life in these long island cities

last night was not the bastard's finest hour as a parent...

during the summer...

every tuesday in the liquid city is free music night on the east river....

and the hood turns out for fun and sundown.

so...

my daughter, the tyrant is running around playing with kids...

and the bastard is on point...

and i get surrounded by screaming urchins while playing paparazzo to my daughter...

and i politely reply to there lack of personal space respect and caterwauling with whatever entertaining absurd response comes to mind...

make a game of it...

it all sounds like screaming screamey screams anyway.

after a bit, the bastard decides to set himself up with an ice cream and enjoy the mediocre stylings of the band when i see the tyrant come screaming out of the fray...

and she looks visibly upset...

so i'm off like a shot with my dip top in hand...

"what happened monkey?"

"those boys, they bothering me"

"which ones?"

"over dare" (the nanny is from the caribbean. she says things like dare and tings alot).

so i scoop her up and storm over knowing full well that the two screaming boy standouts from earlier were no doubt the culprits.

"which...ones?" and she gestures at the blond urchin who had been screaming at me earlier and his ape of a partner in crime who i will also call urchin.

i squat down and in my usual tone tell the blond urchin to leave my daughter alone

his partner who is clearly older pipes up in his best, "raised by parents who don't give a fuck about his kids shit behavior" and tells me, "why do "AYE" have to leave her alone?"

the bastards eye grow smaller as i turn to face and tell him pointedly, "because she is my daughter, and i say so"

then frau bruha shows up and is clearly the blond urchin's antithesis of a helicopter parent as she had been up until this point making time with someone's father, asks me if there is some kind of problem.

"yes, these boys have upset my daughter"

"well they are just kids. you can't go around scaring kids", frau bruha responds

"well, i apologize if i scared your kid but, these boys upset my daughter", i continue. "and i will not apologize for my tone"

i get up and i go back to my ice cream all the while walking with the gate of one who isn't going to suffer any further bullshit this god eve.

the thought i had the whole time is, at what point do we stop letting 3 and 4 year olds settle up shit with one another? they are incapable of reason at that age.

and i concluded that you don't. your kid gets upset...

you shut it down and eat your goddam ice cream.

—the bastard

...on muckraking

the bastard would like to talk about his hood for a minute...

i live in a spaceship in long island city 3 blocks away from the east river...

and while it didn't garner as much press as what's happened down by the rock...

we took it on the chin when sandy came through...

we took on some water...

which wrecked our electric.

my neighbors and i were homeless-ish for two weeks...

and fortunately, we're all getting back to normal.

we were lucky.

but here's the rub.

there is this local blog that i USED to go to for my local info that went to my building during the post storm mayhem to "get the scoop" on the extent of my building's damages.

we're a new building...

we're not all sold...

we'd like the rest of the building get sold...

but this sort of thing sets us back as a community, so our people politely said no...

the muckraker who writes this blog presses harder, saying he's providing a "service to the community" by providing  photos that are fit for disaster tourists of all stripes and those of the kind of carnage that would definitely hinder other new buildings in the area from EVER becoming profitable anytime soon.

i'm sure the powerhouse and the yard are real fucking grateful for that.

so after this bit of leverage from the muckraker, our people respond with a sterner "no comment" which hurt his widdle feelings.

so in what the bastard can only imagine was in a crying fit of babylike proportions, he wrote an angry post about our building...

you know...

as a service to the community.

a service...

you know?

muckraker.

this prompted the ire of both residents and local who felt that this "service" was unwarranted...

perhaps uncalled for...

trolls responded to the counter...

and i'm convince those trolls were the very author of the post as they all centered around how the blog provides a service to the community and we should all move on.

i mused to myself, does the muckraker hav e a thesaurus in which to alter his constant refrain regardless of what the name of the troll who posted in response.

i eventually, commented an invitation to lunch to the author of one unkind cut.

said we should meet up...

have some lunch...

chat about the local issues...

like muckraking...

and local bloggers who flew through a storefront window as a service to the community.

muckraker.

but i digress, when the bastard moved back into the building, he decided to let it go,  glad to be home again.

this post garned the most comments in the pitiful history of the blog so it was not surprising that when my building was mentioned in a post on curbed that he felt the need to repost it as his own content.

or at least as a "i'm neither good at writing nor am i good at generating my own content but, i sure did like all of that attention i got the last time i slagged off on that building that hurt my feelings so left me just repost it"

muckraker.

so to the blog, i linked to today but won't bother mentioning...

please go directly to die...

you won't be missed i assure you.

now i have work in the publishing world to finish up now...

so run along now to your amateur photography and your bitchy posts.

—the bastard

...down one click

...pin the throttle. let out the clutch.

as I settled down for bed,

the bastard thought about the show he was watching.

Charlie and ewan were gonna go the long way around Africa.

and ewan broke his ankle 9 weeks before the trip.

healed up.

and right on time, they left for parts unknown.

and the bastard thought, "hey, you fat old sack of crap, you need to get back on the horse."

I though about a photo I found of my son I found on the way through the photo library on top of pichaco peak mugging triumphantly at his climb or just showing off for his dad.

and i thought about the little girl who is growing in my ladyfriend's belly right next to me right now and I thought, "you gotta be just as fulla life for her as you were for the boy."

and I thought about a joke that scoop and i tell each other all the time.

my hate makes me great.

it don't.

what makes me great is my desire to do it again.

my desire to get out there and hit the pavement.

tonight, the bastard wants to dream of open roads and the roar of the machine.

and the fucking wind.

I want it back. badly.

—the bastard

wind up

well, this might be the only chance the bastard gets to do this before one more crisis hits us before the year is out so here goes.

this year the bastard won for a change.

he got to see some magic. and he got to hear the phrase that pays.

the chairman fired a fuck ton of guns.

the bastard found out how to get in touch with god.

the chairman had soem bad dreams that apparently come in threes.

the bastard went to court.

scoop came back to the east by car. and then she moved to florida.

the boy came to town and educated new yorkers on how to use the bathroom.

i drank some beer. nothing new there.


we had an election. the chairman's friend in denver covered the convention for me. the bastard really hopes he's wrong about the next 4 years.


the bastard finally outlasted the restaurant that had caused him so much grief over the last 8 years. and now i'm gonna leave because hey, i won.

the machine came to life and the bastard has been riding it ever since.

i got engaged, and then my ladyfriend went to iowa on business.

the crew went camping.

the bastard had hisself another indoor flood.

that said, it wasn't too bad a year, except for all the flooding. but it's like this, i got a promotion last month. it was the biggest promotion i ever got in my whole career. i didn't want to arrive in this chair in the way i did but, i'm in the chair of a newsstand magazine again and i'm going to make the most of it. i'm going to make the most of it because the bastard has been really lucky in life. yeah, i've had some tragedy and i keep getting up to do it again. as long as i can keep doing it again.

see you next year jerks.

—the bastard

When I was young and they packed me off to school
and taught me how not to play the game,
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,
or if they said that I was a fool.
So I left there in the morning
with their God tucked underneath my arm --
their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.
So I asked this God a question
and by way of firm reply,
He said -- I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers --

...on ch ch ch ch ch changes

scoop had told me since discovering that I wasn't flying on jet blue (also known as the flying bar) that she was indeed disturbed by this.

but, the bastard has to go to the desert the way he can and this time it's delta (also known as Don't Expect Luggage To Arrive) so I actually planned for them losing my luggage by packing two days of clothing in my carry on. so here the bastard waits for adventures and shit in the wrong terminal, without my bar but, the view ain't bad.

-the bastard

...on the comeback

"you know bastard, you really need to update the blog", says the chairman.

"i am aware of this and when i get back in the saddle, i shall"

so the mofo rose from the dead and submitted this gold for us from his friday commute which sort of arrived shortly before or after this conversation. so once again, the bastard has to ask the completely stolen from scoop question:


is it tragic?


or is it magic? what say you snitches?

—the bastard

end of the road

so there it is.

scoop is back on the east coast. soon my liver will begin hurting again.

in other news, it's fucking raining out again and since i walked to work from my ladyfriend's apartment, i haven't gotten into adventures and shit.

but the bastard did get rained upon.

and i made friends on facebook with someone i knew from the old neighborhood which just reminds me that i need a functioning motorcycle. but instead, i'm going to read this week's installemnt of freakangels and watch science fiction on frikkin hulu.

the book has shipped and the bastard is waiting for his proofs so, i have to play the waiting game. hrm, waiting game sucks. let's play hungry hungry hippos.

—the bastard

where's scoop part 5

...the big push

ok, the bastard has come to the conclusion that he needs to start a fight on the subway.

i have no material except for scoop's roadtrip.

anyways, she's in the home stretch. woke up in tennesee, was last seen approaching the virginia border.

in pennsylvania by dinnertime.

end of the line after that.

—the bastard

where's scoop part 4

3:15 pm: little rock, memphis by 5

we're shipping the book so, aside from the hive mind not being around for whatever reason, it's all about the shipping.

—the bastard

THIS JUST IN, SPECIAL "ME TOO EDITION"
in a special report which the bastard can only describe as "a me too update", jonny airplanes reports that he is back in virginia from his current base of operations in key west florida.

call it good timing.

call it good times.

but most definitely call it.

where's scoop part 3

scoop: "i go get mexican in amarillo"

bastard: nice

scoop: marg barg time in tx

bastard: margz am the beast aye best

scoop: i just saw the worlds biggest cross and anything you want it was palying on the radio. i in ok.

upon logging onto facebook this morning (yes the bastard is on facebook, go to hell), scoop tells us that she is sleeping in an ihop parking lot. hopefully she gets herself a rooty tooty fresh and fruity breakfast there.

—the bastard

where's scoop part 2

bastard: "aye put up a map for hugh"

scoop: "hehehehehe i', at a dq in nm and i'm thinking about buying a drug rug aka baja robe"

bastard: "hehehe drug rug. where in nm?"

scoop: "no clue about fourty mi to santa rosa"

bastard: "close enuff. just needed it fire the map. you should dine at whataburger"

scoop: "heheheheh i've heard of that i need something non meat"

bastard: "that's what dq am fore"

in other news, someone has designed a steak flavored beer but it's for dogs

—the bastard

where in the united states is scoop?

so as the basatard may have mentioned, scoop, left hand rob's predecessor at selling bullets seven times a year. has departed from hell's waiting room and she heads east by monkey powered toyota corolla along with her copilot. hopefully leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

almost immediately on their departure, i was getting updates on their location.

scoop: "At n n out but we no no in nv or ca. I'm a free woman full of beef"

bastard: "that is the greetest phrase ever", i replied

then it hit me to come up with a map. left hand rob thought that it should look like one of those indiana jones maps. so here we are so far:


received a text on sunday night that went, "me at venetion now, i wanna get on the marg barg and play crapz. developing..."

2 hours later scoop tell me that she won cash money at the craps tables.

last we leave her, she went to the grand canyon yesterday and ended the day in flagstaff.

developing....

—the bastard

this is why the bastard loves the irish

...and loves being part irish


took a quick pitstop in at the galway hooker tonight.

killing stuff monthly's web monkey is in a hostage trading program to help the lower beast side free scoop from hell's waiting room.

on the way into the bar i saw this sign but paid it no mind.

had my drink with the staff.

paid the appropriate respects to the appropriate people.

and i went to the can so i could leave.

and i saw the sign again. but i read the fineprint. you see finnbar has to pay for recent brain surgery costs.

the irish love a benefit. sometimes it's a benefits for shamus' gout or for some other person's liver operation but they do love a benefit.

good times

—the bastard

ride home

so here's how it was supposed to go down.

the band was supposed to go on at 8:30 but turns out they didn't go on until 9:30.

and while i wasn't guaranteeing anything, i was really trying to be back in queens in time to get in the car and pick up the chairman.

the bastard even drank accordingly to plan for this possibility.

but, i didn't get outta the l.e.s. until 10 to 11. and when i got down there, the platform was empty.

so here the bastard is,

in one of the more desolate areas on the edge of china town and the lower east side,

on an empty train platform.

it was kinda creepy actually.

but, the bastard sometimes gets rewarded with fine fine plumage. it is as my buddy scoop says, "i love going out on wednesday nights, it's when the gates of freak open". pure gold.

i get off the train at 20 to 12. the text message reads:

11:21 landed

11:31 you suck bro i guess i'll have to take a cab

so when i get home the text response was:

11:46 that's me. aye suck

—the bastard

...on the short list

on my way home this evening, i get a call from the chairman.

"there are fire trucks down by your apartment"

"is my place on fire?"

"i don't think so. looks like it's by tutto bene."

"ok i'll take the back way in. see you in a bit"

so the bastard does the nice neighborly thing and he calls the neighbors. neither of the girls answers him.

the chairman calls back and confirms that the bastard's home isn't on fire. when i get home, the trucks are still there and so is an ambulance. i go upstairs to drop off some laundry. and then it hits me.

what if the firemen aren't done?

what if it spreads?

i better take some stuff with me.

so here's the bastard's short list. now taken into consideration that in my car already, i have my ipod, my shopping bags from trader joes, and my phone is on me. so given all that i grabbed just:

my laptop

the portfolio which i prefer to refer to as "the book"

my laundry to switch

and my sidi motorcycle boots. they aren't the most optimum foot wear but, they are my most expensive.

then i walked out. knowing that if the place burned to the ground, the bastard could function. on the way out, i drop off laundry and some fat bitch (and i don't throw that kind of insult around lightly, i don't want to get scoop angry with me) opens the door to the laundromat, looks right at me, walks into the laundromat, and lets the door close on me. i hold out my palm so that the door makes a resounding slap. she barely resists the urge to turn and see what the sound is because she knows what it is. followed by the bastard saying,"thanks jerk", to which she resists again the urge to turn and respond.

but i am tired

and i have no resistance.

so as i get to the counter, i pass her, and bang the bag into her fat carcass. granted, it's a bag of clothes but the bastard will not be denied. after this i get in the car and an old man from the block gives me the stink eye. he's been giving me grief for a while (long story, i'll tell it later) and as i pull out of my parking spot with my short list of stuff, we lock eyes and i think of my other list.

the list of people that are going to fucking GET IT when i leave this block. and they will fucking get it good.

—the bastard

...on the jet set

..or was it just the drink set

"Mos Eisley spaceport. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious."

every year, before we went to the gun show, scoop and i would stop at this dump before getting on the plane. it didn't matter if it was in the morning, or after lunch, or whenever. drinks were had here before the bastard takes flight. why? well it sure as hell isn't because the bastard has a drinking problem. no we have others that are emminently capable of handling that responsibility in this family. it's just because this bar, in the jet blue terminal, is a place of drunks and villainy. here we'd be, in a dump full of salesmen, expensing our drinks as breakfast (as i'm sure the do as well), waiting for the chance to climb onto a big ball park frank and fly for work.

so, on scoops sayso via the IM, and my own desire to numb away the sounds of teenagers, i climb on board to relive the boardings of yesteryear. because you see, it isn't like this anymore. scoop left for the left coast last summer and left hand rob, lives in jersey so he doesn't meet me at the airport anymore. circumstances being what they are, the bastard's team that comes with him comes a day later because the silver k needs them in house this time around. so the bastard does this solo now.

all by his lonesome.

so i generally don't drink in airports anymore. it isn't fun for me. however, i did so this time and in classic bastard/scoop style, i almost missed the final boarding call for tucson while i was throwing back my third beer of the evening. didn't sleep a wink on the flight too. the run to the gate took care of all that. i miss that last minute run/stumble to the gate.

so here's to the airport bar, we hardly knew ye

-the bastard

the devil went down to...jersey? pt3

so upon arriving, and we did arrive arrive with time to spare for the main event. however, we did manage to miss the opener , which was okay. you've seen one whiney gothic looking emo band, you've seen them all. no muss, no fuss. but then the main event hit. and boy did it hit.

at this point, the bastard had texted to scoop and the chairman that he had died and gone to mook heaven. the chairman asks how many mullets. i fail to take the mullet toll. sometimes, it's just too much to take in.

now, it's been a long, long time since the bastard has been to an arena show. and i must admit, i AM a music snob. the last show i went to was to see mastadon. the last show before that was to see the gorillaz. i've seen scraping foetus off the wheel, i've seen sick of it all close the superbowl of hardcore. i've seen stuff that was considered "better" than this band by alot of my circle of friends. but after seeing this band, i have to say they are the fucking kings of parking lot jock rock. which is NOT to be confused with cock rock. on my way to the bathroom, i text to the hockey fan that i see a boy with a sgt pepper jacket dancing around with fingerless gloves and old women dancing around like strippers in the aisles. the fan texts back that it sounded like an average night at the bastard's house.

granted, arena rock is alot to take in. but, i've never seen so many people older than me, so drunk unless it was a wedding. and so many mooktastic mooks. guys with buzzcuts, glazed over with the kind of drunk that only exists in parking lots of concert arenas, with their drunken wives who are wearing so much makeup that you need to apply it with a putty knife and take it off with a chisel, they stride obliviously throught the arena spilling their miller lite on them selves and spilling others on themselves as they struggle to not have the courtesy to make eye contact or even to watch where the hell they were going. but, it's to be expected. after all was said and done, all things considered, the bastard had a good time. it was a good show. bands that stay together for this long can only get better with time. and it's also a time and place for thousands of mooks and rock and roll sluts to re-live their salad days of rocking with their cocks out.

i've seen a million faces...and i've mocked them all. sure that's cheesy but, you can go to hell. this is my world. life without me is like cornflakes without the milk. yeah and i fart ambrosia too.

—the bastard

...on the jet set

thanks to the goodness of space age technology, the bastard can come to you live from the frikkin airport. behind me is the bar that for 4 years was the staging area for scoop and i for our flights to the shot show. the last time i was here, i forgot my reservation number for my rental car and the chairman's minions were trying to get in touch with me for some of the devil's work and i couldn't get in touch. but while i was cooling my jets in the world of luddites, all i could see was "wireless hotspot" for "free" thanks to jet brew. so i was thinking, i have got to get me one of those notebook computers. i mean, i do the devil's work from home and soemtimes after hours in the office but it leaves my totally working in two spaces which creates continuity issues for me and so, i cracked the effing cobewebs off of my wallet and bought myself a notebook (ya fucking cheapo). i gotta say, it doesn't suck.

—the bastard

OK QUICK UPDATE: ...on liveblogging the airport. i totally forgot. i really can't stand yuppified corporate guys who ae doing actual work here. they all sound like snake oils salesmen.

...on mulletude

this actually happened at lunch yesterday. the bastard didn't get outside for lunch today as it's totally sucking outside. well that's not 100 percent true. the bastard did step outside the say hello to the ladyfriend. her printer isn't working right and she needed me to print something up for her so i headed downstairs for a brief chat this morning. it makes the morning so much nicer. anyway, yesterday, chicago jerkface, jiffy pop, and myself went across town for some popeyes fried chicken (kfc my ASS) and en route back, we saw this majestic plumage exiting from what appeared to be the heavens.

OK QUICK SIDEBAR: scoop, my former right hand and best lucky enabler loves mullets. loves em more than life itself. so when i sees em, the bastard stalks them because out in l.a. the plumage is apparently a little bit more polished, thus rendering it lackluster. in her opinion, there is nothing better than a femmullet and a foreigner t-shirt. so, i do this.

however, someone had caught me mid hunt and thusly gave me the stink eye. undaunted, i kept at it. enjoy. COME ON! ENJOY!

—the bastard

...on last minute packing

...and how gun shows are sucking the life out of me

this'll be the bastard's fifth trip to the gun show. this will be my second one in orlando. the bastard isn't happy about it. it's not as much fun as vegas. anyway as we prepare for the final packing of the junk left hand rob sends the note around:

lhr: Here's what I'll be shipping to SHOT Show this afternoon. Is there anything else either of you want to go?

Dictionary
Style sheet
Printer paper (our man in moscow is ordering for on-site)
pens
pencils
A pencil sharpener
tape
sharpies
legal pads
staplers
paper clips
post-its
cds
Issues of last year's Daily
The last few months of Lots O' Bullets Monthly
FedEx slips

bastard: bombay sapphire gin (6 bottles)
case of tonic water
high grade heroin (no china white, that stuff's for squares)
carton of cigarettes.
ammunition for a crosman nightstalker plus crimson trace laser sight
enough rope to hang ourselves
pinewood box for art director

lhr: I can get all that stuff at Staples, right?

bastard: maybe.

but you might have to go through channels.

you might have some difficulty with the rope :/

yes, while i'm starting to ramp up my sense of humor for this trip, i seem to be ramping up the malaise (not mayonnaise, jackass) as well. i think
i'll need a bona fide vacation after this. but don't worry, i think we will be posting photos of orlando's best and brightest mullets. it's what scoop would have wanted.

—the bastard