belly of the beast…

there's a scene in frank miller's batman year one in which Gordon takes the train into Gotham all the while thanking god that he made Barbara fly in so she didn't have to ride in with the filth c

conversely, Bruce Wayne laments flying into Gotham because he should have taken the train to be closer to the enemy.

the bastard can tell you this…

he should have taken the local today.

should have gotten that seat…

on the slow role out of the belly of the beast…

to trip the queens fantastic.

the wife asks me why I don't book a car…

I tell her its because this way is cheaper…

but it's really because I want to be closer to the filth…

to get the street under my feet…

to disappear into the ground and cross the borough most thorough…

on my way out to the desert.

yippy kay ay mother fucker.

—the bastard

…on the return

the bastard took a week and change off.

I saw the boy.

went to the southwest.

came home.

went to the northeast.

to spend time with the wife.

it made for a great unwind.

now it's once more into the breach.

for the daily starts.

the redesign starts.

the long days start.

once more into the breach.

—the bastard

shuttle bus of smells

flying on a budget is hell the bastard tells you.

HELL!

three trains to the airport?

seamless.

flight from jfk to Boston?

by the numbers

connecting flight from Boston to Phoenix?

well let's just say that Logan international needs to get its shit together. and it's fucking hard to sleep on a plane when someone else's kid has the fucking night terrors on the plane.

cobras!

COBRAS!

has the bastard told you that hell is other people's kids?

except mine. my kids are frikkin SAINTS.

it's true. ask my kids.

but now we're in the desert and now I'm in this van that smells like sweat and tobacco and sadness.

you wanna know what the down economy smells like?

it's this van. and it comes with a goddam trailer too.

I'm the only jackass in this tin can but my suitcase has to ride in the trailer along with the meth lab.

good times.

no

GREAT times.

— the bastard

waiting in the terminal on a busy evening

from the hell is other people file,

nothing is less enlightening than listening to a bunch of people from out of my town (and it is my town) talking about how great it is to live in the city.

and by "the city", they mean manhattan. the other 4 boroughs don't rate. cocksmokers.

but wait bastard don't you live in "the city" too?

no young shiteyes, i live on a rock called manhattan which has really good food and alot of assholes.

—the bastard

P.S. tonight this girl who we could consider "good looking" tried to bypass the ticket line by attaching a black tag to her bag and handing it to the TSA guy who promptly looked past her wide eyes and sent her to the line with the rest of the rubes. the bastard loves it when hot chicks fail, it makes him feel less fat and ugly.

up, up, and aweigh

welcome to jet blue.

we can't believe you two jackasses think that you're going to fit your big ass suitcases in the overhead compartment.

get out the aisle.

we also can't believe that the new york times channel is covering "lebowski fest".

all the news that fits our ASS!

enjoy your flight and always remember not only is drinking a bad idea in the morning but, it's prohibitively expensive.

—the bastard

what fresh hell... pt1

the bastard has come to the conclusion that his gps has it in for him.

the boy's house is at the very bottom of three years worth of construction on i10 in Tucson but the gps takes me east of that onramp only to have the bastard experience rush hour traffic on a whole new level. you haven't lived until your hay fever is stuck alongside a hay truck.

salt lake next. yay?!?!

-the bastard

actual/factual

upon landing in salt lake city for my connection, the bastard got hisself some quiznos.

it wasn't so much with the good.

following, the bastard got hisself some more coffee to put on top of the quiznos.

by the time i had stuffed myself with more crap, worked my way across to gate 83 (yes fucking 83), i had begun to notice that sky west (the bastard's connecting airline) had alot of these kind of planes.

QUICK SIDEBAR: now the bastard has been doing so much air travel since...well since i started to work for killing stuff monthly. and over time, the bastard has gotten into the awful habit of just looking at what time and what airline and sometimes the flight number. as a result, the little piece of info regarding what kind of aircraft i'm getting into never really enters my mind.

that is until...

i get to the terminal and all i see are these effing crop dusters and that bastard is thinking, "what the fuck did i get myself into?" and "why the hell did i have to, you know, EAT something before getting on this ball park frank of a plane."

hell, i even contemplated the notion of going into the bathroom and just sticking my finger down my throat to save myself the trouble of tossing my cookies into the "for motion discomfort" bag.

wait.

i was supposed to think that, not type it.

anyway, i had this thought until they called our gate and i had to hump down to gate 40 (yeah gate 40. there's a gate 40 i have to walk to from gate 83, it's an eighth of a mile away) and i saw what i was getting on was this:


and truth to tell, it wasn'at all that much bigger than the other plane, actually, it was almost twice the size of the cropduster but, it had jet engines and that meant alot more to me than props out here in the mountains.

ok, in a nutshell, much better flight even though the inside of the plane was kind of the size of the plane that crashed into the mountain in the second indiana jones movie (sans the chickens of course). although i have to say this, maybe it's the people i was flying with, or maybe it's just the fact that small enclosed spaces make people a little batty but, most of these people were just rude or jusr maybe foregoing the usual niceties in the interest of getting off of this flying subway car.

but long story already long, i got on the ground in one piece despite the thermals that were banging the plane around as we came over the mountains getting into tucson, and the boy was happy to see me. and his hair is black.

—the bastard

...back from the sand

...special tired as hell remix edition.


so the bastard and his boy are back in the thorough borough and ready for the summer. i've decided after many lego related pratfalls at the bus stop, that we will have to either leave some toys in the office of not bring them here. too many small parts.also, i think some more reading material maight be better suited for the office. but let's go down the particulars for you jerks that don't keep up.

so obviously, the bastard did some flying.


followed by alot of driving.

i had some awful food.


but then i had some good food that i've heard SO MUCH about.

the bastard enjoyed some nightlife in tucson.

and then after some more driving, the bastard did some more flying.


all in all it was a fun trip and even though my flight home was riddled with freaks and grifters, we got home okay. even got some sleep too. regular posting will come back soonish. or not. go to hell jerks.

—the bastard

road home....

...full of hazards

so here ends another entry in the annals of bastardly travel. the bastard will speak more of it but right now, i'm just glad to be on this side of the metal detectors.

it didn't hurt when the crippled burnout at the ticket counter asked the boy where his i.d. was with me knowing damn well that i left it in a cedar box somewhere in northwestern tucson but right now, i'm just glad to be on this side of the metal detectors.

sure, my airline of choice had killed the route to tucson, so i had to go to phoenix which added up to a 2 hour drive to tucson but right now, i'm just glad to be on this side of the metal detectors.

which ended up in a 2 hour ride back to the effing airport but right now, i'm just glad to be on this side of the metal detectors.

and the boy and i got stopped at a railroad crossing with a mile long train but right now, i'm just glad to be on this side of the metal detectors.

and while the bastard is thinking about it, you drivers here in the phoenix area are just goddam awful at driving. you are by far the most impatient lot the bastard has ever had the displeasure of driving with this side of boston, mass. but right now, i'm just glad to be on this side of the metal detectors.

well, the plane is here and i am out. 2 months of fun in the city with the boy. maybe we'll go see that sex in the city movie.

desert bound

so the bastard is here at beautiful jfk for his quarterly sojurn into the desert.

now that i'm finally here, i can stop having waking nightmares about being a bad parent.

mostly because i got up at 5am this morning.

anyway, apparently i cannot access my blog from the free hotspot.

might have something to do with the fact that the word BASTARD is prominently displayed in the url.

might just be a hiccup. oh well, go to hell.

so intermittently, the bastard will be posting to the feed. i've already gotten started on it and i haven't even made my way over to the bar. then again, it's early.

see you on the other side, shiteyes.

—the bastard

end of the road

so there it is.

scoop is back on the east coast. soon my liver will begin hurting again.

in other news, it's fucking raining out again and since i walked to work from my ladyfriend's apartment, i haven't gotten into adventures and shit.

but the bastard did get rained upon.

and i made friends on facebook with someone i knew from the old neighborhood which just reminds me that i need a functioning motorcycle. but instead, i'm going to read this week's installemnt of freakangels and watch science fiction on frikkin hulu.

the book has shipped and the bastard is waiting for his proofs so, i have to play the waiting game. hrm, waiting game sucks. let's play hungry hungry hippos.

—the bastard

where's scoop part 5

...the big push

ok, the bastard has come to the conclusion that he needs to start a fight on the subway.

i have no material except for scoop's roadtrip.

anyways, she's in the home stretch. woke up in tennesee, was last seen approaching the virginia border.

in pennsylvania by dinnertime.

end of the line after that.

—the bastard

where's scoop part 4

3:15 pm: little rock, memphis by 5

we're shipping the book so, aside from the hive mind not being around for whatever reason, it's all about the shipping.

—the bastard

THIS JUST IN, SPECIAL "ME TOO EDITION"
in a special report which the bastard can only describe as "a me too update", jonny airplanes reports that he is back in virginia from his current base of operations in key west florida.

call it good timing.

call it good times.

but most definitely call it.

where's scoop part 3

scoop: "i go get mexican in amarillo"

bastard: nice

scoop: marg barg time in tx

bastard: margz am the beast aye best

scoop: i just saw the worlds biggest cross and anything you want it was palying on the radio. i in ok.

upon logging onto facebook this morning (yes the bastard is on facebook, go to hell), scoop tells us that she is sleeping in an ihop parking lot. hopefully she gets herself a rooty tooty fresh and fruity breakfast there.

—the bastard

where's scoop part 2

bastard: "aye put up a map for hugh"

scoop: "hehehehehe i', at a dq in nm and i'm thinking about buying a drug rug aka baja robe"

bastard: "hehehe drug rug. where in nm?"

scoop: "no clue about fourty mi to santa rosa"

bastard: "close enuff. just needed it fire the map. you should dine at whataburger"

scoop: "heheheheh i've heard of that i need something non meat"

bastard: "that's what dq am fore"

in other news, someone has designed a steak flavored beer but it's for dogs

—the bastard

where in the united states is scoop?

so as the basatard may have mentioned, scoop, left hand rob's predecessor at selling bullets seven times a year. has departed from hell's waiting room and she heads east by monkey powered toyota corolla along with her copilot. hopefully leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

almost immediately on their departure, i was getting updates on their location.

scoop: "At n n out but we no no in nv or ca. I'm a free woman full of beef"

bastard: "that is the greetest phrase ever", i replied

then it hit me to come up with a map. left hand rob thought that it should look like one of those indiana jones maps. so here we are so far:


received a text on sunday night that went, "me at venetion now, i wanna get on the marg barg and play crapz. developing..."

2 hours later scoop tell me that she won cash money at the craps tables.

last we leave her, she went to the grand canyon yesterday and ended the day in flagstaff.

developing....

—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

...the bastard has seen his future

it's early.

well not THAT early.

i mean it's almost lunch time in new york but, it's early here.

anyways, the rudest thing happened to the bastard in the coffee shop.

well not really really rude but, pretty much the rudest thing that has happened to me since the boy moved to tucson.

old man.

looks like a hobo (the boy prefers to call them hobos instead of homeless. the bastard prefers no shoulders small tooth jones or old barb stab you quick), probably wasn't but he sure was disheveled.

anyway, he's getting his coffee, and after he gets, i go around him but apparently, the bastard didn't cut old ahab a wide enought birth. mostly because, he, rather than turn to his right and go on his way, turned directly around got all up ons and said "excuse me" in his gruffest tone, to which i responded, "relax tiger".

the barrista flummoxed just smiled and took my order. every always smiles in dining establishments in this town. that's why i keep getting my coffe at this place when i'm out here. also, it's the only coffee shop the bastard can find other than the it's a grind on oracle and while the coffee there is ok, i can't help feelign like the opening credits of weeds when i walk into the place.

but then i thought about it, is this my future?

chubby little fat man?



brushing up against people and trying my best to make them feel like assholes?

i hope not.

it's totally going to ruin my golden years if i become a hobo and i don't think my ladyfriend wants to grow old with me in a refrigerator box.

—the bastard

has the bastard ever told you...

...hell is travelling with other people.

okay, so the bastard has yet to enmass the kind of wealth to buy a jet and have a carbon footprint like al gore's house.

which reminds me, when has a Nobel prize ever been awarded on television featuring music by melissa etheridge? if that ain't media bias, the bastard doesn't know what is.

but I digress, hell is travelling with other people. try to keep up stupid. it all started out when the bastard discovered eastern european gangsters on line with him. and they litter too. I guess vigo mortensen was totally off the mark because he didn't toss his empties on the frikken ground instead of the handy trash recepticle 5 feet away. I guess be didn't want to tip off the tsa by having a loaded empty bottle of water.

in out next thrilling episode, the bastard drowns out women who finish all sentences in question form with the velvet underground. it begs the question of what's worse, enduring two asian girls with oily skin yammer on about boys and otaku or a tone deaf german chanteuse warbling about all tomorrows parties (which was a hell of a book). my money is on nico. at least she didn't look all shiny from eating too many potato chips, just tranked out from too much heroin.

-the bastard

...the haul

today, the bastard set up the last of his pages.

the pages from his monolith.

his albatross.

his yearly herculean labor.

and it was no more.

and when the bastard had saw the breadth of his domain, he wept for there were no more worlds to conquer.

and truth to tell,

all poetry aside, every time i finish this fucking mountain of work, i feel like weeping a little bit. it's hard. and i still have a pile to do. i owe the devil his due. i still have to finish the february/march issue. and the end isn't in site but for a minute, the bastard feels like he won a little today.

i'll lose some more tomorrow.

but on to bigger and better. the end of the road. it leads to vegas. we booked some dinner. we'll throw some dice. we'll fuck some shit up. but most of all. we'll lay the live half of what i finished today. maybe i won more than i bargained for.

—the bastard