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1/17/06 This Is The Dawning
Hey Been a while, boys and girls, this is easily the furthest we've gotten into any new year- five of 'em and counting- without an issue of this damned egocentric spew. So, what's Bill been up to here in this not nearly so damn futuristic as it was supposed to be year of 2006 (fuck the flying cars, where's my android love doll?!?) Well, not exactly sitting in an English garden waiting for the sun . . . Since this one will be coming out after midnight, this will be the fourth year out of five to have a NL dated 1/17, a pretty significant date for our boy Bill, it being one year ago tonight that I damn near killed myself rolling the Saturn (and I wrote "chastised" last issue while referencing it, when I meant "chastened", I'm so embarrassed), it was four years ago today that my divorce from- Loretta, not Satan, I been done with that nonsense for a while, although, forgiveness be damned- (THAT'S HOW I'VE ALWAYS SEEN IT)
Part of why I'm not gonna harp on it this issue is because- I didn't feel that buzzed when I wrote last issue, but I must have been, cos I don't remember that well writing it, and upon reading it myself later, it came across with that pissy, in the bag, oh poor Bill, I hate fucking EVERYTHING tone I'm really not a fan of, myself. Also, some people wrote in appalled that I'd speak to my deathly ill Dad like I did. And still do. To those people I would say you really need to have a discussion with my Dad, not me, cos I'm telling you, if all I had standing between me and spending the rest of my life in a nursing home was a hot tempered, fly off the handle type son of a bitch like Bill, I'd sure as fuck talk nicer to him. And all I will say about my current situation is that I now fully understand how a wolf- or a rat, if you prefer that image of me- can gnaw it's own fucking leg off hoping to get away. Although I will tell some amusing stories about the old homestead here. We're getting a lot of help- almost too much help, thank you very much, both a physical and occupational therapist have been coming three times a week, gonna cut back to twice a week either this week or next, I can't keep it all straight, he also had a speech therapist for a while, but she gave up- well, she said she'd done all she could for him, the same thing, I think my Dad should follow Marc Bolan, who sang, "I drive a Rolls Royce/Cos it's good for my voice". Old Marc was a funny guy. He also should've driven a tank, RIP. We've also had a HHA coming three times a week to bathe him, which has been wonderful, as I haven't had to - till today. Becky (the HHA)has dropped back to twice a week, she'll be here tomorrow, but last night somewhere in the early AM, my befuddled Mom gave my Dad the urinal, then, after he'd used it, set it down beside his bed instead of emptying it- I've asked her when she's the one to hand it to him, to empty the damn thing right away, I've asked her this maybe a million times since he's been home, my Mom's kicked over full urinal that she's set down on the floor two dozen times, easy, these past three weeks, or I'm a calm and considerate person.
I get up and change him, and the bed- yes, it would have been much easier to just have been the one to hand him the urinal, but my Mom is now sleeping in the same room with my Dad for reasons too long and tortuous to get into now, but can pretty much be summed up with THEY'RE BOTH FUCKING CRAZY- but I wasn't up for bathing him the middle of the night, so we set an appointment for this morning. I didn't think it went all that badly, considering. I get him out of bed- he can walk, with help- and headed for the bathroom. Dad: I wash my own private parts, bucko. Things went okay- I got him situated on the shower chair and all soaped up, no problem- till his crazy one handed self- his left arm is just dead, D-E-A-D, dead- wanted to fight me over the shower nozzle thing. D: I can do it myself. Yeah, it's been a riot. We must be doing something right, though, in addition to not killing him, we've put ten pounds on my Dad since he's come home- he went from 204 pounds stroke day to a death camp survivor looking 140 the day he came home from Meadowbrook. My Dad attributes the weight gain to "your mother's lead bottom cooking". Not sure if he's bragging or complaining. He looked at me the other day, shook his head sadly at this mess my mom had set in front of him- I prepare the meals here a lot, but I don’t cook them all, some days I just don't have it in me, I gets so tired sometimes, boss- and said, "That woman would heat Vienna sausages and try to call it a meal". Yes, she would. Now that my Dad's home my Mom has no choice but to stay with him while I go shopping. Thank you, Jesus. Still . . . Mom: Get some more of those TV dinners for your Dad. There you go. Dot Bitner Cooking 101. And lest you judge my Dad's speech therapist too harshly . . I was working with him the other afternoon, doing some of his left arm exercises. He looks at me and grimaces, he's struggling, no one can say my Dad isn't fighting this stroke shit as hard as he can, cos he is- Dad: My arm feels like it's caught in a flynus trap. Bill now going back to the store. Mom: Get some block cheese She thinks a minute. M: Both kinds She revs up her brain box once more. I can smell insulation burning.
Another pause, for more gear stripping cogitation. Finally . . M: And the orange kind. Okay, enough with the fun here at the Ponderosa- (I THINK IT'S MORE LIKE THE FUCKING ALAMO) -I'd say you're probably right. Still, what else has Bill been up to? After I said last issue that I didn't get anything for Christmas, I got some stuff, Kat and Beverly got me a couple shirts and a couple sweaters, the girls (who forgot and left my stuff in Baltimore) got me a very cool Alex Ross (that guy can paint like nobody's business, he's the guy that did all those incredible posters I was trying to get through DC Direct- the fucks- a few- more like four- years ago) Flash figurine, and Rachel got me a couple books from her library, bought, she assures me, for twenty cents each, a coffee table book of photographs from Rolling Stone, a magazine I truly despise, but this book is well worth my Rachie's twenty cents, and Base Instincts: What Makes Killers Kill, kind of a disturbing gift to get from your youngest daughter, it's by this mealy mouthed fuck who wants to make excuses, but its got great chapter headings, like "Immaturity, Mania, Mistreatment, And Miscreancy"- (AKA "THE BILL BITNER STORY") -and "Wrath- Repression And Release"- (AKA "THE BILL BITNER STORY, CONTINUED"). Whatever. I thought the BBS was that title I almost used for one of these things a while back, "Fornication- Salvation, or Annihilation?". But I could be wrong. Also read a good Brit mystery, not like Agatha, more like a Limey Ed McBain, the rather blandly titled The Crime Trade by Simon Kernick, good book, speaking of Brits, I was reading in one of Sarah's, I don’t know, parapsychology, or some other weird shit, books, that the Brits have been researching people like me (Ha!), I'm talking about those of us who are electrically wired differently from the rest of you, and who cant wear watches, and who disrupt streetlights and computers and other temperamental modern man items like that (where’s my fucking time machine, Joe, DAMMIT), they call them (us) SLIders, from Street Light Interference- what do you want, they're Brits- not because we can slide across dimensions like in that dumbass TV show of a few years ago- boy, if I only could, though. So there. Also read this big book, like the ones the girls got me last year on the X-Men and the JLA, on Superman, who is now nothing like the character I grew up reading. The idiots that be have changed pretty much everything about him. They can also KISS MY FUCKING ASS. Not a single change in Superman, his history, his enemies, his friends and pets- no Beppo The Super Monkey, are you fucking KIDDING ME? -is for the better. What a bunch of morons. See if you get any of my money, ya dicks. And I also read some Spiderman graphic novels, HATED the Ultimate one, piss poor writing, both dialog and characterization, plus it's drawn in this horrible manga style where everyone's eyes are the size of their fucking heads, did I mention I hated it? Not a fan of the whole Ultimates thing at all, although I do admit I kind of like the hardcase Ultimate Captain America, especially how he keeps his mask on with a leather chinstrap. Classic. I like the Ultimate Giant Man's head gear and goggles as well. The other one was a lot better, just regular Spiderman, but it was this way strange tale about how Gwen Stacv and Norman Osbourne- the original Green Goblin, and old enough to be her Dad for gosh sake- no comments, please- got it on in a moment of very strange passion, had these mutant kids that grew up in like a year or so and went gunning for Spiderman- like I said, very strange, but kind of involving. Sort of like one of these things, I would hope. With my commitments here, I've been reduced to only going to Al's twice a week now, which has pretty much crashed and burned my already shaky financial empire. As for MC Pee Pants himself, the good news is that there for a while he was wearing these diaper like things that Kat bought him. The bad news was that whenever he'd fill one up with that yellow motor oil he calls piss he'd just peel the damn thing off and toss it wherever, so the impression of Al's entire house as urine reeking piss hole was increased exponentially- at least he'd keep his pissed in pants in the bedroom- or on, but either way he didn't have the whole house green fogged with old man piss stench. No more diapers for Al. Not on my watch, anyway. Kat hired someone through an agency to come and sit with Al three nights a week, since I can't any longer, I went down last Monday afternoon to meet them and introduce them to Al. Turns out she's this black lady, somewhat of a concern since Al's conviction in the equality of the races, not to mention the sexes, is not what we'd like to to be. She's not very bright- which is not meant to sound condescending at all, just a fact, and a guaranteed asset in dealing with Al, it's how Robby has been able to hang around all these years. She also loves her Lord, which she told me and Al a dozen or so times in the 20 minutes she was there, Al would "Amen", and "Halleluiah" back at her, mocking her, the old bastard, but she took him serious, the last time she fervently said "I love the Lord" I was moved to say "I'm sure he loves you too." "REALLY?" she said, all intense, like she thought maybe I had some inside information. Not this infidel, darling. But I AM an astronaut . . Let's all hope it works out. What's Bill been watching? Tried to watch some anime, "Spirited Away" and "Princess Mononoke" on TCM a few weeks ago, both are highly regarded among anime-ists, but my parents were having a demanding night that night, "Bill, I need this, Bill I need that" every five minutes or so, so even though I tried to keep up, I basically couldn’t tell you what either one of them is about, or if they're any good, to save my fucking life (or get Jenna Elfman as my love slave). I can say they both had a good look to them, lots of that bizarre Japanese imagery. Weird people. Love to visit there- and wrestle some of 'em. Sarah and I went to Joe and Laura's for NYE, ate some sushi, drank some beer- not a lot, but some, watched "40 Year Old Virgin", which, contrary to Laura's contention that I don't like any movie I haven't made myself, I liked, it was pretty funny, every other word of dialog is pussy or fuck, but then so is mine, started watching "Into The Blue", I never got into it and we all went to bed when it was half over, I don't have any real interest in seeing how it ends, I'm not a big Jessica Alba fan- I wouldn't toss her out of bed for dumping a full urinal on me or anything, especially if it was her piss, and still warm, but I just don't think she's anywhere near as hot as a lot of people do. Sarah and I went to see "The Chronicles of Narnia" last week, she wasn't sure she'd like it, "It's got talking animals fighting one another, what's not to like?", she couldn't argue with that, some parts of it were a bit cheesy for Mr. Critic here, but overall I thought it was good, and I enjoyed, it, EVEN THOUGHT I DIDN'T MAKE IT. We hung out in Books A Million for like two hours before hand, just cos I was able to get out of the house then, had a very nice chat over a super sweet vanilla latte (me) and some kind of chai, (Sarah) spicy, it tasted like pumpkin pie juice, not as vile as it sounds, but not something you need more than a swallow or two of in your lifetime, either. Sarah and I also spent a nice afternoon a few weeks back at the Huntington Mall, she got a bunch of DVDS at Best Buy, then we had a really nice meal together (right before I blew up the engine in the Volvo. I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe next issue), other than that we weren't able to do a lot together the time she was in. I'm not bitching, just commenting. Rachel came in this weekend with her Mom, to pick up Sarah, she and I watched a couple movies together down here in the rec room while she was in, "Red Eye" and "The Jacket", neither of them were great, but they were both watchable, my advice is don't spend any money to get them, but if you can watch them for free, go ahead. Rachie and I also had a very nice chat last night- although it was lacking in pumpkin pie juice. Of course, they left this morning to go back to their real lives and here I am feeling desolate, like I always do when they leave. Quite saddened to hear of the passing of Lou Rawls, by all accounts (that I ever heard) an ace fella, and a hell of a singer, "Love Is a Hurting Thing"- (YOU DAMN RIGHT IT IS) - is a GREAT fucking song, one among many, RIP Lou. What's Bill drinking? Quite foolishly, whiskey and beer, since I have to wrestle tomorrow night. Shit, I have to wrestle just about every fucking night, it seems. This is what, the 17th, and I've already wrestled- hold on- 8 times this year, including three times Saturday before last, and I even missed two scheduled shows, which is pissing people off- I didn't no show, I let them know a week in advance- I don't care, I can only get so much coverage here for when I'm wrestling. But I already feel like total fuck, physically, got a wicked bad cold, not sleeping well on top of that, so I'm just dog damn tired, fuck it, seriously, got that mud brain thing going, so if this one isn't as witty as some past issues, cut me some slack. Although FUCK, do I hate feeling like this. A little relief right NOW is what I need. I was just going to have a shot of Wild Turkey and a beer, to help me sleep- seriously- but it started doing the trick, I began to unwind a bit, so I figured, like I always do, if a little is good, than way, WAY too much has to be better. I'll worry about tomorrow fucking tomorrow. I guess it's time for some Death Falcon talk. Busy as fuck, obviously. Things are starting to get a tad ugly in AWA land, hopefully they'll straighten out, I don’t need stress there as well, over and above tossing, and being tossed, by three and four hundred pounders anywhere from two to five times a week- my knees and shoulder are fucking Berlin, May 1945. Rubble. First, the Danny problem. I told Brian I couldn’t work the Tuesday before Christmas, he said fine, then somebody else called off, so he asked Danny if he'd come down and work a singles match. Danny was worried someone might shoot on him, he called me and I told him I didn't see where that would be a problem. Well, fuck me, it was, Danny got in with this punkass kid who thinks he's hot shit, he kicked Danny in the side of the head during their match, hard and on purpose, and popped Danny's fucking ear drum, resulting in some permanent hearing loss. Not cool, not in the slightest. Danny's not pissed at me, but there has to be some retribution. I set myself up as Danny's protector, so number one, if I let this slide then other guys will fuck with him as well- I thought we were past this shit, apparently not- and number two, fucking with him is by extension fucking with me, so to maintain respect for DFZ- yes, it IS just like Junior High, I've drawn that comparison before. Danny and I end up in a tag match with this kid and the Scufflin' Hillbilly- all 6' 3", 300 pounds of him- my first match back after the first of the year. I think asshole Kid knows something is up, cos he'd never said two words to me in the back before, but now he's shitfacing trying to be my buddy before our match. I smile and nod, don't let on like there's anything amiss. Get in the ring with him and work a little, but then when I go to take him to the corner maybe I was a little too rough or something, cos he begins to catch on. I set him in the corner and he goes- Kid: We're cool, right? DFZ: No. I nutted him with my heel on the first kick, got him good, so good that he dropped, so that the second kick that was also supposed to go into his crotch actually caught him in the face. I figured two kicks for one was about right, so I let it go at that and tagged Danny in. There were some dirty looks my way in locker room later but nothing was said, I'm hoping that's the end of it, then last Friday in our match in Barboursville, Hillbilly pops Danny in the mouth. I didn't see it- hey, it happened more than two feet from my nose- but Danny's convinced it was deliberate, and his split lip lends credence to his argument. So now tomorrow night I'm gonna have to pop Hillbilly. Scuffle this, motherfucker. I HATE this shit, I don't fucking need it, instead of playing this punk ass escalation game, I should just bring a baseball bat to the locker room and beat someone's goddamn head to jelly and get it over with. I don’t wanna walk around with you So pondered the sage Joey Ramone, and a good question it is, too. That damn girl that's all hot for the DF is not taking his gayness seriously-
-no, but still, she's starting to get on my nerves terribly. She rode down to the matches Friday- naturally, MAN, she made the trek with us on Black Saturday, two TV tag matches in Oak Hill- Danny finally got to wrestle on TV, first match he got pinned by G.A,Y, but did okay, second match he blew the hot tag spot, badly, but DFZ saved things by throwing a quick pin on the hapless Raw Talent, who has really become the DF's bitch of late- then on to Sabine, at Land's End, we left Danny's that morning at 7 am, didn't get back till 2 am the next morning, and she was up my butt the whole damn time- with Danny, Sarah and I (keep up), after we got back home Sarah was like, "She's really forward toward you, isn't she?". Yes, she is. I'm just going to have to be a man and tell her, darling, you're wasting your time, but again, fuck, I hate it. I was hoping she'd just realize I'm a dick on her own, and go away. However, I don't want to end on a wrestling down note, so I'll tell a funny story- it was to me, anyway- first, a few other things, Alexis Laree, who I hung out with some at the CAPW- this "C" standing for Cleveland- show back in July '03, and who was just a lovely girl, very sweet, she's now working as Mickie James and has a WWE contract, in fact I'm sure I would have seen her on RAW tonight had I watched it, which I don't. I do know they've got her doing this horrid gay infatuation angle with Trish Stratus- fuck can she wrestle, let's just use her as a lesbian ratings whore- hopefully she's a well paid lesbian ratings whore- at least she hasn't succumbed to getting a couple saline bowling balls stuck in her chest like all the other WWE "divas" (God, do I hate that word). My favorite female wrestling name (American)- Victorious Secret. My favorite female wrestling name (Japanese)- Combat Mother In Law Toyota (WHAT?) My (current, even though he was old school, and in fact has been dead for many years, suffered a heart attack while hunting, if you must know) wrestlers tag line- "My names Rufus R. Jones. The 'R' stands for guts". Okay, funny wrestling story, then bed (at least for me). After Danny and my match with the Jivetones a while back, Danny was telling me that there was this actually pretty good looking woman in the crowd who was cheering for us- a definite anomaly, cos we are REVILED in Oak Hill- and the crowd doesn't like us either. I didn't see her, obviously, but when we come our for out match with kid and Hillbilly Danny says, there she is again, he points her out to me, this time she's in the front row, accompanied by a little girl of about six or so, and she does look pretty good, as much as I can tell, anyway. But what caught my attention was this little girl, again, I'd say six at the most, a real cutie, and she's holding out this folded piece of paper to me. I started to stay in character and snatch it out of her hand, and then tear it up, but something told me not to. I take the note from her and roll into the ring, where, while Brain's doing the introductions, I unfold it and read it. Wow. What did it say? Was it a request for an assignation- nancy talk for a good stuffing- from her not bad looking Mom? No, hell no, it was ten times better than that. Written in pencil, in what was obviously a small child's hand, were these words of inspiration-
Dear Lord, it was the fan note to end all fan notes- and like the triple damned idiot that I am, I lost it. The match was starting, I should've just stuck it in my pocket, but no, I set it down in the fucking corner, thinking I'll get it right after the match, of course I fucking forget to, by the time I remembered it- got too busy nut shotting smart ass punks- the show was over. I went out and tried to find it, but couldn't. DAMN IT. Not only would it have made a killer scan to go with all the other cool kid's fan notes that have made their way into this thing in issues past, I would have put in in my wallet an carried it with me always. I'm being serious. Fuck the hassle of all the time and effort making all the shows, and the backstage crybaby bullshit that goes along with them- knowing an angel faced little child wants me to kill someone makes it all worthwhile. Later Bill Oh yeah, Joe, I didn't mention any hot women by name this issue- at least I don't think I did- how about you just put some random ones in when you put this issue up on the site? Danke.
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Harmony and understanding 
-she's still a hard bitch to get along with. I typed "itch"
first instead of bitch, yeah, that too. Two years ago it was Toosle Grek
and nuclear winter. This year? I don't know, but it's NOT going to be me
bitching about my situation. It's hard taking care of my Dad. Big deal.
It's harder still dealing with a Mom who can't put away, throw away, or
get out of the fucking way. Bigger deal. Still, so what?
Last night she goes one better, when my Dad later asks for the urinal
for the second time, she picks it up and dumps a load of cold piss all
over him. My Dad struggles mightily every day to be patient with my Mom- I
try as well, he's just better at it than I am, being, I'm sure, a better
person- but this was a bit much even for him, I hear him holler "Dammit,
Dot, you're supposed to dump that in the toilet, not back all over me!
What the hell's the point of a urinal if you're gonna throw it right back
in my lap?" You make a cogent point, sir.
M: Swiss? 
(CAN YOU BLAME HER?)