life in these long island cities...

so this happened tonight...

and as a result this is what the front of my building looks like...

if you look real hard to the right and over, and squint, you'll see my car under 5 feet of water.

but i'm actually out west visiting the boy and we ironically came across this sign

it's kind of sad now. i have a waterlogged car...

possibly 10 pounds of spoiled elk in my freezer...

but i have my family and my health don't i?

—the bastard

this just in...

...and I say this as a parent.

hell is other people's kids.

stop kicking me you little fucker!!!

and can you quiet down that beastful baby you have writhing on you?

—the bastard

...on freestylin'

you know,

there are just some days when you know that it's gonna be by the numbers.

and then,

there are some days when you know that some crazy skell is going to freestyle rap all the way back to queens.

this guy went on and on,

landscapin',

mentally shapin',

get the gidst of what i am sayin'

so lucky bastard that i am, the bastard watches some of his stories to pass the time on the ipod.

and this guys just keeps going,

landscapin',

mentally shapin',

it went on for so long that he drove some old man in a cowboy hat right out of his seat because he couldn't take it anymore.

out of towners just don't get it some/most times.

landscapin',

mentally shapin',

by the time i had finished my show (22 minutes just so you know shiteyes), he had built all of y'all up.

and now he was gonna cool you down with some old soul.

and for the three minutes the bastard had left without headphones on, the hardest working hobo in the tunnels we spend half of our lives in, he fucked up the lyrics to "i wish it would rain".

fucking magical.

—the bastard

...on the grate outdoors

so, the bastard is back from camping.

it was a short trip, when i look at it in the long view.

it started out with my drive to long island city to get the mofo, where i became the paragon of road rage. not since the great altoids tin throwing of 1997, has the bastard ever lost his shit at such a high degree while behind the wheel. i actually leaned out the window on northern boulevard to yell "you suck at life" at some poor woman who apparently REALLY sucked at life.

the bastard however, will stick by this story.

by the time we got up to the woods, there fire was starting, and the thrilla boys were already taking care of the business of camping.

it was a good first day. and sometimes, that's all you need is one good day in the woods and then your shit is correct.

upon waking up at 6 am on saturday, it looked like the makings of an overcast day.

by 7 am, it was starting to drizzle.

by 8am, it was drizzling sideways with the makings of sideways precipitation. so the mofo and i started breaking down our racks in anticipation of an early bug out.

following this course of action, discussions about breakfast ensued.

this spirited discussion went on to become much more elaborate array of talking points that touched on the nature of wilderness survival, needs in the wilderness, and the ethics of taking credit for one's work in the wilderness community.

as well as walking the walk and perhaps the shelving of rhymes.

so while we finished up the breaking up camp, the wind picked up and the drizzle became rain which prompted the mofo to address the earlier point as to why we were breaking camp by asking if everyone would have preferred to break camp now that it was raining catd and dogs. agreeing with his point, the bastard got breakfast at the bottom of the mountain and all was good.

—the bastard

rain's stopped

now if only the bastard can get rid of that sinking feeling as well.

or

maybe he should get some frikkin dinner.

what a concept.

have you ever had the reoccuring feeling that you are both the hero and the villain in this tragedy?

yeah, me too.

—the bastard

...on the downpour

spent some of this afternoon in the photo studio, making the book look good.

now it's pissing out.

good thing i brought am umbrella.

the bastard always brings an umbrella.

when he's got the bag, he's got what he needs.

sure hope the hammers of hell don't rain on forest hills.

the bastard ain't going home tonight.

and he doesn't want to come home and find a puddle in his living room tomorrow.

best piece of advice i ever got was,

get renters insurance stupid.

bring it rain. fucking bring it. and wash all the shit down the drain.

—the bastard

walking after midnite...

...or gauntlet of assholes


so after a tasty margarita or two and some tasty mexican food, i had to run out to the drugstore rather late as one of us had an upset stomach. on my way past my ladyfriend's doorman, i ask where a 24 hour drugstore was and he pointed me in the direction of park and 23rd.

it's late and some asshole is yelling happy cinco de mayo (on may 3rd) to passers bay.

as the bastard walks underneath his window he yelss, "hey. hey mister clean, happy cinco de mayo"

now figuring from a quick assessment of my periphery that i am th eonly bald man on 23rd at the tim i asume it's me, without fliching, i ratchet my middle finger skyward.

drunk asshole screams back, "i love you man"

i love you too stupid. i hope you fall out the window too.

—the bastard

monday morning...

...special 2 days late edition


so my monday began with a downpore.

which was followed by a series of bad decisions built around staying dry.

which turned into an umbrella big enough to keep the state og texas dry in a rainstorm.

which turned into a 30 minute wait for the bus which made the bastard late.

but the fair box was broken so the ride was free. so i got what i paid for in a way.

but the mistake to take the e train and wait 30-40 minutes between 63rd drive and woodhaven blvd. it felt like forever. and i actually packed a second bag for 2 days of lunch.

i get to the new space to find that part of it has been colonized by the hive mind of mystery science magazine.

there they are,

stacked two to a cube,

never speaking,

almost never moving.

i think they are going to try and assimilate left hand rob and i. i'm SO gonna stab one of them.

—the bastard

the devil went down to...jersey? again?

so the bastard and his ladyfriend took a little trip to jersey last night to see a certain band that jersey really loves. yeah...that one. what can i say? i like to do nice things for my girlfriend. the bastard is a saint that way. then again by wrote of last phrase, how can a bastard BE a saint? hell, i'm trying for sainthood. go to hell.

anyway, we get a little sidetracked en route. wait let me back up:

FLASHBACK (re: the office): "this is fucking confusing?"

"what is?"

"the transit in jersey. you know lobster, i fucking hate your state sometimes"

(cue dirty look)"excuse me"

"sorry, i mean the state you live in." (lobster johnson is a native pennsylvanian and don't you forget it shiteyes)

"well it is what it is" ok back to real rime

CUE PRESENT: so the ladyfriend and i get a little sidetracked on the way to the prudential center to see that band and we ended up getting off at the wrong stop to transfer.

"we should ask someone", she suggests.

"i wish we had a map to refer to", i reply.

taking the initiative, she asks an african american gentleman if we could pick up the connecting train to newark. he suggested that we should have stayed on the train we were on, shaking his head.

"i was watching you you guys. you shoulda stayed on that train. you wanna get to newark, just follow all the white people"

just follow all the white people? that's classic, squire. fucking classic.

—the bastard

...on the year of the flood

so truth to tell, the bastard doesn't always spend the night at home. sometimes he stays out after hours and materializes at work the next morning fresh for the new day.

the downside is this.

FLASHBACK: the bastard is riding the train back to craptastic queens and he notices that while there wasn't alot of rain in manhattan, alot of women are wearing those stupid ass rubber boots with the goofy patterns on them to fool us all into thinking that they look less like a wellington boot.

FLASH FORWARD: so i come home to this.

yay. it's just like the last flood, only worser.

so i do what comes to mind first. i go to the bathroom. i mean hell, i had to go.

then i called the landlord.

"hi missah lanlord, we had ourselves a flood again. can you come over in 5 minutes to survey the damage"

"sh-sh-sh-sh-would you prefer if if if if if if i came over tomorrow?"

"no actually, i'd prefer if you saw the place before i cleaned the place up. the floor is soaked and there's plaster all over the place"

so missah lanlord came over and looked at the grief and told me shit that i wanted to hear and we'll see what happens. i showed him some of the other damage from rainstorms that predate my divorce and my meds for my breathing problems as a result of all of this crap. we'll see what happens. i ain't holding out hope on this shit. the plan is.

do the job.

take the money.

put it away.

get the fuck out.

find a new place to wreck.

i'll let you know how that shit works out. can't wait for the creatures to start coming out tonight as a result of this shit.

—the bastard

...on treading

has the bastard ever told you the one about the guy who was sleeping in his bed during a torrential rainstorm?

well anyway there's this guy.

and he wakes up at about...say...6:30 in the morning to sound of heavy rain. so he rolls over

about 10 minutes later, it's raining like the hammers of hell and the guy rolls over again and remarks to himself, "damn, it sure is raining"

then it occurs to him that it's in fact raining in his living room. GET IT? it was raining in his living room. jeeze, you have no sense of humor.

so, the bastard has been bailing out his living room and the word comes out over the crystal set to stay home, or at least delay my commute a little while. now the bastard isn't one for listening to city officials but, i want some unwind time. at least for a couple minutes. this is gonna be a long day.

—the bastard