Anti abandons the internet.

it's finally over, thank fucking god.

Saturday, February 26, 2005

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.

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Tony Pierce