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1/17/05 New Day Rising
Hey Damn, two sober ones in a row, what's up with that? Shit, I've been sober for the past 12 days, and what's REALLY up with that? Don't ask me, I just work here. I've actually been feeling better lately- not good, we haven't reached the disgusting heights of "Giddy Little Mister Sunshine" of a few years back, but better, definitely, especially physically. Part of it I'm sure is the sobriety- I've drunk a couple beers, a couple times, these past twelve days, but haven't had so much as a baby buzz- and part of it is because I'm eating again. And eating, and eating. Which I so need to do, I lost 14 pounds during those very stressful and way drunken months of November and December last. Bought all kinds of fresh fish, been eating grilled fish all week, also got a couple steaks and broiled them up nice and rare, back on the fresh vegetable thing again as well, especially spinach- hey, it worked for Popeye- mostly raw, but some steamed, I've eaten three bags of the stuff since Monday (and yeah, all that spinach does green up your movements, so what?). I'm in one of those phases where everything tastes good, I think my body is just going "Thank Jesus, FOOD". I made a smoked salmon and goat cheese frittata the other night- I know, that's a little nancy, but I saw it on Food Network and it looked really good. It also had onions and dill in it, maybe something else, I just did it from memory, you can probably find the recipe on the Food Network website if you're really that interested. It has twelve eggs in it, I ate most of it for dinner, the rest for breakfast, and it was excellent. I got the recipe off of "The Barefoot Contessa", I used to totally hate her, she'd come on and I'd switch her off immediately, she's just far, far too content and at peace with herself and her life and it really shows, I mean, I'd just go CRAZY, swearing at the TV like I was my Dad or something, fucking pretentious cow, all fat and rich and happy, you smug bitch, FUCK YOU. Over Thanksgiving I was watching something on Food Network, Sarah came in and sat on my lap- as far as I'm concerned, they can still come sit in their Daddy's lap when they're forty if they want to- and then Barefoot Contessa came on and I couldn't reach the remote so we just watched it for a while and then Sarah says "She seems like a really nice lady" and it struck me, yeah, if you're not looking at her through Bill's jealous crab ass eyes, she probably is. So I can watch her now without wanting to kill her, even though I'm not in love with her show. And I'm still envious as hell of just how at peace she seems with the whole deal. But again, Bill's feeling better, and thanks again to those of you who keep expressing your concern. My head's still all fucked, but even it's not nearly as bad fucked as it's been the last couple of months. I almost feel like a weight's come off of me I didn't realize was there until it lifted. It's like if you want something so very damn badly that it's pretty much all you can think about, and you spend all of your time thinking, "What can I do to get this very dear thing that I want?", and then you come to the cold realization, and accept in your heart- two very different things, at least for me- that the answer to that question is "Nothing. No matter what you do, you can never have it". I'm not saying that realization is a pleasant thing, in fact it's pretty fucking wrenching. But once you accept it, it's also liberating. My dad's been feeling a little better as well, he's back cooking like a crazy man- the only way he knows how- I was by there the other morning and off we went again. D: Want to try my latest- (I think he was trying to say concoction
here, I'm not really sure, and I can't reproduce the sound he made). Neither was the chicken sumpin'. More fucking flamethrower fuel disguised as food. My mom comes downstairs, I'm sitting at the kitchen table with my plate of chicken sumpin'. M: Are you hungry? Not five minutes later- M: Did you hear Jerry Ohrbach died? What's Bill drinking? Just green tea, been a lot of that going down the old pipe lately. I helped Joe bottle up his latest batch of homebrew the other night, can't remember what it was called but it smelled good, drank one of his "Packs a Punch" Porters while I was there, it was damn good. Back reading again, but nothing very good, couple throwaway SF novels. Watched "Grave Of The Vampire" the other day, another one of those way cheap DVDs I picked up, I got it cos it has my hero Bill Smith in it, good lord, what an unpleasant movie. It opens with a woman being raped in a open grave by a vampire, and conceiving this undead baby that drinks blood from her breasts. Fucking yuck. The baby grows up to be (my hero) Bill Smith, and he goes out looking for his Daddy, to kill him. I won't give away the ending, mostly cos I can't remember it- oh, wait, now I do, GOOD GOSH, no, I still won't give it away, except to say the end credits do that hoary old "The End. Or Is It?" thing. Since there thankfully was no sequel, I guess it was. The end, I mean. Joe came out here Friday night, we started out at his house, he gimmicked the table for me for the match, Laura was having some kind of girls movie night thing there at the house, I don't think they wanted any guys around in the first place, and her friends were looking too damn cuddly in their flannel PJ's and robes anyway, it's a good thing we left. Joe didn't stay real late, we watched "Paradise Park", which I have to admit I didn't get. Why Bill REALLY Believes in Magic And Not Science (And Why You Should As Well). I mentioned in passing last issue that one of the many things I'd recently torn up was the Saturn. Took it to have the oil changed back before Christmas, the guy there says there was coolant in the oil, he thought the head gasket was blown. Fuck. I take it to my Dad's friend John's garage for him to check it out, he says the same thing, the head gasket's blown, it's too big a job for him to do, he's cut way back on what he does since this real bad motorcycle wreck he had about a year ago, but he hooks me up with a friend of his that he said does good work- I trust John on this- but he can't work on it till after the first of the year. So I go out and talk to the Saturn real nice, just keep running for me over the holidays and I'll get you fixed. And to be fair to it, it did. But then week before last it comes time to take it down to Teays Valley to get it fixed, and I start to get kind of pissed off. So I went out and had another talk with it, that went approximately like this- "I been too damn good to you for you to do this shit to me. I change your oil regular, follow all the maintenance shit in that book Saturn gave me, I don't drive you too much, or too little, I don't run you into things, when I spill beer in you I clean it up- and this is how you repay me? Well you know what, fuck you. I don't have a thousand damn dollars to spend on fixing your stupid head gasket, so you better just fucking fix it yourself. "Because if you don't, you and me got a date with a fucking tree. I will run you straight into the biggest ass fucking tree I can find, at 70 miles a damn hour. I will smash you to absolute hell. Then I will piss on you, and then I will shit on you, and then I will call my insurance agent and tell him I fell asleep at the wheel". I got down and stared into one of the headlights. "Look into these eyes- do they look like the eyes of someone who's kidding? You think a pissy little car wreck scares me? I've been in TONS of fucking car wrecks, including some really damn bad ones, with some people in the car with me hurt very badly, and every time, motherfucker, EVERY SINGLE TIME, you're looking at a guy who crawled out of the fucking wreckage, brushed himself off, and walked away. Humming. Ask me who ran your fucking predecessor straight into a concrete bridge abutment at 60 miles an hour while playing Hawkwind's "Master Of The Universe" on air guitar with his eyes closed. I'm right here telling you about it, but you don't see HIS ass around anywhere, do you?" Jack came out of his house while I was crouched down preaching to the headlight. J: Whatcha doin', Bill? I was just dicking with him, but he eased back into the house real slow, it was funny. So- I take the Saturn to Teays Valley to be fixed, and you probably know how this ends. Absolutely. They can't find anything wrong with the Saturn, and the head gasket's definitely not blown. Even I'm figuring this is too good to be true, so I take it to the Saturn dealership there in Hurricane to be checked out. Same thing. There's nothing wrong with your car, Mr. Bitner. The head gasket is fine. So there you have it. My Dad's theory is that the guy at the oil place, and John, were just wrong about there being a blown head gasket. Oh ye of little faith. Personally, and quite sincerely, I believe it's magic. If it just worked on blondes, I'd be a happy, happy boy. Why did the cowboy buy a dachshund? Cos he wanted to get a long little doggie. In the "Jesus, I Don't FEEL That Old" and "Where The Fuck Did I Go Wrong" combined columns, I saw where the recently appointed head of the WV DOT is Paul Mattox. I remember Paul as this scrawny, goofy ass, if nice enough, little kid who used to go out with my older- though still 4 1/2 years younger than me- sister Lori when they were in junior high. I guess it lasted into high school, cos I remember him coming by in his parents car. I also remember him not taking their breaking up too well, I'm not sure if he actually hit Lori, although I'm thinking he did, I know he got out of line physically in some way, and I had to go by and catch him after school and give him Bill's "Why We Don't Hit Girls" lesson. Reason Number One is that it's just fucking wrong, guys don't hit girls (except under conditions of the direst and most genuine self defense, then knock their fucking heads off if you have to). Reason Number Two is so their Dad's and brothers won't find us and kill us. He got the point and there wasn't any more trouble, which is good, cos my Dad was going to give him the advanced course, if needed, and I doubt if old Paul would've survived it. (WHAT'S THIS 'WHERE DID I GO WRONG' SHIT? ARE YOU SAYING YOU'D RATHER BE THE HEAD OF THE DOT, THAN A PROFESSIONAL WRESTLER?) Actually, no. And thanks for pointing that out to me.
( I WOULDN'T). In the same column, while I was in Staples Friday getting the table for the Falcon Death Drop, this guy comes running up to me and goes, all excited, "Hey Death Falcon, are you gonna put somebody through that tomorrow night?!" What the fuck, how'd he know it was me (US)? I asked him and he couldn't really tell me, all he said was "I just knew it was you". Fuck, how did Bruce Wayne (not to mention Clark Kent) ever pull it off? I think Doctor Doom probably had the right idea, he never took his mask off (I also think he was on the right track in wanting to rule the world, not save it). It worked out okay, I had fan boy and his stepson carry the table out to my car for me, "It's that intimidated looking Saturn out there", his wife goes "You've made his day", my gosh, that's sad. But really, it disturbs me that people recognize me as the DF without the mask on- or even worse, that they know my name and can find my address and send me letters. Bet there was no fan mail coming into the Batcave (not to mention The Fortress Of Solitude).
Now, personally, I would never let somebody else gig me, not in ten hundred, or even a thousand, years, but there are some people who just can't take a razor and jab it into themselves. In the biz we call 'em pussies. Outside the biz they're called people who have some sense. So I made a gig and was showing Danny how we'd work it, and he starts having second thoughts- D: You're really into this, aren't you? Danny decided not to juice. As for Saturday's match, once again the best laid plans of mice and Death Falcons . . . for the second show in a row the Unholy no showed for his match with the DF. Last time may have been legit, but this time Allen said he honestly thinks Unholy is afraid of the Falcon Death Drop- (AS WELL HE FUCKING SHOULD BE). - Allen thinks he bailed on this show hoping someone else would take it and he'd be off the hook. No such luck, for either of us. Even the totally feckless Smokie C was like, "Uh, maybe some other time dude", so no FDD this show. SOMEONE'S gonna take it next show, if I have to drag crazy old grandpa out of the crowd and give it to him. I figure if the DF is willing to give it- he's at a hell of a lot more risk of injury coming off the top of the post like that and going outside, all the other fucker has to do is lay there- (AND LET ME LAND ON HIM AFTER COMING OFF THE TOP OF THE POST LIKE THAT, AND LEG DROP HIS ASS THROUGH A TABLE OUTSIDE THE RING) - okay, maybe there's a little bit of risk for the other guy as well. But I think it would be exciting to perform, and way cool to watch.
(IT WASN'T THAT BAD). Was it not? (NO, HE'S ACTUALLY A PRETTY GOOD KISSER).
Danny held a "now I'm a real wrestler" party at his house after the show, Joe and I went up, it was okay, sort of subdued, I just drank a few beers and hung out. Joe left about an hour before I did, as I was trying to leave, this girl Lisa, who I met at the last party of Danny's I went to, got me by the arm and started doing that "oh Mister Death Falcon, you're so manly" thing that he, and I, are absolute suckers for. She was pretty damn lubricated- well, I don't know that for a fact, but I do know she was pretty damn drunk- so I stayed for a while longer. And yeah, I considered it, but didn't. Lisa isn't all that pretty, but she is quite buxom, I was standing there getting an eyeful, which I guess explains the following conversation- L: Do you ever get hurt?
Doug and Rosa and the boys came out to the matches, it was quite wonderful to see them, it's been a few months, Doug's friend Richard (who I haven't seen since before we put the new deck on the old house, and that was in '92, WHERE does the fucking time GO?) has got a house at the beach, Doug's gonna go down there for a few days next month, he invited me along, so I'm going, some time at the beach sounds really good right now. Haven't done anything in the dream column of late, been dreaming tons lately but most of them, for various reasons, are not in the slightest appropriate for including here. I did have a variation on my bank robber dream last night- I have dreams of robbing banks all the time, this isn't the first one to see newsletter print. In this one I'm robbing a bank with a partner named Sonny, this pony tailed Miami Vice dated looking guy- man, there used to be a picture of me that I still wish I had, circa '92 when I grew my hair out long for the very last time in my life, to fuck with the administration at Abraxas because, imagine this, they'd pissed me off, and one time Loretta and I were going to a party and she slicked it all straight back and put it in a ponytail, and I put on some sunglasses, and I'm telling you, my own Mom wouldn't have recognized me. It wasn't a look I particularly cared for, Loretta definitely liked it, and she showed me how much after the party, but I'd really like to see how that photo would look to me now. However, it's there at Fort Apache with all the others, so I doubt I'll ever see it again.
Somehow I know Sonny is planning on killing me and taking all the money (and the molls) so right as we throw all the money into the truck, I shoot old Sonny in the back of the head. And then again for good measure after he drops. Dream Bill didn't have a problem with that, and neither would awake Bill, not if Sonny boy was really planning on killing me. I get back to our hideout and the molls are all in this dream world leather gear- this shit I'm talking was unreal- that got me so damn aroused I almost woke up. "Sonny's dead, so I guess you both belong to me now", I tell 'em, "Okay" they say, "How about we throw all this money on the bed and get it nice and soggy?" "Sure" they say, well, I'm about to damn bust, and then the phone rings and one of the stupid molls answers it, she gets this real scared look on her face and says "It's Sonny, he says he's on his way", "Fine" I say, "I'll just kill his ass again, fuck him", "No, fuck you" Sonny says behind me, I whirl around and it's not Sonny, it's the other moll speaking in Sonny's voice, and then both of the molls turn into these demonic looking possessed things and once again I'm left thinking "Why does this shit ALWAYS HAVE TO HAPPEN?!" Since we were talking about cars and car wrecks earlier, I'll tell one of the Bill and Joe car wreck stories, and wrap it up I think.
Hmm . . . I don't remember that being there, I'm thinking, so "Joe, when'd you get a damn troll head in here . . . and it's dripping blood, yuk." Joe's laughing so hard he can't speak. I'm not yet in on the joke, but upon closer examination of the "troll head"- when the top of my head smashed the windshield, part of my very long hair at the time went through it, then when I rocked back into my seat, it pulled all that hair, along with a sizable chunk of my scalp, out. What I thought was a troll head was a bloody hunk of scalp meat- it did sort of look like it had a face on it, though-dangling from a lock of my hair. And it was damn funny, at that, we both sat there and laughed like idiots for ten minutes, if the cops had come along and found us we'd have been in some shit, Though once the beer wore off the top of my head burned like a mother fucker. And so . . . That's where this thing originally ended. I wrote it up to here this (Sunday) afternoon, decided not to send it out then, thinking I may want to add some stuff tonight. Little did I know. You'd think a guy who's read as much mythology as me would understand hubris, and the gods take on it, which is not very sympathetic. Well, Mister "I can scare machines into fixing themselves, and I ain't scared of no pissy little car crash" crashed the fucking hell out of the Saturn coming home from Joe's tonight, and I'm mother fucking lucky to be alive. Was I drinking and driving? Absolutely not. Was I daydreaming (as usual) and driving way too fast for the road conditions? Absolutely. It was a straight up ugly wreck, I went flying sideways off this glass slick road out here and over the damn hillside just like fucking THAT, heading straight for the damn river, rolled it three times (yes, I counted, and yeah, it was pretty damn exciting) and finally smashed into a big ass tree- how scarily prophetic- not two fucking feet from that river, and guaranteed death by drowning, cos the Saturn was on it's top and I was hanging upside down from the seat belt, and all crushed in and compacted from where the top of the Saturn had collapsed in on me, and was a bit dazed from smashing out the driver's side window with my head during one of the rolls. It took me ten minutes to get myself out of that car, and since I can't hold my breath for ten minutes, nor breathe water, if I'd gone in that river I'd have died, bottom line. When that car started flipping, I honestly thought I was dead. Was I scared? I'm not gonna lie, yes I was. Not in any shrieking piss my pants candy ass way, I just kept thinking, "Fucking please, not like this". I also knew that there'd be a lot of people who'd think I'd done it on purpose, and I really didn't want that. Am I hurt? Not really, that part still holds true, once again- and to whatever higher power may be listening, I'M NOT BRAGGING ABOUT IT, I'm just stating it- I crawled out from this crushed and crumpled piece of metal relatively unscathed. Crawled is the word, after I managed to get myself out of the seat belt- no mean feat while hanging upside down, and with the top of the car all smashed down on top of me- the only way out of the car was to crawl through to the back of it, bust out the back windshield- again, no mean feat, I couldn't kick it out with these damn tennis shoes on, luckily the DF's (God bless him) baseball bat was still in the car, I used that to break out the back windshield- and crawl out of the car that way. The car was all full of broken glass, even before I broke out the back windshield, I thought I'd gotten just sliced to pieces crawling out cos I was absolutely covered in blood, but after getting home and showering, most of the cuts are pretty minor, I do have a dead wicked gash in my right palm, VERY deep, (Jesus, my poor hands) that's apparently where most of the blood came from, it really needed to be stitched but I declined an offer of transport to a hospital. I thought it went all the way through my hand cos I have a hole in the top of my hand right above it, but it doesn't, cos I found the exit hole for it when I was pouring peroxide in it, and it started foaming out this other big cut on the side of my hand that up till then I thought was just some dried blood. So, am I a lucky guy? No fucking shit I am, you know what they say, lucky in car crashes, unlucky in love, every single person there- the cop, the fire department, the wrecker guy- all went out of their way to make a point of telling me how insanely lucky I am. They were saying that early on, when they saw that the tree had stopped me from going into the river, but when they finally got the Saturn back up on the road and saw how badly it was smashed in, not just the roof but the whole driver's side right there by the door- that's what hit the big ass tree- they were just fucking amazed I hadn't been killed. In fact, the EMT guys, who got there real late, good thing I didn't need 'em, looked at the Saturn and the first thing they said, no shit and they weren't joking around, was "Where's the body?" "He's standing right there." "No fucking way. He was in THAT?" Yes, I was.
I think I'm going to bed. It was THAT fucking close tonight, boys and girls. Jesus Christ. Later. Bill
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I'll believe it 
And in the "Big Fish In A Small Pond" column, lots of columns
this time around, the DF has gotten some more fan mail from an artistic
young fan, Joe's going to include it here. Again, it's hilarious, I like
how the DF is saying "Rock On", this kid somewhere along the way
must've seen DF Red (and he's captured my abs perfectly). Good for you,
little buddy. Although if I were a parent whose kid looked up to a foul
mouthed, obscene gesturing, nut kicking, barbed wire bat swinging, no
respect for nothng son of a bitch like the Death Falcon, I'd be genuinely
concerned.
This Saturday's show was Danny Boyd's in ring debut, he was all worked
up about it, at one point Danny was wanting to juice, but didn't want to
gig himself, so the plan was for them to fight out into the crowd, I'd be
there unmasked- not that it apparently makes any difference- he'd go down
near me, I'd check on him, and cut him then.
Anyway, the DF ended up working Gorgeous J.C., one half of the former
tag champs G.A.Y., in what the ring announcer rightly noted was
"definitely a contrast in styles". I think the DF probably
reached a new low in crowd baiting, taunting the crowd (as well his
flamingly homosexual opponent) by bragging about the size of his dick,
real family entertainment there, big guy. It may have backfired on the DF
though, all that working up of your boy before the match may have been
what earned you that great big kiss he gave you. Bet that was
embarrassing.
Always look on the bright side, I guess. A decent match, the DF put a
pretty good beat down on the Gorgeous one before nut shotting him and
pinning him with the barbed wire bat across the throat leg sweep. The hand
held up very well, in fact while I was in there I forgot it was hurt, at
one point I threw a really nice exploder suplex and it hurt me then, but
other than that, it was fine.
And so I did.
Anyway, Sonny and I are robbing this bank, planning to take the loot
back to our hideout where we have two super hot gun molls waiting for us.
Joe and I were out drinking and driving- both of us drinking, he was
driving, this great Javelin he used to have- in the fall of '76. We were
both way juiced, and for some reason, turning from Rt. 25 onto Goff
Mountain Road, Joe just absolutely stomps the damn gas pedal, just FLOORS
the thing, and we go SHOOTING across Rt, 25 to crash at speed full force
into this ditch, which causes my head to go crashing into the windshield.
I'm sitting there, even more stunned than usual, my neck all sore and the
top of my head just stinging to beat hell, I can look up and see this bowl
shaped busted place in the windshield where my head hit, and dangling down
from the middle of it my dazed eyes see what looks to be one of those
little troll heads that used to be popular back then
Everyone knows I'm not a religious guy, but I'm not an ingrate either,
so to whatever higher power let me walk away from that truly horrific
wreck- I wish you could've seen that car, my GOD, how did I not get
killed- thank you from the bottom of my heart.