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1/17/07 This Diamond Ring
Hey Once again tradition, at least NL tradition, rears it's ugly and misshapen head. Five out of the six January's that I've done a NL (I know, it hardly seems possible to me, either) there's been one on the 17th, (okay, the first one came out on the 18th due to drunken post 12 am spillover, but it's still counts as the 17th to me), so look out, here comes tomorrow, not to mention issue #191 of the Famous Bill Bitner's Famous Newsletter (call it a blog and feel my wrath . . . no, go on, really, feel it, you ever felt a wrath that big?). Today marks a couple of very significant anniversaries for our favorite antihero (does whatever a drunkard can), five years ago today Loretta and I were forever and a day divorced from the bonds of matrimony (still fucking hurts like it was yesterday), two years ago I rolled my car over the hill and damn near into the Poca River- I still shudder when I think about it, boys and girls, that was well and truly a frightening experience- and almost found out exactly what waits for us, or at least Bill, after a horrific death- I can still picture myself trapped upside down in that fucking car at the muddy bottom of the Poca, in total darkness, with that icy river water coming in . . . God. But it didn't happen- again, thank you- and here's to hoping that some day Jesus will still want me for a sunbeam (as opposed to Satan wanting me for a trophy). (IT'S NOT DOWN TO THEM. IT'S DOWN TO YOU). Then I'm damned, plain and simple. I went back to the 2002 issue to get the final stats on me and Loretta (no, not that, I quit counting at 6,000 and that was back in the '80's), we were together as a couple 9,233 days, married for 8,279 of them. That's a lot of days. I had to laugh, cos of course I took off preaching on the subject in that long ago issue, ending with, "That's my last word on the subject". WHAT?!? Who the fuck did I think I was kidding? My last word on the subject will no doubt be my last words- Bill: Jesus, who'd have thought fifty speed capsules and two gallons of
whiskey could kill a person? Are she and I EVER going to reconcile to the point where we don't spit when we say the other's name? Sadly, I doubt it. We can put a face on for appearance's sake at an event such as a graduation or funeral- which I guess is progress, cos I sure as fuck couldn't have done so five years ago- but I don't ever see it getting to the point where we can honestly stand one another. I tried to let it go a few years ago, and thought I had, but then she started fucking with me again and I realized all I'd let go of is a bunch of hot air. As usual. I guess we can start with the mail bag again, I have to say, it's been consistently full of late, too much of the junior psychologist league stuff like we're about to get into, not enough of the "Could The Thing beat Martain Manhunter?" (yeah, but not easy) sort, but that's okay, better to write a letter that gets up someone's ass than not to write one at all, I always say. I got three letters since last issue, creepy in their similarity- they even share a number of the same psych terms (here after refered to as "mumbo jumbo") in reference to what they perceive, through their reading of the NL (which is the biggest work in Christendom- or is it?) as the disturbing, increasingly self destuctive nature of Bill the Lad (two of them suggested I seek therapy, the one who actually knows me said "I know better than to suggest therapy to you", ha, you'd better). Now, I think I'm pretty up front about admitting my faults, but I've been hearing this "self destructive" shit for many a year, and it's one charge I absolutely refuse to cop to (by the way, a little bit of free legal advice from The Famous Bill Bitner's Famous School of Famous Law- NEVER plead to ANYTHING, EVER, ESPECIALLY if you did it- make the motherfuckers prove it, if they can. This has always worked well for me, and it can for you, too). This goes way back to my sessions leading up to riding the head lightning, my parents- out of genuine concern for me, and simple lack of understanding- while enumerating all the reasons why they brought me to see a head doctor in the first place- tell Mr. Psychologist Fuck about how I'd purposely lay my bike down in the intersection while going fast as fuck (ONE time, the rest were all just Billy Bitner going fast as fuck while thinking about life on Mars bike wrecks) or, "he's always jumping off of things, carports and trees and stuff". I tried to explain about getting ready for the post apocalyptic world we were facing once those goddamn Commies worked up the balls to nuke us in our beds, and how pissing on our wounds mght be our only recourse, well, that made me sound even crazier to them than just laying down the bike did. I also tried to point out, I was jumping (and sometimes just plain falling) off of car ports, and lower branches of trees, there's a world of difference between jumping off things 9-10 feet high and jumping off of the Brooklyn fucking Bridge, but would anyone for Christ's sake, listen? Mr. Psych Fuck: Well, then, you must be doing it for attention. Joe, when you finally build me that time machine, the first thing I'm doing- after hooking up with 1967 Barbara Eden, and then, I guess, resting up- is going back and whipping that psych fucker's ASS. Hey look, I grew up to be Death Falcon Zero and you are in SOME fucking shit, ya smug turd. And yeah, I'm just ripping your fuckng spleen out FOR THE FUCKING ATTENTION. To move to the modern era, to address some of your issues- cos it is nice that you care, even if you are wrong- I wreck so many cars, not from some deep seated desire to hurt myself- fuck, it doesn't work, anyway, I could crash a car off of the Empire State Building into the sun and walk away from it- but because I have the unfortunate tendancy to drive cars the way I used to ride my bike- (DRUNK?) -no, fast as fuck while thinking about life on Mars. Next thing I know I've driven into the side of a house (that was funny, startling as well, for both Bill and the people living there), or a telephone pole, or a split rail fence, or a bridge abutment- okay, I was also drunk in all of those cases, actively drinking upon impact in two of them- or rolling ass over tea kettle over the damn hill- I was stone cold sober for that one. And I don't drive drunk anymore. And those of you wanting to cite pro wrestling as an example of Bill's self destructive impulses at work, I admit slicing up your own arm with a razor, or letting some guy waffle your head with a folding metal chair, or jumping off the top of some bleachers onto a dry wall and cardboard device that you know for a fact was not only assembled, but designed, by a functional idiot- not to mention simply the incremental permanent damage each match does to my already shot to hell and then some knees and shoulder- may appear to be self destructive, but I do these things in spite of the fact that they hurt, not because of it. And (here's the biggie) I abuse alcohol, and occasionally other things (after making light of it last issue, I then had some legit cardiac problems this past weekend- you know what the Greeks said about hubris- that I have no doubt were caused by an over indulgence in stimulants- the genuine, read good, stuff, not way too many cold capsules posing as such- you know what the Byrds said about artificial energy- so I've decided to forgo all such for the time being- the time being, being until I decide to unforgo), because I'm trying to ESCAPE pain, not inflict it on myself. Trust me, I wish there was no such thing as a hangover, or cirrohsis or drug overdoses or any of that shit, but I'm willing to risk them for the relief, admittedly temporary, their carriers bring to me. Emotionally, I don't know, you may have more of a point, I may well be something of a masochist. How else to explain why I'd drag out old tapes of me and Loretta together, or love letters from someone else a few years ago. Does looking at this stuff make me feel better? No, hell no, it makes me feel a hundred times worse. Do I know it's going to make me feel this way before I look at it? Yes, I do. So why do I do it? Fuck if I know. But I haven't looked at any of that stuff in quite a while, and I hope to keep it that way. Enough of this psychobabble. As for the rest of the mail bag- One person asked if I was Colossal Boy (who I mentioned being a few issues back) from the wonderfully named Legion of Super Heroes for the obvious reason, non, mon cher, it was because CB was from Earth and his real name was Gym (I guess in the future they don't remember how to spell "Jim") not Denzil Kim or Gnixl or some such shit, his early costume was a total hoot, with these weird shoulder things and big red cowboy gloves with white stars on 'em, yee haw, he got much cooler threads in the '70's from Dave Cockrum (RIP), he also got more back story, like he was raised on a kibbutz in Israel and his Mom was President of Earth, but that's more than I really needed to know. Colossal Boy's power was okay- he could grow to be like 60 feet tall- but not top tier, the problem with all these giant guys is that they're only as strong as a person that size would be, if I wanted to be one of the real powerhouses I'd have been Superboy or Ultra Boy or Mon-El ("Since I met you on Monday, I'll call you . . . Mon-El". Good one there, Superboy), that's the problem with all these giant guys, not being strong (in super being terms) enough, and why Thor clone (I hear real Thor's back, and he's NOT HAPPY, good, I hope he beats the immortal fuck outta Thor clone, and Tony Stark, and Reed Richards all three, ya fucks, that's a comic I'd buy in a heartbeat) could mop up the street with poor enormous old Goliath before killing him, the same with the original Goliath, nee Giant Man- actually , I guess, nee Ant Man- who always used to get hs ass handed to him by the Hulk every time the Avengers mixed it up with that fucker- although what I did love about these giant guys is that they knew they were gonna get thier asses kicked by these megapowered guys, but they jumped right into the fight anyway. (WHAT THEY SHOULD HAVE DONE IS SLIPPED A PIECE OF METAL INTO THEIR MASKS AND THEN HEAD BUTTED THE FUCKERS). Yeah, at giant size they could have just shoved a Buick in there or something. (EXACTLY, AND GOOD THINKING. HEAD BUTTING THE HULK WITH AN AUTOMOBILE STUFFED INSIDE YOUR MASK MAY NOT TAKE HIM OUT, BUT HE'LL SURE AS FUCK RESPECT YOU IN THE MORNING). And God knows we all want the respect of the Hulk. Moving on . . . Got asked by someone who read the NL on the site why I wasn't wearing my only shirt in the photos last issue. Cos I'm a bullshit spewing motherfucker and that's not really my only shirt, okay? After typing this, I realize this is the type response that gets me pegged as a testy bastard and an ill tempered prick, but you know what, I don't care. Actually, I do. You were just trying to be funny, and I got pissy. Sorry. Also heard from someone (a Giada voter, by the way) who doesn't understand my "obsession" with Sandra Lee, first off, I'm not obsessed, with her or anyone else- you should see me when I am, it's frightening for all concerned- but I do find her quite attractive, two fold, I think she's really good looking, yeah, but it's her overpowering thirst- the woman will drink anything, I swear, the other day she was drinking peach schnapps with vanilla ice cream in it, eventually she's going to get to, "I call this my 'Semi-Homeless Street Corner Cocktail', you take some Mennan's after shave- I like Mennan's for it's bright green color, it matches the crepe paper frills on my tablescape, later Bill can tear them off and wrap them around my throat during sex"- that really turns me on, the idea of performing a long afternoon's worth of sexual perversions with a drunken soccer mom gives me a great big boner.
There's not a doubt in my mind. This stone is genuine I remembered a couple Christmas presents I forgot to include last issue, Chris got me a sheet of the DC postage stamps, very cool- though if I could remember what I did with them I'd feel much better, probably got drunk and sent out a bunch of letters to the editor, "I say fuck you and Batman says fuck you!". Joe and Laura got me two massages at this place in Kanawha City where they got some a while back, lovely, Laura said she and Joe didn't get glute massaged, though. I don't know if that's standard everywhere or not but the woman I used to go to in South Charleston for massages (which Jean used to set up, as well as sometimes pay for, for me, danke, dear) would always tell me when I got there, "Take your clothes off and wrap this towel around you", so of course I would, during the course of the massage she'd always ask "Do you mind if I massage your glutes?" "Mind? I insist." And she would, and it felt good. So we'll see if the KC place gives a full service massage or not, I'll let you know. Tina also has a friend who's a massage therapist- Crystal, what a perfect name for one- so Tina bought me a massage from Crystal for my birthday/Chrsitmas present, Tina just e-mailed me today to let me know Crystal is back at work- she'd been off for some reason- so I'm gonna get a massage from her as well. I'm gonna be the best massaged man in town. I also got asked how my meeting for drinks went last week, in short, it didn't. I had to go to municipal court that day for reasons of my own, which is why I figured it'd be a good day to meet, me being in town already. I got to court around 2:30, was supposed to meet Miss DFZ fan between 7:30 and 8:00, never dreaming at 8 pm I'd STILL be in court. Fuck me blind- and staggering. Some people have no idea when to just back the fuck off and go away- which is how this mess got started in the first place. I called over to the bar where we were supposed to meet and left a message I'd be late, but she never checked for it, at least that's what the bartender told me when I made it over there a little before 8:30, and the description of her I gave him- "uh, I'm told she's cute"- didn't really help him pick her out, to give the message to her. If she ever even showed up at all. I sent her a sincere, apologetic e-mail cos I fucking HATE being stood up myself, never heard a word back from her, so if you're reading this, again, sorry, the court thing was legit, not a blowoff- I started to say I could prove it, but you know what, if you can't just take my word for it we don't need to be meeting for anything, anyway. But, again, I am sorry. I had no idea. Thankfully, justice delayed was still justice, as the forces of right and goodness prevailed- or maybe it was wrong and badness, I don't know, anyway, my side won. And again moving on . . . What's Bill drinkinig? Absolut and cranberry. No further comment. What's Bill listening to? Well, never being one to just sit and bitch about something- (WHAT?!?) - I said JUST sit and bitch about somethng, not when I can do somethng about it, anyway. Not being satisfied with the Hollies comp I got a while back, I got a second one with all the old stuff on it the first one was missing- (YOU'RE A REAL ACTION MAN, YOU ARE) -indeed I fucking am, so I'm listening to that- I recall now that I had to do the same thing WAY back when on LP, cos no one comp had all the Hollies stuff on it I wanted, I guess whoever owns the rights still won't cross license. Also listening to Gary Lewis And The Playboys greatest hits with this issue's theme song, the very damn good "This Diamond Ring", almost passed on this comp cos it doesn't have "I Won't Make That Mistake Again"- (NOBODY BUT YOU WOULD CARE THAT MUCH ABOUT A SINGLE GOOFY ASS FORTY PLUS YEAR OLD SONG, BY SOME GOOFY ASS FORTY PLUS YEAR OLD BAND THAT WASN'T THAT FUCKING GREAT TO BEGIN WITH). Maybe not. Which reminds me of a letter I got a while back, some guy saying, "You've never heard of Jay Z, well, I've never heard of half the bands you write about in your newsletter", well, GREAT, here's your chance to learn something, Junior, and better your life at the same time. I don't suggest you start with Gary Lewis and the Playboys- although I'm sure "This Diamond Ring" still wipes the floor with what ever you happen to be listening to right now- go out and buy some Mott the Hoople or Wipers or Sensational Alex Harvey Band, and if you don't think it's some of the greatest music you've ever heard in your life . . . then I honestly don't know what to tell you. Go and and listen to your Jay Z records, I guess. (NOT RECORDS. CD's. OR DOWNLOADS). Fucking download this. (I DON'T HAVE THE CAPACITY). Good one. What's Bill been watching? More Ultra Man, I know as a race the Japanese are insane, but this sht . . . you want kaiju, these are the best ever, there's a "mummy" that looks like some Spock eared gorilla duck, the best named monster ever, Pester (there's also this winged monster named Chandler, good lord) that's some two stomached double starfish underwater vampire bat whoosis that has to be seen to be disbelieved, they use an old Godzilla costume (the Muppet version) in one episode, so that you won't just jump up and say "It's Godzilla!", they give him this ridiculous looking fringy frill (or frilly fringe) around his neck, so instead you jump up and yell "It's Godzilla with his head stuck throuigh a giant cabbage leaf!" And the NAMES of these things . . . the mummy's called, Miira-Ningen (what the fuck does THAT mean?), the head of The Science Patrol looks at this frog faced whale thing he and the world are seeing for the first time and pronounces "That's the monster Gamakujira"- they just pull these noises out of the fucking AIR, like some folks around here do when they name their children. At one point a character complains, "Ths is bad craziness". Wrong, Fuji, this is good craziness. DFZ goes back into action this Saturday in Rand, then next Friday in Lubeck, I've held out as long as I can, but these are title matches. I miss getting in the ring, a lot, but with this mood I've been in . . . Running out of gas (no sleep at Al's last night, no nap today cos I had to take his ass to the doctor), I could always go running for the shelter of DF's little helper (what a drag it is getting old- thank God I'm not) and type on this thing till dawn, but I shan't, so I'm afraid we'll have to miss nosalgia corner for the second issue in a row. However, I'm sure "the time being" will have passed by the time next issue rolls around, and again, instead of healthy, restfull sleep, I'll sit here all night and regale you with another wonderfully entertaining, amphetemine and alcohol fueled reminiscence of times past. Anything you want to say before we collapse? (LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL). You're a good man. (SURE, I AM. EXCUSE ME WHILE I DIE LAUGHING) This diamond ring Later Bill
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Who wants to buy 
(ME TOO. YOU THINK SHE'D WEAR THE MASK?).