...on baby snatching

i came across this really good piece in new york magazine about the rec room in the bronx and how kool herc (the george washington of hiphop or perhaps the robert johnson because he never got paid) was one of the driving forces behind trying to save this building that was essentially the birthplace of hiphop.

it made the bastard feel bad because this guy got so screwed by the industry:

"These days, Herc won’t talk to journalists without being paid for his time. “Herc is not bitter, he’s just tired,” explains Cindy. Sitting in a garment-district coffee shop downstairs from her office, she sipped steaming tea. “He doesn’t know if you’re going to take his story and write a book about it or maybe make a movie".

“Hip-hop was Herc’s baby. But imagine that all of a sudden somebody snatched your baby from you and killed it. That’s how Herc feels sometimes.”

it's just messed up. now go read it.

—the bastard

nope

today ain't gonna get much better than pure cow in a jar.

the bastard thinks he needs to leave.

—the bastard

...on shopping

what else ya gonna do when your saturday's already been shot to hell?


her: excuse me, do you know what's the price of these?

me: well THIS thing is $3.49.

her: i mean which is the better bargain?

me: well, i was going to get this but i bought a three pack of this in trader joe's 3 weeks ago and it was like 50 cents cheaper.

her: i'm sorry, do you work here?

me: nah i'm just some guy in an ugly t-shirt.

what were you expecting? high drama from the fucking target store? it's not like i was invited out for anything.

—the bastard

...on the color of money

i heard this morning that paul newman had passed away.


i've seen him in a ton of things.

he never really got as much props as he should have.

i remember seeing him do a television version of bang the drum slowly a long time ago and he was phenomenal.

the bastard never liked his ceaser salad dressing but i liked his cookies.

he will be missed.

—the bastard

...on the scram

lately, the bastard has been wasting his time and energy in such a way that he hasn't really been viewing as a waste of his time and energy.

motorcycles are something i've been into since i first sat on uncle acid's honda and someone took a polaroid of it. i think there is a second pic floating around of the mofo sitting on the back of it. he might be wearing plaid pants. the bastard forgets. there were alot of plaid pants in the bastard's childhood.

but that has nothing to do with bikes.

but in the last couple of days, the scrambler i've been riding has had starting difficulties which i am struggling to overcome.

the good news is, the bastard has gotten better at kick starting a 30 year old motorcycle.

the bad news is, the bastard HAS to kickstart a 30 year old motorcycle.

but i won't be doing that this weekend. family party. gonna try and be all civilized for a change. perhaps i can parlay this into some kind of opportunity to hook the bike's battery up to a charger.

besides.

it's fucking raining out, i'm not exactly jonesing to go out with the road like that yet.

—the bastard

more things the bastard saw at the hardcore show

the bastard doesn't get out often enough to see dean thrilla's band but, this show was in the making for close to a year i think.

i mean i haven't been down to this bar in a while, and the last time i was, another local act was getting back together.

let me back up a little bit: alot of the bastard's friends from the old hood have been in bands from time to time and while all of them have day jobs, some of them get together from time to time to play it again, at least one more time. the bastard never did but then again, he sucked at being in a band. that and baseball. but dean's band, no redeeming social value play quite regularly. in fact, they do well enough to sustain the band. yeah they won't get rich but, they generate enough cash to do the occasional tour of the netherlands or the eastern sea board. never very long. some of these guys have families that they want to be near.

so anyway, a while back, i was at fuzzy's (the bar where this all goes down), dean had been trying to get a show together with some of the local hardcore acts and the other band, well they were kind of holding out. but then they gave in and this show happened.

i haven't thought about it but they've been at this for 20 years. 20 years since this band was thought up in a former friend's basement. 20 years of some of the most ridiculous stage antics, i've ever seen this side of gwar. it was good times. and the bastard got to speak with some folks he hasn't seen in a great while.

—the bastard

things the bastard saw at the hardcore show

meeting up with one's old friends somehow always becomes an opportunity to play catch up.

technology makes that possibility more interesting because one can use their phones, digital cameras, or even tattoos to better explain,

how your kid's doing these days,

how you let your hair grown in for a year and you bleached it,


that hammerhead shark you caught last summer,

what the weather is going to be like this weekend,


the can of bud light and clamato that matty aces saw at the bodega he buys beer from.


yes beer and clamato. for those who are not familiar with clamato, it is an awful creation made of tomato and clam juice. some brave souls use it to make a gross sounding bloody mary. others use it,

well

because they like it in their beer (shudder).


you know, they also make tortilla chips that are flavored with the stuff (shudder). i saw other things too but, i'll get to that later.

—the bastard

sometimes you get the doughnut...

...and sometimes the doughnut gets you


a while back , the bastard had something to say about the posh food magazine that is part of our company these days.

they seemed a little smugger than what i was used to.

and they kept to themselves but, the bastard takes it all back.

you see, the bastard was walking past the kitchen and he saw a box that looked suspiciously full of doughnuts.

and with my suspicions confirmed, i got some.

and it was delicious.

so i take it all back.

just for today.

—the bastard

friday afternoon and you know what THAT means...

...yes. more booze in the office.


you know, there's something to be said for a friday afternoon where both YOUR boss and their boss ditches for the afternoon.

and there is something to be said for setting up a slush fund (purely voluntary, of course) solely for the purpose of getting booze when the office is a ghost town.

i know what you're thinking and you're right. we REALLY should invest in a corkscrew.

on the way back to my desk, the kids from marketing were also drinking at their desks. ain't that just a friday in publishing. nice and smooth.

—the bastard

...on the quiet

went through the biz of the day already with the boss.

rob is waiting for his oil tank.

we're coasting today. and the bastard is taking pictures upside down.

who knows? maybe i'll stab someone for lunch

—the bastard

...on the storm

one more issue in the can.

we're moving to a new prepress system next month to do the dailys on.

the bastard worries that it might all go south this year.

—the bastard

...on annoying

on saturday morning, the ny1 did a report in it's "queens news" segment (yes, they have queens news now) on guys from the caribbean who spend a fuck ton of cash tricking out their bicycles with stereo equipment.


the guy in the ny1 report had said something about how he used to ride around the hood with his ipod on listening to his "great music" and then he decided that because this was done in his native trinidad, that it's ok to do it here.

this item must have gained steam because the ny times is covering it.

like it's a good thing. to inflict your special brand of noise on your neighbors.

i knew some people who left southern queens because if it wasn't car stereos, or other people's stereos, or other people's parties that lasted 5 days long, it was some other crap. the bastard doesn't understand how there are so many people in this city, that will never, NEVER, have that a-ha moment that they are inconveniencing others. that there just MIGHT be someone on your block who might want to ida know, take a fucking nap in the afternoon.

maybe just here the fucking birds for 5 minutes.

maybe just hear, ida know, NOTHING for a change. hell i guess some folks have to move out to the sticks. the bastard has put his feelings to bed about noise and he chooses to deal with it in his own way. whether it's earplugs or just simply going downstairs and asking the inconsiderate gangster who pulls his car over to make a phone call because his stereo is too loud rather than just turning the radio down and then getting offended that the bald guy asked you to turn it down so he could go to bed. it just strikes me as disrespectful to your fellow neighbor. you rob them of the choice to hear nothing because you couldn't resist filling the air with something. fucking assholes, i hope richmond hill sinks into the fucking sea.

—the bastard

s is for...

well don't you think you have things all sussed out don't cha? anyway, left hand rob did a post a couple of days ago that was related to another one of his friend's posts about a meme they were working on. and basically, while i was writing this post the other day, rob assigned me the letter "s"

basically it's like this.

you get assigned a letter by the author if you comment, and you pick 5 characters whose names begin with said letter. the bastard is a benevolent despot so if you comment, i won't give you something stupid like the letter "q" or "x".

i'm going with comic characters since, that's what i've been reading of late and because i'm fucking illiterate. but if you want to pull out from the ensemble characters of the "good earth" or finnegan's way", then do it up.

first off, i'm going to go with the sandman. neil gaiman's sandman. yeah, it's an obvious one because gaiman's sandman has been the fucking gateway drug for adult comic readers everywhere. it was for me. i spent most of my childhood reading marvel comics, mostly x-men and when i got older i out these things away. and they found their way to the chairman's house and then they all died in a bizarre flood out in setauket. shit happens. anyway, i was in a discount bookstore on long island when i purchased a copy of brief lives and the wake.

read them both out of order and i put them down again.

it was poignant and i was completely into the notion of an idea made sentient and gaiman's nature of what do old gods do when no one believes in them anymore. i picked it up again when i started having marital problems and it was a compelling story. and a tragic one.

because the bastard likes to cheat at ALL games, secondly, i'm going with abe sapien from the hellboy/bprd franchise. abe, was a victorian businessman who was part of a cult and he woke up in the 20th century in a tank as a merman with no memory of his past life. this apparently happened on the day that lincoln was assassinated so he was thus named abe. when i first started reading hellboy, he struck me as a sidekick sort but, as the series wore on, abe, was much more. a tragic figure who's haunted by his past. a reluctant leader later on in the bprd series.

he comes across more as a quirky sidekick in the film franchise but, in print, abe sapien is a very strong, very tragic guy who tries to get the job done. also, i enjoyed him best when mike mignolia drew him but, he's a busy man these days so, it's all good.

thirdly, mr. shepherd from 100 bullets is the pick. 100 bullets is quite possibly the most involved series i'm reading right now. it started out for me as a weird book about a man named graves and his gift of a suitcase with a pistol and 100 bullets of untraceable ammunition which he gave to folks that were wronged so that they can make it right. shepherd was his former partner in a group of suited killers called the minutemen, who worked for an much larger organization called the trust that was made up of 13 families from old europe that wanted to run the new world as their own, behind the scenes and all they had to do to show the old monarchs that they meant business was to kill every last person on the island of roanoke 400 years ago.

shepherd was a member of the minutemen, then he was their warlord. and then it all went downhill. shepard was an excellent part of this very twisty, turny series that i'm still trying to wrap my head around. reads it now, jerk.

fourth? what's one sandman without another. before there was a neil gaiman sandman, there was a golden age sandman and and a silver age sandman but, after gaiman's had run it's course, the fine folks at vertigo decided to bring this golden age character back with lots of depression era pulpy goodness.

clad in his gasmask and fedora, wesley dodds, manhattan socialite purges the demons in his dreams by putting the big sleep on the criminals who haunt him in his dreams. the re-tooled vertigo series gives a really pulpy look into the ills of depression era new york city. it's a fantastic series and they've recently put out a trade (the bastard doesn't really know how recently as i don't follow the trades as much) with a new take during the war on terror. i haven't read it yet as i have a pile of morrison's doom patrol to go through and the latest volume of hellblazer i picked up.


in the saving the best for last column, is the spider. not THAT spider. spider jerusalem. quite possibly one of my favorite character in comics. spider is pissed. spider is a bastard. spider is trying to open your fucking eyes up. and take out the administration. and shoot you with his bowel disruptor set on prolapse. spider is from warren ellis' fantastic series, transmetropolitan, which i cannot recommend enough to you shiteyed freaks. it's the story of an angry journalist in the future who comes down the mountain out of retirement to fulfill his contract to a publisher and he goes back to the mountain destroying the presidency. did i give away too much? go to hell. just read. thank me later. or don't.

—the bastard

honorable mention goes to elijah snow from another ellis series called planetary. the premise is this. snow is the "third man" in an organization that dubs it self "archaeologists of the impossible", that are tracking down the earth's "secret history". snow who was born on new years day in the year 1900 is shrouded mostly in mystery and is re-learning his own past as he moves forward discovering these long lost mysteries as well as the people who are covering it up. i haven't read it in so long but, that's only because they haven't put out the fucking trade of the end of the series so the bastard has NO IDEA how it ended yet. get on the fucking schtick DC and give me my conclusion. the bastard needs to know things and he needs to know them now!

oh yeah, and elijah snow ages really slowly and can manipulate the cold and he wears white suits. read it but wait for the fucking ending jerks!

...on the roar of the machine

last night, the bastard got home from work at reasonable hour which as it seemed, way earlier than when the chairman got home last night. so last night was productive as well.

i cleaned the garage out. the chairman and i have accumulated alot of crap in the last few months and it needed to go.

but more importantly, i had to get gas for the bike. i know, it's the most innocuous task in the world. everyone buys gas fro their vehicle. but up until this point. utting gas in a motorcycle was filling up a gallon jug and dumping it in the gas tank so that i can try and get the dumb thing to run.

but it runs now.

and it needed gas.

and so i went tearing around the hood. took the long way to the exxon station on metro and woodhaven. went over the bridge and opened her up. it was a good feeling to tear up a hill on this puppy. i hope it never gets boring.

—the bastard

...on matching

so i get this photo from the chairman this morning and i don't knwo what to make of it. so i ask questions.

bastard: what was the significance of that pic?

bastard: the shoes?

chairman: the shoes

chairman: the wrist bands

chairman: the shirt

bastard: oic

chairman: he is match tastic

chairman: and he works for MTV

bastard: gotcha

chairman: he put on matching wrist bands bastard

bastard: intern no doubt

chairman: MATCHING WRIST BANDS


so that said, i wondered to myself, "what was he thinking?" the kid, not the chairman. the bastard knew what he was thinking. i asked him. did you doze? but it did give me the opportunity to use this term my ladyfriend uses all the time.

"matchey matchey"

i think it has something to do with fashion and/or interior design because lots of people on top design and project runway use this term alot. not that i watch these sort of programs of my free will and all.

—the bastard

the bastard's got nothing today

we're wrapping up the october/november issue of lots and lots of bullets seven times a year.

so the office gets to exhale for a sec. i've actually had a complete absence of the devil's work these days which leads the bastard to believe he'll be eating a lot of wish sandwiches for lunch in the coming weeks.

what's a wish sandwich?

well young shiteyes, a wish sandwich is when you have two slices of bread and you wish that there was something to eat between them two slices of bread.

oh well, at least i have half a tank of gas in both the car and the honda. perhaps that'll get the bastard to the border.

—the bastard

...on karma

karma: is the concept of "action" or "deed" in Indian religions understood as that which causes the entire cycle of cause and effect (i.e., the cycle called saṃsāra) originating in ancient India and treated in Hindu, Jain, Sikh and Buddhist philosophies.

The philosophical explanation of karma can differ slightly between traditions, but the general concept is basically the same. Through the law of karma, the effects of all deeds actively create past, present, and future experiences, thus making one responsible for one's own life, and the pain and joy it brings to him/her and others. The results or 'fruits' of actions are called karma-phala. In religions that incorporate reincarnation, karma extends through one's present life and all past and future lives as well.

the other day, i think it might have been monday.

yes. monday.

i was waiting for the bus so that i could pick up the bike in brooklyn after work and karaoke john, my neighbor who lived above the restaurant that i have blamed for so much of my anger at times, shuffles over to me.

well really, he's heading over to talk to the regulars who hang out in front of the deli and re-enact hanging out in front of a corner deli from when they were kids but now, they are old and they just look like a bunch of old bald guys smoking in front of a deli.

anyway

karaoke john shuffles over and i say hi because while i am a ball of white hot rage, i also try to be decent to people in the hood who are...you know...decent people. john responds back to me that he won't be my neighbor for much longer.

"rilly, where you goin'?"

"howard beach"

"was it the rent? or the noise?"

"neither. the mayor of the block is selling the place." (quick aside: the mayor of the block is the woman who owns this piece fo fresh hell next door to me and she's in everyone's business, thus, the mayor)

"rilly?"

"you should be sad, the restaurant is closing too. here's your bus"


so with my mouth agape, the bastard gets on the bus and tells john that we have to speak again on this. i was curious because there had been a sign that the restaurant was closed due to kitchen renovations which i found suspect as the place hadn't been open more than 8 years or so.


god damn. 8 fucking years. i just let that wash over me.

8 fucking years.

8 years of uncontrolled noise that was totally random.

8 years of inconsiderate drunken patrons never having the common sense to keep their drunken goodbyes to a minimum of 30 minutes.

8 years of pacing back and forth, not being able to control the ball of rage that that miserable man put in me and scared the shit out of friends and family alike.

8 years.

so much fucking hatred.

i could cry.

i am crying.


i can't believe how much time i wasted on this feeling. it kind of gives one a sense of what charles dickens was talking about when marley spoke he forged the chain that was his life link by link. and it feels heavy. i mean, hell, this was half the reason i started this stupid blog.

i needed to get it out.

i saw the fact that i was slowly self destructing and taking everything with me and i got it out. and i gave it all to you. all of you. and the bastard is a better man for it.

wow, that's a load off.

anyway, where was i?

yes.

the restaurant was closing, i went to brooklyn, rode a motorcycle back to queens and ate thai food with the chairman. the next day, my ladyfriend had bookclub so, i went straight home and, right in front of the drug store was karaoke john talking with one of the mofo's former customers from when he worked at mike's whiskey bar (another story and really, it's HIS story to tell, quite frankly) and so i rolled right up to get the rest of the deets from john.

apparently, danny (the owner and object of my disdain) hadn't paid his rent in 8 months (wow, said i).

apparently, he has pancreatic cancer as well (ouch, said i).

and apparently, he may also have multiple sclerosis (holy fucking CRAP, said i). and i really DID think these things in the parenthesis. also the kitchen renovations sign was widely believed to be a ploy to not show up as his kitchen was practically new anyway. it is rumored among the deli hanger on-ers that he's trying to sell everything in the place which now makes me wonder how long before there is a fire in the building to get the insurance money as well.

hrm.

this makes the bastard wonder if it's indeed time to move his belongings right the hell out of his apartment. stupid brain. be less paranoid.

but i digress, what i actually said out loud to karaoke john was how incredible this was on it's sheer scale and how somone who believed in such bullshit as feng shui, didn't believe in the concept of karma as well. and it got the bastard to thinking about his own karma and how, now that this cup has passed him, it is time to make his own amends to the cosmos. how, he needs to be less angry.

and don't get me wrong, i've gotten better. hell, i've been a new man for a little while now. it didn't stop me from asking a man on the train this morning if he could POSSIBLY step on my foot more than he already had already. but hey, i'm trying.

—the bastard

the bastard had decided...

...that he isn't going to do this again.

he isn't going to talk about september 11th this year.

this year's political climate just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. too much vitriol.

besides what fresh shit am i going to say about it that i hadn't said before?

—the bastard

the bastard has come to a foregone conclusion...

...that drinking is a big part of being in publishing.


yup. that pretty much sums it up some days.

one of the folks from marketing is going the way of the 4 winds today and how do we commemorate the occasion?

that's right. with a 12 pack of bud light (oof) and some wine.

but this isn't just it.

it's because because of the fact that the gun show is now staring down on us like some fucking vulture that's coming to take out my liver for 5 days straight some some awful magazine making prometheus chained to a rock that this year we will call orlando, florida.

yes, the booze powered dream team that has the power to not sleep for 5 days straight and learns love our impending cases of cirrhosis like long lost friends or perhaps like that of visiting heads of state, is going to orlando this year. weeping may now ensue.

—the bastard

hoo boy, it ain't lookin so good

there's been a lot of inconvenient weather lately.

and by inconvenient, the bastard mean humid.

and by inconvient, the bastard also means that he has to go to the bike garage on odd days because it pissed out all weekend and it's going to piss out today and it's going to do so again this weekend. so instead, i couldn't get a ride to the ass end of brooklyn. couldn't get a cab (honestly, waiting an hour for a car service that's down the block from me), so it was the bus for me. and while it didn't take forever it sure did feel like it. and people sure do like to talk on the bus. but alls well that ends well.

first off, the bastard has to give big ups to the peeps in williamsburg. when i got off the L train (yes, there was a train involved) and didn't have my bearings, passers by were all good with the directions. it was mighty nice of them. a whole lot of traveling to get from one side of metropolitan avenue to the other. 20 minutes according to google maps takes over an hour by mass transit.

takes 30 minutes going back. whatcha want? tales of my tearing ass down a chewed up strectch of new york street after i hadn't been on a bike in over a year? no kids. all the bastard did was show the two guys fixing their lights in front of the garage how fucking awful i am at riding one of these things after a year.

long story short, i made it home. one piece. easy peezy. it's surprising how easily one remembers how to ride a motorcycle (just like riding a bike :-P). and metro isn't as chewed up as it looks. but then again, i'm sure the folks i was sharinf the road with didn't appreciate me doing 35 all the way back to queens. oh well. what doesn't kill you..........

looks like it's gonna rain. oh. wait, it is raining. thunder goes boom.

—the bastard

PS: and just so you know, the bastard is frikking trucked from the whole experience. adrenaline rush+zipping between two buses really takes it out of you.

this just in...

i miss my son

—the bastard

incident on the goethals bridge

the bastard gets lost everytime he goes to new jersey.

it's like a black hole sometimes.

so even with a gps, sometimes the bastard needs to follow someone.

mostly because leads the bastard into ass backwards routes that waste my time in that state.

so i followed my ladyfriend's dad to the jersey turnpike.

only i somehow lost consciousness and we were about to get onto the goethals bridge.

so i made an illegal u-turn. which wasn't the brightest move. now this had us sitting with alot of traffic bearing down on us and this really nice lady in a chrysler let us in. and it pissed off alot of people.

particularly some mid life crisis having asshole who yelled "asshole" at me from his red convertible mustang as he floored it afterwards heading towards south jersey (yeah i know) and while he was right (he sure did tell me), he's still an asshole.

so thanks so much nice lady in the chrysler. you made our day. and fuck you mid life crisis in the mustang, regardless of what you drive, you are still a douchebag. and i am still a bastard and that's what really counts, isn't it?

—the bastard

my ears, MY EARS!!!!!

hey lady from the baby magazine people...

1: pay attention to where you are swinging that bag. you would be totally indignant if the same thing happened to you. it's an office, not a fucking roller derby arena.

2: stop yelling on your phone in the elevator.

3: why are you so goddam intense about buying your kid a tennis racket?

4: shut up!

5: go directly to hell.

thank you for playing. it's too bloody early for this. i know it isn't really, but it is.

—the bastard

...on tracksuits

the bastard doesn't remember how he found achewood, but he did.

it has been highly entertaining for me and i go back every day.

whether it's funny or not.

but regardless, i go back because it's always strange. there you have it.

this week, left hand rob discovered the bastard's new favorite band (which actually is my second favorite new band because p-cat lent me that brian jonestown massacre cd before lunch) on myspace so when i went to look at today's achewood strip it directed me to 8 pages of it on myspace. you go read it now because...it pleases me.

—the bastard

...on special comments

look,

i don't wanna start anymore trouble with anyone but,

the bastard has been drinking.

and that's a good thing considering how annoyed i was this afternoon.

but, i'm getting settled at my ladyfriend's house and she's getting her project runway on (which is the bastard's cue to get his blog on.


but there was this commercial for countdown with keith olberman (because msnbc and bravo are part of the same company) and for someone who's making a big stink about not wanting to cover the republican national convention (to be fair, he's fearing for his safety), he's all chock full of slander and bullshit. and it kind of rubbed me wrong.

i have to say in my short sighted beer soaked state that, i find him mean spirited and a bit of a dick. not that i'm not but he sure is. all smug and wrecking the bastard's buzz. muthafucka! why you gotta wreck mah drunk wif alla yo bullshit up in mah grill. not hating, just saying.

no.

wait.

i'm totally hating and i'm totally saying.

and while the bastard is saying, he's saying that southhampton double white is a bloody fantastic domestic brew to drink. and you know how the bastard knows it's domestic? because it's the cheapest, best thing i've ever bought at under the volcano which is now your favorite bar EVER. right now. you love it. i hate you. jerks.

—the bastard

...on petty fiefdoms

so there's this woman that works in the office.

and the bastard uses this term loosely because all i see her do is walk around these days and tell the bastard where he can and can't eat his lunch.

it's like this. after we got sold to a bunch of swedish people, they turned us over to the fucking hayseeds that they bought first. mind you they run their branch of our fair business from the second floor of a strip mall which ALWAYS strikes the bastard as good business sense.

anyway, they decided right from the get to redesign the offices which has met with disdainful results, dare i say, morale sucking results. one of these results was the loss of our lunch area. also known as the killing stuff monthly africa wing. but we discovered these conference rooms to eat in. and when one was free, we'd eat in it.

it got to the point that the exec assistant was booking conference rooms for us to guarantee us a place to eat.

now let me interupt by reading your mind: yes i am aware that the bastard can just GO OUT to eat like regular folk. well it's like this young shiteyes, the bastard works with people who like to take an hour out of their day to bullshit with one another over food. this is what you call GOOD FOR MORALE. it helps foster good work relationships. so there it is.

but the old bat caught on to this and put a stop to us booking the room. she sighted very logical reasons and we all collectively didn't disagree and we ceased booking for lunch. and when the room looks empty, we sit down and eat lunch.


well today we looked in, and no one was there. so we sat down and ate lunch. upon finishing, this ancient creature darkens my door and proceeds to give me grief about it. says that

"someone was training a new employee in there."

"you didn't look to see if the room was booked."

"so you people cant eat in any conference rooms, anymore."

and then she left. you know come to think of it, i could have sworn the room we ate lunch in was absolutely TEEMING with activity when we all collectively sat down and proceeded to eat. funny thing was, the bastard spoke with the people who had the room booked (because i can't seem to let sleeping dogs lie). they were done for the day. and then it hit me. i must have done something to piss the old crone off. oh well, i guess tomorrow, we'll have a picnic in our area.

people are petty, and i'm not excluding myself from that phrase. because the bastard is petty. very fucking petty.

—the bastard

...on a whiff of smoke

i think someone is smoking in the men's room here.

or someone smokes so much that when he enters the men's room, he smells like smoking in the men's room.

if it's the latter, then that's a lot of smoking.

—the bastard