this just in…

you should be watching breakout kings.

it ain't smart.

but it's good times.

—the bastard

you ain't a woofin

oh

my

GOD!!

something stinks in the kitchen.

so something tell the bastard that the folks at mystery science magazine needs to do their dishes.

oof.

-the bastard

...on the view

...and not that god awful show with joy behar and whoopi


last tuesday


last night


tonight

things are a changing round here.

i mean the office, not the fucking election. i just wanted to get a few more pix of the view before it all changes on the bastard again.

—the bastard

my ears, MY EARS!!!!!

hey lady from the baby magazine people...

1: pay attention to where you are swinging that bag. you would be totally indignant if the same thing happened to you. it's an office, not a fucking roller derby arena.

2: stop yelling on your phone in the elevator.

3: why are you so goddam intense about buying your kid a tennis racket?

4: shut up!

5: go directly to hell.

thank you for playing. it's too bloody early for this. i know it isn't really, but it is.

—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 a whiff of smoke

i think someone is smoking in the men's room here.

or someone smokes so much that when he enters the men's room, he smells like smoking in the men's room.

if it's the latter, then that's a lot of smoking.

—the bastard

you know...

have you ever had one of those days where you wonder why the hell you're sitting at your desk?

yeah, me too.

i mean the staff isn't here. i've assigned all of my work for the moment.

illos for two features.

photos are taken care of.

i just can't get out of the chair of my own power now.

i gotta get outta here.

—the bastard

...on housing

well, it took a little work.

and it took some patient people who have put up with the bastard's complaints.

and it also took three guys who assembled all the crap in this space but,

the bastard is back in a cube.

and he feels like an art director again.

this is my view.

—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

...on sucking it in

a good nights's sleep has all sorts of stupid side effects on one.

you're more on point.

dodges this jerk.

dodge that jerk.

nice shoes.

holy CRAP! that is a sweet looking motorcycle. i have GOT to get me one of those. he's so tall, he looks like he's riding some kind of motor powered kids bike.

anyway, you jerks get the point.

get in the building and the elevator opens up magically for the bastard.

it's nice to have magical powers.

you should get some.

anyway, some character gets on with the rest of the rubes. and he's in the doorway, and not getting off on my floor so , you know how this is supposed to end.

anyway, his headphones give away that he is listening to some kind of rap music that sounds like jah rule or busta rhymes and the bastard thinks to himself, "white people sure do know how to keep has been hip hop artists in business". hell, i do my part every time in listen to
"it takes a nation of millions to hold us back". i'm sure flavor flav loves it when he can fill his crack pipe with residuals.

but i digress. , it's my floor and fat boy is in the way so he sucks it in. which is a half assed way of getting out of the way of people. god forbid, you step aside. i mean hell, the elevator might leave without you. and as i scrape past his gut, i turn to him and say, "you ain't that skinny pal", and i'm off to the office. he said something in response but who cares what he said, he had a green ipod mini with matching green earbuds abd according to borat, ipod mini is for girls so who cares what he say. not that the bastard really cares what a fictional asshole says about pop culture but, it seemed to fit at the time, so go to hell.

—the bastard

things the bastard has done in the past 24 hours

almost stabbed at least 3 people at 59th street for fucking up my shit.

but i didn't.

too bad.

wish i did.

then again maybe not.

i heard the food in the joint is notsomuch with the good.

dropped my bag on an old asian woman on the r train who probably should have thought better about the idea of sitting next to me

oh yeah, have i mentioned the part where i haven't slept much?

i read several chapters of the comic book adaptation of i am legend and found that instead of a wise cracking black man, the hero is a whiny drinkey blond guy who would rather bitch about how he had to close the damn peep hole in his house because he can't stand to see naked hot vampire chicks. dude, your wife is dead, i'm sure she wouldn't mind if you masterbate once in a while instead of getting pissed off and drunk because all the women left on earth are the living dead. jeez

also, least proactive vampires....EVER!

oh yeah, jimmy 3000 started writing shit again. my ass has been laughed off.

and i've spent more time here in this office than i would have liked to in the last 24-48. hell.....month.

oh yeah, day one is out. 3 more issues to go. then the bastard packs. then burns vegas to the ground. always leave things the way you found them.

—the bastard

...on office space

so the bastard is only going to do this one more time. who the hell am i kidding? i'm going to do this every time i get pissed off at my office situation

every time.

ad nauseam.

til i get sick of it.

and then i'll move the fuck on and complain about something else. don't like it? you know where to go shiteyes.

so needless to say it is like the old indian in hanta yo. an old man , or rather, a tribal elder tells our hero that he is done with this world. he is going up to the mountain to die and spend eternity with the great spirit. our hero tells him, he is not going to die and lo and behold, this old man goes up on top of the mountain and dies. he dies because he wills it so. it can also be looked at like a self fulfilling prophecy. the man predicts his own death, only to will himself dead.

a similar thing happened this week. last week, the velvet hammer predicted that this week she would arrive in our new space to find that it had turned into a shanty town. and lo and behold ...it is. so as i had complained earlier about the uncertainty of whether i'd be getting that properly fits my station in life, i'll let you off the hook. no i didn't. i'll also let you off the hook about whether i'm happy about it or not. no, i'm not. and there's no way i will be. it's like K-stuff says., "no matter how you slice it, a shit sandwich is still made of shit".

—the bastard

...on the yard

sometimes the tired brings out there weirdest combination of words.

"i knew i came over her for something", as the bastard reaches past the freelancer for a box of paperclips

"ahh, stealing office supplies again?" quips freelancer.

"umm, yeah. actually, these are like currency in the prison yard"

"i see"

"yeah, i taking this box over to sweet lou. i need someone shanked in the yard later today"

"sounds good"

"he takes paperclips from you?", asks left hand rob. "lou only takes post its from me"

i think i'm due for a nap right about now. or due to write a novel.

—the bastard