the horror...the...hor..ror

there are some things that the bastard can never wash out of his brain.

and now you cannot wash it out of your brain as well.

some call him heavenly in his brilliance. others mean and ruthful of the western dream. i love the friends i have gathered together on this thin raft. we have constructed pyramids in honor of our escaping. this is the land where the pharaoh died.

your welcome.

—the bastard

zombies on a thursday night

it really is amazing how quickly on can get to the upper upper west side on a weeknight to play a zombie board game.


yeah. you header that right. the bastard plays zombie board games. wanna fight about it? I'll cut your sorry ass.

have I mentioned I've been drinking.

—the bastard

unified theory…

11:16 pm
bastard: your unified theory of martinis is correct. two is enough to constitute trubble.

bastard: three is nigh disastrous

11:33 pm
mofo: But the cuban. The cuban!

bastard: the Cuban was impressive. but I am drunk and watching mi-5

12:01 am
mofo: I deconstructed eggplant parm and made tabboulleh tonight for nat and i. Martini and wine followed. No mi-5.

bastard: make no mistake. mi-5 had everything to do with martinis and tabbouleh. eggplant was bertuslicuni's fault entirely

bastard: what have aye Dunn to deserve this flat and flavorless manhattan?

12:23 am
mofo: You find gOod tabouleh in manhattan the eggplant parm is a tw original. Its going to be 23 degrees here tonight so chin up.


3:47 am
bastard: chin up indeed. I've been tits up on my couch since before your last text. nai nai

—the bastard

fumes…

it's been said,

"somedays you get the bear. and somedays the bear gets you".

needless to say, the bastard didn't get the bear last night.

in fact what he got was a paddlin at the hofbrauhaus.

it's the only place I've gone where I don't care if they screw up my food order because I'm there for a stein of "lake beer I can dock my boat to".

but what happened was,

my party had also ordered shots of apple scnapps.

shots come on a paddle.

so needless to say, we all got a paddlin.

then the bastard essentially made no headway with the dice.

this always strikes me as a every other kind of thing.

so who knows,

next year can end up being a more lucrative trip instead of a more paddly trip.

at least I can still sit down.

—the bastard

…lowbrow

you know,

it used to be the interesting work that gets the bastard out of bed in the morning.

then it was the people.

but sometimes it's the swag.

and in this case, the most inneresting variety.

or




has the bastard ever told you about the time he found out exactly how lowbrow his tastes in fact are.

you see, the powers that be decided to have a bourbon tasting for killing stuff

because the people like they whiskey.

it ain't all budweiser out their in the field my son.

but this was a blind taste test.

9 whiskeys

8 bourbons (not all cheap ones either) and a Mickey slipped in to fuck with the cross section.

oddly enough, the bastard chose the Mickey. which was jack Daniels oddly enough.

which calls either my tastes to the carpet or it calls the nature of trying 9 different whiskies in one sittings and trying to be able to discern what is what by your fourth taste.

I think it's a little of column A and a little bit of column B.

but in retrospect, it's what I got out of bed yesterday morning.

come on,

you can't have the love every day

—the bastard

…goddam it's hot out

…so why not have a drunken throwdown.

so the mofo will be bidding the q borough adeiu soon for desert plains.

and what better way to send the old home off than to drink in the back yard and burn some meats.

the accountant came in from the golden state along with the chairman, captain America and a host of our clan.

good beer. good food. good times.

Sherman came too with his family massive.

it may be circle the wagons time.

whither the q borough, I wonder.

it might be time to move back across the river perhaps.

—the bastard

...time machine

...and no, not THAT kind of time machine

Saturday nights are usually quiet for the likes of the bastard.

I'm a family man you know.

anyway at 10:30, my ladyfriend and me are watching yet naothe episode of special victims unit

because it doesn't pay to be a victim

but,

if you're a SPECIAL victim, your story gets ripped from today's headlines.

anyway,

the phone rings.

it's the past, "hey past, how's it going?"

"bastard, what are do doing?"

"well I'm in my peejays and getting ready to turn in for the night". I do this but I never seem to get to bed before 2 anyway.

"well get your pants back on. the past is here andhes calling you out. so you must come. and the past is buying"

so how could the bastard refuse.

at the gigantic bar I went to was a friend from junior high school who friended me on the virus when I told him a story from 8th grade health class to authenticate my identity.

he had a smoke on him.

damn, I wanted to smoke too.

but I wanted to drink more.

so the past who can be the collector got me my bracelet.

and I went for my drink only to be waylaid by my old old guitarist.

you see, the bastard was in more than one band in his day and lou was in a punk band with me.

hell, he WAS the damn band.

I met many from yesteryear.

some reminded me of times I felt waould be best forgotten but tonite I was kind of glad to remember them.

that shit keeps you humble.

keeps you from trying to steal another man's girlfriend from him.

keeps you humble.

keeps you drunk too. the host kept passing me shots of whiskey.

the past never tasted so good.

I came away drinker than I needed to be but glad that Sherman, my benefactor from the past called me to come back in time with him Saturday night.

more later.

—the bastard

this just in...

this is pretty much the last time i'll bring this up.

the bastard was driving down 36th last night on my way home from jersey.

and the sign is gone.

it's called "the archive" now.

it's as if under the volcano was a beautiful dream that we all got drunk during.

and now it's gone.

murray hill is dead to me now.

—the bastard

...on currency

sometimes time is a premium.

currency that you have to save like a miser.

and the bastard hasn't had alot of it of late.

we're shipping the issue.

i'm ramping up for the next one.

been trying to get home at a reasonable hour so I can help out with my ladyfriend and the bebe.

days blend one into another.

it's a little sad sometimes.

but here I am drinking a glass which translates "devil" from the french.

got a night out.

to have a drink and bullshit with some friends.

next week my ladyfriend gets the same chance to hang out with her peeps.

she should take that chance.

a very wise friend told me that you have to make your own happy, and the bastard tries for his. I'd like to gave some downtime too.

should be good. chin chin jerks.

—the bastard

...border

so, three relatives walk out into the night.

the bastard knows that he's drivig them back to the thorough borough tonight.

no matter. the mofo logged a lot of driving time to make tonight possible and we three head off into the night, the bastard hoping like hell that he can find a spot later.

it was a good night for drinking.

for family nonsense.

and for talk about childbirth.

you see the accountant regaled me with tales of childbirth best left unsaid. a mad science drop nonetheless.

over the river and east, we speak of other crap which I cannot recall but at 2am one wonders why one's stomach grumbles.

"do taco bells in new York stay open late?" , the accountant inquires.

"I think so", i reply

"there is one on utopia open late. I used to go there during my days at the torch", the mofo concludes.

so it's a mad dash for the border.

meximelts in the brain for the bastard.

the idea of acid reflex never felt so good.

a junkie approached us while we dined. said he needed money for a cab to the subway.

i tell him that we're tapped knowing full well that the 7 train was a 20 minute walk and a walk might cure his junk sickness. he simply moved on to the next car.

i moved on to my next meximelt.

—the bastard

...on pop quizzes

...special tintin related jackassery edition


dear mr. vernon:

we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. but, we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. you see us as you want to see us: in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. but, what we found out is that each one of us is


a crazy old guy . . .


and an injun . . .


and a pirate...


and a belgian villian . . .


and a sheik.

does that answer your question? sincerely yours, the breakfast club.

actually, we were in this restaurant the bastard like to go to and the accountant and i were drinking a potent ale called la chouffe. the mofo was drinking duvel which is french for devil (a testament to the potency of the beverage. my ladyfriend was drinking seltzer because if she was drinking beer, she would be acting very irresponsibly for a pregnant lady.

anyway, the place is decked out in belgian comics, mostly from the adventures of tintin. but inevitably, the bastard had to hit the head and was possessed to take photos of some of these heads.

what else would one do while taking a crap?

upon getting back, the mofo adjourned himself to do the same. i told hime that their would be a quiz when he got back. upon doing so i showed him these heads and asked which on was his favorite.

ok you had to be there. go to hell. but i thought of the above mentioned bit of movie trivia while trying to sleep it off on saturday morning.

oww

—the bastard

...on battery acid

you know,

there's nothing like getting a frikkin jump off on humpday.

the bastard is gonna get into the way back machine and drink some duke a ritas.

maybe get dumb. I'm entitled.

there's alot on the horizon for the bastard and he wants to have a drink or five.

and some piggies too.

—the bastard

cold beer...who's ready...

...was the mighty vendors cry.

and the bastard was most assurantly ready.

the bastard waves his empty cup and the beer man cometh.

"you ready sir?"

"with a cry like that, how can I not be."

"it's a good cry. know what ahm sayin? it's because I'm always ready."

you gotta admire a man who has the courage of his convictions. I made sure to tip him. you gotta pay a man for giving you your material sometimes.

you know, the bastard doesn't go in for the baseball much but, he sure does love going to a game from time to time. especially if it's a new park. I kinda like thus town.

I'm ready. wow. some guy just hit a home run. nice!

—the bastard

...on boon

last night, the crew and I had dinner with the hair that conquered europe.

I owe him for all I know about wine.

and quickwittedness.

it's nice to go back in time and look at coins that were spent during the times of William the conquerer and Constantine and drink chateuneuf du pape.

makes a man feel classy. makes a bastard want to build a goddam wine cellar.

for the love of god montressor. for the love of god.

—the bastard

sometimes you get the bull...

... and sometimes you get the horns.

went out with some college folk last night.

not college age folks but folks the bastard went to college with.

and it ended badly for me.

it took all day and I stll haven't gotten my swagger back.

it was a good night though.

—the bastard

...on nonsense

I am full of tragic magic.

I fart ambrosia and my rhymes spit hot fire.

not that I'm rhyming or anything like that

they have constructed pyramids in honor of my escaping.

and I throw a most offensive ice cream social in all the land

—the bastard

...on the science of things

you know,

it was getting a little late at the chairman's place,

so I decided that a cab was in mind. now the bastard doesn't normally do this but, didjs read the earlier part about late?

anyway, my cabby pulls us over because this poor woman took a header on queens boulevard.

cabby did the right thing and it only cost me like 75 cents.

afterward we talk about the nature of being kind, and he tells me that he almost killed himself.

lost his wife.

lost all his money.

wanted to kill himself.

but his good friend gave him a book that changed his life.

it was called dianetics.

so I suppressed my urge to laugh out loud (and I was drunk) and let him talk his talk.

did you know that the human mind is the most powerful thing ever made?

he cured the flu twice...

with his mind.

I'm glad he got me back home in one piece.

with his driving, not his mind. it takes all kinds.

—the bastard

yesterday was amateur day...

...and this was pretty damn funny.

now laugh you frikkin' drunks. LAUGH.

—the bastard

yes yes you, always walks with the crew

last night, i met with the juice crew.

the usual suspects.

beer and german food and the business were the objectives of the evening.

mission accomplished.

everything in my world tastes like fried onions. not that there is anything wrong with that.

—the bastard

...on devil worship

"Daddy, what does regret mean?
Well son, the funny thing about regret is,
It's better to regret something you have done,
Than to regret something you haven't done.
And by the way, if you see your mom this weekend,
Be sure and tell her, SATAN, SATAN, SATAN!!!"

saw this on the way home last night. a cab decised to take the long way around the corner so i just got out and started walking. i've done this before. this reminded the bastard of a butthole surfers song i hadn't heard in a while
—the bastard