…needs to be done

the bastard is on a budget.

so he's been in the bidness of brown bagging it.

so when he ran out of foodstuff, he decided to rock it at carl's.

don't get me wrong. I like to not spend money but when I do,

the bastard likes himself a cheesesteak.

and sometimes it needs to be done

—the bastard

off mission…

parenting is one of life's great equalizers

it is also one of life's great ironies.

you're always told that you're going to grow up to be just like your mother or your father.

and the bastard doesn't know which one he falls more in line with.

because neither of his parents grew up to sit alone in the dark while drinking whiskey and watching anime and complaining to the Internet about the whole lot of it.

my brother would tell me I'm more like my mother because I'm more of a reactionary.

more full of gesture and loud talk over others.

more in you business…because…well I'm in your business.

make your peace with it. the bastard has.

but I was thinking how my own kids will turn out for starters.

you see, the little girl has become an early riser.

a demander of things.

this doesn't sit well with my late night whiskey drinking and truth to tell is the young lady has to start sleeping in more often or shit's gonna go badly

mostly for me.

but on Sunday it was raining.

and the wife and I are in the midst of a big move

with big paperwork

and 350 square feet makes for big cases of cabin fever.

so upon her highness' afternoon nap I explain to the wife that I was going for a walk because if I don't shake off my cabin fever, there was going to be fucking murders.

so I set out into the pour.

which let up actually for my hour outside ( I set a time limit to be fair).

and I went in search for lunch.

now when cabin fever sets in, the solution to what ails me is always comfort food.

you see, by and large, the bastard gave up cigarettes and he doesn't use booze as a crutch.

he uses it as a tasty beverage instead.

so he relies on comfort food to take the blues away.

or the blahs.

or the "I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU ALLs"

so headed to dukes and without a menu I got me blackened chicken sandwich and a dukearita.

because that's what the bastard finds comfortable.

my time on this rock is growing short and I know I can come back any time to enjoy these things

but it won't be the same for me as I can't just roll out of bed in the middle of the night and get a banh mi sammich ( unless of course I find a place that has) from my local spot.

so I'd like to spend this remaining time enjoying these simple things I like about the rock I live on.

clocks a tickin' shiteyes, make the most of your time.

—the bastard

one night in brooklyn makes the hard man crumble

…special some pig edition




last night, the bastard was the chairman's guest for a feast that brings me to end of an era.

that era being the second era of the bastard's single life.

and for dinner, we killed a pig.





through the good graces of the mofo's friend who smokes meats in the regular at a fantastic place called fatty cue, we dined on a fine pig served with pineapple curry and steamed rolls.

and in the detrius of this beast's ending, the bastard sees the beginning of his new life.

life always comes from death.

and all endings are someone elses beginnings

and

all beginnings are someone elses end.

and that's how it works.

pröst mein freund. pröst.

—the bastard

deep fried gladness

so our hosts felt a real taste of the deep south was in order last night.

this came in the form of airboat gator rides and deep fried alligator tail.

it was a good night.

the takeaway for the bastard is this.

I spent the last two and a half days feeling like the dumbest guy in the room and then in the next moment like a goddam genius.

and above all else, it gave me a renewed sense of purpose.

wasn't a waste of my time at all.

now if only this shifty eyed character in front of me just turned out to be my imagination, all would be right with the world.

happy landings jerkface!

—the bastard

...on teh sads

the bastard is very sad.

somewhere in des moines, iowa,

a lot of people had a alot of bacon.

and the bastard did not.

that is very much with teh sads.

—the bastard

...on setbacks

well the bastard had a plan.

and it was good.

it's just not going to happen right now

and the bastard was bummed.

so i spoke with someone important about it and he said the idea still had legs but it's not right now in the money department.


so we're gonna do it anyway.

just with less money involved.

because any dumb thing your gonna do, your gonna do because you want to do it.

not because you want to make money at it.

although making money is good.

but doing it for the love makes it more worth it.

—the bastard

...border

so, three relatives walk out into the night.

the bastard knows that he's drivig them back to the thorough borough tonight.

no matter. the mofo logged a lot of driving time to make tonight possible and we three head off into the night, the bastard hoping like hell that he can find a spot later.

it was a good night for drinking.

for family nonsense.

and for talk about childbirth.

you see the accountant regaled me with tales of childbirth best left unsaid. a mad science drop nonetheless.

over the river and east, we speak of other crap which I cannot recall but at 2am one wonders why one's stomach grumbles.

"do taco bells in new York stay open late?" , the accountant inquires.

"I think so", i reply

"there is one on utopia open late. I used to go there during my days at the torch", the mofo concludes.

so it's a mad dash for the border.

meximelts in the brain for the bastard.

the idea of acid reflex never felt so good.

a junkie approached us while we dined. said he needed money for a cab to the subway.

i tell him that we're tapped knowing full well that the 7 train was a 20 minute walk and a walk might cure his junk sickness. he simply moved on to the next car.

i moved on to my next meximelt.

—the bastard

...on battery acid

you know,

there's nothing like getting a frikkin jump off on humpday.

the bastard is gonna get into the way back machine and drink some duke a ritas.

maybe get dumb. I'm entitled.

there's alot on the horizon for the bastard and he wants to have a drink or five.

and some piggies too.

—the bastard

...on labor

...or lack thereof.


labor day as defined by wikipedia is

The form for the celebration of Labor Day was outlined in the first proposal of the holiday: A street parade to exhibit to the public "the strength and esprit de corps of the trade and labor organizations," followed by a festival for the workers and their families. This became the pattern for Labor Day celebrations. Speeches by prominent men and women were introduced later, as more emphasis was placed upon the economic and civil significance of the holiday. Still later, by a resolution of the American Federation of Labor convention of 1909, the Sunday preceding Labor Day was adopted as Labor Sunday and dedicated to the spiritual and educational aspects of the labor movement.


needless to say, the bastard, is more pleased that this national holiday has evolved into an end of the summer grilled meats-athon. but, this weekend had more labor for myself than usual. but in the good way.

on saturday, i went to my ladyfriend's niece's birthday in wayne (yes, the one in jersey). her niece's grandparents live on a lake. it reminds me of a smaller version of our family's former house so, i like going out there. it reminds me of granma and granpa. even moreso when they lend me a kayak and i go off on my own for a little while.

which i did.

and it was nice.

grilled meats.

open water.

strangely hassle free driving.

on sunday, we went to jersey city (yeah, THAT jersey city) and we dined with some friends and got some spectacular views of the staue of liberty.

good times.

i like labor this day weekend these days. it also means that the cold is coming soon. the bastard'll like that.

—the bastard

...on hunting

...and gathering

at some point in time, red beard talked me into this idea he had.

part of it involved hunting.

so when the hunter safety course was being offered for free in the office. the bastard was all upons.

did the bastard mention it was free?

you see,

it's like this.

i figured out after the prince of sales gave left hand rob and i a big assed bag of frozen caribou steaks (which were pretty goddam good by the way), the bastard thought, hell, knew, that he would have to give back to the karmic till.

so it was to be done.

anyways, two very generous guys showed up and told the bastard all sorts of shit about how to politely ask a guy if you can hunt on his land. and how you can eat muskrat and it's tasty and all but, it'll give you some diarrhea which sort of defeats the purpose of eating muskrat quite frankly.

day two had us meeting in the baby magazines area. when you need a conference for a full day, you can't be a chooser. it did make for good times when we did firearms safety training with inert firearms that were still nonetheless...firearms.
the bastard is sure that it made for interesting lunchtime talk for the baby mag people.

long story long, i passed the course. hunting licenses get issued in october.

—the bastard

...on boon

last night, the crew and I had dinner with the hair that conquered europe.

I owe him for all I know about wine.

and quickwittedness.

it's nice to go back in time and look at coins that were spent during the times of William the conquerer and Constantine and drink chateuneuf du pape.

makes a man feel classy. makes a bastard want to build a goddam wine cellar.

for the love of god montressor. for the love of god.

—the bastard

tuesday tragic...

tuesday magic.

this delightful creature cut the line.

now, yours to ogle.

the bastard hopes that the gender reassignment surgery goes well for...ummm...her?

—the bastard

what fresh hell... pt4

the bastard is back at his desk now.

i got in last night on time.

i got home on time.

but it goes like this,

if mos eisley spaceport is a place where you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy then,

at the atlanta airport, you will never find a more wretched hive of hipsters in converse all stars and ironic hoodies.


i mean for fuck's sake, everyone was decked out in the uniform. some were even rocking their brooklyn hats. it's a little over the top for the bastard. i culd go on about the guy with the high hair who was discussing his bands photoshoot ad nauseum, or the guy who looked totally indignant because some poor black woman had gotten between he and his woman and called her rude and declared everyone in new york rude (by the way, fuck you buddy) but i won't. the bastard has a meeting and he isn't looking forward to it.

as a side note, i almost dies in a cab last night. 3 connected flights and i almost get killed by a cabby who doesn't know how to get onto the van wyck expressway and talk on the phone at the same time. welcome home to me.

—the bastard

what fresh hell... pt3

so the bastard has made it all the way to hotlanta.

I'm feeling the effects by now.

world weary traveler.

depressed, divorced father.

unbelievable bastard.

the bastard sits in a TGIFridays (yes TGIFridays; you wanna go to hell with that noise, dick!) and he's drinking a beer.

waiting for a burger.

hoping that the coming storm is one I can weather. fuck, I hate storms.

as much as I hate the apartment I'm going home to, I can't wait to put my head down.

-the bastard

...on the palm

you know sometimes you just have to go out for lunch.

not to the corner deli.

out for lunch.

sit down and have something nice.

and maybe a drink. like it's an episode of mad men.

this was chicago jerkface's idea, let's go to this place i had dinner at one night and get lunch.

solid plan.

solid lunch.

and the bastard got to try a new brand. sometimes you go by word of mouth when you wanna try something new. this time, the bastard went with something he's seen alot of print ads for.

and i have to tell you, this brew made the uncomfortable ride in the elevator worth the trip.

so did the hamburger served with a fried egg on top. deelish.

—the bastard

sometimes you get the doughnut...

...and sometimes the doughnut gets you


a while back , the bastard had something to say about the posh food magazine that is part of our company these days.

they seemed a little smugger than what i was used to.

and they kept to themselves but, the bastard takes it all back.

you see, the bastard was walking past the kitchen and he saw a box that looked suspiciously full of doughnuts.

and with my suspicions confirmed, i got some.

and it was delicious.

so i take it all back.

just for today.

—the bastard

what rough beast...

what rough beast slouches up third avenue to block traffic on my sundays once more? to clog the streets with overpriced sausage and peppers and gyros?

yes it's the secret street fair that makes parking on the weekends.

now the bastard knows that the summer is on it's way.

—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

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

...on monday magic

the bastard isn't so much into the free advertising but, once in a while, he has to give some out. share the love so to speak.

what the hell am i saying?

share the love?
scratch that.

ok, it's like this. last week, jiffy pop, assistant photo editor of killing stuff monthly and son of the fine fine city of nawlins told us that his favorite taste of home was closing it's doors forever and he wanted us to get a piece of fried chicken and fried green tomatoes before jacques-imo's closes it's doors forever thus making convenient and tasty cajun goodness is lost to mister and missus jiffy pop forever. or until someone else has the bright idea to open up a cajun/creole eatery in the upper west side.

so, we went.

had some drinks.

had some fried goodness.

and left hand rob might go back on wednesday to do it all over again. good thing the bastard has cajun eateries in his neck of the woods.

—the bastard