...on light rail and text messaging

bastard: is everything ok? I had a dream in which we got lost in the st Louis subway system.

thing of it is

st Louis doesn't have a subway system.

the elder: hunh

bastard: just stating what happened is all

the elder: okay

bastard: so your not going to st Louis. ok? they have a light rail and neither the subway or the light rail go to cardinal's stadium which was what busch stadium was called in the dream

the elder: Unless you are telling me that I am going to atlantic yards

bastard: mayhap. the other anomaly was that the st Louis subway was huge and akin to an ugly grand central station that used big diesel trains so...

perhaps

the elder: If I go then will go halves on lotto

bastard: deal

—the bastard

...on nine lives

...and being a better man

in keeping with the spirit of giving each other a pass for our birthdays,
i decided to drop a few dimes. i'm not going to go into the time the mofo nearly burned the woods down and tried not to tell the scoutmasters why he was walking away with a 10 gallon water jug or a time when he did a standup routine about me in front of his coworkers at a party. nah, i'm gonna tell you why he inspires me.

you see the foot note on the monsters of rock story, later on that summer or perhaps it was the following summer (i think it was the following because i had my first car back then and that thanksgiving, the shrink was giving me grief for going out one night while this was going on), the mofo got leukemia. we thought he had lyme disease but he had leukemia. and it changed the dynamic in the house forever. long story short, he beats it. mofo:1, death:0. he rides it out with a brave face.

flash forward: mofo is 27 at the time when he feels a nasty pain in his chest. checks his pulse and has the old lady take him to the doctor. he thinks it's high blood pressure but it's an aortic aneurysm. he gets open heart surgery. operation is a success. mofo:2,death:0.

i go to visit him in the hospital and in all the time i've known him, he'd stare down injury with a brave face. he has the cancer, he cooley chats up the hospital staff and calls in a whopper junior to the old man. he breaks his collar bone playing football, he calmly gets up while they're still wrestling with the fumble, his arm dangling six inches below where it should be and he calmly says, "um guys, i think i have a problem here. can i get a lift to the hospital?" and he tried his best to joke in front of us with tubes sticking out of his neck. and he put on that brave face. one day while he was still in i visited him over my lunch hour and we talked and i won't get into what we talked about but, it was the only time that he lost his composure and i had to be stronger. 27 years of having the braver face of the three of us took a sick day and i don't recall if i ever mentioned it to anyone but i think about this now.

what inspires me is how this has applied to my year. you see, the bastard's marriage is coming to a close and i remember telling the nice lady i wanted to be a better man. i resolved in 2006 to be a better man. hell i resolved to do this in 2005 as well and i never could make good on it. i tried in 2004 as well and to no avail but it wasn't until thr nice lady and i separated did it start to happen. you see, i had to tell my brothers as quickly as possible what was happening so that this shit didn't come as a shock. sent one to the elder and sent one to the mofo. the elder, responded with sympathy and kind wishes and the mofo didn't respond. there was a certain serenity to the lack of response. when we filed last month, i told the brother again, once again the elder sent his deepest sympathy (he's a very emphatic guy, it's why he's going to heaven and i ain't) and the mofo didn't respond. i felt serene. you see, it's in his silence, his lack of out pouring emotion that grounded me, made me think that i needed to be stronger...better. and for that, i'm grateful.

happy birthday shiteyes, thanks for helping make me a better man. 2 down. 7 to go.

—the bastard

the keys to the kingdom

the bastard is out late tonight.

I had a delightful meal at the elder's hizzle and I also had to make a stop on the planet of brooklyn to accept a generous gift from the chairman.

this makes for a late ride home for a bastard and his wife was worried.

"what if some thing happens on the subway on the way home?"

"nothing'll happen"

"how do you know this?"

"simple, this isn't the 1970's, the south Bronx, or is it the south Bronx in the 1970's"

I relay this tale to the chairman and his retort is, "you just take a page from your brother (re: mofo). you play it crazy.

and that's the secret kids.

you feel the forces of evil closing in on you on the F train?

throw your hot beverage across the car and scream "OH MY Fucking SATan! there's cobras in my coffee!!!!"

"COBRAS!?!?!"

are you on a platform at 3 am with desperate characters? start doing the robot.

my favorite was the time I was in a McDonalds in new Hyde park and a kid who had been staring at his hamburger for 10 minutes screamed out that just remembered he was a vegetarian and he threw his food across the restaurant as he ran out.

well that kid may not have been playing but I suspect that he was.

always play it crazy and the most ne'er do well of the ne'er do wells will pass you by for the scared kid with the Vulcan science academy sweatshirt everytime.

—the bastard

...on morale

so this morning the bastard went to get milk for his coffee and he was greeted by a fridge full of booze.

this isn't my fridge.

this is the fridge at work.

the bastard doesn't really go in for white wine.

but today is the company end of year/holiday thing.

it's mandatory or they will no doubt say something to the tune of,

"well we're REAL sorry we had to lay off a bunch of you and you're probably not getting any manner of bonuses but, at least you still have jobs. here drink some booze."

when all else fails, ply them with booze.

the bastard was at a retirement party last night and a great elder statesmen of killing stuff monthly (and a legendary killer of many things on four legs) stood up at some point and stated that there was no booze better than booze that's on the company. he's probably right.

—the bastard

nothing like some hot coffee and the open road

you know,

sometimes the best laid plans of mice and men don't come to pass.

even moreso when you plan it late.

or half assed.

and the bastard us guilty of both.

you see, my mother called me up a couple weeks ago (or emailed me or some crap) and asked if the mofo and i could do something with the elder for his birthday and iwas game and so was the mofo.

either way, some fills couldn't make it and that was a bit of a bummer but, everything looks better after an aimless ride around and a cup of coffee to round it out.

I hope I have enough gas to get to a gas station.

-the bastard

...on hell on two wheels

and other crap the bastard did this weekend.

this weekend, the bastard thought it would be a good idea to get some exercise so, he got on his bike and rode through forest park. now i realize that it really isn't a long ride through the park but then again, the bastard also discovers that bicycling actually makes alot of small hops seem smaller.

which in NO WAY discourages him from wanting to buy a proper motorcycle that RUNS.

but either way, it was good to get out and i added to the exercise difference by doing a few laps around the track at victory field in 6th gear (fold up bike i bought only has 6 gears, go to hell) so i coould feel like i actually accomplished something.

then i went out and got steak. and then i got drunk.


but then, the next morning, my ladyfriend had gotten back from her trip to the country and she was hungover too. so i packed the bikes into the car and drove to manhattan to ride up and down the east river until my head stopped hurting.


the upside of this was i got a closer look at those manmade waterfalls that i wrote about earlier this summer. and that was pretty nice.

you know, there was a time in this when this was considered an unwise course of action for some bastard's. but city is safer because some mayor we had that both the village voice hates (for being a republican) and the mofo hates (for having his cops bust him for an open conatiner) made shit hard for criminals for his time in office. it's kind of nice to be able to get around and not have to tote a knife.

not that i DIDN'T tote around a knife. you never know whose going to need to be stabbed on a sunday. oh, and then i got dinner at the seaport and got yelled at by the elder for something.

—the bastard

...on the posh life

the bastard woke up like he was shot out of a cannon.

last night, the bastard met up with his ladyfriend and her brother for some cans of porkslap (which is pretty goddam good),

and,

needless to say,

5:30 in the morning is an early tip off time for 4 beers and many ribs (which were pretty goddam good. have i mentioned this? pay attention).

anyway, the company sent a cr for me and it was much fancier than i expected. not quite the kind of car that woud be considered foreign dignitary posh but, it sure didn't suck. so far the only thing the bastard sees as the advantage to getting here this early is that the traffic was virtually not there and i was here in 20 minutes.

i thought about texting the elder since i was here early, and he's currently doing a job at the jet blue terminal but, i think i only have his wife's cell number.

too bad the coffee here tastes like someone took a dump in it. oh well, can't live like a king all the time.

—the bastard

living is a young man's game…

When the bastard was young…

He used to pack on over to our lady of Lourdes on a Friday night…

Maybe sneak a couple beers out of someone's fridge or just go up to efroni's and buy underage…

And go see the battle of the bands.

The bastard played there a time or three but, that's a different story.

I wanna talk about jim.

Jim sang for a band called Norman bates and the showerheads and they headlined one night along with the six and violence and ultra violet confusion…

I don't remember much of that show from the showerheads but, they were loud, they rocked, and their big songs were a tore up version of if I could save time in a bottle and their closer, "Marlboro man" which I think involved cigarettes being thrown out into the audience which was rather provocative for a show in a church basement.

I also saw them open for the ramones in the church gym.

Flash forward: I'm at one of no redeeming's backyard bbqs and I hadn't been back to the scene for a bit and jim was there and we were reintroduced.

Jim pointed a skinny finger at me and said, "you used to deliver papers to me", and I did.

"89-22 220th street", I replied. We laughed and hada few beers.

I met his wife…

I drank with a satanist later that evening…

I smoked a lot of cigarettes…

The nice lady may have driven home that night…

Might have been better that way.

No redeeming would have a BBQ pretty much once or twice a summer and we'd chat in passing and he has always great to talk to.

You see, jim never left the thorough borough…

He was part of the scene here…

An elder statesman…

An idol…

An artist…

A frontman…

And when I last saw him, he was a giver

Flash forwarder: the last time I saw jim, I went to a benefit at the trash bar, one year ago tomorrow. His old bass player, J garrino had past away and a scholarship was set up in his honor.

Jim was the first guy I saw at the show.

He gave me a big hug…

thanked me for coming down…

Then promptly ushered me to hit the stage to catch the last two songs for no redeeming's set.

That night the showerheads, who had organized the event, only played two or three songs because of the full bill but, jim filled in for another past member of the six and violence for their set…

And at the time, it reminded me how much the six is a little less without paulie singing for them but, to have jim in was apprapo. J was their bass player too and it was a good send off.

Now: I sit in a basement in the old homestead banging this out and i realize that all of the old things in my life are going away and they won't be coming back and until old age takes these moments from me, I get to keep them.

I was on a camping trip last fall to k-love's bachelor party and Jim's guitarist was in tow. After a bottle of scotch, he declared the rock and roll lifestyle, a young mans game.

Perhaps he's right. Perhaps it is a young mans game and dying gets to be an old man's game.

You see, last night jim had lost his bout with lung cancer.

And a guy who touched many lives with his music and his art is gone and we're a little less for it.

But we're also a little more for knowing him.

He will be missed.

—the bastard

the bucket list…

the bastard and his brothers aren't super close.

it's a personal lament really.

but I know my mother shares this lament.

but I'll never see how humping out to various and sundry family dinners will make for a good bonding experience.

at the end of the day…

one of us gets back into their cars and drives home and we go back to our problems.

problems, by the by are subjective.

the elders problems that shall not be discussed are extremely important to the elder.

the mofo's problems are his and by and large are 2500 miles away from other brothers problems

the bastard's problems are equally important to the bastard.

like when am I gonna get fired.

what if they stop making whiskey.

what if I never get another bike again and have to drive in a cage for the rest of my life.

this shit is serious.

but I had a thought one night while watching the darjeeling limited.

so this is on my bucket list.

I want to go on a road trip with my brothers.

I ran this past the mofo stating that riding the rails through the Kashmir is by and large undoable for the three of us but this must be done.

his solution was a more domestic one which the bastard was receptive to.

new york… to Memphis… to Nashville ( unless nashville is first)… to Kansas city… to Chicago… to the four winds.

perhaps one day.

—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

"...and all the colored girls sing..."

OR 1,327

1,327 Miles—Door to door. That was my weekend. Took off early from the QV Mo and made my way back purgatory. I had spent the last two weeks enjoying the holidays with family and friends and friends. Hung with the Thrilla bros. at a show in Brooklyn, did some work in Dean Thrilla's basement with Jonny Airplanes. Hooked up with Matty Aces, and Jim of Spock at the Croxelys, did the college circuit with Judge Roughneck at the croxelys and the city. Did time with the ex, her new but old dude (they were friends when we were together and hooked up after sometime between the time she was in California and now in Texas) jules and sleepy pete. Ran into the dirty stay out there (she's back in NY) and ended up hitting the sick of it all/hatebreed show at Roseland with her later in the week where I ran into HR, who I hadn't seen since the days of Tower Ur (now officially closed) and his Two-Man days. Word was he dispeared the way of Mike D, stumbling in the middle of the night never to be heard from again, that is unitl he shows up at a thrilla barbeque. Earlier that day I did a late lunch with Wilt the Chef and Marmon and finally found out what a sous chef is (it was so obvious I felt as if I had drank some of that retard juice most people seem to be drinking these days.) Sprinkle in some family time with ma dukes peeps and the elder's brood and the bastard on JC's birthday eve and the Chairman's Board on the big day and there you have it.

I walked the line of hangover and feeding the beast the entire time, hence the moratorium on writing and the lack of pics.

Anyway, on the way back of a trip that took entirely too long—I spent an extra hour and a half on 95 in Virginia sitting in traffic that had no cause. I went through B'More and DC without a hiccoup even though there was a Giant game at the Redskins joint, and a Former Presidents funeral going down. Maybe they were all going to see Jefferson Davis' carcass in Richmond, I don't know but I do know two thing about Virginia drivers, they either drive like maniacal shitnecks weaving in and out while alternately tailgaiting for the joy of it, or they are tapping their brake pedals to see if they still work. At any rate, if I offended any Virginia drivers with my statements, good, I compleetely meant it.—i was driving through North Carolina when it happened. I normally listen mostly to mix tapes in the car during the drive but every once in a while I listen to local radio for a change of pace and to hear a another voice other than mine yelling at virginia drivers. This usually comes about in either Maryland, that has two kick ass stations—one a blues station I don't remember the number and Ocean 98, which you can't get on 95 and NC which has a multitude of fine rock stations, after all, NC is the home of the punk/garage rock festival "sleezefest." And it never fails I always here Lou Reed's "walk on the wild side". Yeah, I know, radio is known for playing the same stuff over and over, but i can tell you, within the limited number of total minutes I listen to the radio in what is now the third round trip to NYC via "Honey" *(that's my car's name), I can tell you that the only song I have heard every time I've made this journey is "walk on the wild side". I guess it's just one of those things.

Last night I watched the "dexter" the bastard (aka old man bastard) hooked me up with through 12 oclock. I have a moratorium on New Year's Eve's going on right now. I slept through last year. Got to say, it's working for me.

do— do do, do—do do do, do—do do, do. do do do, dooooooo
Happy New Year people, try not to hurt yourselves this year.

mofo

ps for the bastard

While Weeds may have jumped the shark in the finale Dexter jumped it in its first episode. I'm a fan though.

...on the grand experiment

since the bastard's immediate family was the queens outpost for the greater whole for so many years, we were also the official pick up out of state family members at the airport. i grew up near the cross island parkway which dumps you right near JFK. now, since moving out my periodic travelling pick up drop off was either my rents or the nice lady but, she's in arizona now and i didn't want to rely on the fam anymore. come to think of it, i didn't want to frop a fuck ton of cash on a cab either so i opted for the airtrain. for the uninitiated to all things new york, the airtrain is the slightly more effective solution to driving to the airport, or taking a cab. five bucks gets you from the terminal to the airport.

now you see, the elder worked on the airtrain a little while back when he worked for bent nosed electrical contractors inc. and i have to say, they did a bang up job on it. it runs smoothly despite some early trouble it had when it started but hell, you gotta take the bad with the good with these sort of things. the cars are cleaner and bigger and i wish the subways were more like this but then again, these kind of cars might eventually find their way underground one of these days. i had intended to take the airtrain home as well but i had a redeye out of tucson and i'll talk about that later. so much for the grand experiment.


—the bastard

...on more departures

...or on indigestion

last night the bastard went out to bid a fond fairwell to jimmy 3000 as he leaves our fair state for north carolina which seems to be becoming, much to north carolina's chagrin, new new york. 3k has had enough of gotham or in his case, suburbia and besides, it's gotten expensive to live here. the bastard makes a decent buck but, i'm also doing a bunch of side stuff just to get by. so, it's off to the near south for mr and missus 3000 and their daughter for a brighter tomorrow.

don't let the top image fool you, 3k didn't work with me at killing stuff monthly. he was a good friend of mine from when i worked at "computer magazine that was doomed to failure weekly". he was my IT guy and he came down to my office to get coffee. we traded off on a lot of good music because this was during the halcyon days of napster. i owe a great deal of the fact that i prefer to walk down the street listening to gomez to this man (besides, nothings better than macking down the street to detroit swing 66 on the right day of the week). anyway, the art's there because we went out to dinner at this place and i believe the bastard ate an entire petting zoo while i was there. i'm kind of on meat overload at the moment so i think i'll have to take a breather for a little while. get a little greens in my life perhaps.

—the bastard

P.S. as a little bonus batter, the bastard got himself on a little bit of a cthulhu kick while looking for art for this post and i came across this little redoctoring of a chick comic tract for your viewing pleasure. just know now that the elder gods are coming and everyone is doomed.

tale of the 600 year old brush

Let me tell you about this brush. It has been sitting at the QV Mo Headquarters for longer than I can remember. Upon rediscovering it during my jaunt back last week I thought about the times I used that brush, when I had hair, and how the bastard and the elder used that brush, and apparently pa dukes still uses it for the 13 hairs (nuff respect to Tom the barber)on his head. It really gave me pause that a brush could last that long,especially after the amount of use it has gotten over the years. It is a good old brush, and every time a new brush was introduced into the fold this brush would stand it's ground not to be overshadowed. There have been several other brushes but this one is the thunderdome brush. It will last forever.

I waited until my arrival in NYC to buzz my head with the bastard's clippers, I used this brush to get the hair in line in order to insure a quality cut. This brush still has it's place.

mofo

beer can

once upon a time the bastard went to high school. in my first year and a half of high school i took the bus with mike chives. chives was one of those people who would insult you all the time as a means of personal elevation. it was something symptomatic in the neighborhood. chuck would insult everyone even though he was bigger and more likeable (until you figured his ass out) than most but he still needed to insult you in order to make himself appear bigger. chives was one of those people too except he wasn't allowed to play with chuck after a certain point or he grew tired of chuck's crap, the same way i did and the elder did. but the disease of the father perpetrates itself onto the son and mike chives engaged in the same kind of cut down as chuck did. so it was no surprise that the bastard found a better route and another insulting friend to pal around with and mike chives was surprised when in the spring of sophomore year i started to cut him up. it was more of a jocks versus non jocks thing and crap like that. but atr the time chives was the only person i knew who knew drinking things and this pic reminded me of him. one day before school, we were waiting for the bus when he was describing to me how if you drank a can of beer through a straw quickly, you would get drunk faster. i never tried it. it just seemed unnecessary to me since there was usually another can or bottle nearby. either way, i saw the can, thought of mike and thought about where he is now. in north carolina. still fat. still has that stupid look on his face. maybe he's drinking bud through a straw. don't really care. it left my head as soon as it entered my head but, there you go.

—the bastard

...on our tax dollars

y'see? i had you going there for a minute. you thought i was going to go on a rant. but i'm not. too bad. actually i went to the cradle of aviation museum yesterday with the boy and (apptly so) jonny airplanes. the cradle of aviation museum can be the museum of industry that used to be on long island as we as a people while not wanting power plants in our posh neighborhoods (not in my backyard) we don't like our weapons factories there either. oh well, when folks complain about the lack of manufacturing jobs in this country, i think of how the grumman plant is an empty parking lot where friends of mine went to go make out in after it was closed down because of it's seclusive qualities and how the parking lot of the lockheed martin offices in lake success sat empty the entire time i worked in manhasset (7 years almost).

official transport of the lindberg baby kidnapping



bi-plane. the bastard thinks it should be allowed to marry whomever it wants

the a-10 thunder bolt. used in both iraq conflicts. big and ugly

means what is says. says what it means

f-14 tomcat. highway to the danger zone. top gun is my favorite gay film. moreso than torch song trilogy and love! valor! compassion! combined.

"maverick! i still think that you're dangerous. but, you can be my wingman anytime" sooooo hot.

i used to love raiding the elder's stash of nat geo world magazines (now known as nat geo world for kids if you want a subscription) for the blue angel's issue. this was the coolest plane to the bastard when he was a child and i still get a charge out of seeing this dilapidated piece of machinery when i go here. you know what the crying shame is, this museum is in danger of being closed

anyway, happy day after tax day and happy easter as i run some pix from what can also be referred to the museum of how our tax dollars paid for some cool ass airplanes that bailed us out in world war two. and speaking of pictures, the nice lady now has a web site for her photography business and i put it in the links so enjoy some far and away better pictures than the bastard can crank out with his camera phone jerk. so enjoy. go on. enjoy!

—the bastard

...on the filth

...and the fury

...or how the bastard is proud of his idols

the bastard is so happy. not just happy because i had some high tech bbq for dinner with some pleasant company. not just happy that he can go to a bar and throw back a gin and tonic while "rudy can't fail" was playing on the jukebox (i secretly pogoed to myself for a sec). i'm happy because john lydon answerred me. rather he didn't answer the bastard directly, more like he lived up to my expectations.

OK QUICK BACKGROUND: the bastard woke up one morning in his teen years and forsook everything he had listened too up until that point. finding the music that he had listened to up until that moment just pointless. void of meaning. this was roughly after ...and justice for all by metallica came out and i had been listening to a lot of punk. i decided that everything else had no real value and i focused on it. punk was pure (i was young), it was raw (i was stupid), and it made me feel like it could enact more change than anything coming out of L.A at the time (i was idealistic). now the official bastard works fact checker that is my darling elder brother will remind me that it went down different, and he will no doubt be right. but, the bastard is a romantic. a spitting and cussing romantic that wants to be in love with the world again but he'll settle for romanticizing the past. you'll never get it back anyway, so why not polish it from time to time so that it looks all perty?

anyway, late last year the sex pistols were nominated into the rock and roll hall of fame and i pontificated on that as well then. i had wonderred what would this man, john lydon, who i idolized as a teenager do with this newfound faux recognition from his "peers". he spat on it. here's the note:

you know, people find that when you get older, you get more and more disillusioned by the things that you believe in as they get exposed to the elements. age breeds apathy for the things you once held dear. i know alot of what i was is a load of crap these days and i'm wiser for it. but for a chance one little thing wasn't and tonight i'm happy for it. thanks lydon. thanks for reminding an old bastard that the kid he used to be believed in the right shit. goodnight.

_the bastard

x marks the spot

...or on how it wasn't a hoax
now the bastard doesn't want to spend too much more time on this because i had a funny bit of miscoordination with the dubble platinum elder this morning but more on that later. apparently this "x" business has grown legs and cnn is launching an internal investigation. it can be read at drudge but here it is because of the bastard's love that dare not speak it's name for cutting and pasting:

XXXXX DRUDGE REPORT XXXXX TUE NOV 22, 2005 08:25:48 ET XXXXX

**Exclusive**

CNN SENIOR MANAGEMENT LAUNCHES INVESTIGATION OF CHENEY 'X'; CONTROL ROOM STAFFER 'LAUGHED' WHEN X FLASHED

CNN management has launched an internal investigation into how a giant black 'X' mark appeared over Vice President Dick Cheney's face -- as he delivered a speech from Washington on Monday!

"We are taking this matter very, very seriously, and I can assure you no one at this network would ever deliberately place an 'X' over the vice president's face," a top CNN source, who asked not to be named at this time, said from New York.

A well-placed CNN insider claims a control room staffer "laughed" when the image appeared shortly after 11 am.

A careful review of the tape now shows a white colored 'X' was also transposed over Cheney's face during the speech, it appeared for less than 1/15 of a second, creating a startling flash effect.

CNN spokeswoman Laurie Goldberg emails: "We concluded this was a technological malfunction not an issue of operator error. A portion of the switcher experienced a momentary glitch. We obviously regret that it happened and are working on the equipment to ensure it is not repeated."

A rival network news director asks: "When has an 'X' ever aired on CNN before? Who had the graphic sitting in the key signal? Who generated the 'X'?"

The vice president himself is said to have brushed off the incident, a White House source said early Tuesday morning.

Developing...

now i know what your saying. "bastard, this is merely just a diversion from the real facts. that cheney is the devil and he eats babies and george bush is a dummy/evil genius. and does this ché guevara shirt make me look fat, or like an iconoclast? or perhaps a sheep for pimping the head of castro's firing squad?" i don't know kids and yes you do look fat in that shirt. but, i'll say this. this is just some fucking clownshoes for all of us to have something to talk about at the dinner table this thursday. the real issue i'd rather discusss is perhaps the content of cheney's speech. or perhaps on how i think that joe biden is a bag of shit. but in the meantime the bastard would like to drink his coffee and look at forever. get to work stupid!!!

—the bastard

well, batten them down again, we'll teach those hatches

...or on how the mofo has reached an impass

well the bastard has weathered his own little hurricane last evening as the boy and the elder's children had created their own shitstorm in the rent's house. it almost gives credence to the premise of monster's inc. (yeah i was watching it this morning. it's probably the funniest thing billy crystal has been attached to since when harry met sally) of harnessing children's screams in order to power their monster cities. anyway, after the kid storm blew over, the bastard had moved on to other ponderings. like, "jesus christ! the silver fox slats his buttered bread because he doesn't like salted butter. what kind of crazy shit is that?" and , hey, that's a real great cheesefry". but most importantly, "mother of twelve bastards, there's another hurricane and it's heading right towards the mofo...again. the world hasn't seen this many hurricanes since 1933 and the mofo gets the ringside for the largest season on record. some guys have all the luck. i guess we'll see this again in 10 years when the atlantic is this warm and active again. board the winders, shiteyes.

—the bastard

dub plat brings the bastard to post more on selling out

...or searching for a ground, with my good eye closed

well the conversation still moves forward on the pros and cons of selling out and then the elder brother chimes in with a poignant point:

not to hit on a favorite band subject especially since it was beaten to death a few blogs ago, but some feel that metallica sold out when they got a major label, some after the video, some after the black album, some after they cut their hair, etc.

you know, it's funny that you bring up metallica. the bastard was watching this documentary about the seattle scene last night and there was this kid outside of a pearl jam/soundgarden show (also there was a sound check version of "searching with my good eye closed" going on). and he's standing there in all of his teenage glory with braids and earplugs shoved up his nose saying, "i'm pissed. i'm pissed because i heard 'em first".

the bastard gets the feeling that love for a band is not about the band's skills so much as it is about how the band makes you feel about yourself at the time and selling out is not about the band making a buck, it's about how you no longer feel that way or the band no longer makes you feel that way. i'm kind of like that about audioslave. i love the way cornell sings. but now that the bastard is no longer a child, i have put childish things away and i can't be in love with his sound anymore. it doesn't make me feel like something new is washing over me for the first time. i felt it last night listening to him singing "searching..." in that haunting monotone he does and for a minute, i was new again. i had my hair in the wind again. i was more innocent.

then the scene changed, the music stopped and there the bastard was on the floor..doing situps...less innocent than he was than when he was a kid. a little bit older and with more important things on his mind than he had when he was younger. damn, i wish i had that feeling back again. stupid old man, is it to the sky?

—the bastard