...on juice boxes

since new years is always a dodgey bit.

you know.

because, the shit might come down,

after the ball drops.

the bastard had to get this one in.

i had wine in a box with dinner.

that is all.

happy new years.

—the bastard

wind up

well, this might be the only chance the bastard gets to do this before one more crisis hits us before the year is out so here goes.

this year the bastard won for a change.

he got to see some magic. and he got to hear the phrase that pays.

the chairman fired a fuck ton of guns.

the bastard found out how to get in touch with god.

the chairman had soem bad dreams that apparently come in threes.

the bastard went to court.

scoop came back to the east by car. and then she moved to florida.

the boy came to town and educated new yorkers on how to use the bathroom.

i drank some beer. nothing new there.


we had an election. the chairman's friend in denver covered the convention for me. the bastard really hopes he's wrong about the next 4 years.


the bastard finally outlasted the restaurant that had caused him so much grief over the last 8 years. and now i'm gonna leave because hey, i won.

the machine came to life and the bastard has been riding it ever since.

i got engaged, and then my ladyfriend went to iowa on business.

the crew went camping.

the bastard had hisself another indoor flood.

that said, it wasn't too bad a year, except for all the flooding. but it's like this, i got a promotion last month. it was the biggest promotion i ever got in my whole career. i didn't want to arrive in this chair in the way i did but, i'm in the chair of a newsstand magazine again and i'm going to make the most of it. i'm going to make the most of it because the bastard has been really lucky in life. yeah, i've had some tragedy and i keep getting up to do it again. as long as i can keep doing it again.

see you next year jerks.

—the bastard

When I was young and they packed me off to school
and taught me how not to play the game,
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,
or if they said that I was a fool.
So I left there in the morning
with their God tucked underneath my arm --
their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.
So I asked this God a question
and by way of firm reply,
He said -- I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers --

context

...and comparison

television is a fucking desert during the holidays.

so tonight, my ladyfriend and i watched sid and nancy on my ipod.

well, not on the little screen. I patched it to her laptop and watched it that way.

and I have to say, in retrospect to where i was then and where i am now, the bastard wasn't terribly impressed. i mean I saw the damn film like 20 times but, for some reason, it seemed full of cheap trickery and adolescent film devices. i was a little disappointed.




so then I got into bed and finished kill your boyfriend and i have to say, in context of where i am today and how the bastard came away from sid and nancy, i was floored.

read the damn afterwards.

and the bastard doesn't ever give a shit about what the author thinks about his own work...

ever

but, it reeled me in. grant morrison broke alot of ground, and a bunch of taboos in this little one off. and it was so much more.

or maybe, the bastard wants to go on a murderous rampage through the English countryside.

-the bastard

slippage

had a near miss last night.

hit an oily patch while turning.

no great shakes though.

small patch.

small skid.

the bastard needs to keep those knee pads on from here on out.

-the bastard

worried man blues

you know, the bastard had never done this before.

you know,

hired someone before.

this is gonna be interesting

-the bastard

wayside

the bastard was up late last night.

later that he really wanted to.

you see, the job,

no,

the beast we have all come to know and love as facebook had me up way past my bedtime.

surprise, surprise.

anyway, the bastard was talking to the ghosts of christmas past and what could have been a long long time ago and she told me she wasn't happy with how it all turned out.

the house.

the hubby.

the kids.

why does it seem that something is missing?

I asked her, "do you have any regrets?"

didn't travel more.

didn't have a rewarding career. but then I couldn't have the family i have if I had that

"it's a catch 22."

she knew it was. but that's just it. life is a catch 22.

damned if you do,

damned if you don't.

as I fell away to sleep at 2am, after the clanging of my 500 year old radiator subsided, the bastard thought that he may have understood how it all fell apart for him the last time.

clang. clang clang. hssssssssssssssssss

-the bastard

...on slop

man, it's bad out today.

the bastard never likes it when it rains on christmas.

then again, at least i won't be driving in black ice today.

or some other crap.

anyway, it's off to the relatives this weekend. sometimes, depending on what the schedule is, this is the only time one gets to see their relatives.

whether they like it or not. me? i get to see my folks often enough.

spoke to my uncle last night. he's out of work. it's hard to talk to him because sometimes he's really far away figuratively speaking.

out of work too. but he quit smoking at least.


anyway, i did this last year.

told a tragic story about a guy who was dying but needed to feel alive (by the way photo is courtesy of larry lah).

and i figured that says it all.

and in many ways it does.

but this year has been bad for a alot of people in the bastard's life and i'm lucky enough to soldier on.

and for that, i'm glad.

merry christmas.

—the bastard

...on the frigid

you see, the bastard is in a transitional phase in his life.

i'm moving across the river soon.

so i haven't been spending much of my time in queens. pretty much just to feed ivan and pack stuff.

so it was much to the bastard's surprise that on the coldest night of the season thus far, the heat goes out.

had to sleep in a wool hat and a fleece last night.

had to turn on the oven this morning to heat up the kitchen.

because i can be ghetto too. the bastard is so cold. better luck tonite.

-the bastard

me here now

left hand rob tagged me with this quarter's meme of the, well, quarter. the bastard is bending the rules because it is his want to do so and the little camera booth app on hid mac was set to this setting. i will reveal though, that my glasses are being held together with binder clips. anyway, here are the rules of this mess:

1: take a picture of yourself right NOW!

2: don't change your clothes, don't fix your hair (like i have a choice), just take a picture.

3: post the picture with no editing (whoops)

4: post these instructions with your picture.

5: tag 10 people to do this

the bastard doesn't have 10 people with blogs to to this so, some of these people who read the bastardworks can submit to my email address if they want it up in this piece. until then, I tag the mofo, the chairman's friend in denver and jimmy 3000 to do it up. anyone else, just mail it. your names will be made up as I male up everyone else's names here. do it NOW!!

-the bastard

...on the tundra

yesterday was the first big snow to hit here this year.

they closed a bunch of schools in weschester and it made the bastard think about this editor he used to work with from buffalo who found out snow days laughable considering he drove his cherokee through 6 feet of snow to get to the airport the night before.

it ain't much but it's ours.

and the bastard doesn't have to shovel it. oh well.

-the bastard

the light at the end of the tunnel

finished day one, more of less.

an ad or two needs to be moved around.

every year it's a long slog.

a little longer this year. what with all the firings, we were a little behind.

but it looks like it's gonna be ok.

but then again, there's always monday

-the bastard

the bastard doesn't know what's worse

the movie title sexy mexi sluts

or

mouthful of black.

what the hell?

-the bastard

adventures in stabbing

so the bastard needs to stab someone...

sure we all get the urge.

but i get it more often.

especially when some cock gets in the train with me and because u brush up against him, he calls me a nazi.

yes, I'm a nazi because this mentally ill fuck can't control his tourettes syndrome.
and now the bastard has to watch him jam his bagel down his gullet because he's too incapable to function in normal society.

but let me back up for a sec: i woke up later than i wanted this morning.

you know

the daily.

and this guy and i roll onto the e train as the doors open and we get ourselves a seat. two people get up so two people sit down.

only this wasn't what crazy wanted so he snarled some unintelligible thing at me and gave me the stink eye.

i hadn't taken my shades off yet and at this point, i wasn't i was crammed up next to some crazy person muttering at me so i told him, "go fuck yourself".

he responds back, "nazi"

"i'll fucking stab you dick" i believe was the next thing that crawled out of my mouth.

okay, we're back: so this goes back and forth he mumbles unintelligibly and i just mumble various conjugations of the word "stab".

"stab stab stabby stab stab. right in your neck"

you can build a song around it and the bastard just might.

pull into my station and he gets all happy-ish because he gets some space for a second before a gentleman who looked like reverend run was about to take my seat. so i decided to put the kye-bosh on said glee with my favorite gesture from eastern promises. i looked him square in the face and jammed my fingers into my neck and his face ran cold. or maybe it was blank all along.

oh well.

everyday can't be all "normal" people on the train.

—the bastard

...on getting one's geek on.

it's like this.

the bastard lkes to read comics.

the silver k and chicago jerkface play world of warcraft.

left hand rob pulls a hat trick. he collects comics, plays dungeons and dragons and writes a blog for newsarama.

at the end of the day, the bastard was out of reading material and thusly, went to the comic shop and picked up a trade paperback of the umbrella academy. but the real find was kill your boyfriend by grant morrison.

i've been looking for this for a long time. so i am happy. now i gotta go to bed.

—the bastard

for what it's worth

it snowed this afternoon.

it was nice for a minute.

fa la la la la la la la HELL.

—the bastard

sometimes everything comes up bastard

the bastard doesn't like the rain much.

or at all if it's gonna piss out for too many days.

so I took the bus to the train.

but it's like this

I get these text messages from the MTA when delays are happening on my line. and i received an alert from them.

thought all this getting up early crap was going to be all for naught.

but now the train is rolling express for a little while and the bastard feels like everything is coming up his for a sec.

it's cold comfort knowing I have a department christmas thing tonight and I'll be spending it at my desk. oh well. go to hell.

-the bastard

fading fast

...or was the spark ever there in the first place?

late nights make the bastard think of doing the wrong thing instead of getting one hot and a cot.

"we drink and we dry up and then we crumble into dust."

i think listening to the hold steady makes the bastard want to get drunk at night.

I think the hot meal is going to win though. sometimes being old has it's advantages. you lack the wherewithall.

-the bastard

...on cracked foundations

... i was blotto, i was bombed out, i was blacked out, i was cracked out, i was caved in.

at some point, the bastard had enough.

climbed up on his desk while "maybe the last time" by james brown blared through the speakers,

and for a brief moment he thought, " this must be killing the science monkeys inside"

upon that he thought, "fuck em".

"maybe the laaaaaaaaaaast time".

the bastard is standing on top of shit swinging from the rafters, beyond caring and beyond his fear that it'll never get done on time.

all i know is i'm here in the box, spending my little boy's birthday once again working for the firearms industry and knowing that until this shit goes away, i can't shut down.

can't stop.

can't drink enough coffee.

can't enjoy the holidays.

don't get me wrong,

you see that i'll smile and laugh and maybe for a second feel something i'm supposed to feel at this time of year but, i really don't anymore. christmas won't come for the bastard until sometime around march when i see that kid's smiling face 2500 miles from this perfect storm the bastard calls a career.

i am a goddam machine. and i hate every goddam minute of it.

-the bastard

... on frostbite

walk back to the car.

brought my gear just in case.

but it's frikkin cold.

40 mph winds.

yeah, the bastard goes out.

and sure as hell is cold.

thought my fingers would never thaw out.

-the bastard

...on the coldness

this afternoon, the bastard was on the line at shake shack (yes, I know, why would one get lunch outdoors on a cold day?), and i spies,

cock on phone.


cock on phone.

and it comes in orange. he spoke the entire 40 minutes he was on line in front of us.

—the bastard

...on morale

so this morning the bastard went to get milk for his coffee and he was greeted by a fridge full of booze.

this isn't my fridge.

this is the fridge at work.

the bastard doesn't really go in for white wine.

but today is the company end of year/holiday thing.

it's mandatory or they will no doubt say something to the tune of,

"well we're REAL sorry we had to lay off a bunch of you and you're probably not getting any manner of bonuses but, at least you still have jobs. here drink some booze."

when all else fails, ply them with booze.

the bastard was at a retirement party last night and a great elder statesmen of killing stuff monthly (and a legendary killer of many things on four legs) stood up at some point and stated that there was no booze better than booze that's on the company. he's probably right.

—the bastard

wednesday morning tragedy

this one comes from the chairman's travels on the long island railroad.

is it tragedy?


or is it majesty?


apparently, he had a bag full of these things and he just kept on eating. this just reminds me of the creepy fat lady who ate eggs in a playpen in the john waters film pink flamingos (eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs). and you thought all he did was do musicals.

—the bastard