Anti abandons the internet.

it's finally over, thank fucking god.

Monday, February 28, 2005

yet another antidis movie clip. ta da!


to enter, leave a comment WITH AN EMAIL ADRESS. and i will literally draw a name from a hat. (in like a day or two)

the winner gets a free antidis magnet (i know, what a shitty prize) and i will link the shit out the winner as well here on le glob.

im just curious to see who would enter such a frivilous lottery.


i guess i have been slacking on my "2005 is the year to be alive" stuff.

i've got my mind back on track, it's like what a friend told me, "you need to do more to be pro-active towards your own progress, and only because you want to"

im realizing more and more how touchy the brain truly is.

being a guy i always prided myself on being able to shake most things off. and it's true, as guys we can typically do that with not a whole shitload of effort.

but it's my belief also, that as guys, we tend to put more on our plate than we can actually handle (emotionally, and responsibility-wise) because we consider ourselves "tougher".

see, the thing is that it's un-necisary. you're bearing more weight than you need to. in fact, im sure some of you have a person in your life who tries to pull the deep dark hidden feelings you have and won't let yourself think about.

be careful is all im saying...

and with responsibility... hey man, that's really great that you want to be a martyr like that and sacrifice your own happiness to try and make everyone else happy. but see, and this is hard for some guys to understand (because they are blinded by a sense of duty) but...


no one can make anyone anything. and in fact, if your ultimate goal is to make someone else happy, the best way to start would be to make yourself happy first, so it's not the blind leading the blind. do you get me?

so just bone out and work on you, because when the shit hits the fan and there's noting left but a smelly mess... YOU are all you GOT. and if you wasted all your energy putting yourself into SOMEONE ELSE, then man, it might be too late for you.

give up you stupid loser. dream small for yourself. you may not be blind, but you sure have trouble seeing past the end of your nose.

you know what impulses are? you feel those right? well fucking jump on them. don't always think things out. use your gut-feeling, and run with it.

i have decided to eliminate bad influences from my life. and start pumping in more positive influences. because it's great that i write these self motivating rants to myself, but i need to kick it up a gear and start DOING something about it for once. like, whoa... i made my bed today. TA DA.

ok MORE MORE MORE.... ummm.... i know, i haven't ridden my skateboard in like forever. it's time.

peace out.


it's like when someone sees a movie before me, and tries to tell me if i would like it or not. i mean, i appreciate their concern... but i think i'd like to find out for myself, because im a fucking weirdo and i usually like what ppl hate, and hate what ppl like. i dont do it on porpose, it's just me being me.

anyways, the way the Bush administration works is, they're like movie critics who instead of telling if they think you will like a movie or not....

they destroy and outlaw movies they don't think you'll like, and only allow the ones they think you will like.

but im using movies as a simile for how the government operates as a whole.

and with that said, i don't want some fucking movie critic telling me what sucks and what doesn't. last night on the Academy awards, "million dollar baby" won best movie. that's horse shit. that movie looks terible to me, and 100% unappealing, and no one asked me what movie *I* thought deserved an oscar. i would have said "I, Robot" because i hate that movie, and i think it should be honored for how lousy it is, sorta like when they make the highschool retard into the prom king. it's funny.


i guess there's this guy who wrote a book about George W. Bush, and he has these taped interviews that me made without Geroge w knowing he was being recroded, and in one part of the book, the president apparently admits to smoking weed, and he went on to criticise Al Gore for being honest admitting he had smoked it to the public becuase, (and i quote)
"...i don't want some kid going and doing what i did."

well if i had a face to face with the president, id like to ask him why he thinks it was ok for him to find out for himself how weed works and how he feels about it, BUT... but he doesn't want everyone else to be able to think for themself.

i guess HE did all the thinking for us, and we should just turn our brains off and be thankful.... i guess that's what george bush thinks america is all about.

i think it's a problem that stems to how people raise thier children. it is BAD if you over protect your child.

it's important for bad things to happen to your kid.

it's good for your children to fall down, to make mistakes and bad choices, and to figure out for themselves how they feel about it, and how to either cope with it and/or fix it.

i can't learn how to fix my problem unless im allowed to CREATE my problem.

im happy that my identity has been stolen and my credit ruined. im glad that i have been robbed at gun point and shot at. im stoked that i've been broke and starving. i think it's good that i have been so broken hearted i couldn't breath. and i should thank my lucky stars that i got a broken fuel pump leaving me stranded miles and miles away from civilization.

the more bad things that happen to me, the more i learn how to easily resolve those bad things.

there's children playing soccer games here in america that don't keep score, because the parents don't want anyone's feelings getting hurt by being on the losing team. so now there's no winner and no loser, everyone's happy right? wrong. being a loser is JUST as important as tasting victory. BECAUSE THAT'S FUCKING LIFE, MAN.

i think parents that overly-help their children are (without realizing it) acting as a crutch, and making thier child weak, and dillusional.

it's dangerous when people stop living in reality, and create faker saftey bubble worlds that they live in. reality = truth = mental stability.

stop lying.

on the radio right now im listening to the two biggest fucking retards.

it's the talk show that comes on before howard stern and it runs from 10pm-3am, and right now they are obsessed with some story (that could be fake for all i know) about a guy who was arrested for having admitted to fucking a Cow over 50 times.

in the story the guy who was the cowfucker would go get drunk at a strip club, and then hop a local farmers fence, and tie up a cow and "let her have it".

the guys on the radio are calling the cowfucker a deviant, and a menace to society who should be locked up.

i have to admit i don't blame the talk radio guys for their childish laughter. the thought of some redneck country bumpkin idiot making a cow go "Moo..." that's funny. even if it's only barely funny. but i dont get why they think this cowfucker is a "menace to society" ... why is it wrong for a man and a cow to be naked in privacy together? the thing is, i dont see how it's any of my business what they do alone together.

at one time it was illegal for a black person and a white person to get married in this country.

i don't see any difference between outlawing inter-racial marriage, and outlawing gay marriage.

or outlawing cowfucking.

dude, man, bro... this country is so fucking up it's ass about sexuality. "thank you puritan roots!"

the cowfucker guy is extreme. i mean, yah that's creepy in the sense that i wouldn't wanna shake his hand unless i was wearing gloves... but people's sexual business is none of my business.

go ahead and do what floats yoru boat as long as your not hurting anyone, and yadda yadda

and these dumb old white (republican) men in power. they're so blind to how awesome gay-ness is. i mean, it's simple math...

the more fags there are... the less competition for pussy!!! if there were no fags, man.... there'd be just X more dudes out there edging you out of your fair share of punani.

if i was an elected politician making up laws over there on capitol hill, not only would i legalize gay marriage, if i saw a dude who was a threat to some pussy i wanted to score on, i'd make a law where i could say he has to be gay or recieve a felony.

that way, all the john stamos's and brad pitt's and whoever else these chicks seem to go nuts over (justin timberlake, larry king, ect) are outta da picture. got me?

i think the people who have the most problem with gays co-existing in america are the most obvious in-the-closet fags. like this one signwalker i had who told me he HATED brittany spears because he used to be a fan, but changed his mind after he saw two guys kissing in her music video.

i gave him a weird look, and realized he was totally obsessed with homosexuality. i said, "you're not too tolerant of fags, eh?" and wondered to myself how he was able to take his eyes off brittany spears long enough to focus in on some gay shit in the backround.

so here's the bottom line. i think fags should fag it up all they want, because i could care less... and the people who are all trying to hate on the fags, well, just admit it... hating on fags is pretty fucking gay.

Sunday, February 27, 2005


the plan last night to juts sit at home and cure my hungover self with bonghits and saturday night live. and then... pshhh... they throw a re-run my way, and so i just scratched my balls and ordered dominos pizza... because i like a LOTTA grease when i wanna cure a hangover. and dominos knows that, or something.

i woke up feeling like a million bucks, and was ready to rock out my camera all fucking day long. and you better believe i did.

im not even home yet from the signs, and i still have signs in south central up at the dealership.

a sign guys job never is never done, sometimes.

but at least the viking doesn't mind if i have a couple of bong hits and pretend to care about hilary skank, and will smith, or whoever that was that won. i was out smoking a cig round then.

my cousin has chinese food he's willing to kick down to me. but im not much of a chinese food guy... so i will go eat the things that are chicken, and ignore the things that aren't. PARTY TIME!.

and. im so tired i want to strangle myself. the end.

a movie clip of me driving with my helper cesar in East LA. now what, dawg?

NOW WHAT?!?!?!...

yah. i THOUGHT so, big papa.

Saturday, February 26, 2005

i love when someone finds out i don't believe in god, and suddenly want to offer what they call "proof" of his extistence.

lemme start off with how much i revel in their stupidity. there is no proof, there never has been, there never will be... there never even COULD be proof of god's existence. they're ignorant to the fact that their religion is based on FAITH.

and faith, simply put, is believing in something for no good reason, other than... because you want to.

just like me believeing there is no god is what i have faith in.

but the proof they throw at me i find funny too. here's a common one, "well... there's the Bible!" as though it alone should be all the proof i need.

welp, it's not. there's a lot of religious books, btw. there's the koran, i think the jews have their own book. and there's totally different belief systems like bhuddism that aren't even in teh same universe of logic as christianity.

the bible exists, so you believe what's written in it? you beleive in a magical dude named jesus, who was a wino, and hung out with dudes way too often.... because it's in a BOOK?!?!

do you believe in Peter Pan too? what about comic books... are the X-men for reals? where do you draw the line?

another piece of "proof" they tell me is, "look at the beauty of nature. only a divine entity could create such wonderous beauty."

well that's not proof, idiots. i mean all that proves to me is that nature can be pretty. sometimes. big whup.

but the most odd bit of proof hurled in my direction, is the tragedy made into something "good" scenario. let me give an example.

some guy might say something like, "my wife was murdered, i was laid off from my job, but thanks to god i got a winning lottery ticket for $50."

um... if i believed in god i wouldn't thank him for the lottery ticket, i'd fucking bitch his ass out for taking my wife and my job. where was god then, huh buddy? that's when you needed him. not when you bought a scratcher for the bigspin.

i don't think it's bad if you want to believe in god, and in fact... at times the "good semaritan" spirit behind christian ethics does good things, like feeding homeless, ect.

but i think christians are full of shit in a way, because the majority of the ones i have met are always trying to make me believe in what THEY believe. they don't want to offer me the tolerance of believing what i choose.

btw, this is the same tolerance i grant THEM to believe what they want. i never try and convert people into thinking god doesn't exist. i think what a person wants to believe should be their own perogative, i don't know it all, and really... what do i care man? it's YOUR life to live how you wanna.

and with that, this is MY life. back the fuck off.

yesterday i bought a pair of knock off designer shoes for $20 from a mexican on the corner of Florence and Compton Ave.

i love LA.

they say you can take the mexican out of mexico. but man... you can never take the mexico ou tof the mexican. if that doesn't make sense, take a trip down to huntington park.

because i have no class what so ever, big tanky drags me to art things so i can broadcast my special brand of retardation on Los Angeles's most elite pretentious art fucks.

i guess there's some guy named Mark Ryden, i really don't know jack shit about him, but his paintings sure are purdy.

that picture is awesome because i like that painting best, i think... and there's a jesus in a spaceship (aka space jesus) and most importantly... all these arty-fucks gave me such dirty looks when i did that, because i totally bumped into the frame, and knocked the painting.

there was free booze too. and right after i took that pic, the most annoying art-fucker of them all walks up, and acts like he didn't just see me take that pic... and says in his most faggy lisp possible, "OH MY this is beautifullll... stand back everyone, i MUST commit this wonderous image to film... OH MY!!!!"

he then went into the gift shop, and tanky dared me to take a pic with my flash on all up in his face. so i did.

then as tanky and i made our way out of the gift shop area (we're poor stoners, not rich art-fuckers) that perm wearing prick tried to get all lippy, and scoot pass us on the way out, so i talked a little shit... you can tell he heard me and took the hint, because the lippy-ness ceased.

we smoked cigarettes upstairs, and got more drinks downstairs, and we eventually said fuckit, it's early, lets see if we can find more fun... since we were so far from home anyways.

we ended up at some bar called Chataeu Marmont and i met a dude who is the private personal chef for Ozzy Osborne. or so he said. i drank too much at that bar, and man, i got so sick... AND SO FAST.

i was literally just waiting in line to take a piss when the barf hit me. it flew up to my mouth, and next thing i know, im face first in a urinal, painting it pink with my regurgitated cranberry vodkas.

i walked straight outside to sit in the fresh air, and proceeded to paint more things cranberry colored. until big tanky found me, and luckily her drunk ass drove my drunk ass home.

today was rough... not rough really. i just hate that barfy feeling all day long. im such a pussy when it comes to booze. weed's my thang, not booze.

anyways... i think mark ryden is cool. i think that ozzy's chef might not have been lying about being ozzy's chef. and i think i never want vodka again.

Friday, February 25, 2005

a movie clip of me basically doing nothing special. fethcing my cell phone from my car. enjoy.

life's too short, and things move too fast. you have a few choices keeping that in mind... live today, or risk never living at all.

stop waiting for some magical day when you'll finally stop waiting, and start enjoying life.

that day can be today, that day should have been everyday for the last decade or so.

what's the point of being a safety squirel packing away walnuts for the big winter that NEVER COMES. i mean... at some point you wanna slap the little fella and say, "hey man, you have enough walnuts... go frollick in the daisies or whatever squirels do for kicks."

of course while the little shit is off galavanting and what not, i'll grab a handful of walnuts, because fuck man... those things look tastey!

i love my job, for instance because it forces me to be outside for hours and hours, and i suck up some beautiful scenery along the way, and snap photos of things that catch my eye, and make the most out of it. im not some grumpy gus the whole time. and why... is because i wanna be burried with a tombstone that reads, "anti smiled more than YOU"

don't you want that for YOURS?

because we're all dead eventually. so make the most out of this pointless existence. and it is pointless.

boy will i feel like a shmuck if im sitting on my death bed looking back on years and years of "playing it safe" and making sure "everyting was going to work out"

i say give up on all that shit. i say just shrug your shoulders at it, and when things work out, you can say, "whoa! i didn't even have to try!" because you didn't have to try.

let go control. you're a control freak, and you can't control EVERYTHING, so learning to let go will be a good thing to learn how to do. because i've seen some control freaks REALLY melt down from that sorta thing. have you ever seen that movie "pushing tin" ? the movie sorta deals with this, so go rent it.

this is why whitey is/was/always will be MY IDOL. the kid has control over only one thing and ONE THING ONLYYYYYY. and that's his happiness.

the cops can slam him with a DUI, the lawyers can slap him with heavy ass Fees, the DMV can take away his drivers license, his dream girl can break his heart, and that's when whitey comes over to my house to go skateboarding and do thai chi barefoot in the sunset.

how rad is that?

you can't rattle him, he remains happy, and his mood is infectious. it's half of why everyone who meets him is whitey's newest best friend.

if only we all knew what whitey seems to know.

im BACK, bitches! just when you thought your eyeballs were going to burn out of their head from reading all this shitty white text on a black backround, yes i know it sucks. deal.

work was... well... today might have been the best work day of my entire life. and it all comes down to the stoke of the year.

i left late for work, and halfway to the freeway i realized i had forgotten my signwalker check, and my paycheck at home. so i peel back and make myself later for work by grabbing that shit.

i also had to buy a staple hammer at a home depot at some point, so now im trippin balls because if my cousin catches me being a late fuck off, he's gonna wring my scrawny little neck, because he's my boss.

but i think i was just being paranoid and stuff, because i did my james bond immitation on the 110 freeway, and made it to south central with enough time to get a stamm-ler from home cheapo, and to be RIGHT ON TIME (7:30am) to meet my helper at the Ford Dealership to start putting signs, flags, and arrows EVERYWHERE.

so i was relieved as to not be late and avoid getting yelled at by my cousin/boss, but the heat was on to preform in time for the signwalkers that mike told me started at 11.

and cesar and i NAILED IT. man we killed it, im not lying. the sale was set up and looking tits by 8:30am. impressive by anyones standards.

and next thing i know, 18 wheelers are eating my middle finger, while i eat their air horn, and al the while cesar fumbles to staple hammer our cora-plast signs to these shitty fucked up, nail ridden telephone poles.

but by 10am, the stoke hit me like a ton of bricks.... because i mentioned something to cesar about having the signwalkers out on time, and he looked at me sideways, and re-checked his copy of his signwalker schedule (something that i should have done)

and guess what.... he said, "boss... the walkers go out tomorrow. we have all day to do the city"


i busted a smoothie in my boxer shorts right then and there.

that meant, in one hour i would be on my way home, which is worlds apart from thinking i wasn't going home for another 6 hours.

to celebrate, i got SO high.

Thursday, February 24, 2005


see how happy i am? jealous? i KNEW it!


From: Igor
Date: Thu, 24 Feb 2005 18:10:04 -0800
Subject: a comment about comments

hello anti,

in your latest weblog post, you've complained about no one leaving comments. since it sounds like you want feedback from your readers, I thought I'd drop you a line about this subject. (perhaps its ironic I'm not leaving this in your comments, but haloscan has comment-length limitations)

I don't think the reason that people don't leave comments on your weblog is the content. your posts are generally about life and probably apply to most of your readers. most of your posts I either agree with or disagree with, but either way, I usually have an opinion. but...

I suspect people are generally intimidated. for two reasons. first, you recently got rid of the "people I've met" blogroll, which wasn't helping. it makes it seem as though the readers of your blog are other well-known bloggers, and its like walking into a party where everyone seems to know each other. the list was great because it helped readers find intertwining blog-stories (like reading about your trip to nyc to visit jamie from both his perspective and yours) but I think it intimidates your readers a bit. but I think it is just part of a larger issue...

which is that your online persona is intimidating. in a recent post you said:

"anti is cool, cocky, and has tight game. anti knows his shit, and comes off like some kind of great guy. well, hi... meet john, Im John. and im not really very cool. socially im shy, quiet and a scared mouse. and yes im a great guy... but the "anti" you read isn't the John that exists on a daily. it's only the me i wish i was. it's the me i only SOMETIMES am."

which was remarkably insightful. I think the "cool, cocky" anti comes off as the sort of person that wouldn't really care about what his readers think about an issue. I'm not telling you to change your online persona, I'm just saying it might be a reason why no one posts.

in the post, by the way, you've hit on a really interesting subject: the difference between bloggers online and offline persona. it's been said many times that blogs are just about vanity, and for a long time I thought it was true: people living big lives and telling the world about it. but really, I suspect blogs are less about who a person actually is and more about who they wish they were. the reason I am telling you this is that it seems like you've met a lot of bloggers in real life and are in a unique position to know if this is true or not.

anyway, keep up the great work. I hope you don't get all weirded out from me sending you this long, unsolicited email.



this is my 17th post in under 24 hours.

blogging how it's sposed to be done.

you're not gonna fool me anymore VERIZON you shitty ass joke of a company. I don't know how or why I randomly threw a dart in your direction when I was originally setting up this piece of shit telephone line you pricks set up for me.

thanks for that, too. A phone number that is one digit off from the local animal hospital... All grandma has to do is dial 379-xxxx instead of 376-xxxx, and I get the pleasure of telling her that fluffy DIED a cruel death because we confused her cat with the firewood we had in the office.

DEAREST VERIZON, you are playing games with me on my telephone bill, I can see it now. I never looked before because all those numbers and random bullshit fees always made me too angry. But I was a fool, and I DEMAND you re-send me copies of each and every invoice from the last year. I call bullshit.

right before I left for new York in this year, it was the beginning of February, and I forked over $244 to get my phone turned back on. Not to mention that after I paid the payment IN PERSON, you all took your sweet fucking time turning my shit back on, forcing me to waste the precious pre-pay cell phone minutes I have.

nextly! I get this bill today in the mail, and February ain't even over, and you're telling me I owe $100.

I don't even USE my fucking phone, where is this bullshit coming from?!?!?!

I see, there's my $17 dollar charge for the initial phone service, I see the costs for long distance and my highspeed DSL internet connection.... BUT WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS $26 DOLLAR RECONNECTION SHIT ALL ABOUT?!?!??!

that's just like ass fucking a person in a deep coma.

I think this is about where you and I, and our year long lambada (the forbidden dance) comes to a tragic-for-you ending.

see these stoned dollars that get thrown at telephone invoices that are 90% unread and unchecked for mistakes, and erroneous billing practices that I NOW KNOW you think are kosher with good old antideezy.

all I ever really wanted was the DSL, no one calls me at home anyways. I just have that shit so the pizza man can be buzzed in at the front door, and because you FUCKING LEECHES told me I couldn't have a DSL line without a phone line. I call bullshit, and I'm so high, that my vision just crystallized and I can see you for what you are now. A horrible monster of a phone company. I bet you're almost half as evil as SBC.

so now I can get my internet OTHER WAYS. Yes, it's true, I have seen the light, and a new path for me has come into my focus.

and this $26 reconnection fee? You're gonna have to pry it out of my cold dead hands. You know how long I dangled a carrot in front of MCI worldcom's faces for their money? Those lousy sons of bitches.

take your call waiting, your caller ID, your call forwarding, your *69, and cram it all up your hairy fudgepackin ass. I never wanted any part of any of it. I think a ringing telephone is satan's incarnate here on earth, and consider this anti's exorcism. "HEEEEEEEEEERE'S JOHNNY!"

I think the only consequences are higher pre-pay cell phone costs, and the inability to "buzz in the pizza man" which I am sure is for the best... I eat to much greasy bad-for-me pizza as it is.

I'm a cigarette smoker, I don't need to add to my unhealthy list.

I'd ask you, VERIZON, how you feel for basically doing to me what Liza Manelli apparently does to men. I'm gonna go play for the other team, guys... From here on out it's Cable TV Bills and whatever comes with THAT territory.

at the very least, if I'm gonna pay over $300 in one month, I should be seeing titties on skinnemax.

they still do that on skinnemax like non-stop don't they? great.

see that? That's my middle finger as I drive away. har har. bye bye Verizon.

catch me if you can...

happy birthday meg!!!!!!



I get 240 fucking hits on the weekdays, and you shmucks are too damned busy to leave me a trillion comments on all the psychotic ramblings you are privlidged enough to read. I hope you know how damaging this is to my glass-jaw ego. That shit ain't shatterproof I hope you know. But you can go ahead and not comment, that's fine. Write a rebuttal post on your blog and link me saying how wrong I am, that's one of my favorites. Or don't you love it when random-blogger-bob takes your picture, and photoshops in random porno slices from the web, so that your new image is completely insulting and offensive? I love it too. I need that happening to me more. It's like you think I have some life I'm actually living, when the truth is I click refresh on my blog at least 60 times an hour, and then I re-read my posts, and then I am like, "THIS IS BRILLIANT, I think imma pat myself on the back!" and 20 minutes later, when I done patting myself on the back, I realize, "no one commented?!?!?!?"

of course the post was only up for about 5 minutes, BUT I checked my stats and I saw that one person could have seen it, and they prolly DID see it, so what gives? is my post stinky? is it one of those "I don't know how to respond" kind of posts? Because I back you, I wouldn't know what to say to me either. But fuck man, and least kiss my ass and tell me how masterful I am in the art of living.

or that I should eat horse shit and die, like you always knew and hoped I would.

maybe it would help if I didn't write pointless shit that led to nothing, because I derno if anyone's really reading this trifle-assed blog anyways. A hit on sitemeter doesn't tell you shit. In fact, for some reason, 99.9% of my hits had a 0:00 page view duration. That means they didn't even stay long enough to register ONE LOUSY SECOND on sitemeter. good times.

yah it's fun to get linked, to get comments on every post, and tell myself pretty things like, "im really making a difference in the world with my needle in the haystack of a globspot." and type away as tho it mattered.

I think all of march im going to be an experimental blogger, and i'll post only one word a day, but it will always be the same word "cunt", just to prove how pointless this site is.

if you aren't confused, than this post was a failure.

i get really emotional sometimes, as gay as that is. it's true. color me lame.

laughter cures what ails you sometimes, and thank god i know so many goof balls and rejects who know how to say the retarded things that end up making my fortress crack, and continue to make smiling to start!

like you know what's funny? it's funny to big tanky that i can go to new york city and put four days worth of cocaine up my nose, eat pills, and god knows what else... but when i get a little freeaked out, i refuse to take an anti-anxiety pill.

know what i forget to remember? FUCK IT. that's right, fuck... IT.

or better yet, fuck everything. it doesn't matter. and, you're GONNA BE OK.

i can sit here in my apartment focusing on things that upset me. sure i can, and it's scary to do so, because it's hard to kcik your ass out of that mkinda mood.

but i am gonna sit here, and think about all the warm cuddly thoughts today. the ones that dont shellshock me into hating myself.

dont leave me comments about how i shouldn't hate myself. i know, i KNOW. and i dont.... im trying not to. but everyone hates themself SOME of the time. it's what makes us human. ask anyone who's close to me... im far from hating myself. im very much in the narcisistic zone, i think im my biggest fan.

im going to think about the ugly painful self loathing thoughts tomorrow. mebbe. or perhaps next tuesday. but i can't put it off forever like that library book i never returned and ended up using in a bon fire. i have to deal with myself eventually, or it will come out in some ugly nervous breakdown. I'VE SEEN IT BEFORE! not to myself of course. not yet.

i took this pic. no sailboats. dammit.

what a loverly day! guess who's working SOUTH CENTRAL, Los Angeles (which is now known as simply "south la" as part of an innitiative to change the area's image. hah.)

thank god for morning wood, and foam egg crates in my bed.

i am going to now stand on my balcony and let the sun hit my bare topless self. (yes i have pants on this time) and it's going to feel wonderful, and im going to stand there smoking a square staring at the pacific ocean, hooping to see a sail boat cruise on by.... like in tha tpic i took a jillion years ago.

yes that's my view, feel free to hate me.

deathwish? yah call it what you want. call it a deathprayer if you're religious. i call it hostility at it's finest.

do you feel the heat of my front tires rubbing your back tires? i do too, and i hope it's pressuring you out of my existence. im banking on you not being able to handle life in the kitchen, if ya can't take the heat, boogie on outta here or some jazz like that.

im onto you fuckery fucks who play dangerous games. it's YOU with the deathwish. welcome to the jungle my babies, you're gonna DIE.

i think its good, and i think im jesus, or that i CAN be. at least im the closest thing to jesus i'll ever find. just like everyone is their own salvation.

i just want to rest my arms, and let my bones feel warm and safe and secure for once.

im dredding life as i know it. i've been trying to ram happiness down my throat, hoping that if i danced liked they did on TV, no one would notice i was just a novice hack who was fooling the majority. i can't run from the pain, not unless i want it to well up into something that could be really dangerous for myself.

don't fuck with a man who just wants to go home.

right now yes i do take comfort in what i know... and i know how to be alone. and alone is what is making everything twenty million times more chaotic.

god damn my problems are pithy. sorry world.

I HAVE THIS PAL.... lets just call her tig banky... well she wasnt some hunter s bandwagoner, man. that was her DUDE! she doesn't know of him because she saw the movie (which is how *I* know, yes im lame.) but because she has loved and read almost all his books. she's a book freak like that. and anyways...

just like she called me when dime bag darrell died, to make sure i was ok... you all should go leave tanky banky a comment on her HST post, because she's genuinely heart broken. and i have my homies back.

download "Knew U"
from Pharcyde's Humboldt Beginnings NOW.
here's a sample.

nothing easy was worth a shit. you have to cry before you can laugh. there's no shame in swinging for the fences and missing, never trying is a bitch on the other hand. don't say "i'll try to..." say "i will".

i have a reason to want more for myself, and that reason is ME. i deserve to find atman and pass him a joint.

have you ever looked inthe mirror and wanted to take a magicmarker and start crossing out your face? just make it a big ink stain sitting on your shoulders...

hating yourself is as much beating-off as loving yourself.

anti the talker. anti the loudmouth preacher know it all... he thinks he has all the answers as he hypocritacly "tells it like it is" yah... great... i do SO MUCH good ranting and raving like a look and never following my advice.

even now, i know that sitting here searching for something to tell the internet is not making me better. it's only helping me perpetuate the facade that is MYSELF.

it's all the "wah wah wah" that i've done over the years on the blog about my dad. hey, BOO HOO FOR ME, my dad sucks, who's doesn't? the thing is, MY DAD did the best he could for me. he was a man doing all he knew how to be the best man he could. he just didn't know well enough, and was too proud to ever ask anyone for help.

i love you dad. i'll never speak to your sorry ass again. but i am done blaming you for things i am upset about. i am a great person because, and in spite, of you.

the time to pull myself up by my bootstraps and start to FINALLY BE A MAN, and stop being a boy is today. it was yesterday. it was a year ago.

im not gonna do this alone anymore. i need a helper, and i think it's easier to lie to myself and say i dont need nothin.

but who does that help? lying to myself was the first mistake i ever made back before i even knew how to tie my shoes.

i was on a torch lighter kick to light bonghits for a while because i liked how the flame was all stiff and pointy and i felt like i was playing with a light saber lighting a toke off of my bong, good old Jennier Lopez.

but im back to rocking a Bic, because when you lose a Bic it ain't a $5 ouch... it's more like... "if i wait long enough i bet i can steal that guys lighter over THERE."

i never actually steal with intent, it's always an oops, but i never return the lighter, i figure it's just how Bics work... it's like there's a community pool of them, and you just have to hang on tight when you find one with the child proof pre-removed.

i guess those cheaper more shitty lighters that you can buy for 50 cents are ok too. you know those ones that are translucent and are almost as common as a Bic Lighter. but they always break in my clumsy hands, and i always think i'm two seconds from bowing up my face trying to light up a sqaure.

in fact i dusted of the trusty aim-n-flame lighter, which is cool because you know no ones gonna pocket that sondabitch. not unless they're desperate.

i got randomly invited to write for this blog. cool.

and this cat here has made for me the best picture link to my site i have ever seen. thatnks homeslice.

im going to sit in my truck now and pray for a battery miracle. i never have wanted to go to 7-11 so bad in all my life. and come on people, walk there? this is LA.

i'll admit it finally because it makes it fel like i dont care, it makes it seem like its something i can conquer, whether i believe it or not. i am a fucking FAKER, trying to win a game that im the only one playing. and there has to be a loser in every game, just ask yourself how many times you sat down with a real deck of cards, and won solitaire without cheating. if you're playing solitaire you're a loser and you know it, anyways.

bettering yourself isn't like getting a diploma from a trade school. it's not like a tattoo that just sticks wit'cha no matter what.

bettering yourself is a lifestyle, and a constant, just like keeping your room clean.

you dont just clean it up once a month, you keep that shit clean on a DAILY, otherwise you end up like me, a total sloth affraid to go near the dirty laundry ass-smelling section of the apartment. btw, my place aint even that big.

i talk a lot about how you should go to sleep with a smile on your face, proud of who you are and the life your lead.

i can't say i felt that way too much lately. i can safely say i lay in bed, and stare at the cigarette cherry... wondering... worrying... becuase im stuck and i need to learn a new way out. my old ways are failing me. big tanky helped point this out to me today.

the facade isn't always the answer, perhaps?

it's scary because my name's John, not anti or whatever the fuck i call myself in this weird blog-cult im a part of. and sometimes because im either so high or so vain, or WHATEVER.

anti is cool, cocky, and has tight game. anti knows his shit, and comes off like some kind of great guy.

well, hi... meet john, Im John. and im not really very cool. socially im shy, quiet and a scared mouse. and yes im a great guy... but the "anti" you read isn't the John that exists on a daily. it's only the me i wish i was. it's the me i only SOMETIMES am. as insane as that sounds. it's the honest to god, and im admitting it now. anyone who ever called bullshit on this blog, and called me out as a phoney. you got me. you OWN me. yer right, i was lying this whole time, and this blog is not so good for my constitution sometimes. sometimes it's the curse that i can't get rid of... like my addiction to the cigarettes that are killing me.

i think i want anti to end. the whole thing... but i dont know how to stop yet... my OCD psycho self has tried to quit his blog before, im bad at quitting...

at least bad at quitting things that are potentially to my detriment.

Peg bundy: Al, if you're gonna come in will you shut the door?

Al bundy: peg, if you're gonna live here, will you shut your mouth?

bud bundy: so dad, i've taken the family finances and put them in this computer

Al bundy: that's putting something i don't have into something i don't understand.

Peg bundy: that sounds like our lovelife...

Al Bundy: No Peg, that's putting something i dont have into something i dont like.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

i love smelling my bong hits in my pinched finger grip, getting to the core of the various hints of foresty flavors. or perhaps a little tinge of skunk bud to tease the nostrils with delight. one never knows until one dares to venture a journey down olfactory lane.

that bonghit im smelling right there in that picture of me on my sofa in front of my retarded pictures that i staple hammered to my wall after i downloaded them off some random website because i wanted to decorate as cheaply and as ghettoly as possible... yah THAT bonghit... welp, that one smelled kinda tarty, and even a little fruity... but whats super illin about it is, that if i had to pin point which fruit it most closestly resembles... i'd have to say NO FRUIT... but rather the taste of fruit loop cereal.

yes, it's most certainly and undeniably TRUE. you betta axe sombody.

Alll the Tucan Sam fruit-looped-goodness, without any of the lactose intolerance.

damn lactose all to hell, i hate him, or is lactose a "she"? that bitch.

i haven't eaten all day, not once, i just forgot to or something, and now i have no Car (or car battery) until i wake up because i totally flaked out on pep boys once again, so i have two choices, ORder gros pizza that i dont want to eat, or eat my deodorant (speed stick, musk scent)

i hate pizza. its like buying a $15 piece of card board with construction-paper-pepperoni's glued to it. num-num in my tum-tum, YOU BETCHA!!!

im in a rutt and i WANT OUTTTTT.

today is masterbation wednesday. im like a machine!

i think there is a good time and place to get into a fight. i think in fact, that there are times that it's unavoidable. when busting a pool cue over someone's skull is reall yhte only option you have left.

but it's not when someone disses me. being dissed is the last reason to beat the shit out of someone. didn't you mommy ever teach you that sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt you?

and that being said, know when it is time to beat some ass? when it's more than words, when it IS sticks and stones about to break your bones.

FUCK THAT SHIT, no one breaking any of MY fuckin bones, doggies.

in back to the future, marty mcfly's dad beat up biff tannen because biff was not just mouthing off. he was in the car trying to climb up on marty's mom. that's cruisin for a bruisin, and no one can argue that.

but if the story was different, and biff only said and did disrespectful things to marty's dad, but never really was a threat... then marty mcfly's dad shoudl have just driven away, with a middle finger pointed back at biff.

the only thing fighting does most of the time is make your hands hurt. why do you want to get down and dirty to defend some warped idea of "honor"

i think having the ability to know what the consequences are helps a lot too. like those basketball guy that guy into that huge fight that involved fans... where was that Detroit? the basketball player got suspended and basically lost out on millions of dollars he would have made if he was allowed to play to full season.

would have it been smarter to let the fan throw a beer on him, and NOT get suspended... and MAKE MILLIONS, and bang basketball groupies, and do whatever the fuck basketball players do when they have a night off in a strange down, with all the money in the world to piss away? yes it would have been smarter.

instead he got to "defend his honor" and fight and let his EMOTIONS, not his brain, run the show.

if it was me, and i was the basketball player... i would have done NOTHING. and the fan would have been kicked out of the place forEVER, and i would look up his records later, and locate him, and pay a bunch of mexican day laborers i rounded up from Home Depot to demolish his house, while he's away at work.

yes, it's true.


I can tell im not there, I can tell that im struggling still to be where I want to be.

I want to live on "nothing bothers me" island. Where someone can walk up to me, hawk a loogie in my face, slap my beer out of my hands to the ground, and scream insults about me and my family to my face... And all I do is, I just laugh, and shrug my shoulders, and wipe the spit off my face, because no one's gonna get a rise out of me, man. no one.

I don't live on that island yet. But I have every chance in the world to make it there... im trying...

it's important to have that much control over yourself. It's VITAL that you know how to choke back the natural human instinct, which is to be the adverse affect, and give a person that REACTION they were looking for.

it's like the whole point of me saying how I love when I piss people off on the highway is that if they DIDN'T flash their brights or honk at me, or give me the reaction I was looking for... Then THEY'D WIN, and I'd feel stupid (like normal)

but see, the line doesn't just stop at being able to be MADE upset. If someone has the ability to piss you off, then you can fall victim to multitudes of manipulations. Because if you follow that logic then someone has the power to make you happy, sad, jealous, whatever they want.

so what's the solution, right? How do we avoid being the adverse affect of the world we live in?

that's not so easy, and it takes lots of practice. But I can tell you THIS much: if you are a loose cannon, and if you have a short fuse, or even if simply someone can ruin your day at the drop of a hat... Then my friend, you are not in control of yourself, no matter how much you think you are.

I love myself, I love my life, and I have told as many people as I can that I believe 2005 is the year to be alive. No one can ruin or change that for me. When I run into the nay Sayers, the playa haters, and he cynical critics, I just feel sorry for them, and hold on to my dreams tight like it's my first time touching titty.

when people talk shit straight up to my face, I put on a smile and pretend im laughing it off... But really on the inside, my fists are clenched and my knuckles are whitening, as I cock my shoulders back, flare my nostrils, and and proceed to envision how happy flattening so-and-so's face would be.

so much for not letting things bother me, eh?

but it's cool, at least I can somewhat disguise that im having a reaction to someone's taunts. Baby steps... Baby steps...

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

nothing makes me happier than pissing someone off on the souther california freeway system.

see... they may or may not know it, but they pissed me off FIRST, and really this should go in the "payback's a bitch" file, and no where else.

sometimes they honk, occasionaly they throw on their high beams, they might even try and swoop up next to your car so as to flip you the bird.

i LOVE it. i winnn!!!! yer mad now too!!!! tra la la la la

i think they're all novices. Rookies in the realm of dishing it out. but i make them veterans at taking it by the time im done, and on to the next obstacle/mini-van.

sometimes too, you'll meet who tanky calls the Speed Police. they are not actual officers, but as goody-goody citizens of this fine state, and they think it is their DUTY to somehow get you to slow down to somewhere under 90MPH (i dont know what that is in kilometers), and they do this most typically by making what is known as a rolling road block, or "tea partying" with other cars. they basically go the same exact speed as the car in the lane next to them, so no one can pass, and everyone's at their mercy... even if the two tea partiers are going mind numbingly slow, and they always are.

theses guys are no math for me, i use an old trick my cousin taught me... it's called the emergency lane, BUST THAT SHIT DOGGIE, those fuckers deserve the brick they're gonna shit, because they always shit a brick and go crazy with the brights, ect.

im shakin in my boots!! you betcha!! har har har

it's not that im an aggresive driver, or that get road rage, really i am perfectly calm the entire time, and all these tactics i bust are done without error, and only after i have been driving on these freeways to the point that i have every bump, pothole, onramp, offramp, interchange, bottlekneck, road construction, ect, memorized and commited to memory.

knowing is half the battle, yo... no lies.


it's true you have to want it bad enough, or it will never come to reality.

you have to want it so bad, that you'll do whatever it takes to get it. even if that means doing without a small pleasure NOW in hopes of a larger pleasure LATER.

its fucked too, because there's no garantee, there's no magic 8 ball that knows, and there's nothing you have at all actually. nothing but FAITH in YOURSELF. which is the only thing you should have faith in, btw... what else do you really got?

my mom is my ultimate role model because she's fierce, ruthless, and stops at nothing to get what she wants. and even WHAT SHE WANTS alone is inspirational... she seeks the truth.

but it was a trip the one day i was in highschool and my mom came in and told me whats up. she said that i could smoke cigarettes, and skip going to college... IN FACT... for all she cared, i could be a career pizza delivery guy.

she told me that the more i wanted in life meant the HARDER i'd have to work. she said that if i was happy with not wanting a lot, and not working very hard... SO BE IT. it's my life to choose how to live it any way i please afterall, ain't it?

but what it did was make me realize that the only person who's gonna make me either a financial success, or a happy person, or ANYTING was me, and ONLY ME. in fact, even if i was a homeless dregg leaching on the bleeding hearts of others... i'd be to blame to.

big tanky was reading parts of my blook and she looked up at me and told me that according to earlier blog posts i had written, i'm living my fantasy life.

i smoke pot all i want, i sleep whenever i choose, and my work schedule pays top dollar for the fewest amount of days humanly possible to survive. (3-4 day workweeks. 3-4 day weekends!!)

im happy with who i am, where im at, and mostly WHERE IM HEADED... and i have myself and my hard work (or lack there of) to thank.

go me!

4 years ago.

if you don't get super high and blast your music and dance around alone in the privacy of your own apartment while you bounce off the walls and spin around and get dizzy chanting "kill... kill... kill..." along with the slayer lyrics only stopping to take stance and bang your head playing air guitar to one of the evil-frozen-deadly-solo's that kerry king or jeff hanneman will bust out on their BC Rich's....

then yer no friend of MINE, you dipshit.


when you're hearing someone tell you something, you really need to consider a lot of things.

it doesn't matter if it's the TV, the radio, a stranger, or your best friend, nothing that you are told should be taken at face value. that's what someone does when they dont like thinking, or when they want others to do the thinking FOR them.

everyone's an idiot and has it all wrong, first of all, and secondly they have an agenda, and most importantly you should never give up thinking for yourself... your own thoughts and feelings are the most true and honest things you'll EVER EVER find in this evil world.

and it's not the world that's evil, it's the people in it, and NOT ALL of them.... you're not born evil... it's just very seductive and blinding.

you have to wonder why someone chooses to believe what they are telling you. OR if they truly believe it at ALLL... maybe they know its a lie, but they want YOU to believe it. eh?

i have noticed in life that the people who know often dont care about whether or not anyone else figures it out. which is very unlike the people who have no idea, and whom want you to be just confuse as they are. it's fucked, and thats honestly exactly what missionaries are.

i say take everything you are told with a grain of salt, and stay open minded, and use what you heard as the skeleton to what you are going to research and find out the answers to ALL BY YOURSELF.

do you know how to do that? it's not easy, there's no ONE WEBSITE to go to, in fact... i'd suggest reading something produced only in hard copy.

im lucky, because when i want to know the answers to life's questions, social issues, or even politics... i just ask big tanky what SHE thinks.

she already read everything known to man.

i had to have my mom drive me to the dentist, which is actually quite luxurious, especially because my mom and i are hip-hop snobs, and her and i were talking about the 93.5FM KDay playlist the whole time, and how they've been bumping JUST the right amount of tupac lately. she was the one who got me into rap music, she had Dr. Dre's "the Chronic" back when i was still being angsty and dying my hair blue. it's also tight that she lets me smoke in her SUV, because man, if i didn't smoke cigs there'd be no way in hell you could smoke in mine.



i dont like it. and i dont like phones.

now i have to leave for the god damned dentist, and i know it gonna make me mental when whats her name starts tearing my gum line apart, and talks baby talk to me.

"lemme just scrape this here toothey woothey. oooops now you're all bloody shmuddy. pooor thingaling!!!"

whats the worst breath i can have? i want my breath to smell like onion, garlic, ass, and if at all possible... the smell of a rotten carcass.

that's my revenge. you wanna dig around in my mouth, well fine. but now the back of your ear lobes are gonna be sweatin' like a bitch, got me?

i'll ice all you mothercluckers in one giant swoop. im the ice man, and this is my ice box, prepare to die.

im gonna take a sharpie indelible marker, and write, "fuck baby talking dental assistants. they SUCKKKKKKK" on my neck.

while she's working on my teeth im gonna let loose the most deadliest egg farts i can muster up. im talking about a fart so bad it would make the paint peel.

oh well, at least tonight i get to relax with a phat bag of the deacon. num num.


whitey was gonna drive 6 hours through the night to get to santa cruz yesterday evening. so i told him he has to at the very least take me to delaer mcdope's house to score a baggie because my truck is tupac spelled backwards. (caput)

we went, and dealer mcdope took his sweet time. he played for us the new sage francis album, and whitey and i agreed, sage sounds like he's fallen off.

i totally flaked on all my plans and errands today. no bank, and no car battery. but i DID get high. i have the bong in my lap as i type.

whitey just came back over to grab the cell phone he forgot, so i guess he hasn't left for the cruz yet.

there's an african lion roaming around the ronald reagan library. but they're aren't sure... they can only see the tracks, it might be a tiger. WTF?

it looks like i used photoshop! i didn't. i just used these arrows to block the blinding sunlight, and kapow.

the battle plan for when i wake up:

hop in the truck and pray for a miracle that the sondabitch will start up on the pithy ass battery that barely holds a charge. assuming i getter goin and shit, i head straight to East West Bank to cash my pay checks, of course leaving my truck running in the parking lot.

next stop, pep boys. i have the battery i want all shopped out nicely, and so imma get my truck back to normal again. i hate being affraid to turn it off all day, that ain't working with me.

which brings me to the part of the day i will get as high as humanly possible in preparation for the dentist (cottonmouth = good for dentists), i have a 2-o-clock in beverly hills. "deep cleaning" they call it.

it's funny how it's actually a hard choice between suffering at the dentist, or letting all those candy bars and soda pops rot your teeth out of your skull. maybe i'll flip a coin.

i derno when i will get home, but i plan on just taking as many bong hits as i can. i want to induce a bonghit-headache. i love those. overkill is my middle name.

Monday, February 21, 2005


there's nothing i love better than watching fear factor las vegas, and seeing some dumb slut fail miserably at drinking the drink made out of slugs.

you did that all for nothing!!!!! wah wah.


im so tired. im leaving for my last day of redlands hell. can that city be any further away? fuckin A, mang.

right now i have to head out to gardena to pick up brandon and lloyd, and take them to san bernardino before i drive off to redlands.

i just shaved, and now i can light a match off the sandpaper that is my face.

i hate presidents day.

Sunday, February 20, 2005

sometimes when you're a sign guy, you get so fucking pissed off you think you're gonna flip out and start a fist fight with a total stranger. but believe me, THEY'RE FUCKING BEGGING FOR IT!!!!

i was making my rounds and smoking my cigarettes, when i drove past some roadkill on a freeway onramp, so i got off the freeway and was circling back when....

i find some shmuck selling a local newspaper "the sun" for $1 on the southwest corner of the intersection of redlands ave and mountain view in the city of loma linda. and this fat bald FUCK, has taken a few of my signs, turned them around to the blank side, and wrote, "the sun $1" on the back.

that's not gonna fly with me, yo. so i flipped a bitch, chirping my tires, and flung my truck to a screeching hault in front of him. i threw on my emergency flashers, unlocked my door, and popped out with my 3lb. Roughneck Mallet in my right hand.

i went and fixed the backwards signs and told the guy, "ya know, they pay a lot of money for me to manage these signs. don't use them."

he said, "i was gonna put them back when i was done, man."

i said, "how about next time. you get your own signs." and i turned and walked back to my truck, and started to drive away. i looked in my rear view mirror and you won't believe what i fucking saw. the fat bald piece of shit walked up to the sign, and kicked it flat. i got so angry my hands were shaking, i flipped a bitch, and flew back to the motherfuckers corner.

i parked in traffic and grabbed two signs out the back of my truck and went over to homie, "why the fuck did you do that?" i asked.

and the motherfucker had the nerve to say to my face, "oh, i tripped... oops."

i put up two sings where he had kicked over the one, to prove my point, the whole time chewing my lip off so as not to flip out.

he went over to sell a paper to a car that pulled up and i weighed the pros and cons of kicking over his little faggy basket that he left on the corner.

i used my best judgment and got back into my car which was holding up traffic and being honked at, and i swooped arond the corner to spy on him.

i got out of my car, and went over to stand around by him, to double check that he hadn't knocked anything over again.

i went into the SUBWAY sandwhich place and bought a large raspberry iced tea. i had a plan brewing in my head... i was gonna drive up on the guy, throw my cold iced tea on his stupid uglyhead, and laugh phycoticly while i peel out waving my middle finger back at the guy, sticking out the car window loud and proud.

but that's how trouble starts. it was only two signs. and i used better judgement... anyways, i think fatty had gotten the point by now, so i went off to get my road kill photo as per Plan A.


Saturday, February 19, 2005

it became clear this morning that i was was lucky to get my car started, and if i didn't want to have to call for roadside service.... i had ot keep the car on all day.

so i did.

at the gas station they warn against fueling your vehicle while you're engine is running, because you will explode or something. this is total horse shit, of course.

the sign also warns that static electricity will blow yourself up too. BULLSHIT!!!! if that was true, you'd see Al Queda motherfuckers rubbing their shoes on the carpet inside their cars, and blowing up service stations from here to timbuktu.

the other warnings on the sign, is smoking cigarettes, and using cell phones. both will make you explode.

but i think they just put the people on their cell phones exploding as WISHFUL THINKING. cigarettes is the only thing that makes SLIGHT sense to me.

but man, not really.

i ignore all gas station rules, and i haven't blowed up YET. not even close.

anyways, my car is turned off now, and tomorrow it's gonna be on and running for like... 10 or 11 hours. whitey's gonna jump start my truck in the morning to get me started. oh joy.

Friday, February 18, 2005


I think the hardest part about having a serious conversation, regarding something I feel passionate about is.... Making sure that the other person saw my point.

I struggle with it because it's an irrational need. I ask myself at times, "why do I need them to see my point so bad?"

or what can be equally frustrating is how badly the person wants me to agree with THEIR point of view. Which I won't.

and it's not because I don't understand their point, or that I am too stupid to grasp the concept they are struggling to articulate. I DO SEE THEIR POINT, and if they'd shut up for all of ten seconds, they'd let me make them understand that I see their point.

it's on the top of their cone shaped fucking head.

and the worst part is that im as bad as they are. They wont see my point, I wont see theirs, and both of us are shouting over eachother, trying to see who's gonna win the filler-bustering contest.

no one wins that contest by the way.

what I am making an effort to do from now on, is SHU TTHE FUCK UP and listen for a change.


I pretend like im listening a lot of the time, but im really just nodding and smiling and repeating what I want to say over and over in my head, so's not to forget it.

i want to sit back, and listen, and LET GO of my pithy ideals for just a moment. Long enough to actually understand and contemplate a thought I KNOW is retarded. Just to say I gave it my best shot.

here's what happens, the person you granted tolerance to feels stoked that SOMEONE HEARD THEM FOR ONCE. And guess what, it's just like how the quickest way to getting your dick sucked is eating pussy... THEY will now patiently listen to YOU.

and that's all a creep like myself wanted in the first place turn with the Mic.

Thursday, February 17, 2005

my job this weekend is again REDLANDS CALIFORNIA. about a two hour drive from my house.

my boss was generous, and mindful enough to not only pad my pay a little extra to account for the extra long drive, but he's also en route to deliver me my fistful of signwalking cashola, because there's not really an East West Bank in redlands. and that's the bank we use.

i can't wait for him to get here because i have some killer weed i bought from dealer McDope last night. straight imported from Santa Cruz California... i think it's outdoor... "MMMMM, OUTDOOOR!!!"

so i don't have a helper this weekend yet, and im not 100% sure i need one, because most of the signs and shit are still built from last weekend. i also got tight with this camp that lives right off the east bound alabama street exit of the I-10. that's my back up signwalking crew waiting to make the dolla dolla bill yall.

ya betta axe somebody.

right now im weighing the pros and cons of getting a cheap tweaker motel room out there, instead of having 4 hours of round trip commuting each day. THE PROS: less driving, more time to masterbate and i can have a place to shower and shit through out the day while my signwalker smile and wave at cars like obedient worker bees. and there will prolly be cable tv, which i don't have at home.

the cons are few but VERY IMPORTANT. the main cons i can see are friday night, and sat'nite stuck in a shit hole town twiddling my thumbs sitting alone at the motel 6. i'd rather shove a rusty guitar string up my pee hole, it's true.


"at least we're number 1..." is what you'll hear the stereotypical ugly american say. as if to say, "i have an imaginary international contest, and im WINNING!!!"

it's stupid not only because why are these idiots keeping score?, but also... they forget that the idea of which country is THE BEST is subjective.

take for example bushmen like one of those black dudes from "the gods must be crazy" who made all those clicks and whistles instead of talking, i doubt they think USA is number 1. they couldn't even hang with a coke bottle from western civilization.

not to mention that i bet USA has more depression than the bushmen, more murder, more illness, and more poverty.

i bet you the bushmen's village is a lot better place to grow up than the hostile environment today's latch key kids face.

american's are affraid to not be #1. i'm not sure where this irrational fear comes from, but i think it's left overs from the cold war. and it's basically a propagated idea used to manipulate "the herds" into supporting the war effort.

"you wouldn't want america to slip into 2nd Best, now do you? we're number 1 and we're gonna stay that way."

i think america is too big, pushy, and powerful, and this contest it's having needs to end.

in a perfect world the solution is simple to me. the federal government is scaled back, WAY BACK, starting with national defense. SECONDLY, we give each seperate state more independence and indivual sovereignty.

and then the United States of America can have the states duke it out to see which is the #1 state. im guessing it will be a stand off between california, texas, and of course.... new york.

but at least the rest of the world will stop being the victim of america's imaginary competition.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005


see, i love them because no one else does, and because they are modern day slaves, and no one wants to admit it. so i offer them my support, and i have their backs.

the truth is, there's no need for illegal aliens, and the united states of america (a place that boasts itself as the #1 cunt-ry) could easily prevent nearly 90 percent of illegal immigration into the country. it only exists because america ALLOWS it to happen.

america wants these illegals to come in and be CHEAP LABOR. modern day slaves.

america achieves this by allowing them to walk on over the border, and then never allowing them citizenship.

what this does is cause the illegal alien to have to get a lesser paying job. it strips them of any rights to vote, or be represented in the country they've moved to.

america has an immigration problem, because america WANTS an immigration problem.

an immigration PROBLEM is a cheap labor SOLUTION.

people who don't think about the whole scope of the issue will say stuff like, "yah get those filthy mexicans out of MYYYY country. they're taking our jobs!!!"

but that's retarded, because white people just aren't applying for the dishwasher position that pays small, and pays under the table. who's job are they stealing? i don't see the line cook union forming a picket line, so why are YOU?

people perhaps are unaware how much the work of illegal aliens benefits california. these voluntary-modern-day-slaves are hard workers (in general) and deserve to be treated with more respect and dignity.

give them the chance to get drivers licenes!!!! maybe traffic wont be so fucked if more people were issued actual DL's and were tested properly, ect.

the worst part of it all is, this is AMERICA. this land was built on people that came from somewhere else. in fact when white man came to north america, he committed genocide on the native american indians.

so perhaps we should be glad that mexican's aren't as murderous as white man.

lets be glad, and lighten up, and back the fuck off. got it?

it's been a while since i had anyone i felt i could call in the middle of the night when i wake up in a cold sweat all freaked out and shooken up.

i don't think most people are blessed with that luxury of someone to call upon. we're here alone, desolate and in solitude. naked and ugly.

you can't be Mr or Mrs "everything's a-ok" all the time, because it's a heavier burden to bear since atlas held the world on his shoulders. or more than anyone can fit on their plate.

and mainly because everything's NOT a-ok hunky dory cherry pie. it's just not. it's all fucked up and and twisted and bent out of shape, like a mexican wire coat hanger TV antenna.

what is real. what is the truth. who am i. these are very clear statements that can get blurred faster than Wyle E. Coyote can get hit with an A.C.M.E. anvil. it's true.

fellowship is a state of mind, and really we're always alone. because who could ever truly know you 100%, and know ALL your thoughts? but what a sad way to go out, eh?

i believe you are as alone as you choose to feel, becuase if you look around, you'll see that everyone's been there the whole time. you've just been shutting them out and isolating yourself.

but who's to throw judgement, man? not me. i only got control of how i live mi vida loca.

besides being alone isn't scary. it's wonderful. ask yourself why you're affraid to be alone...

i think a healthy practice (especially because i love stimulants so much) is to shut off everything. turn off the humming sound of your computer, the slight buzz from your fan. shut off all the lights, the music, and the TV. don't smoke. don't talk. BE alone.

close your eyes, and with out any stimulation, let your thoughts carry you wherever they may go. but be warned, it might be gut wrenchingly ugly and painful. sometimes there's a reason we avoid ourselves so much.

so no, i haven't had anyone i can call when im freaking out in a LONG ASS time, but i dont need one anymore.

i'm all i need.

i like that feeling i get waiting for the blogger compose page to load and knowing i haven't a profound thought in the world! YAY!

pointless blogging, my favorite kind, and really, tell me the point to anything i have ever said

and if you have an answer imma high five you the bullshit award, because son... You're a master.

i feel compelled to be propelled in my car very very far. but perhaps i can just resist and sit still long enough to freaking let my shoulder cool off. driving isn't a bursitis friendly activity.

I've resorted to chopping up my glucosamine pills and snorting it. is that some still on the mirror? RUB IT ON YOUR GUMS! har. Stolen manipulated joke from Dennis Leary.

life moves pretty fast sometimes, doesn't it? i hate to say it, because i always thought only old people said it... but you got to just stop and enjoy shit NOW. right now today. while the chance is there in front of you.

it can all be taken away so fast.

it's like going on a road trip so some shit hole town in the middle of no where. and two separate vehicles are going there.

one guy's racing there all to hell, he won't let anyone pee at any rest stops, and stubbornly, and irrationally, the guy gets them there to the shit hole town's motel, so they can be in a huge hurry to fucking do nothing.

the other car stopped at a few cool rustic looking gas stations and got directions to some cool cave thing and made it to the shit hole hours and hours later than the other guy.

the point is, getting there is supposed to be just as fun as being there, and perhaps (especially with a road trip) it's the BEST part.

but see, with life it's like that too. Here we are people trying to achieve our goals. And some of us are strictly shoulder to the grind stone 100% of the time. And some of don't have enough focus to ever make a dream a reality.

there's a fine line, and it's hard to walk it, but what *I* do is... *I TRY*

I don't accept my fate on one side of the spectrum deciding that balance was never something that was worth the effort. Because it IS worth it.

and I DO live today.

money comes and goes, and so do friends and sometimes even your family.

entering your life and then leaving it.

stop worrying about who you'll know or what you'll have or what's been lost by the time you reach the top of the mountain. By the time you've reached your goals.

we'll worry about that when we're there.

I like that I include into my decision making processes the possibility that I could be hit by a bus next week and my life taken from me. To me... It helps justify a lot of behavior and makes things seem less important in the grand scheme of things.

for instance, "should I run this red light? Well... fuck it, I could be dead by Tuesday! GO FOR IT!!!"

or, "I just got paid, should I pay rent, or double my money in a high stakes poker game?! GO FOR ITTTTT!!!!!! YESSS!!!!"

I remember this punker kid getting a tattoo on his chest in highschool that read, "live fast, die young." and I thought it was totally bad ass. But if I ever ran into him again, I'd tell him something to add to that motto. "live fast, and die young and POOR" because you can't take that stack of green paper with you when you flutter away, bye bye.

it's true.

if you're an idiot you'll think im saying you should drain your bank account because you only have a few days left to live. And that's totally ri-goddamned-diculous.

what im saying is that for me, it's not about what I have. I could give fuck all about any of this shit.

FOR ME, it's about how much fun I have. And how big the smile is when I have my eyes closed.

not to mention im a vain motherfucker who loves to look at his own reflection, it's true.

but the the thing is, I learned I have to like who's looking back at me. It was only after I figured that out that I became so vain. Prior to that seeing my own face made me cringe.

I hated it. Because I hated me. Because some-how somewhere along the lines I bought in to a personal distortion. And I believed I wasn't worthy... And LOOK AT ME NOW BAAAAY-BEE

now im a ego maniac, on the complete opposite side of the spectrum....

but still struggling to find that fine line.

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

no where turned out to be north hollywood.

tomorrow i'll go... no work this weekend. i have time.

my bags are packed and im skipping town. i got my paycheck cashed, and my ipod battery is on full.

the sound of wind coming through my slightly opened car window, as i smoke a camel light, hidden behind huge cheap sunglasses. i use the grips on my Dale Earnhardt Jr. steering wheel cover to itch the palm of my hand. and the whole time im being propelled mach 10 towards no where.

peace and im out.


You've been so long
Your blind eyes are gone
Your old bones are on their own
So take off your coat
Put a song in your throat
Let the dead-beats pound all around
We will go
Nowhere we know
We don't have to talk at all
Hand me downs
Flypaper towns
Stuck together
One and all
The bargains you drive
Buckets and bags
And all your belongings
Your train's in the sand
Ramshackle land
Let the rats watch the races
We will go
Nowhere we know
'Til we find our one and all
Hand me downs
Flypaper towns
Stuck together
One and all
Praises get spent
Your trick face is bent
Pigsties and prizes
'Cause there's no kind of 'well'
You're suiting yourself
You leave yourself behind
We will go
Nowhere we know
'Til we find our one and all
Your hand me downs
Flypaper towns
Stuck together
One and all

do you know how powerful the mind is? a good analogy i heard was that the brain is like a TV set, and every single cell in the body is watching.

so what's on your TV? eh?

Monday, February 14, 2005

it's all in the words you choose. the picture you paint in your head, for yourself to look at. for every possible outlook on something there's a clever little analogy to make it sound as though it's a great idea.

i once said to my buddy that she shouldn't seek out revenge on her ex-boyfriend who was shit talking her, "mannn, the waters are fairly calm, you don't want to rock the boat, now do you?"

she replied, "Anti you can't be an ostrich with your head in the sand, shutting everything out."

so was i right? we both have catchy little phrases that help to bolster our point of view. but at the end of the day, one believes what they want to believe. i wasn't right, neither was she... it's all subjective.

why is accepting blame so hard to do? it's near impossible for me. i CAN accpet blame, but only if it's an over-the-top, drama-fest-fiasco, in which i steal the spotlight, and i center the attention around myself.

i'm also the helpless victim who is so "traumatized" all the time, that i need to be pasified with everyone's empathy.

if you read this shite and you have ever felt compelled to pat me on the head and say, "now, there there anti, it's going to be ok..." then you KNOW what a little weasle manipulator i am.

when i was a real estate appriaser a few years back, they had a saying, "you're only as good as your last appraisal." which meant, that if you are a great and talented appraiser, that all means jack shit the minute you turn in a shitty appraisal. no one remembers the good work you did a few jobs ago... they're just sitting there staring at the piece of shit you turned in and signed. they're making that face... like they just smelled poo.

well in life i think that sometimes you are only as good as the last time you hung out. so if you were a total pain in the ass last time, guess what, you just moved down the totem pole of priority. it's true. and you can redeem yourself as well, and if we ever hang out again, and you show some form of act right, you might get bumped back up to "person i'm willing to call" status.

track records, and past history mean nothing to me. im dealing with the you of today, not the nice-guy-version that existed in the past. the new you killed the nice guy you, in cold blood.

so when i lost my wallet saturday it felt like that lyric, "instant karma's gonna get you" because i had just re-told the story about how my helper mark lost his wallet, and wanted to sue del taco for it.

we all laughed, and when it was an hour later, and i was driving around redlands, california to random places i parked to see if my wallet on the ground....

all i could think was how i shouldn't have taken so much pleasure in mark's loss.

and the day had gone so smoothley otherwise up until that point.

i fetched my helper at 6:00am. we had every freeway exit covered (for a ten mile stretch) by 10am. i was even able to find two last minute workers when suzie-the-lame showed up without her full car load.

and suddenly the worst thing that could have happened, was happening.

i thought back to what was in the wallet. about $200 cash, my license, my ATM card with the visa logo. I NEED THAT SHIT!

well my car has more compartments than yo mamma has rolls of fat, it's true. and so after deciding to push every button, the sunglasses compartment flew open and down came raining my long lost black leather wallet.

and i immediately kissed it, and then went into cursing mark for giving me bad luck.

the bastard!


my bong is now named Jennifer Lopez.


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Tony Pierce