I'm not much for free advertising, but...

I want the new Dodge Challenger!

Now!!!

Gimme, gimme, gimme!!!

mofo

...on yer man

...and on bobbing and weaving

"did ye see the fight last noight?"

"nah, rooney, how'd tyson do las' noight?"

"ah, yer man was bobbin' and weavin', it was grand"

"really, who'd he fight last night?", i check the girth on the saddle as he has since rooney didn't that fateful morning when the bastard shattered his nose against a tree.

"ee wuz fightin' francis boffa las' noight".

"boffa? i saw him fight once. that guy's a sucker."

"nah e wuzn't. yer man wuz bobbin' and weavin'."

this is a re-occuring conversation i have in my head every now and again. one of the things i think about as i cross town in the morning. bobbin' and weavin'. i think of how rooney would tell a story and whomever he was talking about was "yer man". i always found the irish way of telling a story to be one of the more difficult but rewarding ways to hear a story.

this morning it was way colder than the bastard needed it to be. it was headgear time and the bobbin' and weavin' was more frenetic than usual. you see, yer man bumped inta me, and aye decided not to trip yer man but then yer man lit up a cigarette and aye was in yer man's backwash and aye did nah like his brand so aye got outta yer man's way which apparently started a race down 33rd street between us. sure, it's damn pointless but it get's yer mind off of the cold for a few minutes. beats the hell out of freezing.

my cash money bet right now, winter's going to last until bloody may. dammit!

—the bastard

...on the filth

...and the fury

...or how the bastard is proud of his idols

the bastard is so happy. not just happy because i had some high tech bbq for dinner with some pleasant company. not just happy that he can go to a bar and throw back a gin and tonic while "rudy can't fail" was playing on the jukebox (i secretly pogoed to myself for a sec). i'm happy because john lydon answerred me. rather he didn't answer the bastard directly, more like he lived up to my expectations.

OK QUICK BACKGROUND: the bastard woke up one morning in his teen years and forsook everything he had listened too up until that point. finding the music that he had listened to up until that moment just pointless. void of meaning. this was roughly after ...and justice for all by metallica came out and i had been listening to a lot of punk. i decided that everything else had no real value and i focused on it. punk was pure (i was young), it was raw (i was stupid), and it made me feel like it could enact more change than anything coming out of L.A at the time (i was idealistic). now the official bastard works fact checker that is my darling elder brother will remind me that it went down different, and he will no doubt be right. but, the bastard is a romantic. a spitting and cussing romantic that wants to be in love with the world again but he'll settle for romanticizing the past. you'll never get it back anyway, so why not polish it from time to time so that it looks all perty?

anyway, late last year the sex pistols were nominated into the rock and roll hall of fame and i pontificated on that as well then. i had wonderred what would this man, john lydon, who i idolized as a teenager do with this newfound faux recognition from his "peers". he spat on it. here's the note:

you know, people find that when you get older, you get more and more disillusioned by the things that you believe in as they get exposed to the elements. age breeds apathy for the things you once held dear. i know alot of what i was is a load of crap these days and i'm wiser for it. but for a chance one little thing wasn't and tonight i'm happy for it. thanks lydon. thanks for reminding an old bastard that the kid he used to be believed in the right shit. goodnight.

_the bastard

...on people

...and how they're not all bad

so i'm taking a later train home tonight and i pass out. i am never going to finish this effing book if i can't stay awake. anyway i awake to the text message stylings of the mofo asking me if i've finally given up the ghost to get some sleep. you see, all of my vegas drinky talk has alerted certain parties to the notion that there is a problem in the making here. and i will only address it once and never again (dub). accounts of the bastard's drunken misadventures are by and large a farcical take on what actually happened that night or on a given night in question or whatever. now granted all of that crap that i wrote about in vegas really did happen, and more and that by no means constitutes a slow and steady descent into alcoholism.

that said, i arrive back into the waking world to a text messgae from the mofo asking if i'm taking the night off and i say yes and then we exchange lines from the life aquatic (good thing i'm paying for the 25000 messages a month plan). anyway i notice that there is this 90 year old bluesman and he's not looking too lucid. apparently he missed his connection. th econductor then helped him up and gave him a note to give to the conductor of the next jamaica bound train to help him find his connection to far rockaway. then 3 gentlemen helped him off the train and presumably onto the jamaica bound platform. you know it doesn't take too much work to help someone out. well played gentlemen. well played.

—the bastard

use me

this one comes compliments of art school's man from hotlanta. art school and i started playing catch up a little ways back and this comes from a business trip she was on in india. at the time while preparing for vegas, i remarks to school that the bastard felt like his business trip was totally low brow because the nice lady went to arizona at the time and she was going to india on business.

QUICK SIDEBAR: the bastard has been hearing the call of the third world for a little bit lately and india is on the short list. yeah sure, i'll need malaria medicine but on the same token as they say in india the tonic water kills the malaria, the gin kills everything else. anyway art school, has been going to india on business and the night we met at the w, she described india to me and i found the description so spiritual (but notin the judeo christian sense) and i thought i HAVE to go there someday.

anyway, school tells me, "low brow, schmoe brow, at least you don't have to go to detroit". and she was right. so i asked her to send me pictures when she got back. of course i could have put up a picture of the taj mahal or of its beautifully intricate marblework but i decided to go with a monkey shaped garbage can. enjoy. GO ON! ENJOY!. ahhhhhh forget it.

—the bastard

this just in...

...fat digerati people are too dumb to walk around you.


so the bastard is fresh off his latest drunken misadventure with scoop, mistress of the mayhem, and decides t sleep it off. i had a networking thing i went to last night downtown nad it was good times but all good times come to an end and right before i leave i get the text from scoop

I meAt some 1 who payy for driny buu i h8

long story short, i head uptown to meet up with her and friends and i believe a bucktoothed man from new zealand thought i was a blackhawk pilot and wanted to sit on my lap. then he called me an asshole and eventually, the ponce was on his way. the bastard gets home from this and decides, "two words...late train" "two more words...egg sammich".

anyway the late train is not a sleepy train because you need to be conscious to transfer. so on the platform at jamaica i wait to meet my connection (i love that fucking stones song) and i get bumped by some fat man with a wireless headset. no scuse me, no nothing. now the bastard stands on the yellow line on platforms in hopes that one day he'll fall asleep at the righ tmoment and meet with a quick end so this fat chucklehead thought that he was too close to the yellow line passing in front of me but not bright enought to walk around the back...idiot. and that ear bud just makes you look more irritaing.

i get off and roll the easterly roll that i roll (cause that's the way we roll in queens, shiteyes) when i see a collision. this special asshole has his head in his ipod and clearly isn't paying attention and bam! there it is. both guys almost go down like old soviet union, the other guy apologizes. apologizes mind you. and ass pod just belts out an "asshole" and ambles on his way. i'm sorry sunshine but i believe it's you who's the asshole. but what the hell do i know?

long story short, the egg sammich was just what the doctor ordered. thank you little mexican men in a 2 foot storefront who made my sammich. thank you.

—the bastard

20,000 Leagues Under the Gulf of Mexico

This is Nemo, incorrectly tabbed Ahab by King Kong Union Thug.

Normally we don't work together because it's like putting Shaft and Superfly together--TOO MUCH POWA!

mofo

This just in...

This guy is a dick.

Anyone who makes life difficult for others for no other reason than to make life easier for themselves is a dick.

Welcome to the club, cockbone.

mofo

...on truth

...and preferring fiction

ok, the bastard is suffering from post party let down. i get this all the time after a long slog. after shipping the magazine, he crumples and tries to get used to a normal pace. moves on. then we reap the whirlwind again. it's usually worse after shipping the dailies before the gun show. everything begins to move fast, scoop starts to get worried, we ride it out and then...nothing. the bastard gets bummed from the silence. it comes from an two handed need for something to do and a need to be around people (but that's another post shiteyes, we're talking about the unwinding not the people thing). anyway. it usually gets worse after shot show because it's 5 days of late nights long days and hard drinking and then all of a sudden...it stops. and i get into a starte. i think it got worse this year because of the extremely new highs and lows (and let's not forget that i missed out on the bacon martini) we as a team set this year on the working and drinking that the bastard has ahd a hard time coming back to reality. i think i'll be fine now shit eyes, i have stuff to do. go to bed!

—the bastard

...on text

...and samarai

bas: ouch did that hurt much?

mo: how's that desk job doing chinga?

bas: i'm @ a photo shoot and slightly hung over.

mo: nah, it was like a samarai sword cut.

bas: gotcha

mo: by the way, it was a hatori hanso sword

bas: i knew it! did you take out darryl hannah's other eye? you know, the third one. for enlightment?

mo: of course

who say text messaging isn't productive.

—the bastard

this just in...

...jonny airplanes doesn't understand

"you know what i don't understand is?"

"what jon?"

"how do you guys do it?"

"do what?"

"you work 10 hour days. then you go out partying until at least 3:30 in the morning. then you're up at 7 the next day ready to do it all over again. for a week. how do you guys do it?"

"well it's really simple. you can't call in sick. the people in charge know where you've been, it's las vegas. you call in sick, there's no coverage. so the machine breaks down. if the machine breaks down, it's your ass."

besides, it's only one week a year. and i can sleep when i'm dead.

—the bastard

...on the longest day

...or on that season of 24 in which jack bauer gets stuck in an airport in las vegas and sleeps on the floor then sits on a planes and watches zoolander instead of saving the country and it never airs.

OH MY GOD! it burnses! hates it! hates the red bull! the bastard wakes up after only 2 hours of sleep and jonny airplanes had less. you see, after a night out like this, hell, after a week out like this the bastard has lost all touch with what happens when you run with the bulls. you see you get trampled, and by trampled i mean that i snored my lousy ass off until the magical telephone tells me it's time to begrudgingly get out of las vegas.

NOW QUICK FLASHBACK: the evening started off innocently enough in which the k using his uncanny powers of vegas that were granted to him by his wife's powerful cousin, 14 of us went to an incredible restaurant called stack in which the bastard had an incredible meal. along with trying kobe beef, the bastard also discovered that cod tastes okay. but most of all what tastes good is a 14 ounce brooklyn filet. following this we made out way to the all powerful cousin's club known as jet. now i didn't remember this from the previous club night's experience, but jet had a velvet rope for the rank and file. past this was the v.i.p. line, next to that the v.v.i.p line, past this was the friends of the owner line which got pushed aside so that the 20 of us could walk in. this was followed by table service with a bodyguard who was equally as big as CJ was from the other night. to be amicable, the bastard thought it would be a good idea not to ask for gin as only left hand rob and myself drank it the other night (that was until jonny airplanes apparently made him stay at light and finish all of the liquor). it get a little blurry at this point but, let's suffice to say that bastard did some drinking, did some dancing and then woke up feeling like he had sunburn from drinking so much red bull and vodka. my one regret was that i never made it to the double down saloon with rob and susie to sample a glass of ass juice and a bacon martini as pictured mmmmmmmmmmmm heayah.

meanwhile back in nyc, apparently mother nature decided to give my home all of this winter's snow at once which made us all contemplate changing our flight reservations and the bastard will go on the record as saying that jonny airplanes was right, we should have flown back on tuesday, i now have to let him make one important decision in my life for me provide he is sure he is right. dammit, i hate debts like that. all he did was stare at me in the terminal for the first 4 hours of our delay. the stare of someone righteously affronted because he was missing out on 2 more days of this nonsense. in retrospect, i should have listened to him, the ammunition i need to photograph for the new ammo 2006 feature would still be there on wednesday morning as it was when i came in on tuesday morning. there you go shiteyes, complete confession of wrongdoing, we go to orlando next year.

anyway, someone had to call the cops because the digerati on our flight were fighting each other over the limited amount of outlets in the terminal, the bastard caught a floor nap, which is the worst kind of nap. finally our 10:45 flight boards at 3:30 pm, gets off the ground at 4:00. then the bastard sleeps through to colorado. at about 11.....ish we're circling j.f.k. and we just got word that a turkish airways flight spun out doing donuts on the runway and we had to wait. we land at midnight to the announcement that only one runway was plowed and we have a traffic jam which prompted this special asshole to start flipping out in the plane everytime the plane stopped on it's slow trudge to the gate which had us off this ball park frank at 1am. luggage came at 2am and the bastard reeled until 3:30 when he finally expired in a chair. at some point along the way we joked about the k's cousin's powers because, we really did have alot of access this week. when we were waiting for our luggage i asked the k to call his cousin, see what he could do to speed this up. the k shook his head and responded, "bastard the cousin is all powerful in the city of las vegas but in new york, he's just a mere mortal like the rest of us." and apparently, we were mere mortals once again too. long day. long week. good show. cheers, shiteyes.

—the bastard

Is it cool?

See, here's the deal on the text message; while I feel it is a great way to communicate with people without having to actually speak to them, which is always bonus, it doesn't account for sarcasm, which along with bullshit I have long been a master and guru to the stars. Another disadvantage is throwing out references. This morning the bastard (aka 007 of the bastard 11) mis-messaged me a query on some work he sent some other wandering soul. Within the message was the phrase, Is it cool?" After clearing up the mistake I sent him back a message, "is it cool?" in reference to something from a TV show or movie, him and I used to find hilarious. However, I can't remember from where it originated. I don't think the bastard (aka superman bastard) got it. Not his fault, and I wasn't about to spend the next hour and a half texting the why, where and how of what it meant especially when i couldn't remember where it came from.

I'm collecting scrap wire from jobs to trade it in for extra cash like a fucking crackhead, I gotta get out of here, chinga!

I know all five of you who read this account miss my "cantakerous" rants against our conservative friends on the hill and in da house, and i would say something reagrading their recent and not so recent fiobles, but they 've said it all for me. You can say they have shot each other in the face-I mean-foot. And by the way, I love to say I told you so, and i fucking told you so.

the m@#$%?^*&$#@!g mofo

overtexted at the shot show

the bastard is a technology wonk. he follows it and pays attention to things. knowing about old tech and relating it to new tech comes in handy in conversations with publishing directors as it did for me over the shot show. for a long time now, the bastard has rather liked the idea of the cell phone text message. i read a piece about it in wired back in 19 diggity eight in which in japan people text each other on the train so as to not violate their fellow passengers personal spaces. nothing like the fucking jack ass i had to endure in in barnes and noble the other day using speaker phone to make bar plans with his other middle aged friend in the magazine aisle. screw you, old ass digerati man. you need to text that grizz-ief. anyway, i also favor texting as a productivity tool. however, it never quite works out that way.

some of you might have heard about a little blog called overheard in ny. if not, RUN don't walk over to read it. it's pretty damn funny. anyway not one to not give props out when an idea comes to mind, willy dub originally came up with the idea of doing an overheard at the shot show thing for the magazine's blog. don't know if he got enough brokeback mountain related stuff for it, so i don't know if he ran it. scoop on the other hand, came up with the idea again and i thought of text messaging. so here goes. (oh and nothing is corrected, these people are editors, you know).

—come to light we have bottlez a bodygjurd and girlz
1:41am 0210

—me g0 party now!
10:45pm 0211

—i just went in the wrong room
5:25am 0212

—don't fear the reaper
5:30am 0212

—i go fear people now
5:38am 0212

—i go die now
no time stamp no date.

— RE: you go die later. now, you go shower.
no time stamp no date either. but, this was probably most mornings.

—the bastard

this just in...

batman will be going after bin laden. that is all.

—the bastard

...on missing persons

...or have you seen this boy?

this is willy dub. he was last seen at the star trek experience drinking something green. oh well, you know editors and their green drinks. scoop informs me that he left the hotel on monday but hasn't actually been able to leave las vegas yet. so if you see him, throw him a few coins.

—the bastard

i see him...

...is scoop's universal battlecry for when she sees something she wants to make fun of. most of the time, scoop alerts me to mullets because mullets are her passion. but sometimes, scoop sees other things. this is one of them. isn't he beautiful? ok, the bastard needs to wash his eyes out with battery acid now due to the fact that i'll never be able to remove this image from my dome now.

—the bastard

day 3 mullets

no captions.

just mullets. bastard tired.

well, actually, this guy looks alot like either tony iommi or carmine appice. you decide, shiteyes.

—the bastard

this just in...

...jonny airplanes is an american hero

so jonny airplanes came with the bastard out to LV. he wanted to see the big show and circumstances allowed him to do so. with all intentions of swag gathering, jonny, went down to the floor and did all right. my only stipulation was that he take some pictures now and again for me. so he's go from booth to booth and start off with "jonny airplanes, us coast guard (because he is)". he'd follow up with "my son and i do alot of camping (which they do)" and then he'd ask if they had anything new. then he would either get some kind of trinket or maybe something better. this worked out nicely until he met up with ted nugent (which i asked him to go).

"jonny airplanes, u.s. coast guard" belts jon out the gate.

"are you really in the coast guard?", replies the nuge.

"yes i am. in the reserves."

"well thank you. you guys are the real heroes out there. you're a hero. thanks."

jon thanked him back and went on his way. i always knew that ted nugent was nuts.

—the bastard

all hat, no cattle

well by the time we got to day three, the bastard realized that he's seen more than his fair share of mullets and decided to move on to hats. we're out west, so there's no shortage of them.



but eventually, you can't just play it straight. it get's goofy and i gotta run it that way. i'm already back in nyc but i decided to run this as it came out. the bastard is tired and jet lagged and it'll take days before it all gets sorted out but in the meantime here ya go.

i saw this one while the bastard was getting lunch today and when i saw her again on from the booth, i knew i had received a sign from above to get this one out. do you think she shoots at things through her rose colored glasses?

—the bastard

mullets for day 2

this isn't so much of a mullet so much as he' s just all cowboy. or perhaps all wookie.

scoop thought this was classic.

this one is just a little tragic but, the bastard wants to keep it rolling

I'M THE OLD MAN IN OF THE MOUNTAINS! AND I DON'T WANT 'EM PAINTED!

—the bastard

this just in...

jonny airplanes is the varmint master. that is all.

—the bastard

...overheard in the press suite

"so the bartender won't serve him and he slurs out , "hoowhyyyy not? commmme on aym always like this. then he proceeds to roll around on the floor in a pile of broken glass"

-unnamed editor

—the bastard

...on the high cost of living

...or on the high cost of gin

so last night the bastard discovered that gin costs $375.00 when you get a bodyguard assigned to your table. missus k's cousin who we can call "ring a ding ding" manages several restaurants and clubs in las vegas so we were comped for it. which adds a surreal 21st century brat pack vibe. also, ring keeps a fully gassed humvee in his garage with a trunk full of water for when the shit comes down.

last night started when the bastard had crappy quail at an industry function while the k was treating the crew to kobe beef. you can guess what the bastard's regret was not getting a decent meal. anyway, scoop and i beat feet out of there and met up with the crew. at one of ring's clubs at the bellagio. this cat is a BIG shot. i've never been around one. really nice guy too. pictured here by the kind permission of susie kansas is our bodyguard CJ with susie. he was enormous, and he had our back.

either way, left hand rob and i were the only folks on the gin. oh gin, why you so hard on me? this was along slog. good thing they pump oxygen into these jib joints. good thing the mississippi board of tourism held their breakfast this morning. biscuits and gravy saved the day. thank you biscuits and gravy. more to come as the bastard remembers it.

—the bastard

today's mullet

...or on grizzly adams

okay. the bastard is running out of steam. but not so out of steam that he can't pull out today's mullet. there are many walking the floor this good day and we will have more as we go.

here is a closer look at the grizzly adams mullet in his natural habitiat, a tent at a gun show.

—the bastard

...on free pie and chips

last night, the bastard took jonny airplanes out to dinner with folks from the old school. mister and missus saxomafone moved out here a long time ago and they are the bastard's yearly meetup. last night was barbecue and while it was amazing, it wasn't as noteworthy as the pie i got for dessert. the slice was so goddam big i asked airplanes to plant his hand next to it for scale and jonny has pretty big hands. i think the strawberry is there as a landmark just in case you get you get lost on your way round the plate.

—the bastard

fear the mullet

...first mullet, last rights

rolled down the strip on tuesday on foot. vegas has more beggars than the last time i walked down the strip. scoop spotted this little nugget and the bastard vicked this over the shoulder style. snoogums.

—the bastard

...on sin

...and its city

so here we are, in loverly las vegas. the bastard's trip started off with some drunk blonde woman who was sitting in the front row. she walked right past row one in her state and eventually was pointed towards her seat in the front row where she proceeded to trip over a crippled woman's crutches and bashed her head against the overhead compartment. FANTASTIC. i so wish i didn't shut off the phone by this point. it would have been glorious. so instead i texted scoop back in the 11th row.

nothing broke, saw walk the line and proceeded to land in one piece. we caught a fuzzy cab to the sketchy sketchy home base. so sketchey that last year, left hand rob noticed that there was a hooker staging area by the star trek experience. it's like having a little bit of the bristol hotel (where dat at, jamaica, queens) in vegas. skellarific!

—the bastard

susie kansas goes to vegas

well the bastard just fired susie kansas and re-hired her. but most importantly, this is susie's first trip to las vegas. you see, the bastard's boss, the k, the gimp, k of the nine toes, reminded the bastard that this trip (albeit a working vacation) is the art departments only perk, so we spread the wealth. so susie gets the first shot show blog as this is her trip to vegas.

—the bastard

kiss me and smile for me...jerk

...or on air travel

ok folks. the bastard is going to the gun show. i've been doing this for my 4th year rolling and, the bastard never seems to get tired of weirdos in camouflage. this should be even more interesting as we have a whole new crew of heads of state this year so the press suite should be full of people wanting to know "how it all happens" when you let a bastard put together a daily paper for you. it'll be good times and the casualties should be minimal. now get on the plane shiteyes!

—the bastard

...on freedom

...and apparently, on how it can go to hell

you know, some days it's like shooting fish in a barrel. freedom go to hell huh? sure. ok boys lets put the stop on all of that foreign aid that we've been sending over to that god forsaken region. oh waitaminute. this is also taking place in europe too. maybe the netherlands has got the right idea. maybe they do maybe they don't. all i know is that my people got hot and bothered over piss christ by andres serrano but, nothing got set on fire. this is childish emotions run amuck into violent action and shouldn't be tolerated.

don't worry. speaking of childish emotions, we start looking for mullets tomorrow.

—the bastard