...on the right tools

"so at the gun writers seminar last week, there was a bunch of young guys there because they were introducing some new tactical guns," says the editor. (tactical guns is a euphemism for scary looking guns)

"oh?"

"and all of the old guys were sitting in the back listening in,"

"ok?"

"and while the gun guy was citing the uses of their new tactical line (ie varmints, deer hunting, ummmmm tactical things), the younger gun writers started high lighting their uses against zombies."

"really?"

"yeah, the old guys started grumbling in the back. they didn't fun it funny at all."

"that's hilarious. do you suppose the older gun writers were pissed?"

"about?"

"well you see the young guys now know how to kill them."

—the bastard

life's a beach...

...then you get a flat tire

so the bastard spent his saturday with his ladyfriend at long beach...unwinding. well it was intended to be unwinding. and the notion of taking our little fold up bikes was a capital idea. until on the fourth pass, my tired started to go flat.

well let me back up. i also seem to have the uncanny luck of parking as far away as possible most of the time, not intentionally but, it always seems to end up that way.


so i had to truck back to my car. well, first i had to find it. then give my ladyfriend back her bike and truck back to the car, where we got our beach stuff. and this worked out for us for most of the rest of the day until these characters showed up. the bastard took one look at these three clowns and their covertly/notso covertly covered 30 pack of budweiser and three cups from 7 lebben. my ladyfriend told me not to worry about it. one hour later after returning from the bathroom, my ladyfriend was in agreement with my earlier desire to skip out. "it wouldn't be so bad if they didn't start and finish every sentence with "pussy", she told me. then we were off. it seemed like we were escaping an episode of douchebag beach at just the right time.

nice and smooth

—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 the longest wait ever

the bastard loves his neighborhood.

he really does.

but while he does.

he sometimes sees it's inherent flaws.

there is a blogger i go to on a regular basis. and sometimes i take his suggestions.

and sometimes i wish i didn't like tonight.


the chairman and i went to the bonfire grill on austin street once and it was one of the best burgers i've had for a great while.

the chairman and i went back a few weeks later and the burger was still good but the service was fucking abominable and we decided to not go back until they work out the kinks.

we went back again tonight and once again, the burger was fantastic, dare i say, better than the first time.

but,

there was no reason for us to wait over an hour for the burger. not even for a burger that could change the world. and this is the problem with the hood.

you see, forest hills is in a state of becoming...potentially.

and nice restaurants have moved in because, they want manhattan style eateries.

but they don't give manhattan style service. the bastard has spoken about this with regard to a certain overly praised pizza place on ascan avenue which shall remain nameless and it's plain and simple.

you have to step up.

look, we gave the waiter a proper tip when all was said and done (even thought he was astonished and told his coworker so as the chairman walked right past him as he was flummoxed by the fact that these two guys actually tipped him. by the by john our waiter, bad move dick), it wasn't his fault. tonight it was the kitchen.

it's a hamburger. you're not saving lives. well maybe you could have but i nearly expired on the chair waiting for it. the bastard won't be going back for a while. it's a shame, it's a good burger.

—the bastard

things the bastard overheard at an off broadway show

"oh mah god?"

"what?"

"dear god, please don't make me have to pee during the show?"

"oh my god?"

"what?"

"the second act like totally sucked?"

don't say that to brooke (the playwright) when you meet her?"

the bastard saw a little play called hunting and gathering with his ladyfriend last night and it was very promising. although since, we're obviously in the same age group as the author, and i've dealt with a playwright or two in my time, i can't help feeling that every quirky romantic comedy i see on a small stage is a future indy film in the making. maybe the bastard thinks cinematically because he watched too many movies (i'm still waiting for get carter, the musical), or maybe he just sees the ambition in the playwrights work. or maybe it's because the playwright i used to do design for always wanted to make a movie about her plays which were about her drug habits in the 80's but, always seemed rushed when written out.

don't get me wrong, hunting and gathering is quite good. the bastard had a good laugh. and the bastard got some insite but, sometimes, it was a little clunky. i know clunky probably isn'ty a reviewer term but then again the bastard doesn't review plays, so go to hell. anyway. it was good enough to develop into a film and brooke.

don't be fooled.

they totally didn't like the second act.

—the bastard

PS: there's this part in the play where the main character is housesitting in astoria. and more than one of the characters is creeped out by the notion of queens AND is put off by the notion that people from queens feel that queens is a "real" neighborhood because we have greek bakeries or somesuch. the bastard has said it before and he'll say it again, you TRANSPLANTS need to get off of the outer boroughs' dick (see staten island, i'm sticking up for you too albeit begrudgingly). now i'm not directing this at the playwright due to the fact that she's logged 20 years on this rock but, manhattan is only a shining crystal palace because you came from crapper out in the plains states and because carrie anne moss told you that all things taste better with manolo blahniks on your feet. manhattan is just a rock like any other rock, and brooklyn is not it's ugly step sister. eat it.