dear mta...

i know we've had this little chat before but,

why you gotta suck so much?

i mean seriously, why you gotta suck so much?

no

really

why you gotta suck so much?

this is twice in as many days that the people sweating on the platform are waiting to get their 2 dollars worth of shit transportation (in the bastard's case, 4. you know, round trip and all. i'm predicting the ride home to suck at this point) but can't you like,

ida know..
send some trains our way out here in the outer boroughs?

so we can like...

get to work and shit?

i mean i know that you poor excuse for an accounting department wants to raise fares because the mta just can't seem to get their shit together but, messing up service to "prove" that we need a fare hike but, this is only proving that you collectively throw your sabots into the machinery (you like that one don'tcha) time and time again in order to convince us that service will get better.

and it doesn't.

ever.

so please quit fucking around. the rest of us get paid when we work in this town, and we get fired if we don't. unfortunately, union workers seems to be able to elude this hard and fast rule on productivity. but that's another long winded diatribe for another time.

time to fix the motorcycle and leave all this transit bullshit behind.

—the bastard

PS: because i am a bastard, call the train line's superintendents and bitch about it.

V line: 718-334-8491
E line: 718-334-7692
R line: 718-334-8190

i won't bother with the manhattan lines. shit seems to run a little more timely for the chosen ones —b

...on snapshots

so in a nutshell, the bastard went to a wedding on the north shore of long island with my ladyfriend. and the bastard almost got swept away (see the giancarlo giannini version, not the crap madonna version) across the greater peconic bay in a kayak,


we met up with the boy at the wedding, and then we took two ferrys across shelter island to avoid 90 minutes of driving (which i highly recommend to get from one shore to the other during the summer. crack open your wallet you cheap bastard and avoid pretencious dicks coming from the hamptons),


to get to montauk where we spent alot of time at the beach, and had alot of fun, and went to a lighthouse, and bought some comfortable shoes,


and saw some sights,


and then the boy's mother came to pick him up,


and then the boy went home,

and i couldn't be more unhappy. but now i'm back. so go to hell.

—the bastard

...on the comeback

"you know bastard, you really need to update the blog", says the chairman.

"i am aware of this and when i get back in the saddle, i shall"

so the mofo rose from the dead and submitted this gold for us from his friday commute which sort of arrived shortly before or after this conversation. so once again, the bastard has to ask the completely stolen from scoop question:


is it tragic?


or is it magic? what say you snitches?

—the bastard

...on oldies

...but goodies


when the bastard comes over the williamsburg bridge to go to my ladyfriend's (all you fucking rich people can take the midtown tunnel), i have to go down houston street (that's pronounced HOW-stin, ya fucking hay seed) to get to the fdr drive.

and i saw these three guys skitching off the back of a livery cab.

Skitching (i.e. "ski-hitching" or "skate-hitching") is the act of hitching a ride on the rear bumper of a car when there is ice or slick snow on the roads. This can also be done with a skateboard or roller skates in urban areas where there is no ice or snow. In addition, skitching can be performed on a bicycle. [1]

Michael J. Fox can be seen skitching in the 1985 film Back to the Future.

you know it's just not every day that one sees this sort of thing anymore. but with gas prices being what they are, i guess folks just gotta get around they only way they know how.

even if it's the stupid way.

—the bastard

taking the train home on a wednesday evening

the bastard has a puzzle for you all today


is it tragic?

or


is it magic?

sometimes eastern european women make this whole being mean thing sort of like shooting fish in a barrel. whether it's a mother of two in a tiger striped catsuit yelling at her kids in socks and sandals or this hot mess with the bad red streaks in her white devil afro or her friend with the poodle skirt from h-e-double hockey sticks, they never disappoint the bastard.

—the bastard

wednesday evening safari

"daddy, why are we walking across town again? we can get the number 6 train by work?"

"it's simple son, daddy, likes to take only one train home in the evening, it's less frustrating"

"ok"

when all of a sudden, the majestic beast was rolling her luggage across town with us. the hunt was on and the bastard just had to have her.

it was as good as, hell, it was better than a loch ness fem mullet
in a foreigner t-shirt. she had prison tattoos to go with her black cocktail dress. she was either coming to or going from her trailer. it was magnificent. it started my evening off right.

—the bastard

the bastard has to axe you

you ever have one of those days?

you know.

you split some really expensive tickets with your brother so that our mother can go see her favorite artist perform at her favorite venue before it closes?

and then you go out to dinner for your cousin's birthday?

and drink like.....three martini's and have a good meal?

and then we completely didn't almost die in a car wreck because your cousin has a superior braking system in his car?

and then you get home to open the mail and find out that your accountant fucked up and now you owe the government even more money?

yeah me too.

it never fails. every time the bastard feels like he's starting to get ahead, starting to be able to sock some away and some other fucking expense comes up.

—the bastard

...never sleeps

the bastard never sleeps

and the meanness never stops.

and while i've touched on the issue of people over using their electronic devices on dates, it never gets tiresome for me.

and yes, the bastard sees the irony of how he's using his electronic device to capture this moment in bad date manners 101 but, go to hell, take a picture of me and put it on your own damn blog. this one's mines. well at least his collar isn't popped up like an ass because i may have had to stab him.

—the bastard

...on hell on two wheels

and other crap the bastard did this weekend.

this weekend, the bastard thought it would be a good idea to get some exercise so, he got on his bike and rode through forest park. now i realize that it really isn't a long ride through the park but then again, the bastard also discovers that bicycling actually makes alot of small hops seem smaller.

which in NO WAY discourages him from wanting to buy a proper motorcycle that RUNS.

but either way, it was good to get out and i added to the exercise difference by doing a few laps around the track at victory field in 6th gear (fold up bike i bought only has 6 gears, go to hell) so i coould feel like i actually accomplished something.

then i went out and got steak. and then i got drunk.


but then, the next morning, my ladyfriend had gotten back from her trip to the country and she was hungover too. so i packed the bikes into the car and drove to manhattan to ride up and down the east river until my head stopped hurting.


the upside of this was i got a closer look at those manmade waterfalls that i wrote about earlier this summer. and that was pretty nice.

you know, there was a time in this when this was considered an unwise course of action for some bastard's. but city is safer because some mayor we had that both the village voice hates (for being a republican) and the mofo hates (for having his cops bust him for an open conatiner) made shit hard for criminals for his time in office. it's kind of nice to be able to get around and not have to tote a knife.

not that i DIDN'T tote around a knife. you never know whose going to need to be stabbed on a sunday. oh, and then i got dinner at the seaport and got yelled at by the elder for something.

—the bastard

wednesday morning trucked

so,

the boy and i went bike riding yesterday.

and with that we went to the park and the boy got to experience exclusion, which is never an easy thing to explain to a young kid.

so we trucked to the other side of the park and found a more accepting lot of children to play with while the bastard put the first experience onto the feed.

then we got milkshakes. and i drank it up.

now i'm trucked today. we actually exercised a bit after watching star wars I (which always makes the bastard feel bad for jamaicans), so i'm doubly trucked with last night's crap to deal with. but at least i saw how this season of doctor who ended.

—the bastard

alcohol is a helluva drug

it's about midnite,

and while the bastards (not like how i'm a bastard but, you know, different kind of bastard) who do the karaoke don't bother me as much as the usually do anymore,

but sometimes,

i let it get to me.

and sometimes,

when i drink enough tequila on a tuesday night, i go and mail out my netflix movie at midnite
and i listen to how annoying it sounds.

and sometimes, i approach a random man with pock marks all over his face and while he smokes and i put my arm around his shoulder and i tell him,

"you know, you guys are a bunch of inconsiderate dicks."

"oh"

"and you'll never have that "a-ha moment" that you are keeping people awake at night"

"and where do you live buddy?"

"right next door", and the bastard points to his bedroom located directly next door and upstairs to this awful stereotype that is an italian "bistro". by the way a "bistro" is actually derived from a russian word that means "quick", not from an italian word that means "ugly, kitchey and full of wannabe sopranos extras".

pock marked is moved by this says, "i'll talk to them"

i tell him, "don't bother. he doesn't care. he never cared since the day he opened the place."

then i tell him to have a good night because, what else can one do when your sleep schedule is in the hands of others.

ten after midnite and the racket stopped. maybe there is a god but, then i think that maybe all of the middle aged also rans have just decided to go home to live their lives.

a-ha. god save queens.

—the bastard

...on slacking

...and affronts to the natural order of things

so i've been slacking lately but, when it comes to spending time with the boy or blogging, the bastard has to go with spending time with the boy.

which is followed directly by working on the magazine and then the devil's work.

but i did get one gem.

i mean seriously, this is right up there with men who wear uggs. this ain't right. you look like a dope (first off) but more importantly, it kind of smacks of everything that is wrong with manhattan parenting.

let's see (allthough not pictured), clever catch phrase, check.

ummmmm, push broom mustache that you want to ironically look like it's right out of tom of finland but actually makes you look like mike farrell instead, check.

oh, and fucking CROCs, check.

it just comes off as highly immasculating. i mean, the bastard could be wrong but.....

talk about your crimes against nature. then again the bastard was sort of trespassing in a playground in peter cooper village so what the hell do i know

—the bastard