...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

so why'd you move in behind a bar anyway

long day.

it was a good day but it was a long day that culminated in a late trader joes run and a kiddie party let out and some of the stragglers were a bit chatty from whatever overpriced swill they were quaffing.

and I'm just looking over the edge with my tired face on and not really expecting any of these idiots to have that moment of clarity that maybe they need I keep it down.

the loud adult in air quotes looks like Andy dick.

sort of apprapro in a fashion.

but I digress. just leaning over the side and one of their kids looks up at me.

then all three of their kids looks up at me.

the smallest one smiles and waves.

I put my finger over my mouth to give them the universal sign for, "your parents are inconsiderate, overly entitled assholes who need to shut the hell up please and to please not grow up to be like them"

then three other adults look up.

I'm in now so I can't just walk away. it's become uncomfortable for all parties concerned now.

and Andy dick looks up with the, "what do you want?" look that spindly dickheads from oklasota do when there are 6 floors between the likes of me and the likes of him.

the bastard has discovered that people have awful big balls when there is no chance of me flying down 6 stories to shove a billy club up their ass.

I asked if he could keep it down.

it's a bar.

my kid needs to sleep

it's a bar.

come on guy

it's a bar.

I'll stab you in the face fucko. while I'm sure you're shit didn't stink on your time on news radio, you sucked cock on the Ben stiller show. this bar wasn't here when I moved in.

it's a bar.

and then it dawned on me.

he had a speech impediment.

after years of doing coke and sucking cock all he could say was "it's a bar".

must have been the last thing he said before he went into rehab.

good luck on the other 11 steps jackass

—the bastard