the unlikely lads…

Vegas is an unlikely town.

unlikely to be out there in the desert…

unlikely for you to get lucky and win a pile of money…

unlikely that you'll be out there and run into an old friend just wandering around while on vacation…

but that in fact happened at the circle bar that we at the gun show call home.

I had a fat meal of steak frites and manhattans and I was settling into y evening holding pattern when i saw a familiar face. it was the builder.

"hey! hey builder!"

the builder looks up half astonished and half realizing he sort of knew I'd be here walks over with him companions.

business partner…

another bloke I met a few times while working for them…

just vacationing…

for the hell of it.

we chatted…

it was good to see a familiar face that I could chat with about stuff not gun related.

I was grateful to run into him.

the town just got a little smaller…

and that's alright.

—the bastard

the horror...the...hor..ror

there are some things that the bastard can never wash out of his brain.

and now you cannot wash it out of your brain as well.

some call him heavenly in his brilliance. others mean and ruthful of the western dream. i love the friends i have gathered together on this thin raft. we have constructed pyramids in honor of our escaping. this is the land where the pharaoh died.

your welcome.

—the bastard

wheels up…

…pants off.


and so it goes.

the bastard has climbed onto his illegal warehouse rave of an airplane.

this is how Richard Branson rolls.



purple lights and all sorts of kooky shit.

but ware house rave or no,

the bastard goes home and leaves sin city until next year when he will pollute it again with his presence.

viva

—the bastard

fumes…

it's been said,

"somedays you get the bear. and somedays the bear gets you".

needless to say, the bastard didn't get the bear last night.

in fact what he got was a paddlin at the hofbrauhaus.

it's the only place I've gone where I don't care if they screw up my food order because I'm there for a stein of "lake beer I can dock my boat to".

but what happened was,

my party had also ordered shots of apple scnapps.

shots come on a paddle.

so needless to say, we all got a paddlin.

then the bastard essentially made no headway with the dice.

this always strikes me as a every other kind of thing.

so who knows,

next year can end up being a more lucrative trip instead of a more paddly trip.

at least I can still sit down.

—the bastard

riding dirty

the bastard is down this week.

not by much but not in the win column.

my new number 3's guy had done his homework and told of this ghetto ass casino around the corner from the palace I'm staying at where the odds are better.

so I went.

and at the 3 dollar table a man who looked like glen Campbell

who had 5 kids

helped the bastard bring that beat back.

so who knows. I may break even before heading home.

cause breaking even is like winning anyways.

—the bastard

box…

the bastard's gotta tell you.

it was much easier to find mullets and weird beards

when I could actually SEE outside my press box

weak

—the bastard

…on traveling

last night, I met up with my Vegas family so we could engage in our yearly repast of ordering a meal and keeping a table occupied for several hours.

which always prompts the wait staff to look at us all cock eyed wondering when we're gonna leave.

but last night was a treat.

last night, the way back machine brought the traveller to dinner.

the traveller was one of the first people who I met in college that wasn't from my neighborhood and he was into traveling.

now traveling was never clearly defined to the bastard but sometimes it involved test driving ford probes.

sometimes it involved joining a fraternity to meet girls.

sometimes it involved telling others that they couldn't POSSIBLY be able to travel with the traveler properly.

and sometimes it involved keeping a bottle of scope and a bottle of vodka in you back pack along with some rice a roni.

but needless to say, whatever the sliding goal post that traveling was, it was never dull.

and these days he'd rather not travel anymore.

he'd rather see his kid grow up without licking the ashtray or some otherwise awful fate.

so perhaps three years ago was the journey's end for the traveler.

or perhaps the beginning.

either way, a good meal was had by all. and I'll talk about the restaurant some other time.

—the bastard

where my thoughts escape me

well kids.

the bastard regrets to inform you that this was a mullet free show.

we were encased in a box, with no view of the floor

so unless someone with a mullet came into the room, nothing was seen.

so your just gonna have to deal with that shit.

now tha I am past all checkpoints.

I'm getting breakfast and thinking about getting home and it makes me think of a certain Simon and garfunkel song.

—the bastard

...on breaktime

the bastard is tired.

I didn't bother getting breakfast prior to getting to the airport for a reason.

the reason being is that I am less stressed when all of my check in business is done.

if i had known that the check in counter gets a coffee break. I would have had breakfast already.

let the seething begin.

—the bastard

the job

done.

fin.

another one in the hopper.

it's nice to be done.

and done early.

big steak night.

—the bastard

...on too much information

you know,

if you're in the bathroom so long

that you need to take a cigarette break in the middle of doing your business,

maybe you need to see a doctor about your messed up intestines.

or maybe not smoke while in the can.

not hating

just saying

—the bastard

time machine

when day one is over,

there is always cautious optimism.

we go into day two cocksure and innevitably,

it all goes pear shaped.

but tonight, the bastard stepped into the time machine.

and made some money at the craps table.

didn't suck.

the bastard's garden grows.

—the bastard

day 0: all hat, no cattle

so, the bastard has noticed that the loch ness mullet has become a rarer and rarer sight at the gun show.

so

I'm seeing more and more hats

at least we do when the show is out west

it's a little bit a wango.

and a little bit a tango.

—the bastard

the bastard is las vegas

let the bastard start off by saying that the bastard does most of his blogging on blogpress and he can't understand why the trustie has trouble with it.

on the ground 24 hours and the bastard feels less like hell.

he's walkin the route to the new box where all the hell happens.

he comes alive.

he had four fingers of bourbon with dinner last night

good times.

—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