the bastard will tell you this...

i have come to a foregone conclusion,

that even if we were running this magazine from the aleutian islands,

from january until march,

the bastard would still be totally sweaty when he gets to work.

i don't know what the hell it is with my internal barometer. it's like 38 degrees outside and my bosy thinks that it's august.

and here we are again.

looking for a dry shirt on the day of the most important meeting meeting of my career at the moment.

dammit!.

—the bastard

...on irish blessings

"may the road rise up to meet you

and may the wind be at your back

and may you be in heaven a half hour

before the devil knows you're dead"

it's what the bastard said to grandpa at his funeral.

it's what he's come to say instead of saying goodbye.

sorry.

force of habit.

you see, left hand rob got let go while I was in arizona and his last day was today. it's like losing a steady right... er... left hand.

and the bastard got spared and that is it's own giri to bear.

because you see, landing on your feet also has it's price.

and i'm not sure if it was worth it yet.

—the bastard

...on the grate outdoors

so, the bastard is back from camping.

it was a short trip, when i look at it in the long view.

it started out with my drive to long island city to get the mofo, where i became the paragon of road rage. not since the great altoids tin throwing of 1997, has the bastard ever lost his shit at such a high degree while behind the wheel. i actually leaned out the window on northern boulevard to yell "you suck at life" at some poor woman who apparently REALLY sucked at life.

the bastard however, will stick by this story.

by the time we got up to the woods, there fire was starting, and the thrilla boys were already taking care of the business of camping.

it was a good first day. and sometimes, that's all you need is one good day in the woods and then your shit is correct.

upon waking up at 6 am on saturday, it looked like the makings of an overcast day.

by 7 am, it was starting to drizzle.

by 8am, it was drizzling sideways with the makings of sideways precipitation. so the mofo and i started breaking down our racks in anticipation of an early bug out.

following this course of action, discussions about breakfast ensued.

this spirited discussion went on to become much more elaborate array of talking points that touched on the nature of wilderness survival, needs in the wilderness, and the ethics of taking credit for one's work in the wilderness community.

as well as walking the walk and perhaps the shelving of rhymes.

so while we finished up the breaking up camp, the wind picked up and the drizzle became rain which prompted the mofo to address the earlier point as to why we were breaking camp by asking if everyone would have preferred to break camp now that it was raining catd and dogs. agreeing with his point, the bastard got breakfast at the bottom of the mountain and all was good.

—the bastard

...on hats

... and the grate outdoorz

so here the bastard sits at his desk.

waiting to finish his crap to do.

i wear many hats.

the mag hat.

the spam hat.

the other mag hat i keep on the side for other print projects.

but let's focus on the first hat. the mag hat. it is a many hatted hydra that has the bastard playing art director, photo editor, and production manager. not to mention, the part where i also wear this hat to be an industry professional both in the magazine and the firearms industry. this is the hat that makes me feel like i move forward 3 feet and move back 1.

learned the new system of shipping color. it's great actually but, i had so much to do when i got done learning it. and i'm just starting to wind it up now. and i'm so tired. which brings me to my next point.


i'm going camping this weekend.

i've already been through several rounds of mail with the mofo and dean thrilla and k love and zsolte about it and we already know that it's gonna piss out this weekend.

i don't care.

im going.

i HAVE to go. i NEED to go. i need to get the dirt (read: MUD) under my feet regardless of how shitty it's going to be out. i need to break with society for a couple days and i'll be fine. regardless on what falls on top of the bastard. i sometimes get a signal out there in the sticks so if anything noteworthy happens, i'm going to put it on the bastard feed and perhaps opine on it later. but if i die out there, then you get nothin'. straight up nothin'.

—the bastard

...on the right tools

"so at the gun writers seminar last week, there was a bunch of young guys there because they were introducing some new tactical guns," says the editor. (tactical guns is a euphemism for scary looking guns)

"oh?"

"and all of the old guys were sitting in the back listening in,"

"ok?"

"and while the gun guy was citing the uses of their new tactical line (ie varmints, deer hunting, ummmmm tactical things), the younger gun writers started high lighting their uses against zombies."

"really?"

"yeah, the old guys started grumbling in the back. they didn't fun it funny at all."

"that's hilarious. do you suppose the older gun writers were pissed?"

"about?"

"well you see the young guys now know how to kill them."

—the bastard

...on working from home

so after a morning of working from home and working en route to it, the boy and i went to the park to ride our bikes.

let me back up. the bastard and his ladyfriend had been discussing how i wanted to start riding bikes again and coincidentally, so did she.

so we decided to buy something that would better fit into my tiny automobile. yeah, yeah, the bastard has gone on ad nauseum about how he feels about bicyclists and their entitlement issues and inability to simply obey traffic laws but, i bought a helmet. i bought a bike that has, get this, BRAKES. i stop at, get this, STOP SIGNS. but i digress, the boy and i went bicycling.

and it was prety good. it's true what they say about riding a bike. we went around for a bit and i decided to call it quits at the park when the bastard saw that what appeared to be a drug deal was about to go down. you see, the bastard wants his son to have a childhood.


SPECIAL BONUS BATTER: suburbia strikes again, kids. after the park, the boy and i went to get me a bike helmet, you know, because the bastard has already experienced WHY one should wear a helmet. we also stopped for lunch at the mall (cuz that's where the damn sporting goods shop is, dummy) and i saw what can only describe as, retarded tattoo number 356; also known as the life affirming, but poorly placed tattoo. you see, the bastard has friends that have ink. and they didn't do it half assed.

no.

they use their whole ass.

the funny thing is, this girls tattoo says carpe diem on her foot. i wonder if she always seizes the day by the foot. oh suburbia, why do you give the bastard so much to work with. maybe she can get a rose or a butterfly tattooed on her ankle too. or maybe a tramp stamp. the bastard is kind of glad he had a son instead.

—the bastard

show show pre show mullets

it's on mutha grabbers. the hotel doesn't want to house me at this very moment, so the bastard is all about the blogging until i can get my room.

mexi-mullet-icious

country rooooooooooad. take me hooooooooome. to the plaaaaaaaaaace. ah belonnnnnnnnng. west virginyaaaaaaaaaaa. mountain mama. take me hoooooooome.

i'm the old man of the mountains and i dropped mad weight to come here this year. more tomorrow. unless i jump out a window.

—the bastard

...on the posh life

the bastard woke up like he was shot out of a cannon.

last night, the bastard met up with his ladyfriend and her brother for some cans of porkslap (which is pretty goddam good),

and,

needless to say,

5:30 in the morning is an early tip off time for 4 beers and many ribs (which were pretty goddam good. have i mentioned this? pay attention).

anyway, the company sent a cr for me and it was much fancier than i expected. not quite the kind of car that woud be considered foreign dignitary posh but, it sure didn't suck. so far the only thing the bastard sees as the advantage to getting here this early is that the traffic was virtually not there and i was here in 20 minutes.

i thought about texting the elder since i was here early, and he's currently doing a job at the jet blue terminal but, i think i only have his wife's cell number.

too bad the coffee here tastes like someone took a dump in it. oh well, can't live like a king all the time.

—the bastard

6th shot...

...last call


so, the bastard is packing it in kids.

now granted,

i had to burn the same disk,

like,

20 times.

just to get it right.

but,

we're ready to get the hell out of dodge.

and head to the one city in america that i NEVER banked on knowing as much as i know my hometown.

so it's 5:30 tee off time for the bastard.

get it together.

pack the toothbrush.

and get in the company car. yeah, apparently there's a company car service. killing stuff's copy chief who we can call, the singer, lives here, on the rock and she didn't want to have to put up with time wasting logistics like taking the subway to the air train or paying 500 bucks to take a cab from manhattan to jfk.

fuck that grief.

so the singer found out that our evil ant overlords, have a car service on retainer. and they take you places.

places no man should ever have to go.

like the airport.

so i can get in a nice town car instead of a local cab service that smells like 5 day old cigarette butts and smoked salmon. good times.

no.

great times. it's the bastard's sixth gun show and i say mullets ahoy muthagrabbers!

mullets ahoy!

—the bastard

...on departures...yet again

...special wartime dream sequence edition

so we have some more departures in the hallowed hall of our evil ant overlords.

wild turkey is leaving our little home at killing stuff monthly. he's heading back home. to the dirty souf. he'll be working with our recently departed kentucky gentleman. there have been a bunch of recent departures at the office. millhouse who used to be the editor of stealing shit and winning asmes magazine. he left for a magazine we will call "shooting shit in pretty surroundings". another guy that's leaving is the guy from men holding big fish magazine who looks like eric stoltz. he's going back south with millhouse.

now the commonality here is that all of these men came to new york. did their time up here. and now they go home. and the bastard thinks that's a good thing. you gotta live the dream when you can. and when you see a way to win, you grab it. i'll miss wild turkey. he was pretty goddam funny. put a great face on the sport and gave killing stuff monthly some great tales for the ages.

anyway wild turkey had a dream the other night, before giving his notice.

he's in the hallways, talking to eric stoltz about leaving and millhouse comes by and he's been long gone by now and turkey asks him what he's doing here.

"ahm jest here to pick up a few things that ah left"

someone from the office asks turkey how it's real interesting that "all you southern boys are leaving. first the kentucky gentleman leaves, then millhouse, then eric, then you wild turkey."

"are you kidding?", retorts wild turkey, "you thought we gave up on that war between the states? when i leave, that's when the air strikes start"

hell of a dream. apparently, the south will rise again and they will be sending airstrikes. waitaminute? the bastard had no idea the south had an air force. best keep your head down cowboy.

—the bastard

...on the joys of the hunt

...or is it two for THURSDAY jerks!

"do you shee the beasht? do you ave it in your shites"

"clear enough miss moneypenny. thish shouldn't be a problem at tall."

—trainspotting

so instead of eating my leftovers, i join the silver k's lunchtime raiding party. for the first few weeks of living in our crapper of new space, we have been eating lunch together in various parts of the floor. kind of like bedouin nomads. and our frequent lunchroom which was shanghai'd by the yoga people yesterday has been commandeered from us by sales monkeys from popular science.

so we took it on the road.

we decided to go to our favorite sock monkey decored mexican restaurant.

and we saw sites.

in fact we saw two.

this first specimen of mulletus erectus was first seen crossing park avenue was clearly the better specimen of the two. witness if you will his long flowing mexi

mullet.

the second on was a complete fluke.

after i bagged the first one, the bastard noticed this one down the road.

not taking the subway like the first. it wasn't as good as the first mullet but it still counts for two in one sitting.

hell, two in one block.

two within feet of each other.

it was a fantastic feat. or at least a fantastic chain of events. it made my day.

hell, it made my week.

—the bastard