Some of my Homies did not travel far. Aura lives about eighty blocks away from me in a very magical part of New York City called the Upper East Side. At first her Homie was like, dude, I’m a west sider (woo woo) what is up with all the Jews around here? Then Aura had to explain that he was being, quite frankly, a real dick, and that he should be more tolerant of other cultures and religions. She then told him a story about Moses and the many years her people suffered. Her Homie apologized for being insensitive and now they are tight like they are brothers from another mother except Aura is a girl and not technically a brother, but you know what I mean.

This is Ice Cold. He appears to be some kind of white rapper. I say this because he is holding a mic and has a baseball cap. He could also be a private investigator going undercover as a white rapper. Aura decided to take Ice Cold to work. She happens to work at The Most Important News Publication of Our Time, People. Ice Cold was confused because for a magazine about people, the offices are really empty and without people. Listen, Aura explained, magazines are a tough business. We have to compete with Gawker and those douchebags from Radar. I mean, come on. We have a fourteen page spread about Britney. What do they have? A TWELVE page spread. You better recognize! Ice Cold indeed recognizes.

Ice Cold and Aura decide to get a snack. At the copy desk of The Most Important News Publication of Our Time, there is always free food. Ice Cold takes a nibble on what appears to be a very large piece of foccacia. Meanwhile, Aura’s boss looks on. He is stunned. IS THAT A HOMIE? HOLY SHIT!!!!!! Ice Cold signs an autograph on Aura’s boss’s chest.

It begins to snow over our fair city. Aura takes Ice Cold to the window in order to point out the Empire State Building, but she quickly realizes that she can’t see much from the window other than other windows. Ice Cold likes the snow, that is where he gets his rap moniker. He also likes ice in his drinks, even his beer and his soy milk. He also likes to tell jokes about people’s mothers and he thinks that’s pretty ice cold even though everyone explains that jokes about mothers is so 2002 and, like, so totally over along with Wilmer Valderama’s career. Ice Cold would give everyone the finger, but his hands are stuck to the mic.

Ice Cold is excited. He has never been anywhere outside the barrio and Annie’s crappy, cold, overpriced, tiny apartment. He is elated. He begins to rap. Everyone in the office pleads him to stop. Aura gets a brilliant idea. If Ice Cold can’t see the Empire State Building then she can bring the Empire State Building to Ice Cold! But…why stop there? She quickly builds a few monuments. Ice Cold can now say he has seen the Empire State Building, as well as the Eiffel Tower, the Sears Tower, the Space Needle, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and some other place that looks straight out of the Lord of the Rings. He is the happiest he’s ever been.

Thanks Aura!

Pedro received his Homie and played hooky from work to go sightseeing in London with his Homie.

Meet Pec. “Pec” is short for “pequeño” which means “little” in Spanish. At first Pec thought someone was smoking bongloads of weed and then he realized, oh it’s just the London fog.

Pec goes to the Bow Road Underground station. He’s all about the underground. You know, like raves n’ stuff.

They get off at Liverpool Station. At rush hour. Pec thinks, Liverpool Station sucks it right now. Where is everyone going and why are they walking so fast? Pec’s legs are stuck together so it is rather difficult for him to keep up. Londoners are leggy.

They walk down Liverpool Street. Everyone wears a suit there and Pec feels a bit underdressed. He’s also a bit chilly and wonders if anyone notices his nips are kind of hard.

Pec goes to work. Pec is training as an architect and leaving his gangbanging days behind. Pedro explains that gangbanging will come in handy in architecture. Word.

Pec and Pedro rent bikes. Pec thought it’d be a low-rider bike, like what he rode in the barrio, but Pedro has to explain that London doesn’t have that kind of stuff because it’s all cultured n’ shit. Pec gets pissed. He doesn’t want to ride a bike unless it is a low-rider.

Pedro says, fine, be a little bitch. We’re going to queue up for a cab. Pec is stoked because the cabs in London are all old-skool.

Pedro and Pec go to the Gherkin. Pec thinks the Gherkin looks like a dildo.

Pec likes the Gherkin. He thinks Norman Foster is the new Frank Gehry but he’s not sure if that’s a compliment. Pec decides he also likes dildos, but that is a totally different story for a different day. also, Coca-Cola is a delicious beverage.

What time is? Pec has no idea. He wishes someone could tell him the damn time already.

Pec thinks the London Eye should have more twists and turns and loops like a real roller coaster. This just goes around and around, he says, it’s a bullshit ride.

Pec goes to Westminster Abbey. He likes the digs. If there’s a woman out there that can hold him down, he’ll totally marry her at the Abbey. Pedro explains that it’s only for royalty. Pec calls bullshit on that too.

Pec goes shopping! Even though the dollar sucks right now. He likes that Mars Bars in Britain taste like Snickers.

Pec high fives the Queen and compliments her bling.

Pec celebrates the Year of the Rat. He explains to Pedro that rats are clever and mischievous. Pec is a rat. From the hood, where he keeps it real. He is not sure if Londoners keep it real.

Pec sees a bus. It blows his mind. THERE ARE TWO DECKS? So, does that mean it’s like a double decker bus or something like that?

Pec and Pedro ride the bus. Pec is tired. They go home. Pec decides he likes London. He likes to make fun of people’s accents too. Oh, put it in the boot! Ride the lift! Mind the gap!

Thanks to Pedro for seriously showing a Homie how to rock a party.

This Homie now resides in a magical place called Portugal. Those are oranges. As you know, oranges can only be found in Portugal. It is a very magical place. I am not sure what his real name is, but Renato is calling him Jesse “El Charro” Hernandez, and he likes to read Proust and, interestingly enough, my book. “El Charro” means joint. As in the kind you smoke, not the kind you stick up with a mask and a gun.

This is Laughing Boy and he now lives in Australia with Kate and what appears to be a Tasmanian devil, everyone’s favorite carnivorous marsupial. According to the Homies site, Laughing Boy loves to laugh so much that “Ther (sic) is little doubt that he will eventually laugh himself to death.” That’s very sweet.

This is Steve’s first Homie. Oh? Where’d it go? It is a mystery. It looks like someone stuck a finger in there and pulled out the Homie. Bastards!

This is my last Homie, which is on hold for Steve. During my “minivation,” I found the sweetest lighter ever. I believe it was given to me by Aaron, who bought it at a gas station in Texas. This is the final Homie in my collection unless I buy more, which is a possibility. I feel bad there were people who didn’t get one, and plus, I like this Annietown Daft Punk Edition: Homies Around the World.

Ok keep the pictures coming. In the meantime, ask yourselves this question:

Why doesn’t Annie have heat?

My friend Mike now lives on some stupid island called Hawaii, which sounds like the worst place ever with its stupid trees and stupid rainbows and stupid, puppy-eating sharks. Anyway he received his sweet Homie and took a picture of it. His Homie looks really happy, even though it’s stuck on some stupid island with those actors from Lost. Anyway, I think it would be kind of kick-ass, much like a magical unicorn in an enchanged forest, if those of you who received Homies, sent me a picture of it. I will put them up and post an Annietown Special Daft Punk Edition: Homies Around the World. I also find myself wanting to buy more Homies and mailing them out, but the whole point of this exercise was to actually get rid of my Homies and not collect more, but they are kind of addicting. I see they have a new series just based on dogs, called Homie Hood Hounds. Homies have really come a long way. How can I resist? I am not a robot. I am made of flesh and blood. WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS TO ME?

I am officially out of Homies. However, I have other fun little things that I discovered during my compartment-to-palace renovation. So if you want a Homie, too bad so sad, but if you want something even uglier and/or stupider, you can email me. It will be a total grab bag of crap. I think most of it is sweeter than a Homie. I mean don’t get me wrong, Homies are totally sweet, but WHAT ABOUT A FINGER PUPPET OF A MOOSE? Pretty sweet, right? A moose could totally kick a Homies ass, no question. I have no idea how any of this stuff ends up in my apartment, but it does. I found a bag of volcanic rocks. Did I ever visit a volcano? No, I did not. But I have the rocks. It’s like getting a concert shirt without going to the concert. My friend Aaron got me a Siegfried and Roy shirt in Vegas even though he didn’t go to the show. The shirt has tigers and glitter and everything. It’s kind of the most ugliest awesome thing you’ve ever seen. On a side note, my friend Marco saw Celine Dion in Vegas with his parents (he says it was against his will, but you know he was all up in front raging in the pit) and said she was amazing with all of her arm choreography and “go on, girl!” and then introduced the band, “Give it up for Celine Dion’s bassist!” “This is Celine Dion’s drummer! Give it up!” Celine Dion scares me. She kind of reminds me of the crypt keeper, except she’s French Canadian.

Anyway, please let me know if you guys received your stuff. I am at war with the United States Postal Office. So far they are kicking my ass, but I fight dirty. I will be victorious.

Steve just told me that his Homie got SNATCHED. He received an envelope with my note, but with no Homie. I’m really sad. And in addition angry. If you have to steal and be a jerk, then take money or drugs or some electronic equipment that you can actually GET MONEY FOR, YOU MORON. LEAVE THE HOMIES ALONE.

So now I worry that all the Homies I have sent off in the world are going to be Homie-snatched too. And all of you will remain homieless. I’ll have to start some kind of fundraiser for the homieless. So to my human homies, I apologize that New York-based United States postal workers cannot be trusted with toy Homies, I’m sorry if you don’t receive yours because of some filthy Homie pirates.

I will be mad pissed if my Homie doesn’t make it to Australia. Can you imagine? It takes like a hundred years for crap to get there, and then on the other end, you just get a stupid note without a Homie. Like what is the point of even living.

Boo.

OK, my peoples, I still have some Homies left. So if you want one, I will mail it to you. I will even mail it overseas, to ANOTHER CONTINENT, but I am warning you, they are incredibly unimpressive. You’ll receive one and you’ll say, WTF I can’t believe that clown Annie sent me this piece of crap. Then you will go outside and kick some puppies, because that’s how pissed you will be. Damn you puppy, with your velvety nose and your big, brown eyes! I hate you!

Anyway, email me your snail mail address. You can find my email in the contact page.
<—- Over there, somewhere.

In other news, I received a gift in the mail from Alex. It is the gift of the world’s ultimate, most manliest man-hero alive, second only to Tom Selleck as Magnum P.I.–

DAVID HASSELHOFF AS MICHAEL KNIGHT.

It’s a 8×10 glossy black and white photo and he looks dreamy and delicious. He has nuthugging jeans and his eyes….those eyes…I can just get lost in them. It’s important to note that I was very much into the Hoff before he was on that stupid talent show. Even though he is even (more) overexposed, I still heart him. When he was drunk and eating a Whopper on the hotel room floor and sobbing at his daughter, I knew it was true love. Not that fake love you see at weddings. This is the real thing.

I need to rearrange my fridge so that the Hoff gets the real estate he deserves. It also means moving Ricky Martin somewhere else. On one hand, Ricky was there first. So he’d be like the Native American of my fridge, except he is Puerto Rican. But on the other hand, the Hoff is so clearly a force, a hairy, smoldering force with a white-man fro. How can Ricky even hope to compete? There will be a war.

Pictures to come…when I, uh, find my camera. I moved it to a new place and now I feel like those squirrels that can’t find their nuts. (Every time I use the word nuts, I want to go heh heh. Like, who does not want to do that? If you don’t, then you are a lying jackmule. I bet even Alan Greenspan laughs at “nuts.”)

I am cleaning out my apartment in order to turn my 187 square foot COMPARTMENT into a PALACE. How do I do this? I’m glad you asked! It is a very complicated process, but I like to think of it more as a voyage of discovery. I am thinking that as I clean out my junk, my crap, my shit, my detritus, and my late 90′s and early ought clothing, I will actually find a door that leads down a hallway into ANOTHER ROOM and I will discover that this entire time I was actually living in a ONE BEDROOM PALACE and not a COMPARTMENT. Then all of the sudden I will realize I am getting a very, very good deal on my PALACE. By the look on your face, I see that you are very excited.

What I discovered on my voyage of discovery is that I am really just keeping the same amount of shit, but reorganizing it so they are in different boxes. This creates a problem. In order to turn my compartment into a PALACE I actually have to get rid of things, as in move items from my compartment to a location off the premises, most likely the trash or Goodwill. What I found is that I actually don’t have a lot of stuff. My apartment makes it seem as if I have two tons of shit crammed in a one ton truck. But actually, I have probably half a cup of shit, but my apartment can only take 3 teaspoons of it. Therein lies my problem.

I wish that as a like, totally famous writer, oh my god, I lived in more glamorous conditions, but instead I live in a compartment surrounded by my own shit. I have to say it’s really nice shit though. I mean look at my table. It’s from IKEA. Nice right? It even has a funny name. I also found a big bag of Homies which I decided I could not part with and instead, I will be giving them away to my peoples. If you want a homie, email me and I will mail you one for the low, low price of free. Because, like I said, you are my peoples.