on fire power…

this is my rifle…

there are many others like it…

but this one is mine. 

the bastard was talking abou the the fishing column with the old man of the sea one day and he had one of these in his cube.

"heeeeeeeeyyyyy… what's that?"

"its the bug-a-salt. you shoot bugs with it…with salt."

long story short is i purchased one of these things.

when the wife asked why the hell would i shoot salt at flys i replied simply that i've been swatting flys with my hands…

the old fashioned way…

for years!

now i want to shoot them.

truth to tell though…

the bug-a-salt has limited results…

the range is okay but not brilliant…

and most flies don't die on the first shot unless you get them point blank which is rare but majestic.

that said, now when there is a fly in the apartment…

and my daughter points this out to me and asks me to shoot the fly…

it somehow feels unwholesome…

until she says she wants one of her own when she's a teenager.

i may have this parenting thing licked just yet.

—the bastard

my daughter had a shit fit tonight…

you see…

… the monkey, she has a cough…

…and she woke up during the news

not liking me.

not liking her room.

not liking much of anything.

but she sure as shit liked screaming at the top of her lungs.

now (touch wood) its quiet.

sometimes kids just want to make sure they are heard.

— the bastard

… on the small things

parents get proud of the dumbest shit.

case

meets

point

the babby was feeling sick last night.

totally interrupted a very inane episode of happy endings.

what do you want the bastard to watch? downtown abbey?

come on! the bastard likes a little stupid in it once in a while.

and there's something about a food truck called 'steak me home tonight'.

mmmmmm. steak.

anyway, I digress.

the babby woke up in a pile of her own sick last night and it was time for the rents to spring into action.

the wife did the consoling

and

the bastard did the cleanup. because what woman wants to look at puke.

seriously!

anyway after after dumping the sick laden stuff into the washer (I could go one about the majesty of having one in your apartment, and I hate you all, so I might. but not today).

then it settles down and the wife goes to bed and my buddy doctor whiskey knocks at the cupboard door telling me,

"hey stupid… it's time for whiskey". so I oblige.

two hours later (from the puking not the whiskey option), I hear a gaggy cough and I know it's round two of sick time.

and there she is,

leaning over the side of her crib.

giving the floor a green shower.

instead of doing it in the crib.

smart girl.

learning to walk is dope and all but, knowing where to throw yer sick? that's a fucking skill.

made me proud.

small shit. but it's big too. up yours.

— the bastard

…on life lessons

bastard: is that pitcher water

lobster johnson: the clear one?

bastard: yeah. I'm putting a cup together for the babby for the ride home.

lobster johnson: yea it's water. don't drink from the skull… that's moonshine. but for kids in general… don't drink from a skull

bastard: that's heads up parenting.

lobster johnson: the more you know… ding.

tonight was left hand rob's (re: Mano lefto) annual mardi gras party which was the best place to be in new jersey tonight as nowhere in his little pocket of Edison, nj did anyone have to hear about how much god loved Whitney Houston so much that he let her get addicted to crack and that he called her home to him… with crack.

anyway we brought the babby who after two plus hours asked to go home. rob's last words to her was, "thanks for coming to my party babby. now you go get comfy in your car seat and don't drink from any skulls".

now that's head up baseball

—the bastard