the mofo just informed me...

that wrestler SD "special delivery" jones has died.

he is either a giant of the wrestling industry who will be missed,

or someone who died penniless and insane.

but the man did get his own action figure.

rest in peace sd. above, i have a tag team match he did with andre the giant.

enjoy.

go on! enjoy!

—the bastard

actual/factual

upon landing in salt lake city for my connection, the bastard got hisself some quiznos.

it wasn't so much with the good.

following, the bastard got hisself some more coffee to put on top of the quiznos.

by the time i had stuffed myself with more crap, worked my way across to gate 83 (yes fucking 83), i had begun to notice that sky west (the bastard's connecting airline) had alot of these kind of planes.

QUICK SIDEBAR: now the bastard has been doing so much air travel since...well since i started to work for killing stuff monthly. and over time, the bastard has gotten into the awful habit of just looking at what time and what airline and sometimes the flight number. as a result, the little piece of info regarding what kind of aircraft i'm getting into never really enters my mind.

that is until...

i get to the terminal and all i see are these effing crop dusters and that bastard is thinking, "what the fuck did i get myself into?" and "why the hell did i have to, you know, EAT something before getting on this ball park frank of a plane."

hell, i even contemplated the notion of going into the bathroom and just sticking my finger down my throat to save myself the trouble of tossing my cookies into the "for motion discomfort" bag.

wait.

i was supposed to think that, not type it.

anyway, i had this thought until they called our gate and i had to hump down to gate 40 (yeah gate 40. there's a gate 40 i have to walk to from gate 83, it's an eighth of a mile away) and i saw what i was getting on was this:


and truth to tell, it wasn'at all that much bigger than the other plane, actually, it was almost twice the size of the cropduster but, it had jet engines and that meant alot more to me than props out here in the mountains.

ok, in a nutshell, much better flight even though the inside of the plane was kind of the size of the plane that crashed into the mountain in the second indiana jones movie (sans the chickens of course). although i have to say this, maybe it's the people i was flying with, or maybe it's just the fact that small enclosed spaces make people a little batty but, most of these people were just rude or jusr maybe foregoing the usual niceties in the interest of getting off of this flying subway car.

but long story already long, i got on the ground in one piece despite the thermals that were banging the plane around as we came over the mountains getting into tucson, and the boy was happy to see me. and his hair is black.

—the bastard

still and all, there's gold to be had

the bastard sits down with his bag of breakfast grease and lo and behold y'all, we have hobos in the terminal. it's odd as this is an international terminal, so all sorts of europeans just sack out here. but my son likes to call them hobos.

-the bastard

...on ch ch ch ch ch changes

scoop had told me since discovering that I wasn't flying on jet blue (also known as the flying bar) that she was indeed disturbed by this.

but, the bastard has to go to the desert the way he can and this time it's delta (also known as Don't Expect Luggage To Arrive) so I actually planned for them losing my luggage by packing two days of clothing in my carry on. so here the bastard waits for adventures and shit in the wrong terminal, without my bar but, the view ain't bad.

-the bastard

the bastard has to axe you

have you her had one of those days,

where you get to work,

and because you're heading out on vacation, there's NO way you can get out early.

only to find out the practically everything you own has gotten rained on?

yeah, me too.

-the bastard

bad day on black rock...again

so it's pissing out right now.

and it's going to be this way for the day.

then i get a message from my landlord.

"uh uh uh uh (he stutters, okay?) i have to go up on your roof because it's flooding in the basement"

which means it's flooding in my apartment.

the bastard is NOT happy.

i call him back and ask him if my luggage and my laptop are still dry. he says yes but not before telling me that he's cleaning up the mess and garbage can in the same sentence.

i have a flight to take tomorrow to go see my boy and i have to go buy a de-humidifier tonight to make sure i don't come home to little black fuzz all over my home. fuck!

could any hell be more real or now. i don't think so.

—the bastard

...on the grate outdoors

so, the bastard is back from camping.

it was a short trip, when i look at it in the long view.

it started out with my drive to long island city to get the mofo, where i became the paragon of road rage. not since the great altoids tin throwing of 1997, has the bastard ever lost his shit at such a high degree while behind the wheel. i actually leaned out the window on northern boulevard to yell "you suck at life" at some poor woman who apparently REALLY sucked at life.

the bastard however, will stick by this story.

by the time we got up to the woods, there fire was starting, and the thrilla boys were already taking care of the business of camping.

it was a good first day. and sometimes, that's all you need is one good day in the woods and then your shit is correct.

upon waking up at 6 am on saturday, it looked like the makings of an overcast day.

by 7 am, it was starting to drizzle.

by 8am, it was drizzling sideways with the makings of sideways precipitation. so the mofo and i started breaking down our racks in anticipation of an early bug out.

following this course of action, discussions about breakfast ensued.

this spirited discussion went on to become much more elaborate array of talking points that touched on the nature of wilderness survival, needs in the wilderness, and the ethics of taking credit for one's work in the wilderness community.

as well as walking the walk and perhaps the shelving of rhymes.

so while we finished up the breaking up camp, the wind picked up and the drizzle became rain which prompted the mofo to address the earlier point as to why we were breaking camp by asking if everyone would have preferred to break camp now that it was raining catd and dogs. agreeing with his point, the bastard got breakfast at the bottom of the mountain and all was good.

—the bastard

so here's my new get rich quick scheme

"i had this passing thought."

"oh", replied left hand rob

"wouldn't it be great if we could get whiskey in a can?"

"what?"

"whiskey in a can. can't you picture it?"

the all of a sudden, the bastard pictures a 14 year old version of himself. i've been capable of buying liquor since i was 14. so i thought what would happen if i were to buy whiskey in a can when i was 14. the bastard thinks this would end badly but man, this is WHISKEY!

—the bastard

so the bastard finally got THAT out of the way

a while back, a motorcycling man told the bastard, "if you can get past the first 6 months of riding without hurting yourself, you'll be fine."

and i took his word for it, so the bastard tries his damndest to be careful.

flash forward: it's my road test and you have to do a figure 8 in a box that is about 16-20 feet in length. the bastard puts his foot down not once but, twice. i barely passed because of that.

flash forward some more: i'm riding down forest park drive. the bastard has discovered that his favorite park to bicycle in also has roads that he can break in his moto skills ( i don't want to end my life as a squid, you know). as i approach myrtle avenue, i decide to turn the bike around and head back the way i came.

more better.

as i turn around, i go straight into the dirt, on a count of the bastard's aforementioned inability to keep his turns tight (gimme a fucking break, i'm working on it).

i didn't fall off but, it did give me a bit of a start. at least we can move on from there.

—the bastard

...on hats

... and the grate outdoorz

so here the bastard sits at his desk.

waiting to finish his crap to do.

i wear many hats.

the mag hat.

the spam hat.

the other mag hat i keep on the side for other print projects.

but let's focus on the first hat. the mag hat. it is a many hatted hydra that has the bastard playing art director, photo editor, and production manager. not to mention, the part where i also wear this hat to be an industry professional both in the magazine and the firearms industry. this is the hat that makes me feel like i move forward 3 feet and move back 1.

learned the new system of shipping color. it's great actually but, i had so much to do when i got done learning it. and i'm just starting to wind it up now. and i'm so tired. which brings me to my next point.


i'm going camping this weekend.

i've already been through several rounds of mail with the mofo and dean thrilla and k love and zsolte about it and we already know that it's gonna piss out this weekend.

i don't care.

im going.

i HAVE to go. i NEED to go. i need to get the dirt (read: MUD) under my feet regardless of how shitty it's going to be out. i need to break with society for a couple days and i'll be fine. regardless on what falls on top of the bastard. i sometimes get a signal out there in the sticks so if anything noteworthy happens, i'm going to put it on the bastard feed and perhaps opine on it later. but if i die out there, then you get nothin'. straight up nothin'.

—the bastard

...on the right tools

"so at the gun writers seminar last week, there was a bunch of young guys there because they were introducing some new tactical guns," says the editor. (tactical guns is a euphemism for scary looking guns)

"oh?"

"and all of the old guys were sitting in the back listening in,"

"ok?"

"and while the gun guy was citing the uses of their new tactical line (ie varmints, deer hunting, ummmmm tactical things), the younger gun writers started high lighting their uses against zombies."

"really?"

"yeah, the old guys started grumbling in the back. they didn't fun it funny at all."

"that's hilarious. do you suppose the older gun writers were pissed?"

"about?"

"well you see the young guys now know how to kill them."

—the bastard

just in case you were wondering...

...the cool kids are here tonight

that is all.

—the bastard

the bastard has seen the future

shaking off last night's aperitif (or two) was simplicity itself.

you see, the bastard has a secrete formula for keeping the hangover at bay.

funny thing is, i was going over this with the accountant on saturday night.

i take 3000 mg of vitamin c, a vitamin b12 pill and wash it down with one of those booster drinks from trader joes. oh yeah and i drink a fuck ton of water.


anyway, i'm walking to the train this morning and the bastard has gotten accustomed to the rubes who are in a hurry. the hood has taken measures to slow these goofballs down in the form of stops signs that they ignore so that they can floor it to beat the traffic lights that the town installed to slow drivers down.

so it's a nonstop cavalcade of cocksuckery walking around as some folks are in a rush to get to their teaching jobs (how do i call that one? A: four schools within a mile of my front door and B: have you seen what teachers drive these days?), or parents in a rush to get their precious cargo to school and so they can get to their jobs, not to mention, people that actually work in the neighborhood or are using the neighborhood as a shortcut to stay off of main streets.

ok. exhale.

anyway, as i crossed a street en route (it doesn't really matter where but, it was in the gardens), i hear the tell tale creaking of tires followed by acceleration, followed by a guy on a bicycle yelling,

"hey you're driving too fahst" (he had a british accent).

and it reminded me of how grandpa used to stand out on his dock getting ready to go out on the water and as a boat would rip by, he would blow a whistle, wave his hands and yell,

"no wakes"

i had to wonder, with this in mind, is this where i'm headed. it doesn't help that i get really indignant about stuff. oh well, i best invest in a big ass whistle.

—the bastard

...on the november's coming fire

maybe it's the gin talking.
hell, maybe it's the exhaustion talking.

but the bastard keeps seeing this commercial on the ny1 for the greenwich village halloween parade and george whipple is dressed as an awful amalgamation of the jack nicholson joker and the heath ledger joker and he's scaring the SHIT out of me.

i'm going to hide under my bed now.

and pass out.

mmmmmmmmm pass out.

—the bastard

...on the heartland

so the bastard's ladyfriend is out in iowa (pronounced ah-o-ah) this week on assignment.

it seems that her company is kind of like mine insomuch as they feel it's cheaper to do it by the home office.

in the bastard's case, the home office is actually stockholm but, our head vampire is from florida so everything is cheaper in florida...maybe but, probably not.

anyway, the bastard's ladyfriend am in iowa and this is the majestic beauty she has come across. and that beauty is the git-n-go. it's no wawa mart. mostly because it's the git-n-go. could any hell be more real or now.

—the bastard

...on the dry run

so for the last couple of days, the bastard has been waiting for one of killing stuff monthly's photographers to send me some photos that i'll be using this month.

because sometimes reuse is better...er...cheaper than booking your own photoshoot.

what can i say? fuck art, i'd rather keep a job. times is tough bitches.

but seriously, this guy has great pieces and it's great reuse that helps the bastard sleep at night.

that and several strong drinks.

what'd you expect? fucking life lessons?

yeah, drink some liquor.

get some sleep. ta DAH!

anyway, in the interim, i've been plugging away at other parts of selling bullets, a supplement my ladyfriend needed help with, as well as some of the devil's work. but today as i finished up with my run at the supplement, i realized that some goofballs from the downtown office will be up here next week to show us how the new system works.

new system? what new system bastard?

well young shiteyes, i won't bother you with the details,

mostly because i don't want to get fired for divulging too much of my companies inner workings but,

we have a new system.

and we're gonna start using it on the gun show dailies.

so i've started on them. and with a great heaving sigh, the bastard begins anew his yearly quest towards the careful balance between working efficiently and working drunk. speed the plow mutha grabbas.

speed

the

plow.

—the bastard

...on rolling

so the bastard was spending his morning at the car dealership.

waiting for godot.

actually i was waiting for to go.

followed up with a vehicle switch.

and i headed to the nearest honda dealership so i can look into some storage for the bike.

and it amazes the bastard that whenever he goes to a bike shop where they sell new bikes and they don't want anything to do with your old bike.

i can't believe that this still surprises me.

i think i might just have to break down and go to the shops where they fix the old bikes. maybe find out about secrete places to find old parts.

the bastard loves secretes.

—the bastard

PS: yeah i know you love the yellow and black tape on the seat. ya jerks.

the bastard has come to a conclusion...

...that he needs to take at least a 30 minute break between vehicles


when i got home tonight, the bastard had no errands to run, so he went for a ride on the old iron horse. i went around town and back again.

made a pit stop over at dean thrilla's. his kids are bigger.

by the time i got back to the hood, i had 10 minutes to get to trader joes, you know, for fancy beer, so i got into the car and sped there.

the bastard engaged in 3 minutes of the most deplorable driving, i have ever engaged in.

deplorable.

it was delightful.

—the bastard

...on the palm

you know sometimes you just have to go out for lunch.

not to the corner deli.

out for lunch.

sit down and have something nice.

and maybe a drink. like it's an episode of mad men.

this was chicago jerkface's idea, let's go to this place i had dinner at one night and get lunch.

solid plan.

solid lunch.

and the bastard got to try a new brand. sometimes you go by word of mouth when you wanna try something new. this time, the bastard went with something he's seen alot of print ads for.

and i have to tell you, this brew made the uncomfortable ride in the elevator worth the trip.

so did the hamburger served with a fried egg on top. deelish.

—the bastard

there's no time

so the other day, i saw the trailer for the 24 movie that will be airing in november. and while it has robert carlyle in the cast (still rooting for him to replace david tennant should he give up the role of doctor who), it seems like a strange departure for jack bauer.



it's like this. i had read that because of the unpopularity of our protracted conflicts in the middle east, the producers felt that 24 needed to go with a new enemy and something something something. and in the movie, he's like saving kids in some african nation that is an amalgamation of sudan/liberia/rwanda/zimbabwe and any other nation that has gone to hell on that continent.

it's a decent jump off for next season but it seems very un-jack-like to have him saving a bus full of kids.

anyway, the bastard was sharing his thoughts on the trailer with left hand rob, and the bastard took some license. i told him the basic plot and

"i think that because of the iraq war, they want to soften up jack bauer a little. make him more liberal friendly."

"oh"

"like i think in next season jack switches political parties and is chased by a bunch of republicans wearing sean hannity masks"

"as long as they cut off alan colmes hand in the process"

"i think that at some point jack will have alan colmes' hands zip tied to the steering wheel of his prius and jack will use bolt cutters to get information from him"

11:59:58 (boom)

11:59:59 (boom)

12:00:00 (boom)

—the bastard

monday morning sardine can

hey!

where the fuck is the train?

i gotta tell you.

there is nothing the bastard enjoys more than staying up late until 1:30 in the morning reading volume two of 100 bullets and waking up like he's been shot out of a cannon (how the hell do you this the bastard get's to the train station? walking?!?) and piling into this sardine can i call a train station only to find that no one has gone anywhere.

anywhere.

i mean what the hell?

can't a totally trucked brother get a break?

it's days like this the bastard remembers the most when the mta wants to raise fares. and then i feel completely incensed.

on the plus side, apparently my ipod had "helpless" by sugar and it brightened my otherwise annoying ride in by drowning out the couple across from me that are clearly married to different people but can't quite get around the fact that they have a metric ton of sexual tension between them and just talk the kind of small talk that makes the bastard want to hit them with a mallet.

i mean come on?

whatever happened to uncomfortable silence?

oh.

wait.

coffee's ready.

—the bastard

sunday evening polka

so i was getting in my car on sunday evening when all of a sudden,

the bastard hears a polka.

and he wonders,

where the hell is THAT coming from?

turns out that yesterday was the pulaski day parade and one of the floats were driving by and they were still playing.

which was funny. but upon looking at galleries from previous pulaski day parades, the bastard has to wonder if any of the participants are really enjoying themselves. poles are a stern looking people.

—the bastard

nudge

crisp.

clear.

cool.

that's how the bastard's day started. left the window open last night so it was a little chilly. put on the black trench. it's cold enough to dress the way he prefers to dress. i'd do it all year round if i could.

but i can't.

too bad.

the trains are screwed and my usual local that i've been unable to take is running express.

paydirt.

good ride. slow but, good,

"excuse me, sir?"

i'm so tired, my head feels like someone took a shit on my brain

"excuse me, sir?"

one of these days, i'm going to have yo get myself correct.

"excuse me, sir?"

oh, wait, "what? what? what?", screams my head but what come out of my mouth (the one with the gravelly voice) was, "yes son?"

"can i borrow your phone"

instinctively, i tell him what i'd tell anyone, "no i don't have it on me". sorry, it's the force of habit. the bastard has problems.

and this maybe 11-12 year old boy curls up into a ball and starts crying.

holy crap, what have you done now, bastard? this kid is no older than the boy and you shut him down. goddamit!

let's fix it, "what's wrong young man?" i asked, "do you need change for the phone?"

"no, i missed my stop."

"well where's your stop?"

"woodhaven boulevard." and he buries his head in his hands. you know the boy started taking piano lessons this year, he played the star wars theme for me over the phone last night. he makes me so proud and now i feel like a heel. i mean NOT that he could make a phone call from underground but still swap the bastard's head for a cartoon heel.


"you don't need to cry son. i'll tell you what, we're going to stop at roosevelt avenue soon and your going to take the train back three stops and you'll be at woodhaven. just threes stops. then you can make a phone call and tell whomever you need to that you are going to be a couple minutes late because of the trains. do you need change for the phone?"

"i have change."

"good, it's going to be alright."

almost on cue, this older woman hands me a tissue to hand him. he feels a little better and when we pull in, i prick up my shades and tell him one more time, "go up the stairs to the queensbound platform, and take it three stops, elmhurst, grand ave, and you get off at woodhaven."

i repeat this and the tissue woman emphasizes that it's the queensbound platform.

i wished him luck, and i don't recall anymore if he thanked me, and i don't much care. the kid was scared and he needed help. and it's times like this that i don't feel so bad that i live in a large city that pretends like it's a small town. i tell myself he's going to be alright and i think of my boy and all of a sudden, i'm really glad that i wear sunglasses on the train.


ipod's on by the time i pull into lexington.

the bastard got tired of listening to the two teenage girls who finish all of their sentences? in question form?

when i get slapped on the back by this other person who saw the whole thing go down. he was a social creature when he got on the train. probably just as jazzed as i was to get a quasi express train as well.

"you did a good thing back there"

"whu?"

"you did a good thing back there. i saw that kid was crying and i was about to head over there to see what i could do, and there you were, helping him out"

"it took me long enough. it was probably the furthest down on the subway he's ever been"

"but still, by this afternoon, he's going to remember you and think you were really great."

"well, it's like the man says. do a good turn daily."

and then just like that, we went on our way. "the hymn of the big wheel" by massive attack came on the the ipod and the bastard walked up the escalator and thought about the boy. i can't wait to see him at the end of the month. he makes me proud.

this whole being evil thing is TOTALLY not working out for me.

—the bastard