impulses aren't always bad man. lots of em are SWEEET!
the viking inspired me bigtime in this way. i'd sorta tell him about a good idea i thought i had, you know, just making conversation... and if he liked the idea, we'll be doing exactly what i mentioned five seconds after he says, "FUCK YES LET'S DO IT"
it's not that i lack motivation because of the tweeds. i believe it amplifies it slightly, but not enough to worry about. you either have it or you dont. you're either caught up in being shameful, of you're out there, STRUTTING YOUR SHIT, with tissue paper stuck to the bottom of you shoe, and a middle finger pointed at anyone who has the audacity to assume you dont already know.
i ask myself what i want to be in 2005, and the answer is vauge but perfect: imma be everything i fucking want to be.
do you know what sounds stupid to me? is when someone says they'd never change anything about their past, because their past makes them who they are today... and they "like" who they are today.
that's a person who is bad at self reflection.
like i COULD say that about myself, that i wish nothing in my past went differently. but how could i say, "i am happy i chose to take up cigarettes" or "thank god i dropped out of college" ??? i mean, who wouldn't like to a be a non-smoking college graduate?? pshhh.
i've embraced my scumbag side far too much i thinks. living out of sweatpants and my car, with my hair sticking straight up in the air because grease is good like that. and i dont know jack shit about feng shui, but you dont need to be the karate kid to realize that your surroundings can do a shit load for HOW YOU FEEL. so im cleaning this shithole up, and putting everything away so i don't have to fucking see it. and im gonna be the stoned martha stewart in 05. yes it's true.
and tomorrow never comes. there is no "one day i wil... yadda yadda" or non of that shit. what are you waiting for? if you were hailing a cab in the city, you wouldn't wait for a special taxi that had JUST THE RIGHT hubcaps... or whindshield wipers.
YOU have places to BE, and are gonna take any sorry ass jelopy that rolls through.
i was going to go to some party i was invited to. the ONLY party i was invited to. but i'll know no one, and im gonna chicken out. new years eve can suck-a-fuck anyways.
is there still enough time to drive to las vegas? if you dont hear from me this afternoon, dear sweet blog of mine, that means i (finally) got the balls to leave town.
HOPE YOU DONT HEAR FROM ME!!!
i see you stand and glare out of the corner of my eye, but i dont try
to pay attention in your direction, or show any affection
your eyes drop down to your chin, you're done again
hiding behind smiles and all the whiles the tension can be felt for miles and miles
i saw your freaky, nutty, cooky website on the internet, and i thought i'd give you a ringa-a-ding-ding-hey.
i guess during these storms and floods im reaping the benefits of living in a TANK of a building. i cant even tell when it's raing or nothing, and bigtanky tells me that her house felt like it was doing a cameo appearance in the first scene of the wizard of oz, or some shit. she kept waiting to land on the yellow brick road, nahmean? but then it's a hassle when i stroll out to the corner store with sandlas on, and my bathrobe and hair curlers. im like, "whoops."
the thing is, the jig is up on haters. and if you live in LA, you know a LOT OF HATERS. i derno why, but they congregate here. people know this town for it's fake tits, fake suntans, and streets laced with palm trees. well that's a bad description, no doubt, but if you're gonna go that route, put HATERS on the TOP of that list.
imma hater, now what g?
it's funny how just the thought of slicing your nipples off with a razor blade makes you have to grab your chest.
rejection is the same way. getting dissed and all that shit. it humbles you. makes you remember not to stick out your chest to far...
because someone might open-hand smack it down, leaving a five finger welt mark.
i think people's biggest mistake is often being ashamed when they shouldn't be. you control your fate, my friends, MORE than you KNOW.
as over used as the term is, one must see things with a glass half full mentality. and use your failures to your advantage, rather than having them weigh you down.
i've learned to be ashamed of very little. nothing actually. what i used to be ashamed of or embarrassed about are now sources of pride, AS THEY SHOULD BE.
you can't learn to do a 360 kickflip if you're afraid of falling, and once you fall, you realize that it's no big deal. after a while in fact, you start to look forward to getting scabs and wounds to show off.
and lastly, but not leastly... getting rejected and failing makes success all that much sweeter. you dont know heaven until you know hell. so welcome to the jungle my babies. you're gonna die.
you still have a heartbeat and breath in you, so get up. stand as you read this post in honor of having legs. (im standing now as i type) nothing worthwhile was done sitting on your ass, and even the winner of NASCAR has to STAND UP to get his trophy and bikini babe.
dont hold your breath and see what happens. dont fall asleep and have somebody wake you when it's go time. if you kick at the same door enough times, it will burst open, and you can walk right through. giving up is for those suckers in rehab.
i want to grab life by the balls... and twist just a little, and say, "either beg for mercy you FUCKER, or fucking empty those pockets!" because im the one with the golden matchbook about to light this gasoline fire ablazin. and if you dont want your eyebrows snuffed off from the flames, you'd best stand back.
is it getting hot in here?
there's two kinds of people, one who has to live to the end to tell "their side" of the story to an audience that isn't interested. and the other who packs up and moves on, and carries with them no baggage, and harbors no hard feelings. its also the difference between those who will live in static, and those who will grow and evolve.
good luck losers!
so let is be written so let it be done, type thing.
so marc brown invited me to a party, and i told him i want to go. and that sounds like it will be cool, and better than winging it in hermosa beach as i have done before.
i hate hermosa, it's copland, there's too many small town faces from schooldays, and worst of all is that it gives new meaning to been there done that.
it's that sinister kinda manical laugh that one does while typically staring at the moon, rubbing their hands together like they was Mr. Burns.
i knew it was gonna be a bitch checking on the dealership signs that we are leaving up all week as a "thank you" to our most loyal client, and i knew that today the signs would be ripped apart and fucked the fuck up because of the storms.
but i did NOT expect that truck to fucking hit that gutter and slash my whole self with fucking water that is SO DIRTY it makes sewage smell clean.
so here i am with bloody knuckles. and nothing but cigarettes in the house to eat. yummy.
oh wait i forgot, i have a fucking advil in the medicine chest, MAYBE i can suck off the candy coating for god-damned nurishment.
stick a fork in me...
i like how the lights reflect off wet streets, and i laugh at the over flowing gutters. today the rain was coming down so hard that my windshield wipers did nothing even on their fastest speed, and i couldn't hear the radio over the thundering water bullets on the roof of my car.
it's the kinda situation that makes your purse your lips, bug your eyes out, and ask yourself, "am i gonna look REALLY stupid when they rescue me on TV with some fucking helicopter?" because man... what the fuck do we know? we're southern californian.
i have so much laundry to do it is enough to make even the most hardened biker squeal in a girlish voice, "oh my gawd!" with their hands up on their face like they was makuly culkin in home alone. big tanky says she's gonna do some of her dirty clothes at my pinche casa.
i have to head home so i can cash this fat assed pay check i just nabbed from the viking, but first, we're gonna have a session with his deluxe hookah. it's been pipin it like nothing else lately.
here i come north hollyweird. commin to GETCHA.
i hear that the streets are flooded, so im cracking my knuckles and preparing for an adventure.
but the tann seems to say everything is kosher. so who knows.
i better run before i stall any longer.
an ass zit is hard to pop. and not just because it's hard to see back there. it's also hard to pop because your arms dont want to flip around backwards like that. a pimple popping stance is worlds apart from sending a lone soldier back there to do some wiping, get me?
so what are you gonna do, FIND someone to squeeze the puss out of your blemmish? good fucking luck, soldier. as it is, i cant even get anyone to mess with my shoulder zits, so i know your ass zits ain't got no love coming their way.
besides, you really gotta ask yourself, "why do i care if i have ass zits or not?" because man, who's fucking checking out your bare ass? no one will ever know you have that ass zit, so who really cares. you're not a thong bikini model.
and if you were a model, my advice then would be to kill yourself. because you cant fucking model thong undies with an ASS-teroid.
and for those antidis fans who have now had their curiosity sparked, and are dying to know about my ass. no there aren't any pimples on it currently. but there was two days ago.
i popped that shit.
that's all you get tonight, your fucking welcome.
where was i? if i didn't know it was raining outside my own front door, what else am i totally unaware of?? (besides the obvious illuminati shit that's always going on under ppl's noses)
anti has got to be the sure shot, and its like that.
im capping on lazy ideas, and sewing and reeping dreams of order, balance, and the propper flow of chi through out my universe.
or basically, take the time to make things nicer, and better, and CLEANER, because i'll be happier in the end.
i dont mind sleeping the sunlight hours away honestly. i have my own timeline to abide to. and i work best when the house phone isn't ringing with wrong numbers. and we all know what hard work eating ice cream and watching conan obrien is, now DONT we?
i mean maybe they DRUG TEST you... or you literally have a job like "Air Traffic Controller" where you need your focus...
but that's barely anyone.
i personally have gotten high at every job i ever had, and even got denied a job because i failed a drug test. and to show for it: i live on the beach, by myself, and have 4 days off a week. (not bad, eh?)
i think people forget how mellow it is to smoke pot any and everywhere. the smell is your only concern, and even then... just cuz someone smells it, doesn't mean they can pin point where it's coming from.
i think weed improves my situation anyways. after a fat hit from my car bong on the freeway, i notice that my vision gets clearer. weird, eh?
i have a fat bag of weed on the floor next to my bong. today im going to try and overdose.
so i head into his backyard, and check the spot where he likes to hide his house keys when he knows he has visitors. no dice.
after some head scratching, and pacing, i decided to call him up, and see how close he was. perhaps he just ran to 7-11...
"this fuckin mexican guy i hired to signwalk quit on me, and i raced out of my house to handle it..." was what the viking told me.
he also told me how to break into his house. so i did, and revved up his playstation. Grow Street For LIfe, bitches!
it's not that you 'said it', it's cuz you really feel that way.
how do you know how i feel? you never ask me how i feel.
i dont need to ask, you wear your feelings like a badge on your chest.
you dont want to ask me how i feel?
no, i dont care.
you know, you hurt my feelings too sometimes.
when did i hurt your feelings?
well not today, but you have.
...and when you did, i dismissed it, because i know you didn't mean it.
that was dumb. maybe i did mean it.
i just cant win with you, can i?
whatever, you were the one talking shit.
i was kidding!!! goddamn, im sorry!
yah, im sorry too. im sorry i ever sat down over here.
do you want us to leave you alone then?
no, i was just leaving...
my nerdy christian cousin's hesitated at first, but it wasn't long before everyone was throwing back. nice.
i started the wrapping paper war too. i nailed sabrina in the head with a wad of green and red paper, and she fell over, and it was ON after that.
i also over reacted at one point to my cousin sasha telling me that i only come around when grandma and grandpa are giving out money (see the pictured envelope) i got all butt hurt, and thought she really felt that way, which made me think EVERYONE migh think that about me. and i derno man... it just really made me sad. but then i realized sasha is just a butthead, and was just ribbing me. and im so totally lame for being able to dish it out, and not able to take it. but thats life... shit happens.
and then my aunt's were totally being complimentary. aunt sally said im the best looking out of the 11 grandchildren. and aunt bonnie thinks i have what it takes to be a bigtime actor, and even said she thinks i should seriously consider getting an agent. too bad my family doesn't have any hollywood connections. but i appreciated their nice comments.
i called my cousin mike on my way home from the get together, and he said i ought to head up to his house, and i ought to bring my weed with me. he's out.
we shall chillax to the max.
and im READY to party for new years. bring. it on.
i woke up to a christmas budweisser! harroh world, i ruv you!
i also love exlamation points! they're awesome, and really not gay at all!
im wearing my tie again today! i think im getting ring around the collar!
shaq plays against kobe today! i wanna see shaq daddy represent and punk that bitch-mouth named kobes!
my apartment was so cold when i woke, i almost froze my balls off! straight the fuck off my body!
but then i got dressed super fast, and now im only cold in my fingers!
this has been the merriest, most christmassy christmas in forever! im happy!
but they need to get over it. especially if they live in los angeles.
it's not snowing, fuckin A.
and we have two basketball teams. the NBA quote of the season this year is, "there goes kobe runnin his damn mouth again..."
third dosage of family function-ness to be inhaled tomorrow. im gonna murder them with friendliness. brutally kind. uncomfortably cheerful.
or as i like to put it, "giving them a taste of their own."
but so far my christmas has been the best one in years and YEARS. serially.
i got presents! and even better, i got re-connected with my sister Julie (last time we saw eachother, nine years ago), among other family members who i have been blackballed from contacting prior.
although the PERFECT present for christmas would be two new shoulders. im taking glucosamine now, it's for arthritic symptoms in your joints, knees, and shoulders... and has regenative qualities. but i think it's bogus. i dont trust pills.
and i have a savings bond, and im cashing that shit out and putting it in the euro. take THAT america.
because, you my friend, are an asshole. A certified, grade a, puckering asshole. and you fucking know it.
your will and paranoia will not over take me. im not a party to your whirlpool of cess. i choose to stay anchored onto dry land with both feet on the ground.
you can live in your fantasy land where everyone is painless EXCEPT POOR LIL OLD YOU, and you can hate the world and shit out love all day for what i care.
i could give fuckall.
see these legs of mine stretched out on the coffee table of life? Watch me as I lounge on the velour couch of golden opportunities.
it's your party, hombre, and sure..... YOU CAN CRY IF YOU WANT TO, but why do you want to? Do you know how many problems were solved from crying? yah, I back you.... I was guessing zero too.
it's like tom brokaw said in his farewell broadcast, "it's not the questions that get us into trouble it's the answers..."
yah sure, sure... We back you Tommy-boy, we truly do... But what if the question is asking your girlfriend, "is my dick the BIGGEST you have ever seen?"
sure the answer, "hahahahahha FUCK NO! hahahahhaahha" might cause trouble, but it was a stupid question to begin with.
it's so, "do i look fat in this dress".... is it not?
sure sure ranking means nothing (pffft)
either way, it was nice of jonah to honor me like that, i am stoked that he said such nice things... people dont HAVE to be nice, nahmean?
and greencatfish recieved my book. and reflects on it here.
man, these painting s are every here in south central. and ive been so busy, i barely have time to chainsmoke my cigarettes.
we went to the beverly center man, and it was pretty nutso, and the valet parking guys hated on charlotte (the black lab dog) and much as she hated on them. and she HATED them. we ducked into P F Changs while we could hear her barking her ass off.
we got shopping done, amongst the zoo of it all. they have a bar in the beverly center, did you know that? we like that.
im glad to be in for the night, and have beers in my fridge, and know that my phone wont be ringing off the hoook. because it sorta has been lately.
the viking and i are gonna go shopping together today, he's on his way to fetch me as we speak.
here's the shopping list as of now:
my sisters, carrie, ginger and julie
my cousin mike (aka the viking) whitey
my sisters are difficult to shop for, and big tanky was with me at the mall last night, so i couldn't really shop for her.
but i did get whitey the bestest shirt ever, and my mom will love this egypt thingy i scored for her.
and i love my reeboks.
and i think it's a shame that the holidays are always so ruined by people's cut-throat attitudes. it never needs to be like that.
we pulled up in valet parking, ate california pizza kitchen before we started shopping, took our time, and we each bought ourselves shoes.
i think that's my quickie-guide to happy holiday shopping. so i hope you were taking notes.
the viking just called, and told me he's already going mental from the traffic and the people, so i told him that he had better come inside and take a 6 footer before we leave.
hard to be cranky when six feet worth of smoke climb into your lungs all at once. it's hard not to do anything other than enter the deathstar at that point.
i light my bong with a santa clause lighter, and float to the toilet over two feet high piles of clothes that litter the entire floor, all so that i can piss with the seat down, and forget to flush. beer cans surround my favorite places to sit, and i can never find my cigarettes when i need them the most.
the itunes pumps pharcyde, She Said...
i dont wear barely anything, because i hate clothes. boxer shorts, and a blanket is the prefered-preferably.
they say "is this dr. jankin's office?"
and i say "...no" *click*
im used to the wrong numbers these days. i get one an hour. it's an excuse to get up and stretch... or at least that's what i tell myself to not flip the fuck out with annoyance.
i know what i like, and i know what bothers me, and i try to tailor my lifestyle to make sure it's as kickass as possible. i dont wanna die knowing i wasted my time here on planut-Erff.
perhaps i need a checklist of "things to do before i die" ??? that seems like a good idea. like when i when i finally get around to walking on hot coals, i can scratch that shit off the list, and prepare for some other rad thing like hang gliding.
it's late in the day... i'm gonna hit the showers.
my sisters, carrie, ginger and julie
my cousin mike (aka the viking)
and if there is money left over, i'll just keep buying my mom things until it's all gone.
i think it's wonderful that my internet fake-name is incorporated into so many hygene products (including something a chick uses to shave her cooter) how wonderful.
i slept nearly the entire day away today. i woke up once around 10am to masterbate, but it instantly sent me back into dreamland.
i was GONNA go x-mass shopping today. but the more i think about it, the more i think to myself: "they sell presents at dollarama!!"
but im not that cheap.
it's like when you're tipping a waitress at IHOP, it's far more instuling to leave a penny for a tip than to leave no tip at all. because if you dont leave any tip, at least the server can try and tell herself you just forgot. but with a penny, you are sending a statement that you thought her service was only worth ONE PENNY. dissssss.....
so if i "forget" to buy everyone something for x-mas, it will be ten times better than 99 cent store shopping.
maybe i should just give everyone a crisp 20 dollar bill. or is that the epitome of lazy?
if you live in los dangerous, you know nothing about this crazy thing they call winter. although i heard it's a bummer...
i got a package from tony's publisher today. a shiny hot off the presses copy of his NEW book, how to blog. it will go quite nicely with his first blook that he gave me in person.
and hey tone... id like you to sign it, so i'll sign the book you bought from me, if you sign this here book i bought from you.(i'll bring the bonghits this time)
so i got this new hat yesterday night in north hollywood at the 7-11 on laurel canyon and oxnard. isn't it fresh?!
tonight is totally an eat ice cream and pain killers night. my shoulders have been really giving me hell, man. sometimes i dont even want a cigarette because i know it will hurt like fuck when i have to lift my arm to ash it.
but i dont really have any pain killers that are worth a damn.
the viking thinks the feng shui in my house is sending negative into bad chi overdosages. he's right, i know it!
will someone buy me plants and an aquarium?? i can handle that in my life.
or maybe tomorrow.
i like to shop for everyone i know all in one store at once. so target, here i come!
im gonna do it the smart way and set away ten million hours of time to account for teh gridlocked street, the NO parking, and the lines at the cashiers that are miles long.
the holidays are a nice time of year. and everyone is so nice when they get into that CHRISTMAS spirit. but then.... take that person to any retail shopping center, and watch them flare their teeth at you, and literally growl and bark. like wild animals.
i took my time walking to my parked car in front of some lady in a minivan over by rite aid the other day, and the bitch screamed at me, "you're not gonna get far with THAT attitude."
my reply was my middle finger. and um scuse me lady, sorry for being a pedestrian.
but man, look at it this way, THEY'RE the ones with bad attitudes. you're just trying to cope with all this nonesense. and you happen to cope by taking longer than normal to cross in front of a bitchy soccer mom in a rite aid parking lot.
so sue me.
i love mondays sometimes, and here i am sitting at a desk in north hollywood a quarter before 3am, and i can feel the whole world in my hands.
the world's an apple tree, and some people go and pick the apples that they want, and others sit back and hope an apple lands in their lap.
im not gonna wait for anything. in fact, like usual, the only waiting that will be going on is OTHER PEOPLE waiting for ME to shut the fuck up.
the art of salesmanship is complicated, and i need to strengthen my kung fu, because all im selling is me, ALLL ME. (and perhaps a blook)
and attn: los angelestors: turn your radio's to 93.5 FM k-day, hip hop from today, and back in the day. it's been killin it lately... and DEATH to kiss fm.
i watched my dad start to fake cry as he sat across from me, while we had dinner at Burton's: a very pricey restaurant. it was also my dad's favorite. Jack new all the waiters' names by heart, and what was going on in their lives.
he had bought them off to be his friend, all he has to do is continue to tip well.
and as he fake cried, i couldn't do anything but stare at the cloth napkin in my lap, thinking to myself, "he's divorcing mom, my family just fell apart, and now he wants me to console him as he FAKE cries?!"
i wondered who the adult was. i didn't really feel all that brutalized by the bad news, but it seemed to me, one of my new job expectations as "son" was going to now include making my dad feel less guilt in his life on top of not being allowed anytime to remose my own loss.
it's him that's supposed to be that grownup, right?
i was highly insulted by the whole horse and pony show. i was 14 years old, and i could speak and think logically, believe it or not. but he would never know, because he thought i was dumb enough to fall for his act.
and shit, when deliverying news of that importance... you'd think he would have had the tact to just talk to me straight up like a man, mano y mano.
but no, he went for the sickening sobbing, and the wiping of tears that wernt even there. HEY BUDDY, you cant "dry your eyes" if they ain't wet, get me?
after dinner was done and over i skated. i went on a mission, and ended up in a northern segment of manhattan beach called el porto, because that's where my friend eli lived. after a walkthrough of his unlocked house, i knew he was at the, and walked down there with my shoes and my skateboard to see him. i had to tell someone what had happened.
i couldn't hold it to myself any longer.
him and i met up and headed back to his house to watch american gladiators, and all we ever said about it was, "hey eli, my parents are gona get divorced...."
years later eli told me about how i looked that day walking down to the water with my jeans and hoodie on... my face pale and lifeless.
perhaps i was more brutalized than i thought. perhaps it was just the cold ocean air on my sweaty face.
not a peep out of tommy and mike todayam i getting lucky?!
business must have improved, that's how i get those two guys to stop bitching at minute signwalkers details...
"hey anti, why dont we paint each signwalker purple???"
yah sure, they'd LOVE that
perhaps we will go sports bar diving, or doing the tacky highschool reunion-ish party.
all i wanna do is kill this here twelver.
or EVEN IF it is cheaper online AND has free shipping.
because im an impatient asshole. That's why.
and honestly im not even impatient... It's not my fault... The fucking UPS has manufactured my need to be all a frenzy.
they give me notices, and trackers, and little smoke signals all hinting that my package is near. They give you the illusion that it's all about to happen. It's all JUST SO CLOSE.
so now im tappa tappa tapping my fucking fingers away on my desk feverishly. And no package. Not even a little yellow post it note telling me im an idiot. Nothing.
and the UPS website says all types of shit, but mostly, it says that my package left their warehouse, and went onto a truck at 5:30am. It's now 5:30 PEE EMMM, and according to big tankaroo they have until 8pm, and they'll prolly take until the last second, because residential shmucks like myself are low on the UPS totem pole.
well they can smoke my totem pole when they get here, because my patience in frazzled and im sick of their ways.
I wish they just left me alone, and didn't tell me everygodamned move they make, so that id just get stoned and forget I even had a package I was expecting and then right when I was about to pass out from lack of stimulation, I'd hear the knocka knocka on my door, and I'd be like, "who the fuck could THIS be at THIS hour?" and it would all be kool and the gang.
because i;d flip the door open and go, "oh shit, i've been waiting on that, thanks dog!"
right now i want to sit that UPS guy down and ask him seriously.... "i know you were fucking off all day, you prick, but why... WHY would you do that to ME?"
but i wouldnt be that ridiculous, its just fun to imagine, because in the end, we all know those ups guy are whackin off in the back of those fucking brown vans. why do you think they wear those gloves?
that's an instant, "YOU'RE FUCKING FIRED"
and we'd typically never let a guy like hank back on, but he's always lurking around at just the right time, when we're one man short.
but today was not the day for him to fuck up, and he swore to me up and down that he wouldn't. and when he asked for an advance in his pay, i knew better than to enable his alcoholism (at least while on the clock) and told him i hadn't cashed the signwalker payroll check.
i could see him curse the ground as he dragged off with his sign to his designated spot. he had worked that corner for me before, this time i hoped not to catch him sleeping under his sign, on the little patch of grass they have in front of taco bell.
and Mr. Chinaski did well... for the first hour. the other signwalkers were routine, steady-ish people, so i felt like i could take a nap. i thought that i was in the clear, because henry and the other walkers were all behaving, and henry didnt even have money to buy a beer if he wanted to. not yet at least.
i wake up from a cell phone call from a very very pissed off promoter. and it sounds like Mr. chinaski is at it again.
the story (as it's being told to me by the promoter): is that one of my fucking crazy people, is drunk in the promotion tent, asking for ten dollars.
chinaski must have had a bottle with some of the sauce left from his binging last night. i thought i smelled something earlier, but passed it off as his booze skin.
so im half awake, running every red light hoping to get to the tent in time to beat the shit out of hank. AGAIN.
but by the time i got there, they said, "that old drunk took off that way..." and they said also, "he was following, and harrasing, some pretty young blonde girl"
i smacked my face with both my hands, and agrily hopped into my truck, and shot towards the direction they pointed.
and all i ever found was the signwalking stick. he was gone. disapeared this time, but at least he didn't make off with any of my signwalking money. i've learned my lesson with giving his ass an advance.
tomorrow will be a nice fun day, i can't wait to get my hands all over the southcentral signjob, it's about time i got to sink my teeth into that goodness.
i thought whitey was gonna be my helper, but he's not. i just called him and he answered his cell phone on the 8th ring, and told me he's in santa cruz, and i said, "it's like that? ok, word."
i have done southcentral solo before, it aint no thing-thang.
but the viking i think is gonna regret the traffic he's due for in the morning, it's a long fucking way to his singjob in panaroma city from redondo beach.
yes welcome, anti's brain blender here to fuck up the auction.
going once? going twice...?
TOLD, by anti.
know that feeling when you totally out do someone's expectations, to the point that they are speechless? yah i like it too.
competition is healthy when the ends justify the means. and if the ends are RESULTS, who can complain? why waste the time?
time is precious, get back on track, focus that energy where it needs to be. Channeled into YOUR goal. YOUR fucking ends.
how much time do you lose off the race by looking back at the others? well hopefully you're smart enough not to find out. because looking back does little for now. wait until after.
wait until you have a time to breath, and right now you dont.
remember Maurice on the biggest loser this last tuesday? he ran to the gate. this motherfucker weighs like 350+ pounds STILL (and he even lost 50 pounds as it is) but he tucked his head down, he kept trucking the nearly two mile run, and he fucking pulled it off. inspiring indeed.
you can get inspirations from all sorts of weird places. playboy magazine for example.
did you know hugh hefner got started with $800 BORROWED, in his kitchen, and the dinner table. and well, it just shows me that it pays to dream big. to think large, and never ever sell yourself short, not if you believe in your shit.
and never ever, EVERRRRR fear failure. love it, embrace it, get OVER IT. because what other people think means shit to you. it really does.
(with grey interior)
and he doesn't like milk and cookies, he likes pizza and tacos!
which is why he seems to think the pizza hut taco bell drive through place is the most genius business model ever.
i can't say i disagree.
nice one, ryan.
that's my mother and i. want to know why she's so rad? she teaches my neices (her grand daughters) that they should always question the government. so much so that when one of my cute little neices saw a parked cop car, she said, "oh brother, he's prolly eating a donut some place..."
she's only 7. that's so fucking rad. especially because she's SO fucking right!
my mom rules.
it's because i drive on fumes.
my logic is that i should only put in $5 in the tank, because the odds are i'll drive down the street and find a gas station with cheaper gas.
and i've driven my truck until it has run out of gas before, it was no big whup. but most importantly it taught me how long i have before i need to refuel.
that's why american made cars are the best. if you're driving some german peice of shit, when it says empty, it MEANS it.
and every american car company knows that empty should mean "5 more gallons and you're fucked!" because we're all fat lazy, cheeseburger guzzling, bush voting, retards. and i thank them for knowing us so well.
every once in a while though, i'll filler up all the way. it will be because i either found a killer price, or have to go somewhere far. i hate when that happens...
right now the tank is full, and i totally did it on accident.
i was stoned, see? and so i went into the snack shop area to grab a snickers bar, or some shit, and got distracted by the FHM magazine cover, and next thing i know, i spent over $50.00 on 25 gallons of $2.19/per gallon GASSSSS.
sometimes i wish i put the gas back into the pump. but i've tried that. you just end up making a mess...
it's a sticky situation, because the new pot is not as nice, so you dont want to make your friend mad for buying shit they maybe dont even want, AND at the same time, you think you SHOULD buy it for them, because perhaps they subscribe to the school of thought that shitty pot is better than no pot.
what deos one do? i mean, it's a sticky situation...
weed is one of those things that ought to be bought by one's self. and as a person who has been disapointed by the shitty weed someone bought for me, i can vouce that it sucks. the worst is when you buy lots of weed you end up not wanting. i've even tried to have people take the weed back, but i guess thats not always an option.
and it's for that reason i usually DONT BUY IT for the friend. i can always go back for more, but returning drugs to your drug dealer... he'd say, "what the fuck is this? J.C. fucking Penny???"
and i'd have to back him on that. with drugs... all sales are final.
howard was quick to say he knew the answer, and was eager to inform robbin.
he said that blogs are website ran by teenage girls, who do not know how to self edit, and tell you every mundane detail about their lives. he said, "it's terrible, it's like you're married to them!"
howard continued to tell robbin that the girls who write these blogs all think that they're writers. he said, "lemme clue you in on something, honey, if you ain't getting paid for it, you ain't no writer. that's your HOBBIE."
robbin asked howard if there were any boys who wrote a blog. and howard had an answer for that too.
he said that YES, IDEED, there was boy bloggers, and that he thought it was the gayest thing ever.
"imagine some guy spending his friday night writing down his feelings on his blog, HOW GAY!"
and then artie howard and robbin all agreed that "blog" sounds like the noise a gay man would make gagging in the middle of a blow job.
1. General question, where is your favorite breakfast in LA?
the beach hut, fine hawaiian food. there's one in el porto and one in hermosa.
2. What do you order?
i get the surfer special: eggs, hawaiian sweet bread and beef teryaki.
3. There is great Mexican food in LA, where do you go for huevos rancheros or a breakfast burrito?
uhh.... del taco, i guess. id eat at el terasco, but i dont think they do breakfast.
4. For a quick bagel or donut, where do you stop?
i like donut places that have that giant plaster donut on the roof, like randy's in inglewood.
5. Any greasy spoons that you brave or would like to?
Rod's Charbroiler on artesia in redondo beach.
6. Over priced breakfast?
i think canters deli is overpriced for how shitty the food and service is.
7. Coffee, tea, or juice; where is the best spot?
i buy my coffee from 7-11.
8. You have guests from out of town, where do you take them for an overall great breakfast?
i had blogger visitors once, and i took them to the el torito here on the redondo beach pier. they have a killer champagne brunch.
that's plain retarded (no offense to retards. even they aren't THAT dumb)
and this isn't vegas, baby... who do you think you're giving your $$$ to? (aka your blood, sweat, and tears)
the government. arnold shwartznegger. the filthy filthy government.
so you're paying into a voluntary tax. and playing a game that you will lose. only fools buy scratchers.
at least the sorry-bastards in the vegas casinos cashing in their mortgages for thier poker vice are making the casinos richer, and nicer, and huger, and one day i can party there, and there's like some kinda benefit i can forsee.
"it's for the children, the schools, and THE CHILDREN!" that's what whoever is dumb enough will cry i defense...
but big tanky and i watched a TV commercial today where the school were begging for news papers to be donated. and eww... LA Times news papers at that.
so the lottery can raise millions and millions of dollars a week with the Super Lotto alone, and yet the kids are begging for a cheap ass news paper.
that makes perfect sense, yah sure pfft.
and whatever, im an underachiever with stunted ambition. i have my drama to worry about. throwing stones at people doesnt make me better... but what really makes me mad is the dumbfucks taking ten minutes to pick out the "lucky" ones while im waiting to make a ten second cigarette purchase.
OUTTA DA WAY, YOU MAN-TITS HAVIN', HOT PANTS WEARIN', BALD SPOT ROCKIN', DIPSHIT, MOTHERFUCKER, BITCHASS, PUSSY!!!!!!
because my nic-fit will eat you alive.
i'd love to feel sorry for you and your vagina's and how you bleed every month, and the hormones, ect. BUT I DONT.
i dont feel sorry for you guys, because being a boy has it's fucking ups and downs too, you know?
i mean i'd like you to tell me, ladies, have you ever had to peel a sweaty ball sack off your leg? it's the anatomical equivelant to a fat person, stuck to a leather sofa, on a hot summers day.
and honestly, it's really no big whup as far as im concerned MOST OF THE TIME, but every once in a while it's not so cool to go digging in your genital region. perhaps you're reading a story book to a group of kindergardeners, or mebbe you're on a first date and you dont wanna look like you have jock itch.
that's when, as a man, we have to implement strategic leg movements, in hopes of shaking the balls loose, and breaking the seal.
you end up looking rather ridiculous. and sometimes it doesn't even work, and you sit there with uncomfortable balls, and it's like an itch on your face that you can't scratch.
it'll just get worse and worse until you itch it.
and ok, im gonna take back what i said earlier. i DO feel sorry for women's vagina's and how they're genitals require so much maintenance. i mean, what a bummer for you all... but you got to back me up on the balls thing.
sweaty balls ain't no walk in the park, you know?
1. Open up the music player on your computer.
2. Set it to play your entire music collection.
3. Hit the “shuffle” command.
4. Tell us the title of the next ten songs that show up (with their musicians), no matter how embarrassing. That’s right, no skipping that Carpenters tune that will totally destroy your hip credibility. It’s time for total musical honesty. Write it up in your blog or journal and link back to at least a couple of the other sites where you saw this.
5. If you get the same artist twice, you may skip the second (or third, or etc.) occurances. You don’t have to, but since randomness could mean you end up with a list of ten song with five artists, you can if you want to.
1. New Order - Confusion
2. Buena Vista Social Club - Chan Chan
3. Stereo Total - Liebe Zu Dritt French
4. Madonna - Like A Prayer
5. Stevie Wonder - Passtime Paradise
6. Southern Culture on the Skids - Make Mayan a Hawaiian
7. The Exploited - Sex and Violence
8. Mos Def - Mathematics
9. Korn - Blind
10. Slightly Stoopid - Smoke Rasta Dub
well when i plan to wake up with enough time to shower, write a blog post, get breakfast, AND wax the dolphin. i see myself all prepared, organized, clean, fed, and the pipes cleared out, it seems like it's something i could achieve.
but the gods aren't crazy, they just like to laugh. ask leif, he'll tell you the proof the gods like to laugh is the same reason farts smell.... "they dont HAVE to smell..." welp, anyways...
the gods invented snooze buttons on alarm clocks. and they're whooping it up on Mount Olympus at my expense.
see, when it's at the butt crack of dawn, and i have the option to finally wake up or hit a magical button that makes me sleep for 10 more minutes... waking up always loses that contest.
it's about as fair as asking rush limbaugh to choose between Oxycotin and Tylenol. Or asking artie lange to choose between JackDaniels and coke or an ice water. Or perhaps asking a child if they'd prefer eating a chocolate bar or raking the leaves out of the lawn.
one choice is always 20 million times more appealing. and so i want for christmass an alarm clock with NO SNOOZE button. because i am bad at self control when i am half awake.
im running on close to zero sleep, so imma lay down for another hour.
the whole book thing makes me feel all sorts of feelings. and like an annoying house wife with too much time on her hands, im gonna go into a painfully mundane description of it all.
first off, the competition. i will never sell as many books, or get as much attention as tony pierce, or ryan mcgee... among others. so to start off with i felt a little insecure and unsure of my "product"
after i got it in the mail, the first edition: i was equally excited and embarassed... because the book had some flaws, and i derno, i just wished it was perfect. so i enlisted the help of big tanky, and together we came up with ideas that will improve things astronomically. a font you can read, for example, is thanks to tanky.
i sold two books this morning (thanks to a spam style mass email, btw sorry bout that folks), bought a copy for myself, and also bought a copy of tony pierce's book. cafepress says it will all arrive before x-mas. (oh helllllll yes!) and this time i payed a little extra for the fancy shipping. so perhaps i wont have to wait quite as long for version 1.2
well i got my copy, and it wasn't what i had hoped it would be. so it came off the market, and that was that. THE END...
but not really. i was busy, and preparing things, and making improvements. and to my surprise i was getting emails asking me why i took down the book for sale before they had a chance to buy it. are you fucking serious?!?!!?
ok. it's back. by popular(ish) demand.
and if you buy it after christmass, or after you save up all your hard earned pennies... so be it.
he prefaced it with, "well... it's about your dad..."
at this point, my imagination grabs me for a second and pictures all types of crazy scenarios.
did he die? is he gonna finally pay up what he owes me? is he getting married for the seventh time? is he gonna make another attempt to get my attention without paying up? did he get another STD?
with my father, one never knows.
well, lemme tell YOU what it was, and you tell me what you think.
My dad, antidis senior, is taking my cousin mike, my unle bill, and mike's nephew anthony to a clipper game tonight. floor seats... i think they're playing the Celtics.
ok, you're prolly thinking the same four questions that i am thinking: "yah? and? so? what?"
but the thing is, my dad comes crying to my uncle and to my cousin about me. he does a little song and dance for them about how much he "misses his only son..", and they're pleased to tell him the solution, because i have made it very very clear to everyone. fix the trashed credit history you left behind when you stole my identity for your failed business ventures, and all will be well.
but see, that's where they see a man who'd rather buy floor seats for basketball games, than swallow his pride, and repair the betrayal of "his only son".
i was like wow! and then after my cousin told me he was having second thoughts about even going to the game, because as he said, "it just didn't feel right" that's when i was like WHOA!
ok so here's how i feel about it in summation... i dont think my cousin and my uncle should worry about it. im fine with it. and i hope they have a great time at the game tonight. im not even jealous. the fact that they are so thoughtful of my feelings is enough to make up for all the dumb things my father does.
the shit between antidis senior and i should not become between them and him too. like i told mike, "my pops will never cough up one red cent, out of foolish pride and protection of the worlds most fragile ego."
besides, if mike doesn't go, then young little anthony will have no ride, and two floor seats to the clippers game tonight would go wasted. and i bet they were expensive.
and if you're watching the game tonight, you'll for sure see my dad. he's self described as, "6'6" bald and ugly"
hi, im anti and i worked in your fine city the last three days, and im here to offer a few suggestions that would make the place a little less unbearlable. basically you're streets suck. there's no right turn lane so at rush our the whole fucking place gets crunched luke a grape. the signals take far too long. and for a city that has a DMV in it, your drivers are fucking morons who refuse to push down on their gas pedal.
dear city of tustin california,
fuck you, if your code enforcement guy had the balls to talk shit to MY FACE and not to my signwalkers, it'd be on. and yah, fuck you for kicking us out of your piece of shit city. and lastly, fuck you for calling my signwalkers "human arrows". at least they're HUMAN.
dear city of redondo beach,
i dont' know who the individual is, but you got a ticket happy meter maid running loose on the streets. i got two tickets the other day. TWO. now you want to start stacking parking tickets on my ass?! and hey bitches, i can read, i see that one ticket was writted at 8:15am and the other one was at 8:22am. that calls for a double fuck you, or perhaps a fuck you squared. i derno.
what else am i sposed to do while the signwalkers are out doing their thang?
i was one person short today because the guy valerie was gonna bring flaked out on us. i totally bitched valerie out, and she was rolling a blunt in my truck, and i kicked her ass out of my truck, and she threw a fit and walked off to her spot.
so i dropped off a few people and scooped up valerie and told her that if SHE'S the one the screwed me with a flakey signwalker, then SHE'S gonna help me fetch a new one. but it ended up being a non-issue, because i swung up on a lady at the bus stop, and she was down for it. that's how anti does it, he bams it out.
all of whitey's signs got stolen over the night last night. ALL OF THEM. even the fucking signs that are on the dealership... that's so fucked!!!!
the property owner tried to say some shit that code enforcement called and said they were getting the signs up... but my cousin and i know better than that. this reeks of sabotage. we're pissed, but we're sorta in limbo on that job... waiting to see what happens...
i gots the day off tomorrow... and i think im gonna quit smoking and become a marathon runner... well maybe. im not sure yet.
im home from the bars and i dont think that self improvment is masterbation for a few reasons, and i'd like to write them down.
firstly, to improve on one's self, one must take a close hard look at who they are. take a close hard honest look. and then come to terms with the reality that *gasp* you aren't 100% pleased with who you are. i know you're prolly shell-shocked. it's ok.
but my point is that the truth hurts. finding and highlighting your flaws doesn't feel good. and it's hard to put self analysis like that in the same file as beating off.
but im gonna further my useless arguement by pointing out that self improvment, 9 times out of 10, is hard, unforgiving, unpleasurable work.
masterbation CAN be work, and i know you're thinking that, annnd i back you...
but no one would even dare suggest that waxing the dolphin is void of any pleasure. i mean, pleasure is the bread and butter of the whole operation!
also i think that improving on yourself, although it can appear quite vain, is a must do. unless of course you can't find fault in yourself... more power to you, if that's how you feel.
and... oh... me? how does bigbadanti feel??
i feel like im light years away from being who i want to be. perhaps it's my nature to have an insatiable need to evolve, and i'll never feel like im "just right"
my only defense being: why feel just right, when you can aim higher and feel "FUCKING PHENOMANAL" ?? answer me that, dipshit.
and this is totally un-related, but communication and lack of assumptions is very very nice.
that new cell phone i got is, i guess, either a hoax or just a shitty phone. big surprise, yah sure. cell phones and i have always had a dysfunctional relationship. only im the one who always ends up feeling like the battered wife, and occasionally they make me feel like an assrape victim.
but that's cingular fo ya.
last night the viking and i played video games, and ate ice cream, and there's the coolest cheat code thingy on GTA San Andreas where you turn the city into a riot. having lived here during a riot before, my critique is that there was way more rocket launchers and stuff in real life. duhhh...
tonight i intend on meetin up with ryan white, aka whitey, @grunions where woody and his chick jasmine will be chillin out, and we're just gonna old-man-sports-bar it up tonight. woody's dad is like co-owner of the place anyways, so we get free pretzels or something.
twelve more signwalkers to baby sit tomorrow, while these random-santa-ana-car-dealership motherfuckers pull their yackity yackyack up in my steelo. oh, yah... and i lost my tool box. all my tools weren't in it (see it pays to be unorganized) but it DID have both my staple hammers ($30/each) a brand new bag of 1,000 zip ties ($19.99) and a shitload of nails, but nails are cheap i guess.... still, it's a $100 loss and a total pain in the ass, because i get very close to my tools, and i liked those staple hammers.
thank god i didn't lose my Roughneck® 3Lb. Sledge Hammer
prepay cell phone lifestyle and the shittiest nokia-i-bought-from-7-11 is gonna fucking get chucked to the side, becuase now i got this better one, and that's nothing but a good thang.
i guess this means i'll be piggy backing on my uncle's cell phone account, and i get 1500 minutes, free weekends and nights, for $50 a month...
currently i pay $100 for 1,000 minutes. no free nothing.
im not even sure what the new number is, but you can totally ditch my old number. it's caput.
i found my army-man-hat and my switchblade here at my cousin's too... i guess i left that shit here when whitey and i came up and played the X-Box for hours. well they played it, i blogged.
i gave the viking the fist christmas present i am gonna give him, and he was stoked on it. he had told me not to get him anything, but i wasn't go out like that...
ok i have to log off the innermanetty-shmetty and get whitey on the horn and have my cousin fork over the signs already.
im missing adam and dr drew on kroq.
buig tanky's bosses are a bunch of cunts. yes, CUNTS. they think that just because tanky doesn't have children and isn't married that her problems are less "important" than their problems. and all tanky can say in defense is, "SORRRRY for not being a superhuman from planet krypton, why dont i chop off my head so you can pretend it's a pinata??"
in my opinion, it's a fat thing. big tanky has two female bosses that are morbidly obese, and have to constantly be on diets that dont work. and they hate the fact that big-tanky can eat junkfood until she's blue ni the face, and won't gain an once. so her only defense is, "SORRRRY for not having a slower metabolism, why dont you saw off my arms, and beat me with them?"
it's a damn shame in the end, because these two heiffers are giving women in the workplace a bad name. big tanky is on the lookout for another job... im on the lookout for her boss's cars... i have some boogers i wanna wipe someplace.
The procedure is ritualistic at best. A process that dealer McDope and I don't really enjoy, but is a necessary means to necessary ends. He has the drugs I want to buy, and I have the money he wants to trade the drugs for.
so first you call the cell phone, even though you know it's going straight to voice mail, because dealer McDope lives in the redondo beach triangle, a residential pocket known for it's poor cell phone reception. And off of the voicemail you get his home phone number, and repeat it to yourself, so as not to forget the digits, while you hang up and prepare to dial. This step could be eliminated if dealer McDope's home phone was as easy to remember as his cell phone number. But I digress...
so finally you have Mr. McDope on the phone, and it goes like this, "heyyy-lo..."
"sup deal? whatchu got cookin?"
"is this antee? howz it? And what's the word on the street?"
"uhhh... birds the word, bossman. sooooo... can I roll through?"
"yep. it's all good, baby."
"sweet. peace out."
and it's funny, because it's the same exact conversation every time. If you ever heard me call dealer McDope before, you'd have think I stole that dialogue straight from the stenographer I have hiding under my couch.
parking in front of dealer McDope's house is the best, you can park like a total asshole, and when you walk up and open the broken screen door, you always know what the living room will look like before you enter. There will be deal and his roommate sprawled out on their couches that don't match, one of them glued to the playstation 2 playing some game that usually has a lot of machine guns in it, and the other one is glued to the other TV, stacked on the video game TV, watching ESPN's spotscenter, and both of them making gossipy small talk about whatever the latest sports drama happens to be.
today it was some bullshit Kobe said about Karl "the mailman" Malone, and how kobe is so annoying and everyone just wishes we still had Shaq.
I know nothing about sports except that I suck at them, and video games are about as interesting to me as watching paint dry, so this is the hardest part of the ritual... waiting for dealer McDope to get up off his ass, and weigh me out my drugs.
lots of times I try and stand, and refuse a seat when offered to me, in the hopes that my hovering will put the pressure on to dealer, and get him moving faster. It never really works.
the truth is that good things come to those who wait, and eventually McDope will look at me, and in a hushed tone ask me, "hey antee, what didchoo want?" and I'll answer, "a quad"
he doesn't move fast, he's very slothlike in the motor-functions department, so he stretches, slowly stands, and disappears into the depths of his spiderhole over the garage that he calls "a bedroom."
during the weighing of the drugs which apparently dealer likes to do in private, the roommate makes small talk with the little info he remembers about me... "so hey, how do I get to that blog of yours again?"
"anti? diss? with two S's?"
"nah, with one s. And together like one word."
"how do I start one of those blogs, is it easy?"
"yah I guess, whatever."
but I like the room mate. He's actually sincere, and even checked out the copy of my book I brought over, and said he wanted to buy one. mebbe I'll just give him that one.
eventually my drugs are delivered to me in a ziplock baggie as I chat with the roommate, and I do the no look pass with my C-note. There's no need to look as you pass dealer McDope a hundred dollar bill, the same way you can close your eyes while tossing a sea lion a sardine. they'll never miss.
and after that it's all on you. leave? stay? whatever. dealer McDope and his pal aren't gonna boot you, but they'll drop subtle hints if you decide to stay... like "[yawn] man antee, I am SO tired." and when they start doing that song and dance, it's time to shove your $100 sack into your jeans, and gets to truckin.
I love that drive home, as you smell the nuggets through the plastic of that zip lock baggie. mmm mmm MMM.
and this whole procedure happens the same way every time. The only variables are that every once in a while Dealer Mcdope plays for me his new CD's, and every once in a while I have big tanky waiting in the car playing her gameboy. That's about it.
oh yah, the weed and hash used on the cover of my book came from dealer McDope. Neat, eh?
i saw and met dimebag at a pantera show back in 1995 at the orange pavillion. the show was insane, and watching one of the world's best guitarists fucking kill it like no other was truly a blessing.
dimebag is prolly the coolest person to ever come out of texas, in fact there's an interesting story there:
when dimebag was 16 years old, he was asked not to enter the state guitar competition, because he had won it every year so many times in a row already. AT AGE 16!!!
you can ask big tanky, or even any of my signwalkers... the only CD to be in my cd player for the last year is Vulgar Display of Power. and i want to say to dimebag, "R.I.P. brother, we'll all stay down here and be fucking hostile on your behalf."
....this just sucks....
so i got my check and i caaaashed that shit. now im rich.
dealer mcdope better get his ass off work fast or im gonna smoke the grass outside my house.
the delightful Ms. Tanky is at the dr. and due to her recent problems with her car (it died and will never live again) i put off my banking activities until after i taxi her ass to work. but i DID manage to squeeze in enough time to buy cigarettes from the 76 station around the corner from my house. they cost $4.65. taxation with inhalation.
i have like four bonghits left, and my man doesn't get home from work until 7-ish. he might as well tell me never.
i figured out what that one smell was by my computer was. it turns out i left some drink on a shelf nearby and forgot about it for a few months, and the bacteria was becoming so civilized, i felt guilty throwing it away. i think they were about to elect their leader.
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