the horror...the...hor..ror

there are some things that the bastard can never wash out of his brain.

and now you cannot wash it out of your brain as well.

some call him heavenly in his brilliance. others mean and ruthful of the western dream. i love the friends i have gathered together on this thin raft. we have constructed pyramids in honor of our escaping. this is the land where the pharaoh died.

your welcome.

—the bastard

there is a place in our fair city...

…where the bastard found himself a frikkin elk burger



yeah

that's right bitches!

while walking to dukes the other night the bastard came across an awning he had never seen which promised three things the bastard loves that aren't whiskey

burgers

shakes

beer

so he said to himself, "self, we will eat lunch there right fucking soon".

so in his sooner than expected fashion, the bastard came home too drunk to make lunch.

such is the style of drinking with the old hood.

so next day there he was reeding up a bacon cheeseburger with onion rings.

and then he heard the magical words

"what kind of meat do you want?"

"what?!?"

"what kind of meat do you want guy?"

overtaken by options of this magnitude was almost too much for my dukearita riddled head to handle

"whatcha got", hoping to hell human wasn't an option as I might have taken it

"beef, bison, lamb, ostrichch, turkey, elk…"

"that one"

"what?"

"that one. and a black and white shake", cause if you don't go big, go the hell home.


and it was glorious.

elk is a magical meat that doesn't taste like chicken.

it tastes like elk.

it's kind of like beef…

but not like beef…

and better.

it's the bastard's favoritest of all the meats.

that and caribou.

go out and get some. now. not later.

—the bastard

…on travesties

OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD!

WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!?

—the bastard

…on faith

flashback: it's pissing out and the bastard is happy to arrive at the office.

not dry but, not soaked so it's ok.

I get in the elevator and a woman says to me in a big voice, "isn't it a great day? isn't it just glorious outside?"

"it sure is something out"

another gets in and she pipes up again, "isn't it a great day? isn't it just glorious outside?"

"yeah…great"

and we ride up the elevator and when it stops on her floor this big voiced woman whispers, "thank you Jesus" and steps out.

the bastard feels sheepish mocking her earlier words because to a woman of faith, every day is glorious.

flash forward: today was not a good day.

shit is bringing me down professionally and personally

and on top of that, baby's first plane trip is this morning.

the bastard had to pick up some 11th hour stuff for the baby for the trip.

on a whim I got onto twitter to see if the waffle truck is near union square. and fortune finally smiled upon me in her fashion.

I wanted a pick me up and I know like alcohol, food is never to be used as a crutch

but, fuck you.

my day has been wave after wave of negativity which bookended a really pleasant conversation about gundam I had before going once more into the breach.

so i got a waffle and I think it dam near saved my life tonight.

and that's about as much faith as I can muster these days.

—the bastard

pebble…

photo by Yuko_t

the bastard woke up this morning to news of the quake and subsequent tsunami I. japan and I was of course concerned.

I made sure to check in with the people I know who are there and the people in my life who have family there and fortunately they are all right ( however, I'm still waiting on my friend in osaka) and that was a relief.

but what struck me was the tsunami.

the meteorological map of the sheer enormity of a wave that covers a hemisphere…

that hit japan with 13 foot waves last night…

that hit Hawaii with 6 foot waves at 11am…

that hit San Francisco at 11:15 am…

and traveled until there was nowhere else left to go.

it was like the analogy of dropping a pebble in a pool and watching the ripples travel until they lose momentum.

except it's more like a jove's fist and the appropriate end result.

it is both amazing and horrifying at once.

I thought about this conversation I had with a friend or relative,

I don't recall as I may have been tired or drunk or both.

but there is a large chunk of the canary islands that sticks out in the ocean like a great cantilever that if it dropped into the ocean.

not if, but when actually.

if it dropped in, it would send 8 foot waves straight to new york.

and it shook me to the core for a moment.

—the bastard

unified theory…

11:16 pm
bastard: your unified theory of martinis is correct. two is enough to constitute trubble.

bastard: three is nigh disastrous

11:33 pm
mofo: But the cuban. The cuban!

bastard: the Cuban was impressive. but I am drunk and watching mi-5

12:01 am
mofo: I deconstructed eggplant parm and made tabboulleh tonight for nat and i. Martini and wine followed. No mi-5.

bastard: make no mistake. mi-5 had everything to do with martinis and tabbouleh. eggplant was bertuslicuni's fault entirely

bastard: what have aye Dunn to deserve this flat and flavorless manhattan?

12:23 am
mofo: You find gOod tabouleh in manhattan the eggplant parm is a tw original. Its going to be 23 degrees here tonight so chin up.


3:47 am
bastard: chin up indeed. I've been tits up on my couch since before your last text. nai nai

—the bastard

on saturdays…

…shit is local yo!



oh MTA,

why you gotta suck so very much?

weekend service is always a dicey proposition

but, the bastard knows for shit sure that the garage is gonna be buried.

today might be the day when the bastard has his heart attack.

fml

—the bastard

ghost circles…

so it's gonna be a rough landing you see.

flying into a rain storm in the dirty souf isn't the bastard's idea of a grand evening out.

but here we are bouncing round Atlanta.

doing ghost circles in the rain.

one doesn't really entertain the notion of it all going south but I know that if it did…

then I did alright this time around on this rock.

happy fucking landings shiteyes.

—the bastard

…on the beast

so the bastard has come into some robots.

this is through an ongoing job I'm doing for the builder.

which reminds him, I have to learn more about web.

I've never been much of a reader. I've been more of a doer. it's a terrible personal failing I know so I may very well just get a damn book anyway.

but I digress.

I came across these models from the builder and he threw in the latest model as a bonus. it's called real grade.

it's 1/144 sized, which makes it approximately 6 inches tall at completion but it has more parts than most 12 inch master grades.

it is supposed to be representative of a realistic robot in the gundam ethos but I think it was essentially designed my a crew of sadists over at whatever company designs gundam models.

sadists! no one with hands like mine needs to be building something so small and so intricate.

three hours across two evenings to build two feet and part of a leg.

8 more to finish both legs and the torso.

alternating plates of white and off white for added realism.

it's awful.

but it's fun.

and so I'm a masochist.

oh well,

sure beats a sharp stick in the eye.

—the bastard

...on epidemics

it started out like this.

my ladyfriend was out for a solo mission with the bebe.

and for the life of her, she couldn't get anyone to hold open, let alone open a door for her and the fucking Cadillac of bebe carriages.

then finally some woman opened a door for her with her sleeve.

now you may have read about the h1n1 virus and the bastard understands that it can't hurt to play it safe but, there is such a thing as playing it too safe.

people walk the streets with surgical masks on.

wait.

no.

dust masks.

thus is a pic from the elevator bank on the bastard's floor.

really?

really?!?

I think too many people have read "the stand".

it would figure though if this virus got all out of hand.

ummmm, i gotta go wash my hands now.

—the bastard

...on the recession

you know,

the bastard had no idea that the economy had gotten so bad that the almighty needed a second revenue stream.

—the bastard

the bastard was waiting for this

you know,

it ain't a trip through the heart of this nation,

without some chick tracts.

I have two new ones for you lobster

—the bastard

...on the downside of art direction

as a new art director,

not that the bastard is NEW at this.

i'm just new at this magazine.

well,

not that i'm NEW at this magazine. i started in this particular branch of the journalistic lexicon seven years ago.

anyway, the downside to being a new art director is expectations.

expectations of good service. and the primary means of showing good service is,

staying late.

now the bastard doesn't always stay late because he wants to just hang around and drink whiskey, he's been working on employee evaluations so that he can put off getting his taxes done but now i have no excuses but to get that done.

but the other noticeable downside is the fact that i haven't seen the sun go down since this photo i took on the way out of the office on monday. and before that, i can't even remember when i last saw a sunset.

might have been on the weekend once upon a time.

or perhaps it was in a dream. all i know is, if i don't get some sunlight soon, i'm going to get a unrinary tract infection or some crap. maybe the gout. or the grippe.

can somebody spin the whell of old timey diseases to see what the bastard will get please?

yeah, i invented the wheel of old timey diseases. you gotta problem with that? good. you have the clap.

—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

the bastard will tell you this...

i have come to a foregone conclusion,

that even if we were running this magazine from the aleutian islands,

from january until march,

the bastard would still be totally sweaty when he gets to work.

i don't know what the hell it is with my internal barometer. it's like 38 degrees outside and my bosy thinks that it's august.

and here we are again.

looking for a dry shirt on the day of the most important meeting meeting of my career at the moment.

dammit!.

—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 working from home

so after a morning of working from home and working en route to it, the boy and i went to the park to ride our bikes.

let me back up. the bastard and his ladyfriend had been discussing how i wanted to start riding bikes again and coincidentally, so did she.

so we decided to buy something that would better fit into my tiny automobile. yeah, yeah, the bastard has gone on ad nauseum about how he feels about bicyclists and their entitlement issues and inability to simply obey traffic laws but, i bought a helmet. i bought a bike that has, get this, BRAKES. i stop at, get this, STOP SIGNS. but i digress, the boy and i went bicycling.

and it was prety good. it's true what they say about riding a bike. we went around for a bit and i decided to call it quits at the park when the bastard saw that what appeared to be a drug deal was about to go down. you see, the bastard wants his son to have a childhood.


SPECIAL BONUS BATTER: suburbia strikes again, kids. after the park, the boy and i went to get me a bike helmet, you know, because the bastard has already experienced WHY one should wear a helmet. we also stopped for lunch at the mall (cuz that's where the damn sporting goods shop is, dummy) and i saw what can only describe as, retarded tattoo number 356; also known as the life affirming, but poorly placed tattoo. you see, the bastard has friends that have ink. and they didn't do it half assed.

no.

they use their whole ass.

the funny thing is, this girls tattoo says carpe diem on her foot. i wonder if she always seizes the day by the foot. oh suburbia, why do you give the bastard so much to work with. maybe she can get a rose or a butterfly tattooed on her ankle too. or maybe a tramp stamp. the bastard is kind of glad he had a son instead.

—the bastard

god is in the details

the chairman took yesterday off.

it didn't work out for him.

by the time the bastard got home from jury duty, he was miserable.

the solution was a trip to pf changs. and a walk around the mall.

yeah, it's not really chinese food bu, it tastes ok.

afterwards we saw these two walk into a shoe store and her t-shirt was gold.

you know, it isn't everyday that you see someone from the u.s. rib eating team in a shopping mall. the chairman laughed hard and all was well again. then he bought grand theft auto 4 for xbox. but i had told him that it's sights like this that makes me believe in god. that he would put something so hysterical in our path. enjoy your saturdays jerks.

—the bastard

...on getting pinched

well, the bastard has put it off for 6 months.

and i started making the obligatory phone calls.

but the county of craptastic queens has me in their clutches.

i have jury duty.

and i have to go lest i do time in the pokey for criminal contempt.

the crying shame is, i started shipping the magazine next week so, this shit has to end fast.

so it's like this.

i'm going to court tomorrow. and if something good happens, i'l put it on the bastard feed.

if not,

i'll do nothing,

and you folks can go suck eggs. deal?

—the bastard

...on the fall of the house of usher 6

...special wedding edition

the the one of the chairman's sister got married this weekend.

and we all went but we decided to go hunting as well.

the chair had told me that his mother's side of the family do their best to keep their very important guido roots held up on high.

and yesterday was no slouch, for the bastard spotted his prey before the ceremony even started.

QUICK SIDEBAR: one of the editors of killing stuff monthly had gone caribou hunting in alaska and had to be flown in by bush plane and he had remarked that as he flew over the valley, there were hundreds of caribou just hanging out in the valley in plain sight. the thought here was that one could really get jazzed because you knew that a kill would be inevitable.

and this was how the bastard felt as he was about to spend several hours near his target. i was so jazzed. the chairman was jazzed. hell, even the mofo(r.i.p.) was jazzed. fish in a barrel, it was.

this character was majestic. his formal wear decks complemented his awful matlock suit quite innappropriately.

but the chairman's family could not take credit for this for their only enyertainment value of the day was when my ladyfriend pointed out this large headed gentleman who had struggled to take his suit jacket off for close to 10 minutes after the ceremony. coincidentally, the chairman had pointed out his date's drunkeness to me later as i pointed out how she looked like she was wearing a red silk garbage bag as a dress.

but none could take the day away from our guido matlock. our hates were off to him as well as his date who either dressed him or had self control enough to not ask him, "are you sure you want to go out looking like that?" good for them. good for their bad taste. and most of all ,good for my disdain.

—the bastard