…on Baden Powell

"you left your soda water"

"i know", the bastard retorts with two full hands with four bags of groceries. "sometimes I wish I had three hands".

and then I amble across the street with the weeks repast in my sore arms.

I turn and the man's friend is carrying my seltzer across the street, "I figure that I'll be your third hand today"

"bless you man", I replied.

now the bastard doesn't speak in such evangelical platitudes but sometimes it's better than just saying thank you.

but hey guy, thanks for the good turn. the man who's words I try to live by sometimes lives on in you.

do a good turn daily jerk

be prepared jerk

don't be a jerk. jerk

baden powell never said jerk but I do. because most people are jerks. just not the guy who just helped me out.

—the bastard

…on travesties

OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD!

WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!? WHY?!?

—the bastard

…on the cattle and the creeping things

so we have these fancy new bathrooms at the office.

and while I'm sure it has that "new bathroom" smell when the mad pooper of our office doesn't leave a hanger in one of the stalls,

the bastard has to wonder what would possess a man to sit in his stall without his shoes on.

not once.

but, twice.

we're owned by Swedish people now.

perhaps it's a Swedish thing.

but I'm notsomuch with the sureness of this matter.

—the bastard

weird stuff the bastard bought at a japanese big box

so the builder's pastime when he goes to the japanes big box is to find weird things to drink that they don't sell in america.

well edgewater new jersey is still part of america but you get the picture.

anyway, while waxing poetic on the time he found mint pepsi, we came across green cola.

green cola happens to be made of green tea.

and cola.

and 11 other herbs and spices.

but the end result was a soda that wasn't as fizzy as say pepsi but also tasted like royal crown cola or some other soda that would be store bran like key food soda or the like.

well that's it.

you want a frikkin' novel?

—the bastard

...on naming convention

behold y'alls!

behold the power of the internets

the bastard reads your letters.

he really does.

every time one of you jerks drops a comment, the bastard reads it.

it's important to know what your 5 readers think.

sometimes, you need correct.

and sometimes the bastard needs correct.

anyways, i recently got a comment from a post i did in april of 2008. coincidentally, it is named the same name as this post i did last week. so going forward, i think the phrase "everything is coming up bastard" will be a label instead.

but i digress, the comment was a response to the thread in the comments window in which i had mused to my brother about the whereabouts of a music teacher we both had in junior high school.

and said commenter informed me that he still walks the earth. although this man's custom made ba-sax (in which he would shove the mouthpiece of a bassoon into an alto sax for more screechy enjoyment) has been traded in for the shakuhachi, he still plays.

and he's out there.

and it brought up the handful of decent memories that i had of junior high school.

thanks stranger, you made an old bastard remember good things.

—the bastard

photo essay

...tuesday morning blues


so it's like this.

the bastard takes the bus for social reasons.

i mean who needs to take the bus when your commute is a 10 minute walk through the gauntlet of jackasses on 3rd ave in the morning.

so i take the bus for social reasons.

if i leave the office same time as red beard, i take the bus on park.

but yesterday evening, there was a man sitting on a box.

old timey camera in tow.

his hat folded on one side as if on safari in manhattan.

it seemed very mutual of omaha's wild kingdom.

that's all i got.

not everything is a goddam novel.

—the bastard

Friday night majesty

is it tragedy?

or is it majesty?

—the bastard

...random

the bastard's been to many bars I'm these united states but,

i've never been to a bar

where happy hour occurs every time the rail bars come down.

right now,

this is my favorite place.

—the bastard

...on juice boxes

since new years is always a dodgey bit.

you know.

because, the shit might come down,

after the ball drops.

the bastard had to get this one in.

i had wine in a box with dinner.

that is all.

happy new years.

—the bastard

wednesday morning tragedy

this one comes from the chairman's travels on the long island railroad.

is it tragedy?


or is it majesty?


apparently, he had a bag full of these things and he just kept on eating. this just reminds me of the creepy fat lady who ate eggs in a playpen in the john waters film pink flamingos (eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs). and you thought all he did was do musicals.

—the bastard

...on freestylin'

you know,

there are just some days when you know that it's gonna be by the numbers.

and then,

there are some days when you know that some crazy skell is going to freestyle rap all the way back to queens.

this guy went on and on,

landscapin',

mentally shapin',

get the gidst of what i am sayin'

so lucky bastard that i am, the bastard watches some of his stories to pass the time on the ipod.

and this guys just keeps going,

landscapin',

mentally shapin',

it went on for so long that he drove some old man in a cowboy hat right out of his seat because he couldn't take it anymore.

out of towners just don't get it some/most times.

landscapin',

mentally shapin',

by the time i had finished my show (22 minutes just so you know shiteyes), he had built all of y'all up.

and now he was gonna cool you down with some old soul.

and for the three minutes the bastard had left without headphones on, the hardest working hobo in the tunnels we spend half of our lives in, he fucked up the lyrics to "i wish it would rain".

fucking magical.

—the bastard

...on the heartland

so the bastard's ladyfriend is out in iowa (pronounced ah-o-ah) this week on assignment.

it seems that her company is kind of like mine insomuch as they feel it's cheaper to do it by the home office.

in the bastard's case, the home office is actually stockholm but, our head vampire is from florida so everything is cheaper in florida...maybe but, probably not.

anyway, the bastard's ladyfriend am in iowa and this is the majestic beauty she has come across. and that beauty is the git-n-go. it's no wawa mart. mostly because it's the git-n-go. could any hell be more real or now.

—the bastard

sunday evening polka

so i was getting in my car on sunday evening when all of a sudden,

the bastard hears a polka.

and he wonders,

where the hell is THAT coming from?

turns out that yesterday was the pulaski day parade and one of the floats were driving by and they were still playing.

which was funny. but upon looking at galleries from previous pulaski day parades, the bastard has to wonder if any of the participants are really enjoying themselves. poles are a stern looking people.

—the bastard

...on werewolves

...or walking the streets of soho in the rain


on sunday we were invited out to have lunch with my ladyfriend's sister in law (or rather he sister's sister in law i guess but, you get the picture) and she just moved to a tiny room in soho.

her brother in law, said to me at one time during the day that we were just like the europeans today.

"tourists in our own city", he elaborated, "eating and shopping"

it struck me funny. because we had all collectively not been down to this part of town for quite some time. and it's different. my ladyfriend used to live here a long time ago when there was a bodega downstairs from her. now it's a french restaurant. you can also walk two blocks over and shop at dolce e gabbana. it's cleaned up alot. safer. better place to take your kids. more expensive, like everything else in this city.

i saw this valiant in my travels and the overpriced sportscar couldn't have been better timed. it made the photo really. tragic or magic? i completely understand why all those crusty old fucks in the lower east side are complaining about the rich but not enough to get on board. there is a fine line between dissent and cliche these days.

later on in the afternoon, it started raining and we mulled the bourgeois notion of grabbing a cab, or buying a 15 dollar umbrella but, we just booked it to the subway and headed back to her place to get my gear.

—the bastard

...on oldies

...but goodies


when the bastard comes over the williamsburg bridge to go to my ladyfriend's (all you fucking rich people can take the midtown tunnel), i have to go down houston street (that's pronounced HOW-stin, ya fucking hay seed) to get to the fdr drive.

and i saw these three guys skitching off the back of a livery cab.

Skitching (i.e. "ski-hitching" or "skate-hitching") is the act of hitching a ride on the rear bumper of a car when there is ice or slick snow on the roads. This can also be done with a skateboard or roller skates in urban areas where there is no ice or snow. In addition, skitching can be performed on a bicycle. [1]

Michael J. Fox can be seen skitching in the 1985 film Back to the Future.

you know it's just not every day that one sees this sort of thing anymore. but with gas prices being what they are, i guess folks just gotta get around they only way they know how.

even if it's the stupid way.

—the bastard

taking the train home on a wednesday evening

the bastard has a puzzle for you all today


is it tragic?

or


is it magic?

sometimes eastern european women make this whole being mean thing sort of like shooting fish in a barrel. whether it's a mother of two in a tiger striped catsuit yelling at her kids in socks and sandals or this hot mess with the bad red streaks in her white devil afro or her friend with the poodle skirt from h-e-double hockey sticks, they never disappoint the bastard.

—the bastard

wednesday evening safari

"daddy, why are we walking across town again? we can get the number 6 train by work?"

"it's simple son, daddy, likes to take only one train home in the evening, it's less frustrating"

"ok"

when all of a sudden, the majestic beast was rolling her luggage across town with us. the hunt was on and the bastard just had to have her.

it was as good as, hell, it was better than a loch ness fem mullet
in a foreigner t-shirt. she had prison tattoos to go with her black cocktail dress. she was either coming to or going from her trailer. it was magnificent. it started my evening off right.

—the bastard

...on the filth

"hey kid"

"huh?"

"hey kid"

"what?"

"i gotta a bag of porn here. five bucks for the whole bag"

"ummmmmm, no thanks"

"ya sure kid? i got a bagga fulla porn here."

"ummmmm, yeah i'm sure"

the chairman's commute is never dull.

—the bastard

...on crosses to bear

easter sunday.

the bastard gets up at the crack of dawn to go to church with the boy.

father and son stuff.

let me save you the trouble of asking.

lightning didn't strike.

the ground didn't open up.

the hosts of hell didn't come up to claim what is rightfully their property like i've always suspected they would. however, one minister looked like mike ditka and the other looked like the lead singer of the bosstones.

don't be disappointed, it'll happen for me one day.

dad'll be so proud.

at least when i get there, i'll be warm.

so i get out of the rental and i look up the parking lot to the big rusted cross where the worship is taking place.

i approach the fist of kung fu to get my mass program but, then i look up and see this on top of the church and i see this:


the bastard had to wonder. so i ask the fist, "ummmm hey fist?"

"how's it going?"

"pretty good but, i was wondering"

"how was your flight?"

"good, is that a cell tower on the cross?"

then the fist of kung fu makes himself a big ole smile and shakes his head. "yeah, it is."

then he spins a brief tale about it.

you see, the fist is pretty active in his church. so he's friend's with pastor ditka and one day while walking the grounds he explains to the fist that they had the roof repaired or something done to the sunday school or something and he pointed out the new cross on the roof and the fist asked the same question. pastor ditka gave him the same answer.

"wow, it sure did look like one", i repled. "i just had to ask. it kind of gives a new meaning to the phrase can you hear me now?"

now let me say off the bat here that , i would never begrudge a church the means to keep itself afloat. not every church is a catholic church. so, that means that they may not have the vast landholdings and financial resources of the catholic church that come with that. a church can have a cell tower but maybe not a coca cola sign on the church front door perhaps. i don't know. maybe it doesn't matter. maybe it's the worship that matters. on the same token, having a cell tower attached to the cross on top of your church is pretty funny to me.

the bastard is SO going to hell.

—the bastard