Taking it Coastal

May 21, 2009

Hey there amigos!

Yeah I know, I’m a lazy sonofabitch when it comes to updating this thing lately. I’d like to say I’m busy but I ain’t that busy.  Played some shows, low key stuff, no biggie.  Pays the rent.  Dallied with the virtue of a couple of ladies, but nothing too exciting.  Had some “me” time.   By that I don’t mean I played with the Captain and some Nivea. Well okay, I did some of that too. I mean the world ain’t ending or nothing.

Time to snap out of it though.  Starting to sound like a goddamn lady myself.  Me time.   Next it’ll be manicures and the Women’s Network.  I just looked down my Fruit of the Looms to check the Captain was still there.  You’ll be happy to know ladies, that yes, he is and he’s looking magnificent like a shiny pink log of love.

Spring time.  Makes a dude think of poon.  Actually any time makes Tony think of poon.  Hey oh. There is nothing more beautiful than a juicy pink vagina.

Next week I’m kind of excited as I’m going to LA.  That’s Los Angeles to you bums, not Louisiana.  Who the fuck’d go to Louisiana of their own free will?  Jesus.   Actually Jesus probably would.  He’s respected in Lousiana.  True story. My friend Delmar, who’s a kick ass pianist, once played a show in Baton Rouge.  When he comes out on to the stage in this little church hall type place, he’s confronted by six dudes in white pointy head gear.  Delmar almost shit in his pants.  At first he thought it was a costume party and some dudes were dressed like sperms but turns out they were the real KKK.  For real yo!  They weren’t too happy at some black dude singing to their ladies.  So Delmarr excused himself for a moment then hoofed it out the back way and out of town.  

Anyways, yeah.  Los Angeles.  I’m playing a show out there with some other guys in my field and also some Elvis impersonators have a competition going down same time, so I get to hang with my good Japanese buddy Donny Ono, who believe it or not is a Japanese Elvis. Go check out his blog. He just started it and his English is for shit but dude’s a good onion. He promised to get me bombed on Saki and introduce me to this little half Japanese chick named Kiki who can shoot quarters out of her hoo ha. What’s not to like?

Hope you guys are all groovy?


Thinking Out Loud

May 5, 2009

I was checking out my dashboard here on WordPress and I swore it said something about me having 7 midgets. Y’all know Tony, I get excited at new people, especially tiny, chunky people who might be stalking me, because that’s kind of perverted and I ain’t one to shirk a little perversion, you dig? I had these visions of all these little, tiny, undersexed ladies spying on me while not wearing panties (them, not me) and it made my trouser-place feel all warm and tingly in a good way (as opposed to an itchy way).

I Googled "midgets" and got this. I don't know what's going on in this picture but I'm fascinated. It could lose the tiny dudes however and the ladies could lose their tops but hey.  Midgets.

I Googled "midgets" and got this. I don't know what's going on in this picture but I'm fascinated. It could lose the tiny dudes however and the ladies could lose their tops but hey. Midgets.

Then I noticed it actually said WIDGETS and well…that’s a whole lot less fucking sexy, no? This is what happens when a guy is still up and active at 6 in the ay em. And still a little bit drunk.

And is it just me or does ‘widget’ make you think of hobbits? Or am I confusing it with midgets again? I don’t know and frankly I’m too tired to give a hot damn. I just know a widget sounds like some hairy ass creature who’d chase you round the forest at dusk then attempt to steal your berries.

Talking of midgets, at least sort of connected to that chain of thought, I once dated this gorgeous giant gal, name of Petra. Petra was about eight feet tall. Well okay, maybe closer to six feet four or something, but she was one tall chick. Great for motorboating. It’s okay though, she didn’t mind or nothing in fact she encouraged it. Or maybe I encouraged it, I forget now. I’d totally forgotten old Petra till right now. Laugh like a dock worker, boobs like a Penthouse Pet. Quite the combination.

Anyways, I’m thinking out loud here. I should probably go to bed. I got these knock off satin sheets for my boudoir at a sale in some little store in some no good little town. They look like satin but fuck, in practice they’re more like Satan. Little fuckers give you wicked static when you slide on them – makes my pubes stand on end and gives the occasional static blast of electricity to The Captain, which he does not approve of. I have to calm him down with a nice Nivea massage.

Peace out homies. Only four more days till the weekend.

Illegal Characters

April 27, 2009

“Lola fucked bugs” and “spunk pig” are two charming terms that brought people here to Spunksville this past week. What the hay, people? Sometimes when I’m thinking I might be a touch on the deviant side, I see the stuff other people look for and suddenly I’m Polly-fucking-Anna.

So it’s been a while, compadres. This is due to a bout of severe laziness on my part although truthfully, I’ve been sort of busy as shit too. Played a lot of shows and not all for the older members of society, either. No, I did one at a women’s correctional facility (scary and oddly arousing) and one at a swimming pool gala party (lots of swimwear and giant thighs). I ain’t proud, so long as there’s ladies in swim wear and I get paid, I’ll be there, you dig?

Back to the ladies correctional facility thing. It was low security and full of chicks who shoplift or don’t pay their parking fines or whatever. Nothing too dangerous, but just dangerous enough to be enticing. And they’re allowed a certain amount of leeway to party, which in a place like that involves dancing sexily while wearing army green overalls and too much cheap lipstick, while another lady in a nazi-like get-up parades around sternly, frowning at them and adjusting her cap. I wasn’t sure what turned me on the most actually, all these caged ladies (illegal characters?) with debauchery on their minds or the trussed up guard-like ladies with their batons and tight, frumpy uniforms. Yowza! Cuz if you know anything about old Tony, he digs a lady in uniform and has trouble concentrating because he’s too damn busy picturing himself tearing those brass buttons off in a fit of passion and ravaging them on the cold, stone floor.

The ladies I mean, not the buttons. Give me some credit.

Oh there goes the Captain again!

Eh..what was I saying?

Oh yeah. The ladies. Doesn’t matter the way they come, I likes them. And come they will. Numerous times.

Naturally, I couldn’t do anything naughty and tasty with the ladies at the facility (they have rules for that sorta thing) but I did accept some digits of two soon to be released little bombshells, so we’ll see what happens there I guess.

Talking of sexy little bombshells, I found this lady through one of my good, sexy, blog buddies’ posts and she says hella nice things about me, so now my head’s the size of a melon. And not the one on my shoulders, ladies, dig? Wink. I tried to leave that fine lady a comment but the old “Blogger” wouldn’t let me do it, as apparently my URL has “illegal characters”. What the shit, man? Don’t worry though, y’all can say SPUNK as often as you want over here.

Stay sexy Blogland.

The One Where Tony Almost Took Over The World

April 13, 2009

Hey there amigos!

Well I done gone had me a week, didn’t I? Firstly old Tony thought he’d gone and impregnated a lady with his super-sperm. Truthfully, in all these years I never got a lady up the spout, at least that I know about and I sorta intended to keep it that way. I figure a fellow should at least be involved with a lady before he infects her organs with new life, you dig? And this lady, Sandra, she was a one night deal. When she showed up at my door I didn’t even remember her, which sounds pretty terrible but when you meet ladies at shows, you tend to be a touch inebriated and their faces all kind of merge together in one terrible flashback.

I asked Sandra how come she thought I was the supposed father, since, I don’t mean to be rude and all but any chick who’ll get it on with me generally isn’t the virginal, one-man-woman, type of gal. I just figured she made a habit of taking strange, ruggedly attractive dudes home and jumping on their pork swords, I never thought I was the only one in a long drought or anything.

Anyway, she put the chair down and calmed down and we got one of those home preggo kits where a lady whizzes on a stick and it tells her if she has a bun in the oven or if she’s just paranoid. And it came back paranoid. Phew! Close call. She called me two days later to announce that her lady dragon time had arrived and all was well and did I want to bend her over her kitchen table when she stopped bleeding and eff the living daylights out of her. Because having a scare like that makes that girl want to fuck like a pig, apparently.

I made my excuses. I mean, once bitten and all that. I had visions of my man seed racing up her Nascar track trying to make Spunk sextuplets and it was all a little off-putting.

Still, it did make me think. If I did get a lady in the family way, I might not marry her or anything drastic but I’d sure be supportive and I got a tear in my old eye thinking about teaching a young Tony or Antonia how to play the organ and appreciate Dean Martin.

Then I snapped out of it and got loaded with Pedro.

Still Swinging

April 1, 2009

Hey there compadres! I’m out of my funk now, y’all can come out from behind the furniture. Truthfully I wasn’t even really in a funk so much as doing some soul searching. My ma’s giving me a hard time about not having a wife and kids and an office job and that kind of stuff. Seems I’m too old to be living like a teen, but I disagree that that’s what I do. I mean I’m fairly responsible in most matters, I work a lot and I pay my bills. And I gave up crack when I was 21 because that shit will mess you up. And let’s face it, Martinis are way more enjoyable.

I dig my life. I like that I work at night, I meet a lot of people, good and bad and that I get in a position where I meet a lot of tipsy ladies with bad judgment. I like tipsy ladies with bad judgment. They’re my whole social life. So I decided I’m okay with being the way I am.

And my pad’s looking funky. I got some new furniture from an estate sale in rural Nevada. I say “new” furniture but it’s new to me at least. And I previously had things like cardboard boxes as tables and a sofa with a dip in the middle that’s been that way since I went through a deviant phase where 400lb Maria and I used to bump uglies on it in 1988. She was a workout for any sort of spring suspension. Now I got me some prime vintage gear. A cocktail shaker, a table that looks like it’s from the 1960s’ Starship Enterprise and a more modern orange Ikea sofa, long enough to pass out on if necessary or get freaky with a lady.

It’s all good.

Talking of ladies, I’ve been dallying with a lady named Collette. Not a long term thing, naturally, but she’s in town for a week and so we’ve been drinking Vegas dry and doing the wild thang like it’s illegal. I broke one of my own laws too, regarding my organ. It’s normally polished to a high, electric-blue shine, but one night too much booze and lack of discretion meant Collette and I got a little funky on it and fractured the backplate. Seems to be okay however. It also has a pleasing impression of sweaty butt cheeks on top. (not mine)

Oh yeah, if you know how to get suspicious stains out of an orange sofa, be sure to let me know.

Chillax good buddies.

Spunky Introspective

March 27, 2009

When ole Tony gets drunk he gets a little maudlin. And third persony. Like now.

Sometimes people ask me about the ladies and how many I’ve done the deed with. Like I have a freaking clue. However, despite what y’all might think, I’m not as proud of this as you might expect. I’ve had hundreds of fine ladies and they were almost all quick flings with a lot of action and low expectation, but hardly any of them were long-term deals.

Now I’m a pretty easy-going guy and I’m friendly, you dig? I’m just too friendly. I love the ladies and I love to love the ladies. I’m a terrible boyfriend. I’m not faithful or loyal, sexually, so I try not to pretend to be by getting involved. I let ladies know the score so no one gets hurt, yet sometimes it still happens. I usually go for ladies who’re similar to me for exactly that reason – they won’t expect anything more from me and everyone is happy. I can’t commit to one lady and one lady only. I know this and I accept this and I figure if the right lady comes along then it’s meant to be and I’ll quit all the other ladies and settle down and buy a cardigan or whatever people do when they’re content.

I’m no prize or anything. I’m average looking, a little rough round the edges and I sing lame middle of the road crapola for a living, so believe me, even I have no idea why the ladies give me the time of day, they just do. I’m baffled by it, but grateful for it and I think the reason is just simply that I’m relaxed around the ladies and I know my limitations and I’m okay with them.

A lot of guys I know are pretty damn jealous but you know what? Those guys know shit about shit. Those guys have girlfriends and wives they hang with and watch TV with and buy groceries with – wives who nag them and make them pick up their damn socks and cook them dinner and laugh at their jokes and rub their backs when they’ve had a shitty day at the office and you know what? At the end of the day I come home to a 1980s TV, a framed photo of Liberace and an industrial sized tub of Nivea (don’t go thinking those last two are connected). So some guys don’t know what they’ve got.

Holy shit, I think I just found my feminine side. Tomorrow I’ll be starting my period. Peace out folks.

Lola and How Some Things Never Change

March 25, 2009

Fun times last night with my aunt Lola. Okay, maybe “fun” isn’t the right word for it, “trying” that might be the right word.

See Lola’s been in AA and she’s possibly even more fucked up sober than she is wasted, if that’s possible. Although “sober” might be not entirely the correct term to use either, since she’s convinced that beer doesn’t count as alcohol. According to Lola, beer is what people drink when they’re too young or too big a pussy to handle liquor or when their liver needs a vacation.

So naturally, as we were in a local dive bar, she got wasted. On beer. And face planted on the knee high karaoke stage while taking a short cut to the ladies’ room, laying there looking puzzled with her dress around her neck. Which I’m sure isn’t an entirely foreign situation for Lola.

It reminded me of one time when I was probably sixteen or seventeen where she almost got my ma to disown me (and her) when she got involved in a barroom bet (while feeding me Cosmopolitans no less) which resulted in her dancing around the lounge, topless wearing her bra on her head like a fucking Victorian bonnet.

When I was a little kid however, I thought Lola was the coolest woman on the planet. She was drop dead gorgeous and had a husky voice (imagine Lindsay Lohan if Lindsay Lohan were less deformed and had the Herp in her throat and was a shitload less whorish, which is ironic since Lola was a whore by trade).

She always made life exciting and didn’t bullshit you if you asked her a question, even that time, when I was seven or eight, where I busted in to her room all excited and caught her reenacting the rodeo, butt-naked, with the local sheriff, while wearing only a stetson and cowboy boots. “Honey, sometimes a lady likes to take off her clothes and have a man put his pee pee inside her noonie and wiggle.” I believe were her actual words, to which I shrugged, contemplated it for a moment and said “okay” and continued catching bugs in the yard.

Sometimes I think my family are slightly fucked.