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

open road… REALLY open

I think the tired has caught up with me.

and I think my shuttle bus is taking me to the airport via the middle of nowhere.

perhaps the bastard is more accustomed to dodging a traffic jam via taking the bridge instead of the tunnel.

this seems more like take the desolate empty road instead of the i10.

at least it's never boring.

and at least this shuttle doesn't smell like the down economy.

I'm looking forward to some bourbon and a meal at this point.

oh yeah, I updated the look of the blog. this is what I do when the boy is at school and I'm tired of sitting around.

love it.

no really. love it. or I'll stab you in the neck.

— 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

…on the knights of the rails part3

song track: I rule the ruins

so much to the bastard's surprise and bemusement, the system works.

made it here in an hour door to door.

yep

DOOR to DOOR

— the bastard

…cyclical

…and so it ends.

…and so it begins anew.

the show that is shot is always preceeded by the rough birth of 300 plus pages.

it's usually 200 plus.

but what rough beast shuffles to life made of the stuff of printouts and press releases and sweat and frustration slumbering slowly towards the city of sin?

it's me bitches.

oh and that frikkin convention daily that the bastard is so goddam proud of bring a part of.

and make no mistake I AM proud to be a part of this hot mess we throw down.

but here we are.

the royal we… not you.

riding the train for one day of driving before we take the plunge and shuffle slowly towards las Vegas to do it again.

day after day, I get up and say I'm gonna do it again.

do it again. up yours ray davies.

—the bastard

...on light rail and text messaging

bastard: is everything ok? I had a dream in which we got lost in the st Louis subway system.

thing of it is

st Louis doesn't have a subway system.

the elder: hunh

bastard: just stating what happened is all

the elder: okay

bastard: so your not going to st Louis. ok? they have a light rail and neither the subway or the light rail go to cardinal's stadium which was what busch stadium was called in the dream

the elder: Unless you are telling me that I am going to atlantic yards

bastard: mayhap. the other anomaly was that the st Louis subway was huge and akin to an ugly grand central station that used big diesel trains so...

perhaps

the elder: If I go then will go halves on lotto

bastard: deal

—the bastard

potential hat trick in the making

fresh from the hell is other people file.

or

perhaps from the hell is traveling with other people file.

I see this fresher faced middle aged lady with her young child (check: hell is other people's children)

and as she meets up with her party, the bastard hears the unrelenting "yapyapyap" thAt shakes the collective unconcious towards conciousness.

we all collectively see one of those yappy toy dogs that we all love SO much in it's designer carrier (check: hell is other people's pets).

so the bastard is waiting for them to be on my flight or better yet in my row.

either way, it's hat trick city. too bad there isn't a place I can pay manhattan prices for a bottle of bourbon for the flight.

oh well.

—the bastard

UPDATE: the dog is on the flight. it's a hat trick. and the yapping ensues at cruising altitude

it's winding down...

yeah,

it's winding down.

the boy goes home soon and things go back to the way they were.

which is still pretty good and all.

but

the bastard won't have his work buddy with him for a while.

and that's a bit of a bummer. but it was a good summer with the boy.

and he's looking forward to being a big brother.

you see,

I forgot to tell you something.

hope you were sitting down for that.

—the bastard

...on open roads

so the bastard is hitting the open road and the mofo has signed on as co-pilot.

19 hours

39 minutes

open road to kansas city.

for ribs and hostage exchanges.

we're picking up the boy in a most economical move which may add up to as little as 120 dollars in gasoline. and 120 dollars in hotel fees.

and murders.

lots of murders.

well maybe not. but there will be ribs.

lots of ribs.

—the bastard


P.S. don't worry, i'll still be blogging because that's what i do jerks!!!

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.

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

...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

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...pt2

landed in salt lake.

well not IN the lake.

cause that would suck.

ball park frank was better but not by much.

some dick kept shoving his knees in my back.

I hope he gets kicked on the nuts someday soon.

hotlanta next. grief to follow.

—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

still and all, there's gold to be had

the bastard sits down with his bag of breakfast grease and lo and behold y'all, we have hobos in the terminal. it's odd as this is an international terminal, so all sorts of europeans just sack out here. but my son likes to call them hobos.

-the bastard

...on ch ch ch ch ch changes

scoop had told me since discovering that I wasn't flying on jet blue (also known as the flying bar) that she was indeed disturbed by this.

but, the bastard has to go to the desert the way he can and this time it's delta (also known as Don't Expect Luggage To Arrive) so I actually planned for them losing my luggage by packing two days of clothing in my carry on. so here the bastard waits for adventures and shit in the wrong terminal, without my bar but, the view ain't bad.

-the bastard

bad day on black rock...again

so it's pissing out right now.

and it's going to be this way for the day.

then i get a message from my landlord.

"uh uh uh uh (he stutters, okay?) i have to go up on your roof because it's flooding in the basement"

which means it's flooding in my apartment.

the bastard is NOT happy.

i call him back and ask him if my luggage and my laptop are still dry. he says yes but not before telling me that he's cleaning up the mess and garbage can in the same sentence.

i have a flight to take tomorrow to go see my boy and i have to go buy a de-humidifier tonight to make sure i don't come home to little black fuzz all over my home. fuck!

could any hell be more real or now. i don't think so.

—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