hey jerk from the 5th floor...

...i know that you have your power suit on...

...and your clack clack clack heels on...

...and you're busy channeling you're inner glenn close from damages...

...and you're also in a hurry to yell at the doorman like he's your personal manservant (and you did)  because the mail you got wasn't even from this building...

...but in america we say good morning to one another when someone says good morning.

it's called civilized. unless of course you're... oops

wait...

answered my own question.

kthanxbai

—the bastard

leg two…

…electric boogaloo

much to the bastard's delight, the connecting flight to Tucson put me at a window seat who's windows I promptly closed.

this added up to a delightful nap until we were up in the air.

however, the bastard's peaceful repast was interrupted by the elbows of a man who reminded me of Robert loggia and john locke's love child.

and his elbowing was the passive aggressive variety.

the only respite being when he would lean in to make out with his nightmare hippy trophy wife.

I mean what the hell?!

who wears thick wool socks with a skirt?!?

WTF!?

WTFF?!?

anyways, I decided to go on walkabout before resuming my cartoons.

I'm sure more elbow fun awaits me' back in my chair.

—the bastard

...and so it begins again

you know,

the bastard never wanted to be the smoking nazi.

but,

when john q. teva sandals and his Acapulco shirt decides to sidle his smoking touristy ass next to mine I gotta move.

you see, the bastard is trying to make his quality of life better by avoiding assholes.

smokers

loud people in stores.

the like.

you see I'm the type of guy who's gonna use his meanness and a new baby to make you feel bad for your asinine behavior.

but I'm gonna seethe first.

and I don't want to.

so I'm avoiding you.

try to avoid me.

love always,

—the bastard

...really?

the bastard's pockets were empty.

took the second avenue bus home.

while waiting a man who smelled of three day old liquor starts up with me.

"what?"

"you know how much that sammich cost?"

while looking over at the sign that clearly states, "five dollar foot long", the bastard looks at him square and declares, "I have no idea".

"well you see, ahm from crown heights"

(so what), "oh?"

"and they won't take mah public assistance here"

"that's messed up guy"

"so what ahm saying is, I'd like some help to buy a sammich"

(this entire dialog would be more plausible if you didn't REEK of alcohol) "sorry guy, I'm tapped"

"lies"

"really? my wallet is fucking empty guy. I had to nick a fiver from my ladyfriend to pay for dinner at the hospital"

and he rolls off to accost the lady in front of me and all the while, I'm thinking, "fuck you jerkpiece, I got nothing".

well that and how much I suspected that he wasn't buying a 5 dollar foot long.

addiction is a disappointing thing.

—the bastard

...on descriptions

...special mine's bigger'n yours edition


"wow, this bathroom is less maintained than a truck stop"

"huh huh huh. yeah"

"nah, this bathroom is maintained like a philips 66 somewhere in northern pennsyvania"

"huh huh huh. yeah"

"yeah, and like you gotta go and get the key from some guy to get in"

"huh huh huh. yeah. and it's just a trough"

"yeah"

"huh huh huh. yeah"

ok guys, shut the hell up with your over describing. i'm trying to take a crap here. shut up. we don't need you to peripherally describe the group grope you were involved in while face down in a trough in a philips 66 station in northern pennsylvania. i'm sure it was a real dark period in your career as a journalism major in north bumblefuck university but, shut up. some of us like a little piece and quiet.

that is all.

—the bastard

...on scorn

hey lady,

why you gotta bump me like that?

didn't your mom raise you with some manners?

poise?

grace?

the bastard is gonna go with no on this.

however, you do have mad ignoring skills.

so much so, that you are missing this sweet photo of you jamming on that mc dlt there.

you're welcome. an excuse me would be nice once in a while.

—the bastard

...on postponing the universe

the bastard had business in the fhills yesterday.

so after waking up at the crack of noon, the bastard set out in his lil blue pill towards the williamsburg bridge.

traffic on grant street.

asshole in an acura decides that the rules don't apply to him.

goes around everyone by heading into the wrong lane.

he's a danger to us all, i think.

underdog by kasabian queues up on the stereo.

tooling along the nonsense i end up next to him and i have to move in.

he doesn't want that.

so the bastard makes it happen. somewhere in my caffeinated chest, predatory behavior ensues.

he goes around the crowd again and i give him the finger.

flashback: a man who owns a restaurant near my office passed some advice along to a friend of mine. he says to him, "give your problems away to the universe".

it's a very hindu phrase.

the bastard like this phrase. it makes it easy to make your problems less stressy. make the rigors of the day less, well, rigorous. makes your problems less...yours.

give your problems away to the universe.

OK flash forward: fuck that noise.

threatened, jerkinatruck makes a right from the left turn lane. he feels caught up in his own road rage. missed his turn.

the bald man in the little car is shaking his fist at me.

he must be a nazi.

but, actually, i'm not. you're just a dick. and a crappy driver to boot.

chase ended, the bastard makes his right, left, right, to get on the willy bee.

and there he is.

and now he's maneuvering to get in front of me for what would appear to be the "sake" of it.

i laugh.

he's ridiculous.

i make my right to the inner lanes.

jerkinatruck makes his right into the outer lanes making a mess of his chase.

he's caught, i'm not.

sailing over the bridge at 80, i stick out my hand and wave at him in the distance as he becomes part of the intenet and i become a scary story he tells at the dinner table later.

bastard: 1

jerkinatruck: 0

i'll give my anger away to the universe tomorrow. petty victories feel too good this time. what can i say, i'm petty.

—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 annoying

on saturday morning, the ny1 did a report in it's "queens news" segment (yes, they have queens news now) on guys from the caribbean who spend a fuck ton of cash tricking out their bicycles with stereo equipment.


the guy in the ny1 report had said something about how he used to ride around the hood with his ipod on listening to his "great music" and then he decided that because this was done in his native trinidad, that it's ok to do it here.

this item must have gained steam because the ny times is covering it.

like it's a good thing. to inflict your special brand of noise on your neighbors.

i knew some people who left southern queens because if it wasn't car stereos, or other people's stereos, or other people's parties that lasted 5 days long, it was some other crap. the bastard doesn't understand how there are so many people in this city, that will never, NEVER, have that a-ha moment that they are inconveniencing others. that there just MIGHT be someone on your block who might want to ida know, take a fucking nap in the afternoon.

maybe just here the fucking birds for 5 minutes.

maybe just hear, ida know, NOTHING for a change. hell i guess some folks have to move out to the sticks. the bastard has put his feelings to bed about noise and he chooses to deal with it in his own way. whether it's earplugs or just simply going downstairs and asking the inconsiderate gangster who pulls his car over to make a phone call because his stereo is too loud rather than just turning the radio down and then getting offended that the bald guy asked you to turn it down so he could go to bed. it just strikes me as disrespectful to your fellow neighbor. you rob them of the choice to hear nothing because you couldn't resist filling the air with something. fucking assholes, i hope richmond hill sinks into the fucking sea.

—the bastard

...on karma

karma: is the concept of "action" or "deed" in Indian religions understood as that which causes the entire cycle of cause and effect (i.e., the cycle called saṃsāra) originating in ancient India and treated in Hindu, Jain, Sikh and Buddhist philosophies.

The philosophical explanation of karma can differ slightly between traditions, but the general concept is basically the same. Through the law of karma, the effects of all deeds actively create past, present, and future experiences, thus making one responsible for one's own life, and the pain and joy it brings to him/her and others. The results or 'fruits' of actions are called karma-phala. In religions that incorporate reincarnation, karma extends through one's present life and all past and future lives as well.

the other day, i think it might have been monday.

yes. monday.

i was waiting for the bus so that i could pick up the bike in brooklyn after work and karaoke john, my neighbor who lived above the restaurant that i have blamed for so much of my anger at times, shuffles over to me.

well really, he's heading over to talk to the regulars who hang out in front of the deli and re-enact hanging out in front of a corner deli from when they were kids but now, they are old and they just look like a bunch of old bald guys smoking in front of a deli.

anyway

karaoke john shuffles over and i say hi because while i am a ball of white hot rage, i also try to be decent to people in the hood who are...you know...decent people. john responds back to me that he won't be my neighbor for much longer.

"rilly, where you goin'?"

"howard beach"

"was it the rent? or the noise?"

"neither. the mayor of the block is selling the place." (quick aside: the mayor of the block is the woman who owns this piece fo fresh hell next door to me and she's in everyone's business, thus, the mayor)

"rilly?"

"you should be sad, the restaurant is closing too. here's your bus"


so with my mouth agape, the bastard gets on the bus and tells john that we have to speak again on this. i was curious because there had been a sign that the restaurant was closed due to kitchen renovations which i found suspect as the place hadn't been open more than 8 years or so.


god damn. 8 fucking years. i just let that wash over me.

8 fucking years.

8 years of uncontrolled noise that was totally random.

8 years of inconsiderate drunken patrons never having the common sense to keep their drunken goodbyes to a minimum of 30 minutes.

8 years of pacing back and forth, not being able to control the ball of rage that that miserable man put in me and scared the shit out of friends and family alike.

8 years.

so much fucking hatred.

i could cry.

i am crying.


i can't believe how much time i wasted on this feeling. it kind of gives one a sense of what charles dickens was talking about when marley spoke he forged the chain that was his life link by link. and it feels heavy. i mean, hell, this was half the reason i started this stupid blog.

i needed to get it out.

i saw the fact that i was slowly self destructing and taking everything with me and i got it out. and i gave it all to you. all of you. and the bastard is a better man for it.

wow, that's a load off.

anyway, where was i?

yes.

the restaurant was closing, i went to brooklyn, rode a motorcycle back to queens and ate thai food with the chairman. the next day, my ladyfriend had bookclub so, i went straight home and, right in front of the drug store was karaoke john talking with one of the mofo's former customers from when he worked at mike's whiskey bar (another story and really, it's HIS story to tell, quite frankly) and so i rolled right up to get the rest of the deets from john.

apparently, danny (the owner and object of my disdain) hadn't paid his rent in 8 months (wow, said i).

apparently, he has pancreatic cancer as well (ouch, said i).

and apparently, he may also have multiple sclerosis (holy fucking CRAP, said i). and i really DID think these things in the parenthesis. also the kitchen renovations sign was widely believed to be a ploy to not show up as his kitchen was practically new anyway. it is rumored among the deli hanger on-ers that he's trying to sell everything in the place which now makes me wonder how long before there is a fire in the building to get the insurance money as well.

hrm.

this makes the bastard wonder if it's indeed time to move his belongings right the hell out of his apartment. stupid brain. be less paranoid.

but i digress, what i actually said out loud to karaoke john was how incredible this was on it's sheer scale and how somone who believed in such bullshit as feng shui, didn't believe in the concept of karma as well. and it got the bastard to thinking about his own karma and how, now that this cup has passed him, it is time to make his own amends to the cosmos. how, he needs to be less angry.

and don't get me wrong, i've gotten better. hell, i've been a new man for a little while now. it didn't stop me from asking a man on the train this morning if he could POSSIBLY step on my foot more than he already had already. but hey, i'm trying.

—the bastard

incident on the goethals bridge

the bastard gets lost everytime he goes to new jersey.

it's like a black hole sometimes.

so even with a gps, sometimes the bastard needs to follow someone.

mostly because leads the bastard into ass backwards routes that waste my time in that state.

so i followed my ladyfriend's dad to the jersey turnpike.

only i somehow lost consciousness and we were about to get onto the goethals bridge.

so i made an illegal u-turn. which wasn't the brightest move. now this had us sitting with alot of traffic bearing down on us and this really nice lady in a chrysler let us in. and it pissed off alot of people.

particularly some mid life crisis having asshole who yelled "asshole" at me from his red convertible mustang as he floored it afterwards heading towards south jersey (yeah i know) and while he was right (he sure did tell me), he's still an asshole.

so thanks so much nice lady in the chrysler. you made our day. and fuck you mid life crisis in the mustang, regardless of what you drive, you are still a douchebag. and i am still a bastard and that's what really counts, isn't it?

—the bastard

...on special comments

look,

i don't wanna start anymore trouble with anyone but,

the bastard has been drinking.

and that's a good thing considering how annoyed i was this afternoon.

but, i'm getting settled at my ladyfriend's house and she's getting her project runway on (which is the bastard's cue to get his blog on.


but there was this commercial for countdown with keith olberman (because msnbc and bravo are part of the same company) and for someone who's making a big stink about not wanting to cover the republican national convention (to be fair, he's fearing for his safety), he's all chock full of slander and bullshit. and it kind of rubbed me wrong.

i have to say in my short sighted beer soaked state that, i find him mean spirited and a bit of a dick. not that i'm not but he sure is. all smug and wrecking the bastard's buzz. muthafucka! why you gotta wreck mah drunk wif alla yo bullshit up in mah grill. not hating, just saying.

no.

wait.

i'm totally hating and i'm totally saying.

and while the bastard is saying, he's saying that southhampton double white is a bloody fantastic domestic brew to drink. and you know how the bastard knows it's domestic? because it's the cheapest, best thing i've ever bought at under the volcano which is now your favorite bar EVER. right now. you love it. i hate you. jerks.

—the bastard

...on petty fiefdoms

so there's this woman that works in the office.

and the bastard uses this term loosely because all i see her do is walk around these days and tell the bastard where he can and can't eat his lunch.

it's like this. after we got sold to a bunch of swedish people, they turned us over to the fucking hayseeds that they bought first. mind you they run their branch of our fair business from the second floor of a strip mall which ALWAYS strikes the bastard as good business sense.

anyway, they decided right from the get to redesign the offices which has met with disdainful results, dare i say, morale sucking results. one of these results was the loss of our lunch area. also known as the killing stuff monthly africa wing. but we discovered these conference rooms to eat in. and when one was free, we'd eat in it.

it got to the point that the exec assistant was booking conference rooms for us to guarantee us a place to eat.

now let me interupt by reading your mind: yes i am aware that the bastard can just GO OUT to eat like regular folk. well it's like this young shiteyes, the bastard works with people who like to take an hour out of their day to bullshit with one another over food. this is what you call GOOD FOR MORALE. it helps foster good work relationships. so there it is.

but the old bat caught on to this and put a stop to us booking the room. she sighted very logical reasons and we all collectively didn't disagree and we ceased booking for lunch. and when the room looks empty, we sit down and eat lunch.


well today we looked in, and no one was there. so we sat down and ate lunch. upon finishing, this ancient creature darkens my door and proceeds to give me grief about it. says that

"someone was training a new employee in there."

"you didn't look to see if the room was booked."

"so you people cant eat in any conference rooms, anymore."

and then she left. you know come to think of it, i could have sworn the room we ate lunch in was absolutely TEEMING with activity when we all collectively sat down and proceeded to eat. funny thing was, the bastard spoke with the people who had the room booked (because i can't seem to let sleeping dogs lie). they were done for the day. and then it hit me. i must have done something to piss the old crone off. oh well, i guess tomorrow, we'll have a picnic in our area.

people are petty, and i'm not excluding myself from that phrase. because the bastard is petty. very fucking petty.

—the bastard

...on inconsideration

now the bastard actually has other things to post but, this stands out as my ride back to queens tonight was less than stellar.

i was tired from my evening out with the boy and my ladyfriend and the e train was a little crowded and some guy that crashed into DID make good on that crash and held the door for me which made me feel really bad for threatening to stab him in the neck (the bastard really does HAVE to stop doing that).

but this douchebag took the cake. now the bastard has already gone over the phenomina that is people and their phones and their ringtones but, i had to go back to the well and bring this guy in. nothing says "things to do on the subway" like playing your frikkin phone tones for all of us to hear. thanks dick, we all need to hear a midi version of la cucaracha. dick. more to come later when i feel more able. lots of spam to do and not too much time to do it in.

—the bastard

...go team

special on fucking FIRE edition

first off, brief description: did you ever watch those early eddie murphy routines where he makes fun of white people. it's kind of become the rosetta stone of how black comedians make fun of white people. so with that said:

to the two chuckling gentlemen on the coffee line talking shit about the woman they work with who's boyfriend from queens came to visit and you did your best stallone impression to essentially impersonate queens.

"ayyyyy oh, ayyy oh"

ok dick, it's like this. you sweater wearing shitheel. go die.

do not pass go.

do not collect 200 dollars.

go directly to die.

tonight the bastard is going to get down on his knees and pray (after i get drunk this afternoon of course) that your wife is having an affair behind you back with the pool boy and that your daughter (because a shitheel like you couldn't POSSIBLY produce and male spawn) gets pregnant out of wedlock with a kid from the wrong side of the tracks. you suck at life.

—the bastard

...on jockeying for position

real quick.

before the coffee starts to kick in.

to that rather desheveled looking kid in the cordovan colored members only leather jacket that you no doubt bought at a thrift store for 10 times what and rational person would pay for it (now THAT's irony) who was bobbing and weaving his way up the escalator at lexington and 53rd.

yeah you, the one i collided with midway through.

i don't what your response was as i had headphones on but,

fuck off little man.

quit trying to nudge your way past everyone.

we're all running late and you're no more special than the rest of us.

and you should really do something about that hair. you look like a homeless man. go die.

—the bastard

spoiling

so for a change of pace, my commute sucked ass.

it was one of those days where i guess one late train makes for a full ass platform.

which makes for a crowded train.

which makes for a lot of inconsiderate behavior infringing on your morning.

the bastard wasn't going to get into the asshole who used me as a piece of furniture until i tugged his chinese language newspaper. but while looking for links to posts where i complain about the subway (which number in the thousands apparently), i came across a picture of this dick. i even wrote haiku about him.

where there you go.

so i nice he did it twice. kind of takes the wind out of the sails of the post but in a nutshell, all of you on the r train and the 6 train this morning suck at life. now lets be fair, only the commute from 8:30-9:20. and the front car of the r. back car of the 6. the rest of you may suck at life but i wasn't talking about you. try to keep up.

—the bastard

...on cocksuckery

a week or two ago, left hand rob wrote about the noise problem in our work area. and we've both kind of commented about the issues surrounding our work area.

but there is this guy who walks around with a headset on who can call locutus. now when we're at all above an audible volume, locutus shuts his office door but, the bastard assumes that locutus is not aware of his own annoying sounds because he justs walks around with his nasally wine all the fucking live long like his shit don't stink. it's kind of annoying in an us versus them kind of way.

haves and have nots.

shit like that.

generally, i tend to ignore it but today an unnamed editorial staffer who has just recently discovered the internet came over to discuss the latest "uniques" on the web site or some crap.

people learn new words and it's just like a toddler who learned how to say, "poop".

"poop"

"poop"

"poop"

"poop"

you hear it every day. for weeks upon end until they learn "light", or "kobe beef".

"kobe beef"

"kobe beef"

"kobe beef"

"kobe beef"

you get the point. anyway with locutus and staffer having their open air love in about the internet. it makes my head hurt. so it's ipod+loud equals small oasis from jackassery.

so i'm tapping my foot.

"is that sound you tapping your foot?"

"yes."

"oh i was wondering what that was." and staffer turns away.

"unique. kobe beef."

"unique. kobe beef."

"unique. kobe beef."

"unique. kobe beef."

can't wait to move into the new space. oh has the basatrd told you. selling bullets 7 times a year is moving down the hall. yes, it has gotten to a point that the irritation has brought us to leave our good good friends at killing stuff monthly so that we can make a fucking magazine in peace.

—the bastard

...the bastard has seen his future

it's early.

well not THAT early.

i mean it's almost lunch time in new york but, it's early here.

anyways, the rudest thing happened to the bastard in the coffee shop.

well not really really rude but, pretty much the rudest thing that has happened to me since the boy moved to tucson.

old man.

looks like a hobo (the boy prefers to call them hobos instead of homeless. the bastard prefers no shoulders small tooth jones or old barb stab you quick), probably wasn't but he sure was disheveled.

anyway, he's getting his coffee, and after he gets, i go around him but apparently, the bastard didn't cut old ahab a wide enought birth. mostly because, he, rather than turn to his right and go on his way, turned directly around got all up ons and said "excuse me" in his gruffest tone, to which i responded, "relax tiger".

the barrista flummoxed just smiled and took my order. every always smiles in dining establishments in this town. that's why i keep getting my coffe at this place when i'm out here. also, it's the only coffee shop the bastard can find other than the it's a grind on oracle and while the coffee there is ok, i can't help feelign like the opening credits of weeds when i walk into the place.

but then i thought about it, is this my future?

chubby little fat man?



brushing up against people and trying my best to make them feel like assholes?

i hope not.

it's totally going to ruin my golden years if i become a hobo and i don't think my ladyfriend wants to grow old with me in a refrigerator box.

—the bastard

...on amateurs

so this crane collapsed over the weekend uptown and this prompted the bastard to take
local streets to my ladyfriend's place instead of the fdr drive. and travelling uptown, on 3rd avenue, he was reminded of two things.

firstly, that he is part irish.

and secondly, he can't stand saint patrick's day.

especially when it falls near a weekend.

why?

well i'll tell you shiteyes. because every stupid, fratboy/sorority girl jackass sees it as a chance to get drunk and clog up the frikkin street with his/her drunken wearing green, drinking green budweiser, acting like asshole shenanigans. there's nothing that sets a better example to folks than running around like jackasses and puking all over the place. thanks to our best and brightest who will no doubt start working on a hedge fund that everyone else in their frat is working on (because qualifications mean SHIT in the face of fraternal nepotism) and command a better salary than actual normal humans. you suck at life.

—the bastard