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

soon

sitting in the chaos of boxes and crap

the bastard thinks that a life of tumult is the life for he.

we had a massive upheaval last week in the office that I can't talk about right now.

but, it made me very aware of my place in this world.

it also made me grateful for my place in the world.

my place of tumult

in a sea of boxes

in the dark

waiting for to go.

to go across the river towards home.

my new home

my old home.

across the river.

getting close.

the bastard has never been all that grateful. but it's time for a change.

thank you.

you know who you are.

—the bastard

a…b…c…

always…be…closin'

today was a better use of our time.

hell this weekend was a better use of the bastard's time.

after last weak's awfulness came a tense number discussion between my ladyfriend of mine.




this lead to some stress as to where we're gonna land.

but after expanding our search to other hood this weekend, our stress has been eased.

it didn't hurt that we saw a building is Astoria that was surrounded by what the bastard could only describe as "too much queens" for my wife

and

it didn't hurt that we read about the shit daycare options in greenpoint (sorry Brooklyn, you ain't got it all).

that said, we look with a more narrow eye and hope for the best in the lands we have been betting on from the get (well the plural is because the bastard always bets on mote than one horse in a race).

so we will see.

—the bastard

lissen mistah tuhkee…

thanksgiving came to Brooklyn early this year.

and the chairman was serving it up; good eats style.

complete with lattice apple pie.



and missile attacks



and a good time was had by all.

this is a good thing.

it's like getting an extra bit of turkey before the main event.

except I feel like hell because I'm full of food.

good show chairman. good show.

—the bastard

…the white ogre

the bastard actually started working on the ogre a few weeks ago after my bout with the 1/144 real grade.

aside from putting the hands together, this won't be too too hard to build.

however it's the paint job that'll be the challenge.

but the bastard is confident that between a screw, a candle, and a bachelors in fine art, he can figure out how to make this thing look like it's been though the ringer.

—the bastard

…on traveling without moving

I have this old friend.

and he's indirectly responsible for every this weak in anime installment the bastard has ever put on this blog.

because he's part and parcel responsible for getting me into anime,

and building models,

and eating something else with noodles that isn't fucking spaghetti.

anyways,

I'm doing a job for him, the builder and he invited me out for noodles yesterday to discuss business and visit a little pocket of japan that is across the river in edgewater new jersey.

and the ramen was rock solid.

and it was PACKED with Japanese people there just to buy shit for their house.

you wanna make sushi?

go down aisle 5 and get a frikkin brick of tuna.

want some noodles for yer home?

we got three aisle of what you're looking for.

it's essentially a big box store of Japanese things for you the consumer.

and there was a fair going on in the parking lot too, so there was no shortage of people in traditional garb and one or two gothic lolitas or Asian guys in pompadors.

did I mention the ramen was good?

—the bastard

pants are off…

did the bastard ever tell you about the groom who forgot his pants?

so this idiot who lives in lower manhattan gets mArried in brooklyn.

and when he gets to brooklyn, he drops off his bride so that she could get her makeup done at the place.

and he heads back to the hotel to get collected.

get dressed.

get married.

only when he gets ready to get dressed he realizes that he left his pants in manhattan.

what kind of idiot leaves his pants behind?

oh I could tell you but that would be telling.

anyway, this goofball gets in his car and does the Dakar rally all the way back home.

nearly rolls his little sub compact onto the sidewalk.

let's just say he did.

sounds better.

gets the pants right where he left them, on the bathroom door.

and does the Dakar rally again only,

it's rush hour now.

and he needs to get to the Brooklyn bridge

and to the hotel

to change.

so here this mook is having the rarest conversation he ever had.

"ok god, I don't like you and you don't like me but, I gotta get to the church on time".

terrifies me

church on time

puts my faith in god and man.

anyway, back at the hotel in which this dope manages to get to the hotel with time.

gets dressed

gets a cab.

and then he gets to the place in time to marry the hell out of the most tolerant women he's met in quite sometime.

and the next day,

he turned 40.

puts my faith in modern love.

—the bastard