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1/6/05 It Was A Pleasure Then
Hey Well, be glad I'm doing this one sober, cos I've just done all of us a big favor and gone back and deleted 33 KB of crap, and am starting over. I started this one out with a bunch of gooey philosophical dreck on the nature of loss, and then on into a dissertation on love and the human heart, which, being me, sort of devolved into this very- what's the word I'm looking for here- inflammatory works, this inflammatory attack on basically the entire universe, while still naming names, guaranteed to piss off the half dozen or so people out there not already pissed off at me- yuck. Too much, even for me. I do still want to briefly address some things, last issue is now in second place (I don't think anything's ever gonna beat "Hammered") in garnering the biggest e-mail response in this thing's three plus years, here's the condensed (and expurgated) version of those 33 KB. Yes, I'm okay, thanks for asking. Yes, I'm going to be okay, again, thanks for asking. And yes, we're all in agreement that Bill doesn't think with his head. Those of you who accuse me of thinking with my heart, we're all cool. Those of you who accuse me of thinking with my balls can kiss my ass. Oh yeah, and I recant nothing I've said to any of you, in person or electronically. Deal with it. Shit. See, that's how those deleted 33 KB went wrong on me. I've just been contentious as FUCK lately, which is fancy talk for being a surly prick, and I really don't know why. All I know is that anymore, it seems like everyone and everything just PISSES ME OFF. But I'm working on it, I swear, so please try to hang in there with me. Or don't, fuck it, it's your choice.
I do want to address one e-mail I got this weekend individually, cos it articulates very well a recent trend. It's from Dex, the comic book fan, someone whom I've never met, but who's been reading this thing at least since April 2003, and he asks, rather plaintively, "Do you think you could go more back to the old days when you just mostly told us what movies we should be watching? I don't like all the terrible stories from when you were a teenager, they're really disturbing, especially because you tell them for the truth. I don't want to quit reading, but the newsletter isn't fun anymore." He said a lot more, but you (and I) get his point. Well, first off Dex, what's this "terrible stories", and "tell them for the truth" shit?, second off, you seem like a real nice guy, but I don't give a fuck whether you ever read this thing again or not, and third off, I concede that you may have a very good point. Dex isn't the first to complain about some of the more recent content in here, and I know for a fact that some of these sordid newsletter tales of sex and violence have cost me dearly on the personal front, so I think I may be toning back some, (better late than never I guess) at least on the retro stuff. Tales of my sordid present will still continue. In fact, I'll probably conclude this issue with one, it depends, I've already written a deleted shit load, so I'm not so sure how much longer I'll go tonight. So, what's Bill been up to this past week? Sarah and I spent a quiet New Year's Eve here at the house, Rachel was at some church thing with a friend, we ate a bunch of deep fried snacks and watched (here's to ya, Dex) "Lost In Translation", which was okay, some funny bits, but it just sort of ended. Scarlett Johansen is a cute girl.
And Sarah applied to four colleges, has been accepted to all four, each of them also offering her some pretty good financial incentives to attend. That's Daddy's smart girl. Chris and Ron tried all day Saturday to reach me by phone- I know, I know, I'm getting an answering machine this week, I swear- wanting me to come up and hang out, by the time they did get me I was too drunk to drive, so they, along with Deb, jumped in the car and came out here to see me, which was very fine, more of you should do it more often. I'm not sure if it's why they made the effort to come all the way out here or not- checking on me was never mentioned- but Chris remarked while they were here on the incredible dark vibe that's been coming off of me lately, a TON of people have, as mentioned above, I'm aware of it and am taking steps to fix it, honestly. They brought out some Sam Smith and Harpoon IPA's, also some Hops Infusions beer, with 4 times the hops of an IPA, good lord, it was bitter but not undrinkably so, I was sort of getting to like it, being addicted to the taste of bile, I think, but it was so ungodly foamy that if you took more than a little sip you could hardly keep it in your mouth without exploding.
We then watched "The Manster", more insane Japanese SF hokum with a cool 1960 b/w vibe and some laughably bad acting. I loved it. Had lunch with my former protégé Jason last week, good to see him as always, he was telling me about interviewing this kid regarding one of this kid's neighbors who'd set himself on fire with an exploding meth lab, the kid said "Yeah, he came running out of the house with his hair all on fire like a clown", which then begs the hilariously obvious question, what kind of fucking circus has this kid been going to? Also had coffee with Jean earlier this week at Books a Million, had a very enjoyable and extended conversation with her. Now, I've been known to pick on Jean in the past, I think for no reason other than that she's nice and I'm a prick. So I want to go on record here as saying that Jean is a very dear and lovely person, and has always been a better friend to me than I've deserved. Keep up the good work, darling.
Speaking of which, as far as I know the DF will defend his belt on the 15th show there in Nitro, bad hand and all. It's still pretty sore, and still swollen, damn, even though I still ice it daily, don't have much of a grip, the main problem is the index finger, that knuckle still hurts all the time, and the finger itself keeps wanting to curl up on me.
What's Bill drinking? Green tea. Tried to sober up with the new year, this weekend not included, it kind of got away from me last night, but part of cleaning up the scary/mean dark vibes includes cutting back on the drinking. So I'm going to.
B: What the hell's the name of this miracle drug? Naproxen. Figures. Started going back down to Al's this week after taking off last week to be with the girls. Al gets on my nerves terribly sometimes, not just his illness, he had a naturally pissy personality long before he got sick, and I've never in my life met someone with a worse body odor, I don't know if he's always been like that or if it's some kind of old man funk he's developed, he goes a single day without a shower and he reeks like nothing you've ever smelled before, they're just going to have to burn his mattress once he dies, but I also spent a hell of a lot more time with Al last year than anyone else, and I guess I've gotten kind of attached to the hateful old fuck, and he to me. We were watching a video the other night, one of the Gammera series, which are shit, I know, but I find them relaxing. And I still sincerely wish I had access to some of the drugs that whoever thought up this giant tusked turtle who flies by shooting fire out his leg holes and spinning around in circles, was taking. This one was "Destroy All Planets" and Gammera was fighting I don't remember, this giant flying squid bird lawn dart type thing undoubtedly dreamed up by the same warped and well drugged mind that created Gammera himself. Al was dozing on the couch, he wakes up about midway through the movie, Gammera is wading through Tokyo, fire everywhere, Al takes notice and sits up in his chair- A: What are we watching here? Al looks at me all serious and says with genuine concern- A: I think you're losing touch with reality.
After we all had dinner last (Tuesday) night, Robby wants to go to the VFW for a beer, so Al and I go with him. Robby and Al go about once a week, I've mentioned going down there with them a couple times before. As also previously mentioned, it's nice and quiet and the drinks are dirt cheap, I wasn't in the mood for beer so I got this huge vodka and cranberry juice, mixed stiff, for a buck. Can't beat that. I ended up drinking three of 'em, and passing the time talking to Sarge, the bartender, who was pretty cool for a woman named Sarge. She brought me a fourth one that I didn't order, waved me off when I tried to pay for it. B: Thanks. At one point Sarge gets busy and wanders off, Al's sitting next to me just jabbering away, I'm lost in thought and paying him not the least attention, about the time I come to the realization he's talking to me, he realizes I'm not listening. A; You haven't been listening to me, have you? He stops a minute, can't remember. A: You know what's going to happen to me, don't you? We've been at the VFW a little more than an hour and Robby starts getting kind of antsy, won't say what's on his mind, finally he works up to suggesting that we all go to the Aristocrat. B: Is this the same Aristocrat that was here when I went to Marshall? I had to jump really hard on Robby, who's just addicted to sex with prostitutes, about a month or so ago for bringing them by Al's house, "How fucking stupid ARE you, one of them could come back when Al's by himself and clean this whole place out. He'd be lucky if they didn't cut his fucking throat in the bargain. You IDIOT." He swore not to do it again, and I guess he hasn't, and has been going to them instead, and apparently taking Al along. B: Has Al ever been there before? As for the Aristocrat, I went there once while at Marshall with a bunch of drunk other guys, left after about five minutes, thinking why the hell would I spend $20 to have sex with someone who didn't look remotely as good as the person I was currently having sex with. "Cos this one's a WHORE!" one of the guys I was with tried to explain to me, which I didn't get then or now, unless it's one of those Steve from Abraxas deals where you'll only do certain things with "whores" and which I just think is insane. B: I'm not fucking interested, Rob. So we went. I'm probably going to catch some e-mail shit for taking Al to a whore house. Whatever. It's not like it was my fucking idea. Al's mind was already set on it, I'd have had to put the damn Oxygen Destroyer on him to stop him. Also, he's not demented, he continually passes his competency tests in that area, he just has no damn memory left, so he knew what he was doing. And like he said, "I've been going to cat houses since I was in the Navy, who the hell are you to tell me I can't go now?" Also let me say up front, I was quite serious when I said I had no intention of participating in the festivities, I was strictly along to look out for Al. Maybe if one of the girls had been miraculously gorgeous, or looked like a certain person, I would have, but I figured the odds on that were about the same as on me getting into Heaven. And I'm not being disingenuous here, but my philosophy has always been one of experiencing as much as I can, and if nothing else I figured going down the cat house with Al would be an experience. We get there and get buzzed in after they see it's Robby, the downstairs is this sub-Wagon Wheel redneck bar, sort of like that place in Eleanor we went to that one time, Joe. There's two girls sitting at the bar, one blond, one brunette, and Robby goes, "Great, we're in luck, they've got a couple of hotties working tonight", and it was all I could do keep from falling out of my chair, once again proving the old saying, "One man's hotty is another man's 'Take it away!'". The blond, wearing this painted on white dress, detaches herself from the bar and comes over, "Hi, I'm Paula, I'm from Missouri, 'The Show Me State', and shoves her big artificial tits in my face. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to say, 'show me'" I asked. She laughed, so I guess it was. She didn't show me, however. They have a strict no show no touch downstairs policy there at the Aristocrat, which only proves that they don't call it the Aristocrat for nothing. I'm sure Paula had never been a pretty girl, gap toothed and vacuous as she was, but she'd also apparently had some sort of accident along the way, her left eye barely opened, and her jaw line was all funny. She also had this semi-detached mode of speaking that disturbingly brought thoughts of organic brain damage to my mind. Oh yeah, she was a fucking hotty, and then some. She DID have a big bunch of fake in front, which she kept shaking at Robby, who kept complimenting her on it. P: Thank you. They're real. Robby and Al continued to shoot the breeze with Paula, there being no other customers present at that time. When there were, they didn't waste time on talking with you, it was put up or shut up or they moved on. The customers who came through while I was there- and the Aristocrat does good business, from what I saw- were for the most part a redneck loser bunch, although a couple young guys came in together at one point who weren't too run down looking. I wasn't enjoying the repartee with Paula, in fact she was out right creeping me out, so I went up to the bar and talked to Carl- the brunette had gone upstairs with a client- the old guy who runs the place. He was a pretty nice guy, all things considered, told me he'd been running the Aristocrat since '79 and seemed inordinately proud of his people skills, in that in all that time he's only had to throw eight or nine customers out, maybe just seven, he wasn't exactly sure. But under ten, absolutely. Congratulations, Carl. I noticed Carl had a shotgun- full length pump- there behind the bar, I asked him if he'd ever had to use it, "Pulled it a couple times, never had to shoot it. But that's because I know how to talk to people." Of course. Having a shotgun in your hands while you're talking probably doesn't hurt much, either. I went back to our table- both Robby and Al decided to pass on Paula- just in time to be joined by Candy, the brunette, who'd just come back downstairs. Dark haired, and much, MUCH sharper intellectually than our girl Paula, not wholly unattractive but carrying at least thirty too many pounds for me, and wearing this weird ass skin tight black kind of dress thing, with a sort of halter top, that her extremely large and multiply tattooed breasts were all spilling out of, I wish I'd been able to take a picture. She catches me checking out her tits. C: These are real. She started working on me first, quite aggressively in fact, which isn't all that flattering considering the company I was keeping. I made it clear I was just there as an observer. C: Too much woman for you, honey? This got me mean looks from everyone. Except Carl, who laughed. C: I think a woman should be soft, and the man should be hard. She plops a thigh up on the table in front of me- C: If you squeezed that honey, it'd feel so fine, just like a loaf of
fresh baked bread. This got me three more mean looks and another laugh. Candy rolled her eyes and cut to the chase, and Robby and Al decided between them that Al'd go up with her first. Actually, Candy and I ended up getting along just fine, when the bar would empty out and she wasn't working some guy she'd come back over and sit and we'd talk. I didn't ask how she got into her profession cos that's just too close to "What's a nice girl like you" territory, but I did ask about other things-she wanted to know at one point why I asked so many questions, I told her I was writing a book, which seemed to please her, "Yeah, you seem kind of smart" she said, "seem" and "kind of" being the operative words here-and she also told me a lot of stuff I never asked about, and which I think I'll leave out here. An interesting person, Candy. She lives in North Carolina and for years has worked a regular circuit of about 15 or so places, mostly truck stops, throughout NC, VA, WV, TN and KY, two weeks on, two weeks off, it takes her a little over a year to complete a circuit. And she really likes her work, or so she says. She did 6 guys in the two and a half hours we were there, which she told me was about average, spread that over how ever many hours she works in a day, then over how many days she works in a year, and the numbers start to fucking boggle my little mind, at least. That's a HELL of a lot of guys, and a hell of a lot of money at $50 a pop. Someone's sure as shit getting rich, and it ain't Paula and Candy. So, anyway, Robby forks over fifty bucks and Candy and Al go upstairs. B: I'm telling you right now in total seriousness, if she fucks and
kills him, and I have to go out and get a job, you and me are going to
fucking war. They're upstairs about 25 minutes, Al comes wobbling back down, he looks okay, if a little dazed, he sits back down with us, and Robby and Candy go upstairs. B: You okay? He did. Sweet Jesus. A: Where you going? As I'm heading for the bathroom Al suddenly hollers out- A: Where the HELL am I? Oh, here I am . . . Lord help him. Once I got back from the bathroom Paula, being currently unoccupied, comes back over. Robby is still upstairs. P: Are you sure you're not interested? She's surely never heard of gall, there's no way she had that much wit. Al and I ended up staying there an hour after Robby came downstairs and left, he said he was just going to his car to make a phone call, and to wait for him, and then never came back, he's a piece of fucking work, he is- this is the time I spent talking to Candy. I finally got Al home safe and sound- I'm not going to guarantee undiseased- and he slept like a damn baby. I slept pretty good myself, I think it was the vodka and cranberry in my case, that and the 9 $3 Buds I drank at the Aristocrat on Robby's tab. About a year ago I got an e-mail from a wrestling fan in Grayson, KY. She'd been to all the CPW matches that summer, she first went cos she worked with the lamentable Hannibal, but kept coming back cos she became a DFZ fan. She got my e-mail address from Hannibal and sent me a very nice fan letter, which included her photo and a cell phone number. I don't think I ever did respond to it, although I'm not sure why, cos in the picture she sent she was cute.
I get an e-mail back Monday morning saying Yes I do, and No I'm not, and a new phone number, which I called, and made plans to go to Grayson today (Wednesday) from Al's. I figured if I ended up staying the night in KY, which was my first plan, then cool, but if not I'd just go back to Al's, and get in another night there. And I was quite looking forward to it. And then I got up this morning and it was like the last thing in this world I wanted to do. There's this voice in my head saying "You have got to get off this fucking treadmill, Bill, constantly chasing after that shit, or you will never, ever, EVER be fucking happy. EVER." Normally I'd tell a voice like that to go get fucked, but today, I don't know, I listened, and called and made my apologies, and just came back home. I'm not sure at this point if I'm bragging or complaining, and I'm definitely not looking for any pats on the back, but maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to wake up. Maybe spreading it around is not the answer, maybe looking inside yourself is. Or maybe, as usual, I'm just talking out of my ass. I took a long cold look. Later Bill
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We talk like we're in love 
Jesus Christ. Bill, please, just SHUT UP.
The girls went back to Baltimore Saturday morning, the week they spent
here went by in a single beat of my heart. Sarah got her bellybutton
double pierced while in, she took some pictures, I'm sending them to Joe
for inclusion, Rachel was going to get her nose pierced, but then decided
against it, probably a good decision, for me and for her.
We also watched (again, here's to ya, Dex, we may even get back to
"Comics Corner" next issue just for you, and yes, thank you, I
do agree I did a better review/assessment of "American Flagg"
than those Johnny come lately pukes did at Wizard) "Flesh And
Blood", from '85, with Rutger Hauer as the leader of a bunch of truly
loathsome mercenaries somewhere in Western Europe circa 1508, it sort of
rambled on in it's nasty way and then, like "Lost In
Translation", just quit, Psychotronic loved it for some reason, which
I can't see, Weldon did note all the characters "are either really
stupid and hateful, or have to debase themselves to survive".
Jennifer Jason Leigh looked pretty good nude in this.
I've also been asked if I know who the masked wrestler is in the recent
McDonald's commercial- he's called El Toro Negro in the commercial. What
do you mean, do I know who he is, who the hell do you think you're talking
to? He's Shocker from CMLL, or as they call him down there, Show-care. I
like the intro they do for his counterpart in AAA, Electroshock, how they
scream, "A- LAY- TRO- CHOOOOOK!!!" I bet it's cool as fuck to
wrestle in Mexico.
In the "bizarre slogans" column, got some stuff at Rite Aid
the other day, across the top of my receipt it says, "With us, it's
personal." What the fuck is that, a threat?
People keep asking about my Dad and how he's doing, why no more funny
stories, a lot of it is that neither he nor I have felt all that well for
some time now, and we just don't have the strength or inclination to wind
each other up like we do when we're healthier. He did find out he has gout
sometime before Christmas, probably from eating his own crazy cooking,
Laura got him some black cherry jelly, which is supposed to be some type
of natural cure- Laura is a good person- but before he could start eating
it the miracle drug the doctor started him on knocked out his gout pain,
and quite a bit of his other pains as well.
Finally, we'll (mostly, with coda) finish this one up with "Bill,
Robby and Al go to the VFW and the Aristocrat".
I did that 48 hour drinking thing this past weekend, sometime Sunday
night I was going through my inbox deleting a bunch of stuff when I came
across that old message, and thought, "why the hell not?" I
tried calling the number, which was no longer in service, which I'm sure
was a good thing since at that point in the weekend I'm sure I was as
articulate as a smelt, so instead I sent an e-mail saying, basically, Do
you still look like this picture? And if so, are you busy Wednesday?
