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

...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 tossers

once upon a time…

companies were flush with cash…

and they didn't care who showed up in your suite at a convention.

then one year someone pissed the powers that be off and they said, "by invitation only".

this suited the bastard well as if not too many jerks won't be heading into my room...

to steal my team's food...

to mooch off of our resources...

to make me want to stab them in the face.

they even put us in a room that is off to the side.

away from the action so no one would even WANT to come walking in.

but all plans are not foolproof

case...

meet...

point...

this couple walks in and beelines straight for the coffee and snick snax.

i head over to them and ask them if they need any help because it's better to be polite.

the wife scrambles to grab a cup as her man looks his nose down on the bastard and does the slowest...

smuggest...

head shake ever.

slowly shaking his head no, like a fucking boss.

so i step to him, "well this is my press room. you can't be here. get out"

"sorry, i thought we were allowed in here even though we just zipped right in through the back door with no obvious reason to stay in the main room where salespeople are diligently trying to make your company because we thought we were slick. and because we're fucking moochers", he responds.

"no you aren't...get out"

and thus began the consistent parade of  sneaky assholes in "air quotes" who kept darkening my door.

"can i use your computers?"

"no...get out"

"i just thought i'd get a cup of coffee here where i suspected no one was looking"

"there you go with the thinking again chuckles. no...get out"

the bastard even had a guy slink in who actually had a door pass but still saw fit to saunter in. he was retired corps. gave me the stink eye. said he had a pass to be in here. showed me the card.

"that pass isn't for this room, sir. you can't be in here"

then he proceeded to make a scene up front. bitching about the surly bald guy in the back.

"i used to be a marine!"

"that coffee is mine by divine right of kingship"

"i used to eat guys like that for breakfast before i got old"

"i am. I AM! I AM!"


"shut the hell up jerk"

they calmed him down and put up a sign and sent him on his way but not before he spent 20 minutes pacing back and forth past my door to give me the stink eye and it reminded me of my time at the grocery store in the fhills.

old folks would give me shit and expect me to take it and were aghast when i told them what they could do with their effing coupons which was followed by a litany of "respect your elders" bullshit.

the bastard respects his elders but because he tries to step with the good foot. but if you come back with sass you lose that respect. you aren't owed respect for taking up space on this rock for longer than the youth, you get it because you try to be good and give what you get. it isn't foolproof but it's worth trying every time.

then you slap folks with your pimp hand.

—the bastard

P.S. i later found that the retired marine had the door pass because his organization helps disabled veterans so the bastard felt a little sheepish for rolling up on the guy. but, he was still creeping and that shit isn't above board with me.

riding dirty

the bastard is down this week.

not by much but not in the win column.

my new number 3's guy had done his homework and told of this ghetto ass casino around the corner from the palace I'm staying at where the odds are better.

so I went.

and at the 3 dollar table a man who looked like glen Campbell

who had 5 kids

helped the bastard bring that beat back.

so who knows. I may break even before heading home.

cause breaking even is like winning anyways.

—the bastard

aye here those slay bells ringaling…jing jing jingling…jerks!

now the bastard minces no words about this,

I haven't had a merry christmas in a long long time.

I mean sure, I have a good time on Christmas day and it's great to be around family but a series of factors have come to play that prevent the whole damn season from making my grinch like heart swell up to last ten minutes of said cartoon sized proportions.

by the by, Lon chaney was the fucking man in the grinch who stole Christmas. I could listen to that guy read the obituary page any day of the week.

but I digress, ever since I became an adult, with adult responsibilities, and started producing the daily, and since my son moved across the country, it's been a little hard.

now it's mostly been the daily's fault as it cuts into the season so no one should take it personally, it just keeps my head out of the holidays and when it's done, I feel so tired that I can't get into it.

I also haven't had a proper Christmas tree since 2005 I think. perhaps I faked it in 2006 but I can't remember.

but yesterday, we bought this little bush at the trader joes and now it feels a little bit like Christmas.

and that's ok.

you see, I was having a conversation with a friend the other night and we were talking about some heavy shit he has going on in his life and on the ride home, I felt really lucky.

I complain alot to the almighty or the sky or whatever the hell is going on up there about shy in my life and it's merely just contextual to my mental problems at the time so I realize how unimportant it can be in the face of greater stuff. and I could get fired tomorrow

but,

I feel lucky. and I have a goddam Christmas tree of sorts.

and that's something. take that mental problems.

—the bastard

…on tunnel vision

so many dead trees.

so little time.

I think the bastard ceded defeat to his wife on two or three separate disagreements when I got home because I just couldn't care.

all I see are pages and pages and pages.

it took me 40 minutes to believe I was home eating carne asada and not my one flesh as I gnawed it off of my leg trying to break free from an imagined shackle attached to my desk.

and I'm not even halfway there.

I'm not even in the goddam tunnel at this point.

—the bastard