…holy hannah

the subway sure does make it hard to stay dry these days.

taking my weekly ride to get the car.

and this week came with some caveats for myself and my brother.

but I'm looking forward to coming out the other side of this to get a cold drinky.

—the bastard

sticky

so the boy and i are waiting on the platform.

and while it isn't hot out, it was sticky underground and it was almost unbearable. at least it's raining now.

the chairman sent me this image and i didn't know what to do with it but i thought of the new round of six flags commercials. i never liked that wrinkly old guy but this guy is almost worse in many ways. but there he is. now go to hell

—the bastard

...on collisions

on the way home from dinner at my ladyfriends tonite, while taking the expressway, i almost got clipped.

now, i'll be fair.

i was stuffy.

my eyes were stinging from my ladyfriend's cat.

and the cab wouldn't let me get into the exit lane, so i invented an opportunity. then he proceeded to try and take my front end off. he then got back onto the expressway as i exited and i went on my way.

well he sure told me.

well medallion number 9099, i came this close to filing a complaint with the taxi limousine commision and then decided that while you were driving unsafely, i helped you along the way. however, the ting is, the bastard is a vindictive son of a bitch and it was only the pompous that i'm better than that.

and i'm better than you.

so i decided against it.

your welcome dick. and i can't wait until you have to choose between feeding your family that night or buying that gps system that your going to have shell out for one day soon which will make behavior like this so much easier to keep trck of. in fact i hope you choke on it big man.

—the bastard

...on the outer boroughs

well the bastard can safely say that the james bond film live and let die is a really good film to take a nap to. you see, i'm landlocked. stuck. i decided against asking the chairman for a ride into the office as it would have me walking up to my office from the west village. so needless to say, the bastard has been hitting the refresh button on the mta's website. i've been hitting refresh all morning, except for the brief 30 to 45 minutes i was asleep while roger moore bored my ass to unconsciousness. and the bastarad has come to this conclusion, queens is getting fucked today. queens always gets fucked in these situations. it's understandable, manhattan is this town's business center so it needs to run. but, the outer boroughs take a back seat to this and queens sometimes takes a backseat to brooklyn and tornados in bay ridge brooklyn aside, brooklyn is in slightly better shape than we are.

so in the meantime, the bastard will keep hitting the refresh button. staying out of the heat. and mind you, it's frikkin' steamy out. man, i have templates to redo.

—the bastard

...on awards

...or was it on masturbation?

so today is the deadline for a contest that selling bullets 7 times a year magazine has been entering for the last couple of years and boy am i trucked. you see last year i only had to submit three copies of an issue. well six actually because best overall magazine requires that you submit 2 issues. in triplicate. this year, since we didn't win anything last year, the bastard scaled it down a bit. submitting best feature and cover. who knows, we might get lucky. but it makes me wonder if it all isn't just masturbatory. i mean, you enter the contest. shell out a fuck ton of money and it's all subjective really. in essence desingers are subject to the tastes of a select few tastemakers who really define what is cool design anyway. also, since corporate culture has inherently become an cliquey extension of high school, what's to say it doesn't bleed into contests as well? hell, i know this one art director who won't speak to anyone at a function unless they are important. ida know. i just keep submitting and hope that this year is the year that the bastard is ahead of the bell curve on this crap.

either way, my hands (which i managed to not slice open multiple times with an exacto blade) hurt from cutting illustration board on a cutting matte that was left over from the khrushev administration. my knuckles ache. it's so god damned humid out that i haven't felt dry since i left my apartment. even in an air conditioned office building. even though it's been below 85 all day. oh poor, poor bastard, you'd cry with a loaf of bread under each arm. hey screw you, jerkpiece, if i had a loaf of bread under each arm, it would soak up the damned sweat.

hmmmmmmmmmmmm

ummmmmmmmm

yeah i think that was kind of unnecessary of me. kind of really over illustrates my difficulty with the humidity. i think i'm going to back off now and maybe drink a cold beverage now.

—the bastard

...a good soaking

...or can you spare a glass of water?

there is this old folktale the bastard remembers about this woman who tricked 3 witches into coming out in the rain with her because she convinced them that she knew how to walk between the raindrops. all she did was keep a spare outfit in a bag and put it on when she got into their cave. the witches took the bait and melted.

now the bastard has no raindrop dodging skill, nor has he melted. but, god dam it's wet out. fortunately the weather held out long enough (after my initial soaking) for the bastard to get to the office and all i have is some damp ankles. oh well, go to hell. keep your powder dry, shiteyes.

—the bastard

give me fire...

...or has the bastard ever told you that new york city is it's own concentric circle of hell?

when you can't see out the windows
and smoke gets in your eyes
and i just want to cry cry cry cry cry

—j.g. thirwell

descent into the inferno

ok kids. it's hot. it's damn hot. crotch pot cooking hot. feels like it's not gonna stop hot. at least not until thursday and even then, that's negotiable. the bastard shouldn't seem surprised. we're kind of right on time for the dog days of summer. seems to me like there will be a lot of wardrobe change in my future. oh well, go to hell.

—the bastard