apparently, this isn't the bastard's fault...

...nope.

it isn't his fault.

it isn't your fault either.

it's not the little people's fault.

it's the government's fault.

the bastard isn't going to mention any government organizations but he will say the initials c.a.s. and if that means anything to you, you'll know what the homeless man on the train was talking about this morning on the train. because i sure as hell don't know what the hell he was talking about.

so you see, we're off the hook.

—the bastard

...on the short list

on my way home this evening, i get a call from the chairman.

"there are fire trucks down by your apartment"

"is my place on fire?"

"i don't think so. looks like it's by tutto bene."

"ok i'll take the back way in. see you in a bit"

so the bastard does the nice neighborly thing and he calls the neighbors. neither of the girls answers him.

the chairman calls back and confirms that the bastard's home isn't on fire. when i get home, the trucks are still there and so is an ambulance. i go upstairs to drop off some laundry. and then it hits me.

what if the firemen aren't done?

what if it spreads?

i better take some stuff with me.

so here's the bastard's short list. now taken into consideration that in my car already, i have my ipod, my shopping bags from trader joes, and my phone is on me. so given all that i grabbed just:

my laptop

the portfolio which i prefer to refer to as "the book"

my laundry to switch

and my sidi motorcycle boots. they aren't the most optimum foot wear but, they are my most expensive.

then i walked out. knowing that if the place burned to the ground, the bastard could function. on the way out, i drop off laundry and some fat bitch (and i don't throw that kind of insult around lightly, i don't want to get scoop angry with me) opens the door to the laundromat, looks right at me, walks into the laundromat, and lets the door close on me. i hold out my palm so that the door makes a resounding slap. she barely resists the urge to turn and see what the sound is because she knows what it is. followed by the bastard saying,"thanks jerk", to which she resists again the urge to turn and respond.

but i am tired

and i have no resistance.

so as i get to the counter, i pass her, and bang the bag into her fat carcass. granted, it's a bag of clothes but the bastard will not be denied. after this i get in the car and an old man from the block gives me the stink eye. he's been giving me grief for a while (long story, i'll tell it later) and as i pull out of my parking spot with my short list of stuff, we lock eyes and i think of my other list.

the list of people that are going to fucking GET IT when i leave this block. and they will fucking get it good.

—the bastard

...on remote control

"that looks like a spot there"

"what's he doing?"

"using his remote to unlock the doors"

"it ain't working"

"maybe if he gets closer"

"nope, maybe he should use the key"

"maybe if he sets it off in the front"

"nope, maybe he should use the key"

"maybe if he gets closer"

"nope, maybe he should use the key"

"maybe if he tries from the trunk"

"nope, maybe he should use the key"

this goes on for 15 minutes. we find parking elsewhere and eat pizza, 15 minutes later than intended. the man decides to use his key after we pull away. jackass.

—the bastard

...on the year of the flood

so truth to tell, the bastard doesn't always spend the night at home. sometimes he stays out after hours and materializes at work the next morning fresh for the new day.

the downside is this.

FLASHBACK: the bastard is riding the train back to craptastic queens and he notices that while there wasn't alot of rain in manhattan, alot of women are wearing those stupid ass rubber boots with the goofy patterns on them to fool us all into thinking that they look less like a wellington boot.

FLASH FORWARD: so i come home to this.

yay. it's just like the last flood, only worser.

so i do what comes to mind first. i go to the bathroom. i mean hell, i had to go.

then i called the landlord.

"hi missah lanlord, we had ourselves a flood again. can you come over in 5 minutes to survey the damage"

"sh-sh-sh-sh-would you prefer if if if if if if i came over tomorrow?"

"no actually, i'd prefer if you saw the place before i cleaned the place up. the floor is soaked and there's plaster all over the place"

so missah lanlord came over and looked at the grief and told me shit that i wanted to hear and we'll see what happens. i showed him some of the other damage from rainstorms that predate my divorce and my meds for my breathing problems as a result of all of this crap. we'll see what happens. i ain't holding out hope on this shit. the plan is.

do the job.

take the money.

put it away.

get the fuck out.

find a new place to wreck.

i'll let you know how that shit works out. can't wait for the creatures to start coming out tonight as a result of this shit.

—the bastard

the smell gets around you

"snif snif."

"you know rob, sometimes this city smells like shit."

"you know, sometimes shit smells like this city."

"really." (not stated as a question but as a retort. keep up, will you)

"yeah sometimes i'll find something floating in the bowl and sniff and think, hmmmmmmm, 43rd street."

"nice."

so yeah. it didn't smell so good last night as the lobster and i headed west towards 6th. it's one of those phenomena that is nothing like the maple syrup smell that perplexed us all in october of 2005. it was more of the late season humidity comes home to make everything smell like crap.

or raw sewage.

or corpses.

or...well...you get the idea.

anyway it followed me all the way back to the thorough borough and all the way to the airport (both times mind you). you'd think the dog days of summer were gone because it's cooler out but it just cooler out. the dog is still out there, making the bastard sweat. and he don't like it. bad dog. BAD DOG!

—the bastard

...on the simple things 3

"whoa ho, this is some high technology"

"you can mix flavors into your soda."

"i'm gonna mix vanilla into my coke."

"i'm gonna mix cherry into mine."

"well, i'm gonna mix hawaiian punch into mine"

nothing makes the bastard smile more than stoners planning out how they are going to mix their sodas in a the 7-11. shine on you crazy diamonds

—the bastard

the devil went down to...jersey?

the hockey fan never had that much luck with the ladies.

i mean he had luck with the ladies insomuch as he's been able to get a date on a pretty regular basis but he never had that luck for very long.

one girl cheated on him or at least he found out that she cheated on him after they broke up. cheated on him with practically the whole neighborhood.

the girl he left her for started dating another guy a year into dating him. totally wrecked his christmas. the bastard took him on a long bender across the thorough borough that week. while the bastard understands the breakup process, sometimes, you have to drink your troubles away.

anyway he dated a drummer for a while but that wasn't really love for the hockey fan.

then he met the girl from brazil. and he thought he had it. until she wanted something else and he was left holding the bag. as the author antoine de saint-exupéry once said, love is not looking at easch other, love is looking in the same direction.

then he fell in love with ebay for a while and that worked out for him for a while until he had had his fill of signed wayne gretsky jerseys then he had to find himself an actual lady.

then he was with someone who lied to him. and he didn't like that very much.

then he met her. the one. and they were so happy. hell, the bastard takes pause and is happy for him too.

last weekend, the bastard went to their wedding and it was in south jersey. because the only thing they love more than each other, is the goddam beach. so they were married on it. in south jersey. now the bastard has driven through south jersey but, he's never stopped. never had a reason to stop.

it's kind of like the midwest.

with a beach.

and that's okay and all but then we get stuff like this.

i took this with my trusty piece of the area 51 flying saucer. now the video is totally for shit but this character's voice is golden. short description is, we have this enormously tall drunk guy with a big black cowboy hat singing the devil went down to georgia. it was gold. i saw the shot and i took it. and i'm glad i did. i'm also glad i went. the hockey fan deserves a little happiness.

—the bastard

..on the little things 2

has the bastard ever gone on ad nauseam about how much he loves having a 7-11 near his place?

i mean seriously.

what could be better than getting some icee coffee after moving crap to my garage? yes, the bastard rents a garage. where else am i putting the damn bike and the chairman's truck. anyway, the bastard enjoys the convenience of getting the caffeine my body depends on to keep the voices out of my head.

come on i'm saving lives out here. your lives. show some gratitude.

jerks

—the bastard

...on time machines

so as the bastard mentioned earlier, he has developed some problems breathing. so what's a jerk to do but to go to the doctor and address the problem. besides, blue doesn't go too well as, say, a skin pigment. now the last time i saw my doctor, he was closer to home but has since moved to the lovely guido equivalent of an amish village known as howard beach where if the makes models of the vehicles rolling up and down weren't brandy new, you would be convinced it was still 1986. and that isn't really a neighborhood and all if you like living near the pizza place that was the site of what was probably the most notorious violation of civil rights in my time but, then again, i heard you can get a good slice at the new park pizzeria. or maybe it was the crown heights riot that was the more notorious violation because the guy who killed yankel rosenbaum got off in the long run while the guys in howard beach went to the clink.

but i digress,

i was going to the doctor's office.

now the office at doc's old digs was generally filled with the silent masses who were waiting for the gynecologist who shared the office with him and most of them were russian so i rarely had a conversation with anyone. but this place was a little more ghetto than that. there were these two chuckleheads who were playing with their sidekicks. one (pictured here) just kept opening and closing the fucker. his buddy, who i managed to not get a pic of was the more priceless of the lot. his ringtone was i got money by fiddy cent. how do i know this? because he decided that everyone in the waiting room needed to hear it. i found myself wonderring in the waiting room full of pauly walnuts lookalikes, why no one thought it would be a good idea to stab this kid in the neck with a pencil.

go fig

why do i get all the really choice ideas.

well, since you asked, yeah, i'm breathing better.

—the bastard

the wrong trousers

every girl's crazy bout a sharp dressed man. or maybe everyone gets crazy when a man has sharps. ida know but, the bastard has to tell you something. he carries a shiv on him. in fact, i own several. alot of them are made by spyderco. i highly recommend the brand should you need something sharp. i even bought one for the chairman. and i've already gotten a decent look at the next one i'm going to buy.

but i digress.

anyway, all branding aside, the bastard stopped into the coffee-a-teria on the way home. now mind you i didn't go home last night and since yesterday's jeans were nice and soda encrusted, i had to buy a pair of jeans as well and all my gear didn't fit into the pockets as well as my soda pants so every time i have to take my wallet out of my pocket, i have to take this monstrosity which is one of my favorite shivs. so while i was in coffee-a-teria i made sure to take out enough to buy my coffee beforehand. upon arriving, a young hispanic man takes my order and when he gives me the price which tells me that the price of things has gone up to my disdain. so out comes the shiv and i clomp it onto the counter. the young man's eyes bug out. i look him in the eye and tell him with a grin, "these are the wrong pants for this knife". he grins back and takes my money. i grin and take my coffee.

—the bastard

...on the outer boroughs

well the bastard can safely say that the james bond film live and let die is a really good film to take a nap to. you see, i'm landlocked. stuck. i decided against asking the chairman for a ride into the office as it would have me walking up to my office from the west village. so needless to say, the bastard has been hitting the refresh button on the mta's website. i've been hitting refresh all morning, except for the brief 30 to 45 minutes i was asleep while roger moore bored my ass to unconsciousness. and the bastarad has come to this conclusion, queens is getting fucked today. queens always gets fucked in these situations. it's understandable, manhattan is this town's business center so it needs to run. but, the outer boroughs take a back seat to this and queens sometimes takes a backseat to brooklyn and tornados in bay ridge brooklyn aside, brooklyn is in slightly better shape than we are.

so in the meantime, the bastard will keep hitting the refresh button. staying out of the heat. and mind you, it's frikkin' steamy out. man, i have templates to redo.

—the bastard

...a good soaking

...or can you spare a glass of water?

there is this old folktale the bastard remembers about this woman who tricked 3 witches into coming out in the rain with her because she convinced them that she knew how to walk between the raindrops. all she did was keep a spare outfit in a bag and put it on when she got into their cave. the witches took the bait and melted.

now the bastard has no raindrop dodging skill, nor has he melted. but, god dam it's wet out. fortunately the weather held out long enough (after my initial soaking) for the bastard to get to the office and all i have is some damp ankles. oh well, go to hell. keep your powder dry, shiteyes.

—the bastard

...even hipsters love the seven eleven

so the bastard was enjoying day 2 of 7-11 goodness when i saw hipsters in front. and she was scowling at me. or maybe she was just scowling. either way the bastard felt the need to share.

—the bastard

...on the little things

so the chairman was having a bad day. and he was telling the bastard about it when, low and behold, the 7-11 was open. the bastard is so happy.

—the bastard

...on blackouts

...and i don't mean that effing album by the scorpions

listen to the chair leg of truth. it does not lie. what does it say?

it was a dark and stormy wednesday. well, it ain't quite dark or stormy yet but, it's getting there. however, it has come to the bastard's attention that the mta's website isn't terribly informative when there is a power outage. strangley enough, neither are the local news outlets. so long story short, it's sticky out, it's gonna rain and part of the bastard's commute is shrouded in blackoutedness. yay! i think, i'm going to lock myself in the k's office and sleep it off until tomorrow. sounds like good times for me. nay, it sounds like great times for me. keep your powder dry, jerks

—the bastard

thorough

saw this sticker at dinosaur bar b que the other night. it's always nice to someone from the q borough is being thorough.

—the bastard