7:45am and
come home until atleast 11:30pm. Why couldn't you have left me a
on my machine earlier? Why couldn't you have said something before
while I
was at work? What the fuck? I'm already really tired, and I was
sleeping. Now I'm TOTALLY awake. So get a pen, and write this down:
***-****. That is *-----'S* number. I don't sell this shit dude. And if
want to score at 2am, you call him. But I garantee he'll be ALOT more
pissed than I am now. And I'm pretty fuckin pissed.

Monday, August 25, 2003

arizona trip 2 done and out. mission accomplished.

no offense to the people who live there, but i hate that place. it's stupid hot.

i have tons of stories about like... the homless manson guys sign walker person who got shot (with a sling shot), the kareoke bar "uncle monkeys" and the black dude "sweet georgia brown" who ran it, stealing ice from every hotels ice machine in town, salty sweat stinging my eyes, buying seedy stress weed from a different homeless guy, the road rage murder next to my sale, and wondering why there's a tweaker on every corner.

last night i got back in record time, 4.5 hours.

i'm OVER that place.

Wednesday, August 20, 2003


this was one of those old school gas stations where you just hand homie your credit card, and pump your shit, and homie charges it.

i guess i should warn the world right now... i ain't no planner...

all my plans go bust. i just sorta dive in and count on everything just working out. and usually, it just does.

so i wasn't worried when i had just pumped $30 buscks worth of gas, and had no credit left, and i just lost my ATM card in some Fry's Food and Drug in Goodyear, AZ.

not worried at all.

i called my credit card company and asked for a lil "emergency funds"... they said, "Mr. Disestablishmentarian.... ummm sir, we regretfully cannot do that at this time."


i still wasn't worried though. i knew if it came down to it... i could just bone the fuck out, peel some rubber, and escape.

i blame this whole story on arizona by the way. if i wasn't so overworked by the cops and city workers giving me shit about my signs i wouldn't have had the heat-induced-dementia quite quite so bad, and i wouldah NOT lost my ATM card, and thus NOT had to beg from my friends.

ORRRRR, i could blame my dad, because in the end, HE'S why i have shitty credit, and why my credit limit is so low it's a total joke, and why i don't have thousands of dollars worth of credit to max out at the mall and like... ikea i guess...

and just plain fuck it all. fuck banks, fuck credit issues, fuck cash... all that. i wanna only deal with gold.

i don't trust these coprorations or this country anymore.

i'm not serious, by the way. but i am sorta.

Tuesday, August 19, 2003

i bought a new bong today. and a frying pan, a towel, some deodorant, and a rug for when i get out of the shower.

but the bong rules. it's a two footer, glass, and is like a straigt shooter... no bubbles or fancy base or fag shit like that.

i have so much to buy it's ridiculous.

the neighborhood riff-raff just hopped on the roof, and we had to shoo them off...

i hate kids.

then i broke staff's ashtray, and i well that rules because, clumsiness is SO HOT right now. believe that.

Monday, August 18, 2003

so it's finally judgement day.

i went to the grocery store, and fuckin bought groceries. ho-lee...

of coarse i have no frying pans, silver ware, plates, or microwave, or toaster, or like silver ware, or anything. but i have a fridge and a stove. i just gotta gaffle the rest.

i think i should just rock out with the George Foreman Grill thing. that shizz is the dr. bombay. you could bring that shit to a hotel, and blaze it up.

speaking of shit-ball-hooker-hotel-hells like the first hotel my crew got in pheonix, place had no towels, blood stains on the walls, cigarette burns everywhere, homeless beggers in the hallways knocking on doors, and the front desk guy wears a loaded revolver around his waist, complete with his daft jokes, and cowboy hat.

red roof inn was way cooler, and even cheaper. i wanna stay at some place with a pool though. ya need that shit in the A to the Z.

i'm not down.

not with AZ.

not with pheonix.

the WHOLE place ran out of gas?! what, like how can the guys-in-charge treat those people like that? i was lucky i had enough gas to get the fuck outta dodge.

now i have a few days off to smoke as much pot as possible, get cable TV and/or internet, and all that exciting new apartment stuff.

so everyone raise their forties in the air, and pour a little out like you just don't care... and give me props for not making arizona become ariz-own-ya. and my retarded ass is going BACk next weekend for ANOTHER gig. i must either be insane or have a major hard on for money. or both.

Thursday, August 14, 2003

arizona. yes i'm leaving LA for a few days for arizona.

the sign job


it's supposed to be lethally hot out there. i can barely wait. ok... i'd rather my car crash into a flaming inferno than be in arizona, but i getta follow that dolla dolla bill yall.

we're gonna take turns putting p in the ool.

in other anti news, i got my apartment, and have no internet, and no cable tv, and the rabbitt ears don't get any stations, and it's like camping sorta, cuz i don't even have a bed.

oh yeah dude.

Monday, August 11, 2003

i haven't slept in a real bed since i was in canada. or even a couch.

my car was the most comfortable place i slept.

and i came THIS close to getting hooked up with an air mattress... damnnnn....

i recently shaved with a REAL razor, and therefore have to go scratch and itch my my face off. razor burn, can razor-fuck-itself.

Wednesday, August 06, 2003

ok so i quit blogging. but then changed my mind.

anyone want to hire me? i will lie to your face, pretend to work, come in late, not shower, download porn, steal office supplies, take extended lunches, and go home "sick". i'll spit on the big mac, deliver the wrong pizza, and fall asleep in the storage room. maybe even hide a bong in the storage room for easy access.

i'll fuck up, just gimme a chance to. without a job to burn bridges with, i'm totally useless.

can you get disablilty pay for laziness?

maybe i should just whack off a lot and sell my sperm. who wants a lil baby anti of their own? eh? EH?

i know there's a job out there that i'd be perfect for. it'd involve me sleeping in, smoking pot all day, and listening to music.

i'd fully just live in my car man. i sleep like the dead in there. i can shower at the beach showers, and cell it up. my biggest worry would be getting the breeziest, shadiest parking spot.

Tuesday, August 05, 2003


Monday, August 04, 2003

yes this is the glamorous sign job in all it's glory. if you knew how much it paid, you'd be hammering away too. so don't talk shit.

i talked with my cousins today... the COOL ones. the pot smoking, pill popping, booze swallowing ones. not the bible toting wierdo ones.

and man, i missed them.

the coconuts are sunburned, and man, they look crispy.

i need to get over my hate for the beach. my farmers tan has lost it's charm. i'd be crispy looking too, and on my way to a decent non-farmers tan.

but man, the beach is soooo..... ummm.... SANDY. and hot. and the water, no matter how much the local surf losers tell you, is always freezing balls. plus the sun causes cancer. as an avid cigarette smoker, i think i need to keep my cancerous contributors to a minimum.

people don't understand it, my hate for the beach. but neither do i.

i think it's my hate for surfers, and everything surf. non-californians say i sound like a surfer, and dude, like, wtf? but i guess i do. my accents not as bad as like spicole, but fuckit, whitey's IS. hHAHAHAHaa.

Saturday, August 02, 2003

operation rip off my dad.

it was during the period of time when he FIRST disowned me, and told me to never talk to him or "come around" his house ever again. i sat at home, and thought to myself: this fucker is gonna PAY...

but things didn't go quite as planned...

the plan was to break in through an open/unlocked window, dressed in solid black, swipe his stash of pot, gaffle his pile of cash, and rip off his VCR. oh and to not get caught, cuz he might whip out a gun and kill me, or beat me up, or something...

so i broke in with ease. it felt wierd to be in there as an intruder, but i got over it. and proceeded to the 3rd floor where he sleeps and where he keeps a pile of money on some dresser, usually about 1-2 thousand bucks in cash. i remember hearing him snore as i stood there in shock... the shock of finding that he didn't put his money there that night. whatta an asshole, eh?

so i headed down to the kitchen to find his weed. i found an ounce, and five bucks cash. things seemed back on track, so i headed to the family room where i broke in so i could grab the VCR and hit the fucking road.

but even that was a pain in the ass. he was a rich dude, so he had a gang of electronic thing-thangs plugged into shit all over the place. it was a spider web of cords and wires. i literally had to unplug EVERYthing before the VCR would come loose. but it finally did and i headed for my escape window.

as i busted out undetected i ran my ass of back to my car, i didn't want to be seen, because i looked as suspicious as a guy with an uzi in 7-11. solid black clothes and a VCR under my arm. "yeah officer, i was just taking the VCR for a late night stroll."

but when i got home, the weed was gone. it must have fallen out when i was running. so my "big score" was five bucks and a used VCR. how fucking retarded.

to this day i wonder if he ever had any idea it was me. not that i care. he's a selfish prick anyways...


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Tony Pierce