artsy custom painting. aw yah, ya buncha dumb fucks.
i feel bad that i posted that pic of my mom, cuz like, she didn't even want her picture taken. see me grabbing her hand out of the way? but she's always pretty to me, i guess.
i haven't been able to eat right lately. i'll buy the steak and egg burrito from del taco for breakfast, and only be able to manage a bite or two. appetite issues. i want to eat, but the more i try the more i feel like i'm gonna be sick. am i losing my mind? i'm gonna go try to eat some baja fresh. maybe it will not be a waste.
i'm changing my name to joe kickass.
this morning i got 3 hours of sleep so i could drive two hours away and deal with signs at the butt-crack of dawn, because of this shitty black friday.
ok i'm gonna go twiddle my thumbs and put on some nipple clamps.
YOU know.... the usual.
dad asshole of the century,
so i hope you and your retarded wifey #6 can look in the mirror everyday and live with who is looking back. oh you feel alienated, and have a hole in your heart? well tough shit for you, ass breath.
you could make it up to me, and win me back someday... but you'd have to cough up the cash, and clear the debts you accumulated in MY name. until then, rot in hell you stupid piece of shit.
you always thought that you were smarter than me, and smarter than carrie and ginger (those are my sisters for you unknowing readers), and smarter than mom... SO FUCK YOU, because i AM just as smart as you are, just as ruthless, and ten times more diabolical.
remember wife #4, rosie??? do you, do you? yah well rosie cheated on you, dumbass, and guess who fouled her up nice and good... I DID!!! never saw that comin did'ya?! i fucked her every which way but sideways
know what, motherfucker? you're a sad sad man... who will die alone, and miserable. i feel sorry for you, for losing me, because i'm the SHIT, buddy. and you? you just smell like shit.
here comes thanksgiving, and what am i thankful for? i'm thankful i'm not gonna get arrested for kicking your bald, 6'6", ugly, fat-ass... because if i was there... i'd pummel you. you little bitch.
countless people have gotten pissed at me. "why did you write THAT?" or "i KNOW that was about me" or "you write such lame trifle ass shit, i wanna stab you in the neck woth a fork"
i think the appraisal people got mad that i called them drama queens. but fuckit, they proved THEY ARE drama queens when they got mad about it. or how breetard got mad that i refer to her as a co-worker and not a friend in the cast page. or the c-diddy fiasco. or a trillion other things.
whatever, you prolly don't understand anyways.
good news? i have whittled down my cell phone bill to $1,100 from the previous $1,800 debt. YAY!
now you can tell from my everyday fits
i ain't rich
so cease and desist with them tricks
i'm just another black man caught up in the mix
trying to make a dolla out of 15 cents
Just cause I'm a freak don't mean that we could hit the sheets
Baby I can see, that you don't recognize me
i'm ANTEEE, the one who put the satin on your panties
why did humpty change his name to shock anyways? pffffffffft.
and then i wrote myself the most bizarre email, and i don't remember doing it.
From: "anti ©" email@example.com
To: "anti ©"firstname.lastname@example.org
so like whatever because my h3ead hurts and hmy heart
aches and i get no sleep, and i hate it, and fuck you,
and why do you write this shit, because noone reads it
i think you just like to see you hands type because
whatever the fuck with all that jazz anyways.
my car, and random couches across southern california can't hold a candle to my real bed.
i'm coming down with a severe case of narcolepsy. i spend every other hour of the day asleep. and i'm losing my mind.
and my favorite radio talk show is on vacation this week. i hate "best of" editions.
i'm thinking about getting an amazon wishlist thingy. wanna buy me a present? but i would only ask for cool shit, like lighters, ashtrays, and pornos.
jenny is gonna wash all my clothes for me. isn't she a sweetheart? i told her how i was gonna burn all my clothes and start over from scratch, and i guess she thought she'd hook it up for me. wanna know the last time i had clean clothes? if i could remember, i'd tell you. one thing you can bank on though is that i'll be all shits and giggles fo sho when i actually have on socks with my shoes. a dream come true.
oh and don't diss my lucky yellow sweatshirt... yellow is the coolest color ever. i love it so much, i just might marry yellow. nahhhhhhhmean?
the game is basically to see how many seconds you can drive 95MPH with your eyes closed before you freak the fuck out and open em up, or just plain crash and die.
my record is 8 whole seconds. you start shitting your pants at around 6 seconds... especially on the I-5 cruising through the grapevine.
ps... using roads that have those bumps, so you know you're getting on the shoulder, are for cheaters.
i always hated cranberry sauce anyways.
my cousin's asked me, "hey anti... why don'cha ambush your dad's house...?"
but they KNOW why. my dad figuratively bent me over and ass raped me. how can you forget shit like that?
ninjagurl and her brother mutzer are happy to have me over. besides they haven't gotten to see me since like... march or february. i feel bad when people don't get to see me. whatta damned shame.
i slept in my car last night (again) and know what? it's the bomb, baby. i just crawl onto the bench seat in the back of of the extenda-cab use my filthy yellow sweatshirt for a pillow.... and use one sleeve on the sweatshirt to wrap around my eyes, and block out any light. and BAM!!!! i'm parked in front of my work, and the new "morning commute" is however many steps from my truck to the front door.
in other words... please paypal me more. everyone STOPPED. and ummm... if anyone knows anyone in bakersfield (yes i'm stuck in the sticks AGAIN) please hookit up so i can sleep on their couch. thank you in advance.
then my boss told me if he finds another one of my cigerette butts on or around or even NEAR his property... he's gonna spit in my face.
ever feel so small you have to look up to see a rug? that's how it felt.
nice day to
at least billy idol knows wassap. sweat motherfuckers.
the thing that keeps me from running though... is the undying false hope i have that everything works out in the end. i don't know if that makes sense to anyone but me... but. fuck it.
oh and hey true, can you tell sterling to take that restricted number bullshit off her phone.... i don't answer "those" kinda calls, nahmean?
poor jenny... the whole family thinks her boyfriend is a loser. including HER. oh well, none of my business i spose.
and then earlier the viking suggested to me that we bone the fuck out of here, and backpack through europe, or camp out in baja vega-ville some where south of mexico, and start new technology-free, debt-free, and reputaion-free lives. i hope he knows how DOWN i am.
everyday it becomes clearer and clearer... this is not the life for me.
i can fight.
i'll be a fighter if i have to be.
BRING IT ON, BITCHES.
but like, man.. c'mon... fuck fighting.
imma lover by choice.
fighter by circumstance.
and a total asshole for all other intensive porposes.
can you back me on this or what?
my cd player is totally caput... and the radio is making me mental. so i dig through my oldschool cassette tape collection to find the few tapes that haven't been fried to a crisp by the fucking sun.
that leaves me with Dr. Dre the chronic, Rage Against the Machine, and Slayer decade of aggression.
but listening to that shit is such a relief because that new outkast song is haunting me, and giving me the creeps. nahmean?
sum it up for yalls? i'm diving in , head first, and full blown commando style. i'm gonna ride this shit storm out until i get my paycheck (if i don't die of sobriety... it's similar to starvation). i'm missing some of the KEY tools needed, like a cell phone that doesn't die after ONE call and/or HAS a car charger... the right kinda hammer (i needah 5lbs. mallet, and all i got is this chincy claw hammer)... pot... and like a helper monkey.
but fuck it, i'm king. or as paul the king of big screen tv's says, "i AM the king." nevermind... if you don't live here you have no clue who paul the king of bigscreen tv's is, and have never heard his annoying catch line at the end of his faggot ass radio commercial ad thingy.
by the way, fallbrook is a lovely, and beautiful place...
to poop on.
man i sure look happy in that sorry excuse for a picture. what was i thinking? "gee what a lovely necklace of bud leaves i have on?" or... "wow, i sure have great taste in eye wear!!"... it almost makes me wish my memory wasn't burnt beyond recognition. ALMOST. but not really.
ok i'm gonna go impale a sign into my chest, and maybe i'll finally get to go to hell. catch a ride in your OWN handbasket, you fucking posers.
sleeping in your car is the coolest!!!
i got no fucking clue, man.
ask somebody who cares.
and he's like an old school homie from back in the DAY, and he is supposed to front me some really choice herb. the kushhhhhhhh. no wait not the kush. it's got some other ridiculous name.
it's fuckin noon already? i hate fat people
yes, it's a blogger hoodie. I RULE!!!
oh and as a sort of test, i everyone to write an immitation anti blog post in my comments. make it a spoof, or an homage, or diss me, just try to do it in my style. i have a prize for the winner.
ok it's time for me to escape my fleabag-studio-apartment and get smoked out and maybe,
if i'm lucky, i'll get fed. cross your fingers for me!!!
actually that pic was taken five seconds before i wrote this shizzzz... and like 14 hours after i woke the fuck up.
they should change the name of fallbrook to "a place actually shittier than bakersfield"
i haven't masturbated since sunday... this might be a record time for me. i think before this the longest i had gone without jerkin the gherkin was like 10 hours. and yes, i'm going thru withdrawals. i'll go wax in a minute though. i'm busy bloggin.
and i'm earning mad respect in the sign community. i have fresh new ideas, i bust my ass with total retard-strength, and the most important = i make the clients happy.
i just wish there was enough work so that i could remind everyone of that more than once a month. cuz i'm starvin over here. (click paypal....)
so yep, that's it. i'm not high, what do you expect? the only really good shit i write is when i'm so chinese'd that my face looks like a fortune cookie.
i hope to have pics up as soon as i can of this sign walker we have that is in a wheel chair, an electric wheel chair...
and he makes the wheelchair spin and rotate while he holds that fucking sign. it's fucking great! i love it...
but i worry he'll use up all his wheelchair-batteries.
and i'm working with my main sign homie, Lloyd. this guy is awesome. he used to be a trucker and can teach you all the trucker slang you ever wanted to know. like how Highway Patrol is called a Bear. and a sherrif is a County Mounty, and a city cop is a city kitty. fabulous.
and if you ever wanted to learn how to double log your truck routes, so you can do drugs all day and night and drive non stop, and not worry about the highway patrol catching on... ask Lloyd. in fact email me with trucker questions, and i'll run em past lloyd
i haven't been home since thursday. my cell phone is dusted. i feel completely nomadic, and gypsy-esque, and free from all things that remind me of my commitments.
who wants to move with me to costa rica? white sandy beaches (even though i hate the beach) pina coladas... oh and my favorite food, TACOS.
but costa rica is too far, and del taco has the new del carbon tacos, and i like em...
amy is the bomb, btw... if you haven't already noticed. she made me cookies, and therefore, is wayyyyy cooler than everyone. cuz noone ELSE made me cookies.
i'll post pics like a mo-fo tomorrow. right now i need to sleep in my car, up here in bakersfield, also know as... BFE, or fuckin shit hole central.
maybe i could be their Neo.
oh and HI C-DIDDY!!!! how is guess, and yer dogggg, and ummm... life?
or in other words, i know yer readin this shite.
(and from this day forward "words" will be spelled: "werbs")
yes i will be terrorizing bakersfield promoting who-fucking-cares, and finally getting a decent scoop of cashola.
but bakersfield is far, and it's boring out there, and two hours away, and oh well i'd practically spit shine your shoes with my tounge for a nickel at this point so any dosage of income if like, "thank you gods, every last one of ya's!"
but my cell is jacked up with a bill so astronomincally high i'm actually embarrassed to admit it. it's off. for now. i'll check my email as often as possible... for the people who may need to reach me, you all know who you are.
bottoms up, and cheers to flippin gthe script to all the non-believers. fuck alllll yall.
everyone is raising their eyebrows at me as i walk by... like i'm some kinda wierdo for bringing zip-lock baggies to the happy hour free buffalo wings table at the ole locale pubbery.
dignity is a luxury afforded by the haves, not the have-nots.
my next move is to bring a back-pack full of styrofoam to-go boxes to the sizzler all-you-can-eat salad bar, and go "grocery" shopping.
then i got this email from my friend vanessa from FL.
From: "Vanessa " <*********@hotmail.com>
To: ruttedout [at] yahoo.com
Date: Tue, 04 Nov 2003 10:06:43 -0800
i drempt that me & my cohorts had to kill you & this baby 'cause you guys were evil & trying to get us. I stabbed the baby with a pencil repeatedly & goo came out. It was very disturbing. I forgot how we finished you off but I think you were only half dead and we left you in the forrest to die. One of your arms was small & shrivelled up like a T-Rex. Someyhing about you broke it and removed the pins premeturely so it never healed properly. Creepy huh.
but i wasn't sure if she thought is was creepy because it was too close, or too far, from reality.
they didn't hire me.
but at least i got ONE night of breathing easy... whatever the fuck THAT means...
music and sleep are my only escapes from my pathetic life.
drugs help too.
can you kill me now?
p.s. that is whitey's pot... not mine, so don't get all, "if yer so broke, then how come yer buyin pot" or i'll hunt you down, and stab out your eyes with a pair of chopsticks for being retarded.
i'm thinking i should write a screenplay... i have an AWESOME source for content, and storylines...
but is writing a screenplay too LA of me?
i don't wanna be "one of those"
i guess i got a second job lined up. landscaping. hopefully that'll start filling the void of the roller coaster of a job i currently have. these damn sign gigs are feast-or-famine. perfect if i already have a steady gig. now i got one.
i'll work like a ox in the blistering sun for pesos at this point if i thought someone'd hire me. i suddenly have empathy for the mexicans that hang out at home depot alllll day. viva la raza, vatos locos!
i just hope they'll let me rock it shirtless at the landscaping jobby, cuz i need to not make this farmers tan any worse. i'll even settle for a wife beater tan. and don't ask what they pay either. but no job could pay me enough right now. unless they paid $1,000/hour... then i could quit after 4 hours.
but i'd prolly stick around.
also i rearranged my apartment, and it feels awesome in here. like brand new.
and suddenly there's enough room for me to bust out my sick break dancing styles. i always loved break dancing... it's like pefect for watching when your on acid. but i haven't done acid since highschool. and i can't dance a lick.
i can't sing either.
but i'm so fucking good at lighting cigarettes it's off the hook. or as they say in france... "off the heezy fa sheezy"
ok maybe they don't say that in france all that much... but i'm sure it has been said there at least once.
i'm cracking out on technorati
damn. not only was whitey right. but he was also officially forgiven for not paypaling me ever.
while this is all obviously purely coincidental... in my personal reality it's because i'm so damn inspirational and full of great ideas.
but really i'm just full of shit.
is this a bad idea?
this means we will treat his mom's kitchen like our own personal cafeteria.
and that i might get smoked out with santa cruz's finest.
and dreddy's boyfriend wants me to help sell his bike. he wants $1,000 for it... so anything over that is all me.
anyone want a bike for a million dollars? (ruttedout [at] yahoo.com)
what's cool is that i DO have great friends in the end. i had to make some cuts, and drop the losers, but the ones i have now are all tight as fuck.
i forget that sometimes...
it's the first of the month, and so begins the dodging of the landlord. or the pawning of my guitar.
finding a job is stressful when you have deadlines like... rent. and hunger.
and i haven't gotten laid in so long i think my dink is gonna fall off.
guhhhh.... life's a bitch sometimes, man...
is this shirt?
or is it even lamer
that i want it??
do this now.
December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 January 2006 July 2007