...on flash artisanal markets

the bastard doesn't talk about the news as often as he used to but this little item made him laugh. because like bored to death, it makes fun of brooklyn

—the bastard

never…

…is a really frikkin long time my boy.

so the bastard would advise one to never underestimate the sea change one's commuting mood will have when one gets himself a seat.

I think this was the only thing I remember liking about the lirr

—the bastard

ain't we lucky we got 'em

the bastard woke up this morning and he was a little nonplussed.

shouldn't have been that way as he and his cohorts at killing stuff monthly were the recipients of a major award last night.

he thought to himself, this is great but what about the art.

the art.

i really wanted to win something that was solely for the art that we do for this magazine and we've always been sort of an also ran.

but upon speaking about this with the velvet hammer, i felt more in the team spirit of our win and i was content. i felt like more of an ungrateful jerk as well.

the bastard might feel even better if it did in fact turn out that this old house the magazine redesigned their magazine to look like the now deposed domino magazine but, who cares.

a win is a win. i was grateful.

flash forward: i was at trader joes picking up some stuff for the house and for dinner at my rents tomorrow.

and there was this guy who was working the floor who looked like john amos.

and he was a paragon of jockularity in a cyclone of shopping people.

kept on smiling.

kept on joking.

opened the register and we got to chatting.

the bastard got to bagging.

paid the man and he thanked me for bagging.

the bastard told him that i did the grocery biz for seven years.

"you been down this road before then"

"hells to the yeah", i don't even talk like that.

with that, the bastard carted his food out into the mist of hood he spent the begining of his adulthod in and stopped as he loaded up the car and looked up.

i unloaded trucks for seven years, working my way through college.

loaded image setters for art directors for 5 years before i got my shot.

was promoted to assistant art director 7 months before they closed my book.

and then i landed here with the animal heads and never looked back.

well, maybe once or twice.

and the bastard felt thankful.

looking up into the mist, i felt good.

good times. good times.

—the bastard

...on bad ideas

so the bastard came back from lunch to find a box on his chair.

in the box were several little bottles of red bull arranged not quite unlike dr. jekyll's vial of formula a la the league of extraordinary gentlemen.

now, the bastard likes a gift as much as the next man but, i couldn't escape the notion that this would be a REALLY bad idea to have after 4 cups of coffee.

murderous rampage anyone?

—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

...on the thunder

the bastard is soooooooooo tired.

went to the movies last night.

saw tropic thunder.

it was quite possibly, the funniest thing i've seen all summer. and not just because robert downey junior was playing an australian actor posing as a black man who doesn't get out of character until he does the dvd commentary. it's because ben stiller knows how to make a funny film. he single handedly did a better job of making fun of the movie industry, making fun of actors, making fun of the inner workings of the film industry better than all of those stupid epic movie, superhero movie, disaster movie parodies (that all overuse the typeface futura and the color red in their posters) that traditionally plague the summer box office. even the smallest part gets a good line.

also he pretty much saves tom cruise's career. the bastard has to say it was probably some of his finest work....EVER.

but here's the thing. because of the chairman's work schedule, we saw the late show. and i kept waking up all night for one reason or another. and while i didn't drink a drop last night, i feel hung over.

and i feel like crap. and i don't think coffee can save me now. time to die.

—the bastard

... on starting early

so our publisher, the big EZ, is letting us go early today for the memorial day holiday. The big EZ is a great publisher.

and the bastard has some layover time.

we're going to get something to drink.

and then i''m going to go to a going away party to drink some more.

then i'm going to a launch party on saturday which i will no doubt have opinions about later.

i love this business.

—the bastard

...on lessons learned

...from rocky one to rocky three


so my taxes came back today.

and i sent the money out.

and the bastard is poor again.

well not really. it just sound more melodramatic when i say that. but, the lesson here is, when you do a sizeable amount of freelance, pay your estimated taxes so that you aren't shocked when you are greeted with a nice sum that uncle sam wants from you.

lesson learned. back to square one.

back where we started

here we go around again.

day after day

i get up and i say,

i'm gonna do it gain.

cheers. drinks are on me. cause i spilled them on me.

—the bastard

...on nightmares

...and dreamscapes

part one: get rich or die trying.

chairman: hey

the bastard: yesh?

chairman: ok, crazy dreams last nite

chairman: you shived 50 cent to death, in vegas

the bastard: he had it coming

the bastard: and vegas had a crowd i could disappear into

chairman: well u me and jamie kennedy were hanging out in the Wynn

the bastard: jamie kennedy?

chairman: and 50 walked by and i go holy shit its 50 cent and 50 goes no pictures

the bastard: what the hell is wrong with you man?

chairman: but u kept running around w/ ur iphone

chairman: try to snap shots

chairman: then 50 recognized me

chairman: and said you man tom can get a picture with me

chairman: so u took it with the iphone

chairman: but 50 felt it was too pixelated

chairman: and was poor quality

chairman: apparently he's a fotog

chairman: so you go chairman, i'm gonna have to take out the good knife

chairman: and u stabbed him

chairman: fast forward

chairman: we're in the desert with samuel l. jackson

chairman: trying to bury 50's body

chairman: and sandra bullock posed as an overzealous reporter sees us

chairman: and puts it on the interweb. So you decide because you're the overlord at this point

chairman: that we're going to commandeer 50's suite at the wynn

chairman: then i woke up

the bastard: well at least i'm not a boring date

part two: don't call it a comeback:

chairman: to only go back to bed to have a dream that staten island was going to blow up

chairman: and i was in a car with philip seymour hoffman

the bastard: nice

the bastard: that is the best dream EVER

chairman: who was telling me about his fleggling baseball career with the brewers

the bastard: he does look sort of midwestern

chairman: we were driving a 1984 maroon station wagon

the bastard: chevy or ford?

chairman: but the air was filled with propane gas

chairman: mercury

the bastard: i see

chairman: with the roof rack

the bastard: grand marquis wagon?

chairman: yes!

the bastard: 80's era?

chairman: w/ the wood paneling on the sides

the bastard: nice

chairman: maroon seats

chairman: yes

the bastard: that's the only way to drive

chairman: tape player

the bastard:what was on the tape player

chairman: high end

chairman: styx

the bastard: benzi box?

the bastard: was it best of times?

chairman: and damn yankees

the bastard: or mister roboto?

the bastard: did it take you high enough?

chairman: he was trying to talk me back into a comeback

chairman: im not sure if i was a singer

the bastard: a comeback?

chairman: or a baseball player

chairman: or what

the bastard: i see

chairman: but he wanted me to comeback

the bastard: but you know what l.l. sez

the bastard: don't call it a comeback

the bastard: you know what this means chairman?

the bastard: it means that you're gonna kill again

chairman: goooooooood

chairman: not psh tho

chairman: he's a genius

the bastard: nah, he'll be your accomplice

part three: the bodycount?

the bastard: i'm putting this on the blog

the bastard: too good not to

chairman: at least i have A list celebs in my dreams

chairman: not sure why you keep stabbing them

chairman: i think if u had a chance u would have stabbed PSH too

chairman: first sarah silverman, then 50

the bastard: oh wait, i stabbed sarah silverman too?

quick sidebar: the chairman had a dream last weekend that he was married to sarah silverman and she made fun of me several times, prompting the bastard to storm out of his subconscious.

the bastard: i thought i just stormed off

chairman: true

chairman: naa u made a shiv out of a spoon

chairman: and came back and stabbed her

the bastard: nice

chairman: and your ladyfriend was pissed that u did that

chairman: but apparently you're a ruthless serial killer who kills my A list celebrity friends

the bastard: i am

the bastard: everyone has to have a hobby

chairman: after you killed 50 you were really excited that it was on perez hilton

the bastard: nice

chairman: this is all your fault for making me write my crazy dreams down

chairman: and passing out to VH1

the bastard: excellent, it'll help in the long run

the bastard: well i know that you love the 80's

the bastard: and hal sparks

chairman: who doesn't love hal sparks

the bastard: your mom

chairman: good point

the bastard: i know

someone please stop me before i kill again. for the love of a-listers.

—the bastard

...on challenges

the bastard tries to watch his weight.

well...

not all the time but he tries. so BACK OFF!

anyway, left hand rob has been at the weight loss game for a little while now and he's been doing it the old fashioned way.

by earning it.

and the bastard admires his self control as i've seen him turn down the run to the chessesteak place many times knowing full well that as a native pennsylvanian, cheese whiz courses through his veins and still he turns it down. bravo, i say.

but last night, the bastard had dinner with his ladyfriend, saxomafone, and his wife, h.m. (they came in from las vegas, under cover of darkness). we went out for ribs (rrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiibbbbbbbssssss!) at rub, which is a personal favorite.

but, the bastard has alot of personal favorites.

but now, i have to issue a challenge to rob's personal resolve. a challenge to his self control.

so rob i only have two words for you.

frito pie.

yes lobster, frito pie. i double dog DARE you to resist it's artery clogging goodness. and yes, it IS as good it looks. better the bastard would argue. gauntlet is down. and the games afoot.

—the bastard

ride home

so here's how it was supposed to go down.

the band was supposed to go on at 8:30 but turns out they didn't go on until 9:30.

and while i wasn't guaranteeing anything, i was really trying to be back in queens in time to get in the car and pick up the chairman.

the bastard even drank accordingly to plan for this possibility.

but, i didn't get outta the l.e.s. until 10 to 11. and when i got down there, the platform was empty.

so here the bastard is,

in one of the more desolate areas on the edge of china town and the lower east side,

on an empty train platform.

it was kinda creepy actually.

but, the bastard sometimes gets rewarded with fine fine plumage. it is as my buddy scoop says, "i love going out on wednesday nights, it's when the gates of freak open". pure gold.

i get off the train at 20 to 12. the text message reads:

11:21 landed

11:31 you suck bro i guess i'll have to take a cab

so when i get home the text response was:

11:46 that's me. aye suck

—the bastard

...on gunsmoke

so i get this email from bobble. apparently the chairman went to the range. wait let me back up.

FLASHBACK: so the bastard was at the gun show, or rather, i was taking a cab back to my casino-less hotel, and my driver looked like captain lou albano in a fez and the fez was advising me to go to this shooting range outside of town to experience shooting a 50 caliber machine gun for 20 dollars a round. earlier in the week at an industry dinner, the ceo of a company in my industry was telling me about this place in texas where wild boar is hunted 24/7/365 because they have become a dangerous nuisance species (imagine a species that reproduces kind of as much as rats or maybe dogs but they grow up to be 500 pounds, an ornery disposition and TUSKS, as well as a healthy desire to kill you).

so i passed these nuggets along to the chairman. and there he is, firing an uzi. also shot was an m-16, an mp5, and a thompson submachine gun.

which he was scolded for not respecting enough.

"you better RESPECT THAT WEAPON or i might just have to shoot you. that gun killed REAL nazis. so respect that weapon"

glad to see the chairman has found something to do with things that have killed nazis. excellent.

—the bastard

gauntlet

under the shadow of the empire state building is korea town. daily this is the bastard's gaunlet due to the fact that it's an easier road than taking the 6 train at night. it's kind of like the rainy post apocalyptic los angeles of blade runner. except the regulars dress more fashionably and they are less aware of the ghost faces that are trying to head to the f train. god forbid if you have to get past a big crowd at the fucking pinkberry on 32nd, you might get trampled by a poorman's recreation of the shibuya district.

you see the bastard has been drinking as you might guess and he's spouting crap.

spent three stops putting up with some jerkpiece testing out his ringtones underground. i'm sure it seemed like a great idea to him at the time. now the bastard is closing in on home and it sure tastes good after a steady diet of white ale and piggly wigglys.

god dammit, I love this fucking town. good to the last drop, shiteyes.

—the bastard

this just in...

...left hand rob's house comes with instructions.

...or his house is haunted.

so at some point during lobster's tardy gras party, chicago jerkface's girlfriend, the gossip pointed out to the bastard that missus lobster had put some coffee on and she could now see through time.

so my first dilemma was, where i could find mugs. so i look up and i see:


feeling confident in my instructions, i wonder to myself where the milk and cream was and lo and behold:


you know how the phrase goes, "ask, and ye shall receive."

—the bastard

the gift

every year, we have a new goofball to obsess on.

whether it's some character with a loch ness mullet and a foreigner t-shirt.

or some knife booth girl from the ukraine who waves back to us when we wave to her (and then jonny airplanes walks down onto the floor ands brings her up to the press suite for a beer).

or maybe it was our company's former rainmaker who keeps giving us the finger in passing in and out of the fray.


but this guy was our man this year.


our frequent flyer.

our go to weirdo. the man we followed.

sara voids found him independant of us and snapped away.

everyday, he wore a different variation of his acapulco shirt/and knee socks.

his kitch was a dream come true.

on day four, the editor had gotten into the game. he likes our little mullet hunt.

he gets the joke.

i get a text message from him.


"our guy is by the glock booth, in a robe and slippers"

and lo and behold, there he was. goddam classic

he was like the gift that kept on giving.

the stuff that makes the gun show worthwhile.

until next time.

when we return to florida.

—the bastard

...on magic

so rob talked the bastard into taking in a show.

normally, the bastard doesn't take in shows while in vegas.

he gambles.

and raises hell.

and spits fire.

and farts ambrosia.

but we took in the penn and teller show. i have to give it up, that while, penn and teller show you how each trick is done, it makes the idea of sleight of hand seem just THAT MUCH more magical.

it's kind of like when i used sleight of hand to beat you up for your lunch money.

no....not really.

it's kind of like that sharp pointed feeling you get between your second and third ribs when i stuck that shiv into you.

no....not really but, you get the idea.

anyway, at the end of the show, p&t do a little meet and greet in which you find out that not only does teller speak, he speaks english. but, i had to talk to penn. i had to tell him that i missed hearing him on the radio.

first off, he is a goddam huge human being. and shaking hand with him is like shaking hands with a giant.

"excellent show"

"thanks" (eyes roll; can't help it, he probably hears that shit all the time, 365 days a year)

"penn, i miss hearing you on the radio"

"don't worry pal, i have something coming up soon"

"really? cool. i always enjoyed the way you said honky tonk badonkadonk"

and then penn, with the voice of someone who could totally be president if the south was ready to accept a atheist juggler into the white house smiled, and said, as if he would say, "my fellow americans",

he says,

"honky tonk......badonkadonk"

yeah. that big bastard never disappoints. made my week.

—the bastard

elvis has left the building

on day four, most of the staff went home so it was just left hand rob and i. and as the hotel emptied out, people attending agfa's annual photo conference. and an elderly elvis impersonator was in attendance. and then he took his wig off. and left.

—the bastard

...on heights

"so is there anything else you need this afternoon?"

"i need a good crowd shot for page one."

"i also need it to look better than last year's."
"not to be cheesy but, i need you t reinvent the wheel on crowd shots."

"hmmmmmm....ahmmm...hrm...i'll see what i can do."

convention photography is by and large the same schlock every year. lots of people walking around with bags full of press kits and fanny packs. samr shit, different year. but the bastard has faith in justice (photo editor: killing stuff monthly).

now the bastard doesn't remember who came up with the idea. it was either justice or sara voids but, there was this large catwalk like ramp that a glove comapny was using to demonstrate it's heat resistant abilities. guys who worked for the glove compnay would grab the rope at the end, and then slide down with these gloves on their hands. now either sara or justice decided to do the crowd shot from the top of this catwalk.

i thought it was a good move.

wish i thought of it.

so at the end of all of this, we got a free show, and justice got me my goddam crowd shot. nice and smooth...ish

—the bastard

second day preshow mulletude

unsung hero of the mullet hall of fame is the two tone loch ness femmullet. all she is missing is a foreigner tee shirt.

know in some circles as the sho/lo or as jimmy 3000 once referred to it as the sh/long. yeah the bastard gets that joke too.

—the bastard

... on paydirt

...fucking paydirt jerks! right out the BAG!

...or shot show mullets preview

so the bastard lucked out and didn't crash.

or was i unlucky?

so our fair president closed the airport up for a few minutes as he was flying out. apparently he heard that the circus circus has the loosest slots in town and all the free nitrus oxide you could POSSIBLY want.

but ho what do the roadie and i see.

but the best pre cursor to my week long mullet hunt.



and it was gold my lovelys. fucking GOLD. the bastard thought to himself that things were looking up. more to come. this show hasn't even started yet.

—the bastard