...on grousing

the bastard has a bone to pick with new york media...

you see, he spends alot of time with gothamist...

it's sort of replaced ny1 for him as he isn't shelling out anytime soon for time warner cable

and recently there was a piece on whether or not people from the outer boroughs refer to manhattan as "the city" which found that 88 percent surveyed said that they in fact do.

the bastard does not.

the piece sighted that some "refuse to submit to the soft bigotry of Manhattan exceptionalism, and have never hesitated to correct anyone who insults New York City's other four boroughs by mislabeling that arrogant little overpriced island across from New Jersey as 'the city.' "

i don't think that hard on it as i refer to manhattan as "manhattan" because this city has 5 boroughs. plain. simple. my wife feels otherwise, raised in staten island, the forgotten borough which seems to have more of an inferiority complex than queens and jersey combined since pretty much anyone i know from ess aye refers to manhattan as the city.

so i don't try to change hearts and minds on the matter but it never stops me from correcting folks in conversation. and i let it go.

until of course the occasional "these are the best places to get food, drink, coffee" piece comes up.

yesterday, gothamist ran a piece on the 6 best places to get weak assed iced coffee beverages in new york and it seems by and large that there are only two boroughs in this city for these sort of pieces manhattan and brooklyn.

the dumb thing is...

i don't even look at iced coffee as my go to beverage in the heat. i just suck it up and drink coffee.

however, when it's crotch pot cooking hot out, i go to sweetleaf for my iced coffee. their rocket fuel has all of the gothamist mentioned places beat hands down.

this reminded me of a quote that former mayor ed koch had said about how brooklyn and queens is a series of cemeteries new yorkers drive through on their way to the hamptons.

that said, the bastard decided to make some changes to our cities map to reflect my disdain for this.

so as a citizen of westernmost part of the borough of "here be monsters" i enjoy my view of this cities two sole boroughs.

enjoy

—the bastard

asses and elbows

you see,

there's a reason why the bastard likes the window seat.

first and foremost, I don't have to check my elbow everytime the goddam drink cart rolls by.

secondly, the bastard doesn't have to look at you.

yes ladies across the aisle, I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings but mayhap you should keep you frikkin hooves in your shoes.

no one wants to see your filthy frikkin feet.

unless you're some manner of foot fetishist.

which the bastard is not.

thirdly and most importantly, the bastard likes the window seat because

HE CAN CLOSE THE GODDAM WINDOW!!!!!!!

this means you jerk. the bastard has been up since 3am and he would have like a small bit of frikkin sleep but that's not at all possible with you reading your fucking tourist guide to fucking Guatemala with the rising sun as your reading light.



god dammity damn.

at least there's coffee on the plane and mötörhead on my phone.

—the bastard

PS: fml! the woman with the window seat apparently likes to sleep with the window open. hell really is traveling with other people. just as well I suppose. the caffeine is doing it's job now.

this is why the bastard can't leave town

"there was a little accident today while you're at work", the wife began to explain, "and I have some bad news"

"okay, now let the other shoe drop"

"well… the baby got into the cabinet and she dropped the coffee press."

"ok"

"and it shattered into a million pieces"

"does the baby know that if I can't have coffee, that there is going to be fucking murders?"

"I'm not sure"

so a change of shirt and out the door I went. up to 3rd avenue to the Starbucks.

no dice.

up to park ave.

no dice

undaunted, the bastard walks to the Starbucks on 5th and boom.

paydirt

now let's dispense with the fact that I went to a major coffee chain to find a goddam press. up yours shiteyes, I'd have to walk clean across this crapstand to find a home goods store that I can buy a press at.

and let's dispense with the bastard's hoi paloi fashion of making coffee. hey guy, up yours.

your moms

that's right, I'm talking bout your moms.

the press takes up less space than any other coffee contraption and besides, there's this guy at my office who looks like fucking old fezziwig from a Christmas carol who has a coffee setup in his cube that look like a frikkin steampunk movie vomited in his cubicle. so someone else walks the earth with a greater sense of coffee snobbery than the bastard ever could.

but I digress.

I realize that I could never NOT live in a large city like this. the fact that I can walk 5 minutes from my doorstep to replace my coffee maker tells me that I cannot leave. that and the fact that the first time I tell cooter about his moms, he might stick a shotgun in my mouth.

did I mention that I was preventing fucking murders?

—the bastard

the keys to the kingdom

the bastard is out late tonight.

I had a delightful meal at the elder's hizzle and I also had to make a stop on the planet of brooklyn to accept a generous gift from the chairman.

this makes for a late ride home for a bastard and his wife was worried.

"what if some thing happens on the subway on the way home?"

"nothing'll happen"

"how do you know this?"

"simple, this isn't the 1970's, the south Bronx, or is it the south Bronx in the 1970's"

I relay this tale to the chairman and his retort is, "you just take a page from your brother (re: mofo). you play it crazy.

and that's the secret kids.

you feel the forces of evil closing in on you on the F train?

throw your hot beverage across the car and scream "OH MY Fucking SATan! there's cobras in my coffee!!!!"

"COBRAS!?!?!"

are you on a platform at 3 am with desperate characters? start doing the robot.

my favorite was the time I was in a McDonalds in new Hyde park and a kid who had been staring at his hamburger for 10 minutes screamed out that just remembered he was a vegetarian and he threw his food across the restaurant as he ran out.

well that kid may not have been playing but I suspect that he was.

always play it crazy and the most ne'er do well of the ne'er do wells will pass you by for the scared kid with the Vulcan science academy sweatshirt everytime.

—the bastard

...on high water

so this morning, our intrepid crew started the day drinking awful coffee, only to find fantastic coffee at this fine place.

we followed with a trip to the river. and got us to thinking,

with a mountain range in the middle, Missouri is a not to scale model of the united states. with st louis in the east being new york city and kansas city being the vastly more western los angeles. two towns that have vastly different looks and feels.

a trip well met as we ate some 8 hour old Arthur Bryant's under the arch which we called the gateway to the east since we're now heading east.

we encouraged the boy not to throw up on the arch as we may get banned for life from missouri as ozzy was in Texas.

now the open road calls to the east as we speed away from the setting sun. let's just try not to run into a ditch.

—the bastard

well that's something you don't see every day

breakfast is the most important meal of the day in these parts.

hell, in any parts really.

but when the bastard's on vacay, coffee becomes a more daunting task.

so after dropping the boy off at school, i get some breakfast and a cup of coffee to dock my oil tanker on.

while driving back to an empty house and some packing I realize that um not driving so fast so I pick it up for the old man in the gun boat who's riding the bastard's ass.

it was then and only then, that he gave me the finger. as if it was some manner of delayed response.

oh

he's moving,

fuck him.

so i snapped his mug for posterity and oddly enough, he slowed down markedly. odd thing.

—the bastard

...on respect

waiting in a coffee shop for the chairman.

respect by aretha comes on.

this lady starts singing along.

don't quit your day job darlin'.

just sayin'

—the bastard

wayside

the bastard was up late last night.

later that he really wanted to.

you see, the job,

no,

the beast we have all come to know and love as facebook had me up way past my bedtime.

surprise, surprise.

anyway, the bastard was talking to the ghosts of christmas past and what could have been a long long time ago and she told me she wasn't happy with how it all turned out.

the house.

the hubby.

the kids.

why does it seem that something is missing?

I asked her, "do you have any regrets?"

didn't travel more.

didn't have a rewarding career. but then I couldn't have the family i have if I had that

"it's a catch 22."

she knew it was. but that's just it. life is a catch 22.

damned if you do,

damned if you don't.

as I fell away to sleep at 2am, after the clanging of my 500 year old radiator subsided, the bastard thought that he may have understood how it all fell apart for him the last time.

clang. clang clang. hssssssssssssssssss

-the bastard

remiss

sorry kids.

the bastard has been remiss in his duties (heh heh...doody).

i spent this week putting together my feature well.

what's a feature well?

well young shiteyes, let me tell you what a feature well is. you see, a feature well is that really nice looking section of the magazine that you breeze past all of the shitty looking parts with the words on them. it's kind of like the sears roebuck catalog but, with guns.

then again, i think sears roebuck used to sell guns too. and motorcycles. but that was a simpler time. but i digress,

i was working on the well. and the bastard likes it to look good. and i also have a ton of the devils work to do as part of my stay out of a refrigerator box program which works in tandem with the bastard's not dying program. here's to hoping they work.

—the bastard

...this is why i love this business

now the bastard and left hand rob have been collecting and joking and re-joking about our great love for the inadvertent off color phrasing in the hunting business. but this week has found us our grand daddy of them all.

and lobster and i hope to the big baby jesus that this company has t-shirts.

because we gotta get some.

lobster and i first came across sporting wood creations, in the convention floor plan of the gun show we're going to next week but apparently the prince of sales had seen this in the snow man's cube while talking to him and immediately had to show us. it's gold kids.

fucking gold.

i am a new man.

—the bastard

things the bastard has done in the past 24 hours

almost stabbed at least 3 people at 59th street for fucking up my shit.

but i didn't.

too bad.

wish i did.

then again maybe not.

i heard the food in the joint is notsomuch with the good.

dropped my bag on an old asian woman on the r train who probably should have thought better about the idea of sitting next to me

oh yeah, have i mentioned the part where i haven't slept much?

i read several chapters of the comic book adaptation of i am legend and found that instead of a wise cracking black man, the hero is a whiny drinkey blond guy who would rather bitch about how he had to close the damn peep hole in his house because he can't stand to see naked hot vampire chicks. dude, your wife is dead, i'm sure she wouldn't mind if you masterbate once in a while instead of getting pissed off and drunk because all the women left on earth are the living dead. jeez

also, least proactive vampires....EVER!

oh yeah, jimmy 3000 started writing shit again. my ass has been laughed off.

and i've spent more time here in this office than i would have liked to in the last 24-48. hell.....month.

oh yeah, day one is out. 3 more issues to go. then the bastard packs. then burns vegas to the ground. always leave things the way you found them.

—the bastard

worst morning ever

woke up late.

the bastard is limping.

tired.

trains were slow.

elevator was crowded.

everyone has been up in my shit all morning from the minute i walked in.

someone is going to die today. and it might be me.

—the bastard

things you need to know today

little man.

the thing that you were probably grappling with wasn't whether or not to get out of the bastard's way but, HOW QUICKLY you could make that happen. also, the other thought that was rattling around in that vacant space you call a head was, "maybe i should trying and update my haircut because this one makes me look like fucking parker lewis"? because yes, you should update your haircut squire. no one should look like they came to work via a doorway to/from the past. discuss. and oh yes, please die.

speaking of dying.

young lady.

with the bad dye job. or rather bad bleach job.

the phrase you were looking for when someone holds the door is "thank you". say it with me. "thank you". very good. now onto the meat of the manner. you aren't THAT good looking. just because you clearly have a tanning salon near your house doesn't mean that it makes you look good. and i've already mentioned the streak job. come on, don't all you impolite sort watch sex in the city? besides, you kind of look like a pug in a wig. plus, you suck at living too.

sales monkey.

the bastard doesn't want to hear about what kind of games eson will broadcast.

the bastard doesn't care about their newsworthyness.

however, the bastard does care that you shut the hell up before there is a report on the news tonight about a dead sales monkey thrown out of the ninth floor of an office building in murray hill. it might very well interrupt the uconn game. or the marion game. or the whatever the fuck game you were blabbing on about.

come on! i'm saving lives here.

oh.

wait.

coffee.

—the bastard

...on beverages

the bastard swears, can't people just ordr frikkin coffee? two. no. three times i heard some suv driving pinhead ordering a venti, no sugar, dolce, (which is italian for SWEET asshole) carmel, soy, latte with no sugar and soy foam with no sugar in a big cup so i can dunk my ridiculous head in it when i get to work and drown. DROWN in my fake ass coffee!!!!!!!!

this is what the bastard does with his free time when he's visiting the boy...people watching. watching people order they drinks while i eat my brekky. you know, it's funny how in so many different places, the pretention remains the same. it's refreshing, in a sort of disgusting way.

—the bastard

...on the bush league 2

so we have these shiny new (re: BLANK) keycards to get in the door.

and the bastard gets to the door. well the bastard gets out of an elevator to be greeted by a huge ass crowd of people who he knows reside on the 10th floor.

this doesn't look good.

and it wasn't. i bust out the key card and nothing. NOTHING.

so the bastard spins on his heel and heads for the front desk.

"hey my key card doesn't work."

"huh?"

"my key card doesn't work."

"huh?"

"key card", (i hold it up) "doesn't work. do we still have running water in this place?"

"huh? oh, (as if someone moved the needle on the record for her) we're attempting to address the problem now and the cold wind of death is attempting to address the problem"

"great. i'm going to go see if the electric is still working in this place"

"huh?"

you know i feel a little guilty making fun of the girl by the door. not really. not as much as the girl who ended up wearing most of my soda on her legs while i was walking back to the office with my lunch but, a little bit. it ain't her fault. hell it ain't the cold wind of death's fault. this is just what happens when a smaller company from downtown is put in charge of a bigger company from uptown. it's like going from playing little league baseball to playing full on big league ball. with nails in the bats and razor blades in the cleats and big nasty teeth. oh well, at least the computer starts up.

—the bastard

dumb things the bastard has done in the last 72 hours

sunday sunday sunday : the bastard has developed allergies lately so it has him obsessing over them. i never had allergies until that no goo jonny airplanes kept me out for 3 or 4 days straight until 6 in the morning and i developed pneumonia. actually , the fact that i was rolling cigarettes (the tobacco variety) didn't help either. anyway, i developed pneumonia and later i developed a cat allergy. now my ladyfriend has a cat so i first assume that it's the cat's fault that i'm wheezing. but then again, i'm wheezing at home and i have a lizard. so upon some serious soul searching i have come to the conclusion thta the bastard has a mold problem. how do i deduce this?

well...

...let's see...

oh yeah, my apartment has massive water damage from flooding and while i can't necessarily see it, i'm wheezing. but why stop there. let's go on the internet at one o'clock in the morning and read up on the symptoms for asbestosis. bad idea. then try and calm yourself down by reading up on the symptoms of allergic asthma and then calm down by reading 3 volumes of warren ellis' transmetropolitan. then try that whole sleep thing again at 2 in the morning. nice and smooth. nice and smooth, my ASS!

flash forward (monday): walk in the front door of the office. walk out of the elevator on the 10th floor. realize that you moved to the 9th floor 3 weeks ago. almost made it to my old desk.

flash forward (it's today in case you weren't keeping track, jackass): so i bought these new sunglasses the other day. i was looking for a larger lens. you know, for better sleep on the subway. and while i was stuck in traffic on sunday on the williamsburg bridge (another story, it involves idiots and suvs and a really long pothole on delancy street that coincidentally the chairman had to put up with too) i realized that they made me think of stewie from that episode of the family guy in which he throws a tan party (watch my tan walk brian). anyway, while i got more sleep, i still managed to lose my sunglasses. at lunch time, i walk over to the other side of 9 and went to get my lunch and found the sunglasses on the shelf. where i left them. i have to get some sleep. or maybe i have to get jesus. yeah, i have to get jesus, he owes me money you know?

—the bastard

it's a fact...

...people at coffee shops with big fat carcasses who didn't order a cup of coffee but feel they need to be up the ass of their friend who did order coffee will in fact block the station where you put sugar and milk and get napkins from and they will invariably have a backpack on to subsequently increase her footprint. given this knowledge, in certain societies, one could find oneself strangling said cow to death but fortunately for this particular heffer, we don't live in that kind of society...yet.

—the bastard