ermagerd!

and speaking of crass commercialism...

iron maiden has their own beer...

mötörhead has their own booze.

we're all going to hell in a handbasket.

—the bastard

...on muckraking

the bastard would like to talk about his hood for a minute...

i live in a spaceship in long island city 3 blocks away from the east river...

and while it didn't garner as much press as what's happened down by the rock...

we took it on the chin when sandy came through...

we took on some water...

which wrecked our electric.

my neighbors and i were homeless-ish for two weeks...

and fortunately, we're all getting back to normal.

we were lucky.

but here's the rub.

there is this local blog that i USED to go to for my local info that went to my building during the post storm mayhem to "get the scoop" on the extent of my building's damages.

we're a new building...

we're not all sold...

we'd like the rest of the building get sold...

but this sort of thing sets us back as a community, so our people politely said no...

the muckraker who writes this blog presses harder, saying he's providing a "service to the community" by providing  photos that are fit for disaster tourists of all stripes and those of the kind of carnage that would definitely hinder other new buildings in the area from EVER becoming profitable anytime soon.

i'm sure the powerhouse and the yard are real fucking grateful for that.

so after this bit of leverage from the muckraker, our people respond with a sterner "no comment" which hurt his widdle feelings.

so in what the bastard can only imagine was in a crying fit of babylike proportions, he wrote an angry post about our building...

you know...

as a service to the community.

a service...

you know?

muckraker.

this prompted the ire of both residents and local who felt that this "service" was unwarranted...

perhaps uncalled for...

trolls responded to the counter...

and i'm convince those trolls were the very author of the post as they all centered around how the blog provides a service to the community and we should all move on.

i mused to myself, does the muckraker hav e a thesaurus in which to alter his constant refrain regardless of what the name of the troll who posted in response.

i eventually, commented an invitation to lunch to the author of one unkind cut.

said we should meet up...

have some lunch...

chat about the local issues...

like muckraking...

and local bloggers who flew through a storefront window as a service to the community.

muckraker.

but i digress, when the bastard moved back into the building, he decided to let it go,  glad to be home again.

this post garned the most comments in the pitiful history of the blog so it was not surprising that when my building was mentioned in a post on curbed that he felt the need to repost it as his own content.

or at least as a "i'm neither good at writing nor am i good at generating my own content but, i sure did like all of that attention i got the last time i slagged off on that building that hurt my feelings so left me just repost it"

muckraker.

so to the blog, i linked to today but won't bother mentioning...

please go directly to die...

you won't be missed i assure you.

now i have work in the publishing world to finish up now...

so run along now to your amateur photography and your bitchy posts.

—the bastard

…on tossers

once upon a time…

companies were flush with cash…

and they didn't care who showed up in your suite at a convention.

then one year someone pissed the powers that be off and they said, "by invitation only".

this suited the bastard well as if not too many jerks won't be heading into my room...

to steal my team's food...

to mooch off of our resources...

to make me want to stab them in the face.

they even put us in a room that is off to the side.

away from the action so no one would even WANT to come walking in.

but all plans are not foolproof

case...

meet...

point...

this couple walks in and beelines straight for the coffee and snick snax.

i head over to them and ask them if they need any help because it's better to be polite.

the wife scrambles to grab a cup as her man looks his nose down on the bastard and does the slowest...

smuggest...

head shake ever.

slowly shaking his head no, like a fucking boss.

so i step to him, "well this is my press room. you can't be here. get out"

"sorry, i thought we were allowed in here even though we just zipped right in through the back door with no obvious reason to stay in the main room where salespeople are diligently trying to make your company because we thought we were slick. and because we're fucking moochers", he responds.

"no you aren't...get out"

and thus began the consistent parade of  sneaky assholes in "air quotes" who kept darkening my door.

"can i use your computers?"

"no...get out"

"i just thought i'd get a cup of coffee here where i suspected no one was looking"

"there you go with the thinking again chuckles. no...get out"

the bastard even had a guy slink in who actually had a door pass but still saw fit to saunter in. he was retired corps. gave me the stink eye. said he had a pass to be in here. showed me the card.

"that pass isn't for this room, sir. you can't be in here"

then he proceeded to make a scene up front. bitching about the surly bald guy in the back.

"i used to be a marine!"

"that coffee is mine by divine right of kingship"

"i used to eat guys like that for breakfast before i got old"

"i am. I AM! I AM!"


"shut the hell up jerk"

they calmed him down and put up a sign and sent him on his way but not before he spent 20 minutes pacing back and forth past my door to give me the stink eye and it reminded me of my time at the grocery store in the fhills.

old folks would give me shit and expect me to take it and were aghast when i told them what they could do with their effing coupons which was followed by a litany of "respect your elders" bullshit.

the bastard respects his elders but because he tries to step with the good foot. but if you come back with sass you lose that respect. you aren't owed respect for taking up space on this rock for longer than the youth, you get it because you try to be good and give what you get. it isn't foolproof but it's worth trying every time.

then you slap folks with your pimp hand.

—the bastard

P.S. i later found that the retired marine had the door pass because his organization helps disabled veterans so the bastard felt a little sheepish for rolling up on the guy. but, he was still creeping and that shit isn't above board with me.

you see me rollin'… and you're doing it wrong

the bastard likes himself some chain BBQ every now and again.

and I like to go out the the burbs for it as the only evidence of chain restaurants in the liquid city is subway and dunkin.

so it was out to famous Dave's

Fay…

muss…

Dave's

so I roll into the lot with the fan and there it is.

this hummer.

not the old one, the bulky puffy ugly one that looks like the stay puff marshmallow man of automobiles

with faux gun turrets.

faux…

gun…

turrets…

so I excused myself from the fan for a second because I felt the need to pop off a few shots and to inform us all that somewhere in long island…

someone is driving wrongs…

all kinds of wrongs

—the bastard