vegas in the NEW village

got these of of curbed. as some may know, CBGB's lease will be up this year and the local residents of the bowery want hilly kristal to pack up his stuff an dgo. this will be another symptom of a growing culture shortage in the lower east side. hilly had mentioned going to vegas and while it would be a shame, a really big shame, he's entitled. it isn't his fault that a bunch of wealthy trust fund sorts decided to build their families lives there. it's not hilly's fault that yuppies want to single handedly murder the birthplace of punk. i'll tell you this. new york has become a city of consumers not makers of things. way things are going, we will never have anyone like basquiat here anymore. no one likle warhol. no one like the ramones, the talking heads, the nyhc scene. no innovators, just pilates doing consumers with double wide strollers and marketing people. it's a shame.



but fear not, they are rebuilding the village, in beautiful, sunny, las vegas.


one summer i took my cousin from cali down to the village and she remarked at how dirty is was. the nice lady mentioned that it was the "hip" part of town. she responded that it was the "dirty part of town". now, it won't be that way , in vegas. no one will even have to put up with the cattle sized roaches. oh well.

—the bastard

...on the longest day

...or on that season of 24 in which jack bauer gets stuck in an airport in las vegas and sleeps on the floor then sits on a planes and watches zoolander instead of saving the country and it never airs.

OH MY GOD! it burnses! hates it! hates the red bull! the bastard wakes up after only 2 hours of sleep and jonny airplanes had less. you see, after a night out like this, hell, after a week out like this the bastard has lost all touch with what happens when you run with the bulls. you see you get trampled, and by trampled i mean that i snored my lousy ass off until the magical telephone tells me it's time to begrudgingly get out of las vegas.

NOW QUICK FLASHBACK: the evening started off innocently enough in which the k using his uncanny powers of vegas that were granted to him by his wife's powerful cousin, 14 of us went to an incredible restaurant called stack in which the bastard had an incredible meal. along with trying kobe beef, the bastard also discovered that cod tastes okay. but most of all what tastes good is a 14 ounce brooklyn filet. following this we made out way to the all powerful cousin's club known as jet. now i didn't remember this from the previous club night's experience, but jet had a velvet rope for the rank and file. past this was the v.i.p. line, next to that the v.v.i.p line, past this was the friends of the owner line which got pushed aside so that the 20 of us could walk in. this was followed by table service with a bodyguard who was equally as big as CJ was from the other night. to be amicable, the bastard thought it would be a good idea not to ask for gin as only left hand rob and myself drank it the other night (that was until jonny airplanes apparently made him stay at light and finish all of the liquor). it get a little blurry at this point but, let's suffice to say that bastard did some drinking, did some dancing and then woke up feeling like he had sunburn from drinking so much red bull and vodka. my one regret was that i never made it to the double down saloon with rob and susie to sample a glass of ass juice and a bacon martini as pictured mmmmmmmmmmmm heayah.

meanwhile back in nyc, apparently mother nature decided to give my home all of this winter's snow at once which made us all contemplate changing our flight reservations and the bastard will go on the record as saying that jonny airplanes was right, we should have flown back on tuesday, i now have to let him make one important decision in my life for me provide he is sure he is right. dammit, i hate debts like that. all he did was stare at me in the terminal for the first 4 hours of our delay. the stare of someone righteously affronted because he was missing out on 2 more days of this nonsense. in retrospect, i should have listened to him, the ammunition i need to photograph for the new ammo 2006 feature would still be there on wednesday morning as it was when i came in on tuesday morning. there you go shiteyes, complete confession of wrongdoing, we go to orlando next year.

anyway, someone had to call the cops because the digerati on our flight were fighting each other over the limited amount of outlets in the terminal, the bastard caught a floor nap, which is the worst kind of nap. finally our 10:45 flight boards at 3:30 pm, gets off the ground at 4:00. then the bastard sleeps through to colorado. at about 11.....ish we're circling j.f.k. and we just got word that a turkish airways flight spun out doing donuts on the runway and we had to wait. we land at midnight to the announcement that only one runway was plowed and we have a traffic jam which prompted this special asshole to start flipping out in the plane everytime the plane stopped on it's slow trudge to the gate which had us off this ball park frank at 1am. luggage came at 2am and the bastard reeled until 3:30 when he finally expired in a chair. at some point along the way we joked about the k's cousin's powers because, we really did have alot of access this week. when we were waiting for our luggage i asked the k to call his cousin, see what he could do to speed this up. the k shook his head and responded, "bastard the cousin is all powerful in the city of las vegas but in new york, he's just a mere mortal like the rest of us." and apparently, we were mere mortals once again too. long day. long week. good show. cheers, shiteyes.

—the bastard

susie kansas goes to vegas

well the bastard just fired susie kansas and re-hired her. but most importantly, this is susie's first trip to las vegas. you see, the bastard's boss, the k, the gimp, k of the nine toes, reminded the bastard that this trip (albeit a working vacation) is the art departments only perk, so we spread the wealth. so susie gets the first shot show blog as this is her trip to vegas.

—the bastard

feet up...

...vegas next.


so this is a little piece i like to call still life with feet up and men holding big fish.

the bastard is done with the pre builds and on with the packing for vegas.

hot damn!

woke up trucked.

came to work that way.

and i'm going to take 5 minutes to catch my breath.

follwed by a healthy serving of the devils work and back into the shit.

fantastic.

—the bastard

...on nightmares

...and dreamscapes

part one: get rich or die trying.

chairman: hey

the bastard: yesh?

chairman: ok, crazy dreams last nite

chairman: you shived 50 cent to death, in vegas

the bastard: he had it coming

the bastard: and vegas had a crowd i could disappear into

chairman: well u me and jamie kennedy were hanging out in the Wynn

the bastard: jamie kennedy?

chairman: and 50 walked by and i go holy shit its 50 cent and 50 goes no pictures

the bastard: what the hell is wrong with you man?

chairman: but u kept running around w/ ur iphone

chairman: try to snap shots

chairman: then 50 recognized me

chairman: and said you man tom can get a picture with me

chairman: so u took it with the iphone

chairman: but 50 felt it was too pixelated

chairman: and was poor quality

chairman: apparently he's a fotog

chairman: so you go chairman, i'm gonna have to take out the good knife

chairman: and u stabbed him

chairman: fast forward

chairman: we're in the desert with samuel l. jackson

chairman: trying to bury 50's body

chairman: and sandra bullock posed as an overzealous reporter sees us

chairman: and puts it on the interweb. So you decide because you're the overlord at this point

chairman: that we're going to commandeer 50's suite at the wynn

chairman: then i woke up

the bastard: well at least i'm not a boring date

part two: don't call it a comeback:

chairman: to only go back to bed to have a dream that staten island was going to blow up

chairman: and i was in a car with philip seymour hoffman

the bastard: nice

the bastard: that is the best dream EVER

chairman: who was telling me about his fleggling baseball career with the brewers

the bastard: he does look sort of midwestern

chairman: we were driving a 1984 maroon station wagon

the bastard: chevy or ford?

chairman: but the air was filled with propane gas

chairman: mercury

the bastard: i see

chairman: with the roof rack

the bastard: grand marquis wagon?

chairman: yes!

the bastard: 80's era?

chairman: w/ the wood paneling on the sides

the bastard: nice

chairman: maroon seats

chairman: yes

the bastard: that's the only way to drive

chairman: tape player

the bastard:what was on the tape player

chairman: high end

chairman: styx

the bastard: benzi box?

the bastard: was it best of times?

chairman: and damn yankees

the bastard: or mister roboto?

the bastard: did it take you high enough?

chairman: he was trying to talk me back into a comeback

chairman: im not sure if i was a singer

the bastard: a comeback?

chairman: or a baseball player

chairman: or what

the bastard: i see

chairman: but he wanted me to comeback

the bastard: but you know what l.l. sez

the bastard: don't call it a comeback

the bastard: you know what this means chairman?

the bastard: it means that you're gonna kill again

chairman: goooooooood

chairman: not psh tho

chairman: he's a genius

the bastard: nah, he'll be your accomplice

part three: the bodycount?

the bastard: i'm putting this on the blog

the bastard: too good not to

chairman: at least i have A list celebs in my dreams

chairman: not sure why you keep stabbing them

chairman: i think if u had a chance u would have stabbed PSH too

chairman: first sarah silverman, then 50

the bastard: oh wait, i stabbed sarah silverman too?

quick sidebar: the chairman had a dream last weekend that he was married to sarah silverman and she made fun of me several times, prompting the bastard to storm out of his subconscious.

the bastard: i thought i just stormed off

chairman: true

chairman: naa u made a shiv out of a spoon

chairman: and came back and stabbed her

the bastard: nice

chairman: and your ladyfriend was pissed that u did that

chairman: but apparently you're a ruthless serial killer who kills my A list celebrity friends

the bastard: i am

the bastard: everyone has to have a hobby

chairman: after you killed 50 you were really excited that it was on perez hilton

the bastard: nice

chairman: this is all your fault for making me write my crazy dreams down

chairman: and passing out to VH1

the bastard: excellent, it'll help in the long run

the bastard: well i know that you love the 80's

the bastard: and hal sparks

chairman: who doesn't love hal sparks

the bastard: your mom

chairman: good point

the bastard: i know

someone please stop me before i kill again. for the love of a-listers.

—the bastard

...on people

...and how they're not all bad

so i'm taking a later train home tonight and i pass out. i am never going to finish this effing book if i can't stay awake. anyway i awake to the text message stylings of the mofo asking me if i've finally given up the ghost to get some sleep. you see, all of my vegas drinky talk has alerted certain parties to the notion that there is a problem in the making here. and i will only address it once and never again (dub). accounts of the bastard's drunken misadventures are by and large a farcical take on what actually happened that night or on a given night in question or whatever. now granted all of that crap that i wrote about in vegas really did happen, and more and that by no means constitutes a slow and steady descent into alcoholism.

that said, i arrive back into the waking world to a text messgae from the mofo asking if i'm taking the night off and i say yes and then we exchange lines from the life aquatic (good thing i'm paying for the 25000 messages a month plan). anyway i notice that there is this 90 year old bluesman and he's not looking too lucid. apparently he missed his connection. th econductor then helped him up and gave him a note to give to the conductor of the next jamaica bound train to help him find his connection to far rockaway. then 3 gentlemen helped him off the train and presumably onto the jamaica bound platform. you know it doesn't take too much work to help someone out. well played gentlemen. well played.

—the bastard

...on sin

...and its city

so here we are, in loverly las vegas. the bastard's trip started off with some drunk blonde woman who was sitting in the front row. she walked right past row one in her state and eventually was pointed towards her seat in the front row where she proceeded to trip over a crippled woman's crutches and bashed her head against the overhead compartment. FANTASTIC. i so wish i didn't shut off the phone by this point. it would have been glorious. so instead i texted scoop back in the 11th row.

nothing broke, saw walk the line and proceeded to land in one piece. we caught a fuzzy cab to the sketchy sketchy home base. so sketchey that last year, left hand rob noticed that there was a hooker staging area by the star trek experience. it's like having a little bit of the bristol hotel (where dat at, jamaica, queens) in vegas. skellarific!

—the bastard

funny thing about mother nature

or the mofo brought up some points that made me think:


funny thing about new mexico and the southwest for that matter is, they have their own separate daring mother nature issues...water. robbo works with a guy who used to live in vegas. vegas has lake mead (rocket fuel and all). it's the water supply for the whole southwest. i'm sure that there is other places that they get water from but lake mead is a big source. you have people in the southwest and california (who has to draw water from mead as well) who have lawns. kentucky bluegrass. do you know how much water you have to waste to keep kentucky bluegrass growing in the desert and/or dry steppe. i read a piece in the la times or the hollywood reporter and i cam across this bit about actress rene russo (there goes lethal weapon again). russo and her husband buy this place and have the garden redone in indigenous plants to the state of california. it cut her water bill down by one or two thirds. two thirds more so you can have grass like they have back east? what the hell are you thinking?

funny thing about the environmental movement. i came across this bit in the national review about the blame game on this. how environmentalists actually tried to blame the tsunami on global warming but tectonic shifts much to recovering heroin addict robert kennedy jr.'s chagrin, have nothing to do with global warming. there are similar rumblings with regard to katrina. global warming is contributing to stronger hurricanes. well according to the national weather service, the facts say otherwise. this is a natural phenomenon, and more of these storms struck land in the 1800's and the 1940's. so one can never really tell can we. on the other hand the bastard will no doubt eat his hat if we exceed 24 hurricanes strikes in this decade so, i'll have to get back to you on that in 2010. i'm sure you'll be waiting with baited breath.

and here's a wacky fact for you. this morning i heard on the news and the bastard wants to find out when the levees were built. you see, allthough only 92 category 3,4,5 hurricanes have made landfall since 1851 (not including this year's batch), new orleans' levees are only built to withstand category 3 hurricanes. i know that alot of opportunistic bush bashing has been going on since this happened and george did cut some funding to FEMA but, who the hell thought to build substandard levees? i would have built them to withstand category 10. ida know, maybe the technology didn't exist at the time but, it makes me wonder. my man jonny's world told me as he is taking FEMA course for the coast guard that storm surges develop into bigger thing in shallow water and the gulf is one big shallow pond. What are they thinking down there? I shouldn't presume but I have to wonder. And another thing, I'm sorry, I know this is a national tragedy but I can't get that bucking led zeppelin song out of my head. the worst part is, i'm not very familiar with the "song when the levee breaks" so the voices in my head inevitably go straight into "rhyming and stealing" by the beastie boys. it's like a hugely inappropriate curse i have on myself.

anyway, i don't know if we build these things (ie mofo's trade center example) to challenge mother nature or because engineers and city planners feel that these things are a testament to mankinds ability to live harmoniously with nature while polluting it but, there has to a time and a place for these city planners to occasionally take stock and improve. amsterdam did. they have a huge system for preventing floods. venice is building something to save venice. new orleans should have been thinking about this years ago instead of bringing in more riverboat casinos. ida know. the bastard's not there. the bastard can't understand it all. the bastard is glad his wife filled the gas tank before they raise the price of fuel this weekend. enjoy those SUVs, you suckers.

—the bastard

...on seconds

FIRST: on return visits


the last time the bastard was in vegas, he went back to a big name place called delmonicos which three years ago was the site of the greatest steak i ever had.

and i have always been of the sort that going back and having something again is always a disappointment.

i mean the running man totally sucked when i saw it 10 years later. SUCKED!

but going back to delmonicos last february, it wasn't just as good as i remember it, it was better. and i wasn't just saying it to make chicago jerkface cry. the bastard said so because it was. it was like reliving a happy memory while almost dropping someone's soup on myself.

this happened again tonight. i invited my ladyfriend to come along with the boy and i to get barbecue at fette sau with saxomafone. now, the bastard has spoken of this place in the past and i have to say, it was so much more fantastic than the last time i went. they had smoked pork chops. SMOKED PORK CHOPS. on the way out, some old biddies in crocs had asked us if the place was good and i said yes. but then they asked if they had vegan food as well and i started explaining how it wouldn't make sense to smoke tofu and my ladyfriend just leaned in and said,

"if you like meat, then you'll like this"

both poignant and pointed in it's wisdom

SECOND: slowly i turned


on the way home, the bastard was too meat coma'd out to drive like a champ, like i ever could drive like a champ (shut up now, you know who you are) and we got on the bqe which made it impossible to get on the williamsburg bridge so we had to take the brooklyn bridge instead. this led to us being able to see the waterfall installation under the brooklyn bridge. it was really beautiful. and max and my ladyfriend had a an actual conversation. i really want them to get along. it looks promising. it was a good night.

—the bastard

...on magic

so rob talked the bastard into taking in a show.

normally, the bastard doesn't take in shows while in vegas.

he gambles.

and raises hell.

and spits fire.

and farts ambrosia.

but we took in the penn and teller show. i have to give it up, that while, penn and teller show you how each trick is done, it makes the idea of sleight of hand seem just THAT MUCH more magical.

it's kind of like when i used sleight of hand to beat you up for your lunch money.

no....not really.

it's kind of like that sharp pointed feeling you get between your second and third ribs when i stuck that shiv into you.

no....not really but, you get the idea.

anyway, at the end of the show, p&t do a little meet and greet in which you find out that not only does teller speak, he speaks english. but, i had to talk to penn. i had to tell him that i missed hearing him on the radio.

first off, he is a goddam huge human being. and shaking hand with him is like shaking hands with a giant.

"excellent show"

"thanks" (eyes roll; can't help it, he probably hears that shit all the time, 365 days a year)

"penn, i miss hearing you on the radio"

"don't worry pal, i have something coming up soon"

"really? cool. i always enjoyed the way you said honky tonk badonkadonk"

and then penn, with the voice of someone who could totally be president if the south was ready to accept a atheist juggler into the white house smiled, and said, as if he would say, "my fellow americans",

he says,

"honky tonk......badonkadonk"

yeah. that big bastard never disappoints. made my week.

—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

you know what the bastard likes about humanity...

...not a damn thing.

the bastard's ceiling is getting painte, so he runs out of the house to avoid explaining to the house painter why i can't cram everything i own into the boy's room.

didn't work. he is impeccably on time.

station is crowded with people doing the hokey pokey on the fucking platform.

"this is v train"; you put your left foot in

"we're running express"; you take your left foot out

"we're being held in the station"; you put your left foot in

"but we're running express to woodhaven blvd"; and you bash the bastard in the knuckles with your big ass handbag that you should be paying attention to asshole!!!

and that's what it's all about.

the bright spot was that my favorite breakfast crack dealer was there at the end of all of this to give the bastard his bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll and i listened to some guy order coffee with 4 equals.

sounded like someone should have ordered some coffee with his formaldehyde.

oh well, i guess you gotta die of something and the bastard doesn't want to go to jail until he gets to vegas.

—the bastard

...the haul

today, the bastard set up the last of his pages.

the pages from his monolith.

his albatross.

his yearly herculean labor.

and it was no more.

and when the bastard had saw the breadth of his domain, he wept for there were no more worlds to conquer.

and truth to tell,

all poetry aside, every time i finish this fucking mountain of work, i feel like weeping a little bit. it's hard. and i still have a pile to do. i owe the devil his due. i still have to finish the february/march issue. and the end isn't in site but for a minute, the bastard feels like he won a little today.

i'll lose some more tomorrow.

but on to bigger and better. the end of the road. it leads to vegas. we booked some dinner. we'll throw some dice. we'll fuck some shit up. but most of all. we'll lay the live half of what i finished today. maybe i won more than i bargained for.

—the bastard

jet lag…

… makes it hahd to type

been back a few days and it's taken me some time to get it together.

staying up til 3 in Vegas doesn't do right by an east coaster.

so I've been run down.

trying to get back I the groove with the dead animal books.

yeah, the bastard works for all ah they now.

I will say this though.

consolidation has done wonders for my office creativity.

now if I should only sleep like a normal person.

oh well.

go to hell.

—the bastard

…cyclical

…and so it ends.

…and so it begins anew.

the show that is shot is always preceeded by the rough birth of 300 plus pages.

it's usually 200 plus.

but what rough beast shuffles to life made of the stuff of printouts and press releases and sweat and frustration slumbering slowly towards the city of sin?

it's me bitches.

oh and that frikkin convention daily that the bastard is so goddam proud of bring a part of.

and make no mistake I AM proud to be a part of this hot mess we throw down.

but here we are.

the royal we… not you.

riding the train for one day of driving before we take the plunge and shuffle slowly towards las Vegas to do it again.

day after day, I get up and say I'm gonna do it again.

do it again. up yours ray davies.

—the bastard

more hat than mullets...

...or is it more hat than cattle.

either way, the bastard came across more hats than mullets this time around. when the show is in vegas, more vendors come out mostly because they either can't afford to or refuse to go when the show is in florida. which in the case of the latter is a little egocentric in the bastard's book. i mean, hell, the bastard gets on a plane and goes regardless of where the show is. if it was in missouri, i'd go to fucking missouri.

no judgements.

just do the job.

allthough the bastard would have to rent a car and drive to branson in order to gamble. could you imagine? a casino without drinking or smoking? how do you get people to lose at table games if they aren't drunk? most of this was shot by sara voids.






at the end of it all, the thrill really isn't in the finding of mullets, so much as it is in the searching. and if it's hats, mullets, drunken jackasses, the bastard is ready for the good times that come with hunting for jackassery. it's probably the only thing at these shows that the bastard like's more than drinking and gambling.

well i DO like the drinking

and the gambling alot.

so i guess the jackassery comes third.

—the bastard

…on traveling

last night, I met up with my Vegas family so we could engage in our yearly repast of ordering a meal and keeping a table occupied for several hours.

which always prompts the wait staff to look at us all cock eyed wondering when we're gonna leave.

but last night was a treat.

last night, the way back machine brought the traveller to dinner.

the traveller was one of the first people who I met in college that wasn't from my neighborhood and he was into traveling.

now traveling was never clearly defined to the bastard but sometimes it involved test driving ford probes.

sometimes it involved joining a fraternity to meet girls.

sometimes it involved telling others that they couldn't POSSIBLY be able to travel with the traveler properly.

and sometimes it involved keeping a bottle of scope and a bottle of vodka in you back pack along with some rice a roni.

but needless to say, whatever the sliding goal post that traveling was, it was never dull.

and these days he'd rather not travel anymore.

he'd rather see his kid grow up without licking the ashtray or some otherwise awful fate.

so perhaps three years ago was the journey's end for the traveler.

or perhaps the beginning.

either way, a good meal was had by all. and I'll talk about the restaurant some other time.

—the bastard

the bastard had no clue how much he's missed his parklife

Confidence is a preference for the habitual voyeur of what is known as (parklife)

And morning soup can be avoided if you take a route straight through what I get up when I want except on Wednesdays when I get rudely awakened by the dustmen

(Parklife)

I put my trousers on, have a cup of tea and I think about leaving the house (parklife)

I feed the pigeons I sometimes feed the sparrows too it gives me a sense of enormous well

Being (parklife)

And then I'm happy for the rest of the day safe in the knowledge there will always be a bit

Of my heart devoted to it (parklife)

it ain't everyday that it hits 50 degrees in the liquid city in January…

so girlfriend and I hopped on scooters and headed to the park down the block…

I miss fresh air…

after a week in Vegas followed by two weeks of hitting it hard while understaffed…

it's good to get your ass outside. 

so I did. 

—the bastard

...on reunions

...and bratwurst.

the bastard used to do things at the eleventh hour.

you wanna go drinking at 11:59?

the bastard was there.

notsomuch these days.

I'm working my ass to death making two magazines,

going to offsites,

trying to be a decent father,

tryig to be a decent spouse.

so I have been a planner.

not really so much as living with a planner and trying to do right by her.

which is why I haven't seen the chairman since vegas.

it doesn't help that schedules collide either.

except for one day when we high fiver each other going the opposite way of each other om the bqe.

which counts as hanging out by the way.

and quite like how it used to be, it was good times.

it didn't hurt that there was venison sausage to be had at this beer hall.

—the bastard

...on seeing it

LAST NIGHT: "you know bastard, i'm very concerned about how i'm going to get to las vegas on saturday"

"howso chairman? oh wait. yeah. the snow"

"yeah"

"well like anything weather wise in this town, i'll believe it when i see it. then again, i'm saying this with the ground condtions being right for snow to stick but, i'll believe it when i see it."

THIS MORNING: "well, that sure looks like snow all right", says the bastard as he accidentally kicks his air cleaner to the ground, completely crushing all hope of hitting the snooze button and getting another 10 minutes before i face the day.


HIT THE GROUND RUNNING: the bastard has this pair of boots from redhead that i got from the snowman but were worn by this man in a photoshoot for killing stuff monthly. but hell, free is free and they are spectacular in the snow. notsomuch with the indoors though.


ER, I MEAN SLIDING: transfer point.

took a chance. the ny1 said that there were signal problems up and down the 6 line but, i don't want to walk in these boots, i've worn them like 4 times tops and the lack of breaking in is grinding on the backs of the bastard's feet. oww.

down the stairs towards downtown. and down the bastard goes. you ever heard that sound a picket fence makes when you run a stick across it? yeah that's the one. all the way down the downtown stair i go. thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, WHUMP. ow! my aching ass! a woman who's having a case of the crazy hair turns around and asks the bastard,

"are you alright?"

headphone comes out," yeah, sure. that was delightful. did that sound as good as it felt?"

crazy hair smiles, "yeah", chuckles, and it's back to the business of getting work and the little mexican elves who make egg sandwiches for me. owwww, i hurt now.


ON THE SIX: a giant fat man in a trench coat gets in behind me. he has so much carcass. how the fuck does he get around like that? does he live on a steady diet of entire horses? he looks like nikita kruschev ate two whole nikita kruschevs to become the nikita kruschev that gets to walk THIS earth instead of the 3 other earth's that have giant nikita kruschev eating nikita kruschevs dwelling on them (there can BE only one you know). god, the bastard fucking HATES cannibals.

anyway, nikita, gets off at 42nd but he has to lumber his way through us and he smites this pleasant faced black woman into me. and now he's lumbering like the creature that the boy in akira becomes in the last half hour of the movie and as she's being crushed into me, she smiles and i tell her, "i believe the phrase the gentleman was looking for was "excuse me"". she just smiles and decides to get out of the doorway. nikita looks back for a second, the bastard holds his fingers in a v shape and jams them into my throat looking for a reaction from this fat fuck but he's off the train.

and i'm looking for an egg sandwich. god dammit, my ass hurts. stupid boots.

—the bastard