...in which the bastard shows you pictures in the least convenient way possible

shot show ain't the mullet fest it used to be. and i don't put it all together like that anymore since i got on the virus that is twitter and facebook and instagram.

so that said,

i have linked as many of these words as possible in order to that it you jerks want a look at the bastard's life on the road you can. or perhaps you can't. either way, i still get whiskey out of the deal so up yours.

—the bastard

…on tawkin

click click. out the bathroom.

head hurts so the bastard goes to the stewardess…er…bald guy who is my flight attendant

"oh it's you again", he says. I figger it's his way of being charming.

"yeah… I'm back".

"what can I get you?"

"a cup of coffee and a water?"

"uh cuppa caufee an uh waddah"

well here's the impasse.

it's kind of offensive as I find everyone's best new Yorker impersonation actually sucks cock but the man did move me to a window seat, and this airline provides me with all the free drinkers I want.

besides, my boss is from southham and I'm sure he's gonna crack me in the jaw if I say, "innit" one too many times.

then again, we talk about chavs all the time so I guess it's okay provided I don't take it the wrong way when he takes the piss outta me on the regular.

that's a story of its own.

today's vocabulary word is "clipping"

—the bastard

knights of the rails part4

"stick to your guns" is what the bastard decided on the Tarmac at 4:55 this morning

travel on a budget ain't easy

and it ain't gonna get any easier with a crappily made cheese steak being washed down with decent whiskey.

but no one said the bastard wanted it easy.

east is for people who are ready to drop 40 bucks to sit on the van wyck with a crappily made cheesesteak washed down with decent whiskey.

way I see it, I'm gonna feel I'll either way and if I hit all my marks, I'm only gonna lose 20 minutes of my life.

and I get some cardio out of it.

who am I kidding, I'd rather be sleeping in a cab on the van wyck but a man's gotta stick to his guns.

—the bastard

song track: the mob rules

…on materials

beep

beep

beep

the bastard frisks himself a 10th time.

don't worry jerk.

you've been randomly selected to be searched for hazardous materials.

all they found was grease on my hands from dinner.

there's your tax dollars at work.

making the world safe from fat guys in gundam t-shirts.

—the bastard

…on quick service

the bastard is an impatient man.

so when he arrived at the flying bar's counter and found no one there, he was mad.

I mean, I wanted a meal.

some whiskey.

some more whiskey.

and maybe some dinner.

so I got all on the twitter:

"it's 6:30 pm @flyingbar do you know where the hell your staff is @ Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport (PHX)"

5 minutes later twitter says to the bastard:

@thebastard Sorry for the wait. The JetBlue ticket counter at PHX opens at 6:45 pm. Somebody should be there very soon!

while I was impressed at the quick response, the bastard was also weirded out.

stupid secrete police.

be less secrete

—the bastard

open road… REALLY open

I think the tired has caught up with me.

and I think my shuttle bus is taking me to the airport via the middle of nowhere.

perhaps the bastard is more accustomed to dodging a traffic jam via taking the bridge instead of the tunnel.

this seems more like take the desolate empty road instead of the i10.

at least it's never boring.

and at least this shuttle doesn't smell like the down economy.

I'm looking forward to some bourbon and a meal at this point.

oh yeah, I updated the look of the blog. this is what I do when the boy is at school and I'm tired of sitting around.

love it.

no really. love it. or I'll stab you in the neck.

— the bastard

just in case you were wondering…

…free whiskey is the best whiskey.

the bastard has to give big ups to the flying bar.

due to our daughter's stomach bidness, we had to change our flight plans to later in the day.

which led to a great deal of uncertainty.

as to where we were seated.

how much grief we'd have with the babby.

that kind of crap.

but we lucked out.

front row.

and flight delays.

flight delays? lucking out?

yep. lucking out shiteyes.

inconvenience for the masses led to free whiskey for the bastard.

and free whiskey is a vacation win in my book.

cheers, jerk

—the bastard

…on vacations

you ever get the feeling that you should have stayed in bed?

your home state?

yeah. me too.

you see, the baby has a stomach virus.

and we made the decision that riding said virus out would be better in a two bedroom house in a sprawling development in west palm beach would be a better plan than flushing three airplane tickets down the toilet and enjoy said virus in our not so sprawling 350 square foot studio apartment.

not the best set of options but, I stick by my decision.

it's sunny and the baby is sleeping and for five minutes, a bastard can get some peace and quiet.

—the bastard

tragic or magic

quite frankly, the bastard doesn't get it.

when did the disconnect happen?

at what pout did it become socially acceptable to dress like a well pressed hobo when you get on a plane?

take this person here all rockin some ugly looking nikes with argyle socks and her 1980's adidas nylon track pants.

she's got a little bit of the captain in her too.

what the hell?!

is it tragic?

or is it magic?

or is it symptomatic of a greater problem in today's flight culture?

I wonder if we've just gotten lazy as a culture or perhaps this has been a colossal passive aggressive statement on the decline of the luxuriousness of air travel.

I could ponder this or let the 4 fingers of bakers do it's work.

hrm. the bastard chooses the latter.

—the bastard

firsts…

the bastard didn't sleep last night.



so he slept clear from new York to Michigan.

first time for everything.

as a consolation prize, the bastard feels like his head has been caved in with a hammer.

—the bastard

ghost circles…

so it's gonna be a rough landing you see.

flying into a rain storm in the dirty souf isn't the bastard's idea of a grand evening out.

but here we are bouncing round Atlanta.

doing ghost circles in the rain.

one doesn't really entertain the notion of it all going south but I know that if it did…

then I did alright this time around on this rock.

happy fucking landings shiteyes.

—the bastard

ball park franks

the bastard liked it much better when air travel was less with airport safety theatre and more with less crowded flights.

row 36 only meant crap seats in a theatre back in those salad days.

flying to and fro in the down economy is delightful.

especially when the old ass flight attendant jams her ass into my elbow because she should have spent more time on a treadmill.

don't get me wrong, I'd say the same thing if I was a man.

I just don't enjoy the goddam aisle seat is all.

air travel sour grapes it is.

that's all.

—the bastard

the captain

baggage claim.

this portly rather nasally sounding fellow kept his leg on the carousel.

moved it whenever a bag hit his foot.

then put it back down.

he had a little bit of the captain in him.

or

he thought that he looked majestic in his track pantss

but he did not.

too bad.

—the bastard

leg two…

…electric boogaloo

much to the bastard's delight, the connecting flight to Tucson put me at a window seat who's windows I promptly closed.

this added up to a delightful nap until we were up in the air.

however, the bastard's peaceful repast was interrupted by the elbows of a man who reminded me of Robert loggia and john locke's love child.

and his elbowing was the passive aggressive variety.

the only respite being when he would lean in to make out with his nightmare hippy trophy wife.

I mean what the hell?!

who wears thick wool socks with a skirt?!?

WTF!?

WTFF?!?

anyways, I decided to go on walkabout before resuming my cartoons.

I'm sure more elbow fun awaits me' back in my chair.

—the bastard

asses and elbows

you see,

there's a reason why the bastard likes the window seat.

first and foremost, I don't have to check my elbow everytime the goddam drink cart rolls by.

secondly, the bastard doesn't have to look at you.

yes ladies across the aisle, I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings but mayhap you should keep you frikkin hooves in your shoes.

no one wants to see your filthy frikkin feet.

unless you're some manner of foot fetishist.

which the bastard is not.

thirdly and most importantly, the bastard likes the window seat because

HE CAN CLOSE THE GODDAM WINDOW!!!!!!!

this means you jerk. the bastard has been up since 3am and he would have like a small bit of frikkin sleep but that's not at all possible with you reading your fucking tourist guide to fucking Guatemala with the rising sun as your reading light.



god dammity damn.

at least there's coffee on the plane and mötörhead on my phone.

—the bastard

PS: fml! the woman with the window seat apparently likes to sleep with the window open. hell really is traveling with other people. just as well I suppose. the caffeine is doing it's job now.

obligatory travel post…

it's goddam early yo!

there are birds flying around the terminal here.

the sizes of the coffee cups have been changed to protect the innocent.

apparently, so was the size of the piece of banana bread I ordered.

the bastard feels like he's wearing a jacket on his tongue.

but that's early morning flights and all.

—the bastard

the least wonderful time of the year

press pause…

…and the bastard is having the time of my life.

running around with the boy.

enjoying the whole new family dynamic.

loving life.

I never say loving life.

and it's been a great summer personally.

but like the trustie said to me this week,

"all good times come to an end"

and he's right

…press play

the gate backs away.

the truck pulls the plane back and I whisper one last goodbye to my son.

and it tears me up inside.

I don't know how the other parents who's kids are flying solo tonight are feeling but,

the bastard is torn up.

this never gets easier.

but it was a good summer.

now it's back to dealing with the rest of what my life is when the boy isn't here

I have the love of a good woman and that's good.

and a little girl who smiles at me when I come home and that's good too.

and a hole in my heart that is only full for two months a year.

but it's gonna be alright someday.

…press stop

—the bastard

this just in…

this is where all of mine went.

jet lag is a harsh mistress.

—the bastard

…with heavy eyes

the bastard humps to the airport once more.

this time it's not for business.

it's to be a proud father and to bring his back to meet his new sister and to spend the summer with him.

it isn't the most conventional life but, I'll take it

but, only if foursquare makes me the mayor of the effing jet blue terminal.

some thoughts on the lost finale so stop reading

now

"oh hai, we all died in a plane crash over the pacificand the afterlife plays out like a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel. here's six year you ain't gettin back shiteyes".

you may now enjoy your regular programming.

—the bastard

deep fried gladness

so our hosts felt a real taste of the deep south was in order last night.

this came in the form of airboat gator rides and deep fried alligator tail.

it was a good night.

the takeaway for the bastard is this.

I spent the last two and a half days feeling like the dumbest guy in the room and then in the next moment like a goddam genius.

and above all else, it gave me a renewed sense of purpose.

wasn't a waste of my time at all.

now if only this shifty eyed character in front of me just turned out to be my imagination, all would be right with the world.

happy landings jerkface!

—the bastard