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10/12/06
Hey Salutations, my fellow Whiz Rangers (and if you haven't checked out the Whiz Bang link in last issue, do so right now, it's some funny damn stuff- Knickers?), first off, apologies for the totally shitty look of last issue, all the fucking spelling errors, which are like sandpaper against my teeth, part of the problem was the tiny punk ass font I was using, (cos it was what was already on here) so that I could barely see what I was typing on this tiny punk ass screen (again, what was already here), another was that the spell check wasn't on so I didn't notice I was spelling you "yoiu" about ten thousand times, still another was that I was pretty drunk, but the biggest problem was that I was just hyper pissed at this piece of shit computer and didn't feel like making any of the needed corrections. So everyone pays cos Bill's pissed, gosh, that's never happened before. And no, the computer's not any better, Joe was going to come out and see what he could do with this over priced abortion a couple weeks ago, but I ended up doing something else that night, and we haven't rescheduled- and thank all of you computer nerds and geeks for your unsolicited advice, seriously, I know you're just trying to be helpful, but one computer nerd/geek at a time is all I can deal with (or can deal with me). So quit. The bad news is that I spent way too much money to go backward like I've done, I now have shittier service in all fucking areas, on line and off, (even Microsoft Word is all fucked up now for Christ's sake) than I did with my previous computer (come home, all is forgiven) but the good news is that I've barely looked at this useless new shitter the past two weeks. I didn't realize how much time I was spending down here doing basically nothing, till I quit doing it. These fuckers can suck you in if you're not careful. Haven't done much video transferring since last issue, either, More than one reader, in person and via e-mail, has suggested that watching old movies of myself and Loretta doing the deed is not the healthiest of activities, no argument here, although the day I get mentally healthy, about her or anything else, is the day this world ends as we all know it. And seriously, quit bugging me to make those tapes available for sale (you know who you are), no means fuckng no. Even I have my fuckng limits. Perverts, Jesus.
Got a letter- I guess were doing the mail bag now- about me seeing my first head shrinker at the tender age of five, well, seeing them damn headshrinkers, not to mention werewolves and invaders from Mars, is why they sent me to a psychologist in the first place. Partially. I was prone to the nightmares from hell as a kid, would wake up screaming at least once a week, really creepy shit that I won't talk about to this day cos some of it still scares me, but a lot of the reason why my parents took me to see Dr. Freud #1 was cos I was just such a pain in the fucking ass. A kid who consistently pulls the corks out of the claws in the Super Giant lobster tank, along with about a billion other things, may be funny as shit to read about, but not much fun to raise. My parents were like, "We want to have some more kids, but not if they're all gonna be like HIM". Doc: What's the problem with him (or, HIM)?
Doc: Hmmm . . . so you say he just won't behave? Doc ponders this a while. Doc: Kid must be nuts, then. Back then they didn't drug kids at the drop of a dime like they do now (just beat the hell out of them, and we were better for it, too), so Doc (this was a different Doc from the one who said "fry his misbehaving brain", as always, I didn't know when I was well off) said ban me from comic books and scary movies and I'd be fine. And we all see how that worked out.
His bowels are no damn picnic either, due to both low fluid and fiber intake, some gut paralysis from the stroke, plus I'm sure this world just wanting to fuck some more with Bill, he stays jammed up, I give him about a quart of laxative every weekend and then hot damn and happy day, it's like the circus has come to town as he starts passing a week's worth of shit in piles that would do an elephant proud.
Dad: You're going to have to give me an enema, bucko. I can see the headlines now- "Crazy Old Man Blinded By Demented Old Woman With Fleet Enema- 'Dammit Bucko, I TOLD ya!'" B: You have a very valid point. But I'm not giving you an enema. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. And think about it- would you really want me to? Remember the toothpaste?
Dad: Shit! Well, of course I started laughing like a damn hyena, as the old fart starts spitting, and swearing an absolute blue streeak, if I'd done it deliberately it wouldn't be funny in the slightest, just cruel, but I swear it was a genuine mistake- I put the cortisone cream in the medicine cabinet where it should have been anyway (I wasn't the one had it out), so it won't happen again, but I absolutely cannot convince my Dad I didn't do it on purpose. B: Well, look at it this way, at least now your teeth won't itch. However, that remembrance shut him up about the enema, and later that evening nature and a quart of laxative took it's pachydermish course. Yee ha, and step aside. Al's no better either, we got him a new couch cos his old one was too piss soaked to redeem, he got it Friday, when I got there Monday you couldn't tell it forn the old couch, reek and texture wise, in the course of a single weekend he's already saturated it with so much piss- this is THROUGH his Depends, I've never seen anything piss like Al in my life- well, again, I'm not laying MY head down on the vile damn thing, thank you. And Lord help me, when I get so far gone that I can't even TELL I've shit my pants- can he not smell it? can he not FEEL it?- somebody please, PLEASE shoot me in the fucking head. Twice, if need be. (YEAH, YOU COMPLAIN, BUT WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO FOR INCOME ONCE AL'S GONE?) I'm thinking of training monkeys to burglarize houses. (MAN, THAT'S . . . FUCKING BRILLIANT. REMIND ME NEVER TO DOUBT YOU AGAIN). Never doubt me again. (I MEANT LATER). Robby's also still a moron, past few weeks there's been some group of suit types holding businsess meetings in the Bob Evans where we normally eat breakfast, for some reason they irritate Robby to death, he says they're just showng off (?), the other morning he said one of them was "queer as a cucumber" (I assume he's also cool as a three dollar bill). They don't bother me, knock your damn selves out, I don't care, I was looking over one of their shoulders the other morning at the screen on his lap top, all pie charts and graphs and shit, thinking, "mother fuck, how do you do it?" and not feeling at all superior, cos I'd be willing to bet any one of those worker bees was still a lot happier than our boy Bill, I just don't understand, seriously, how do they do it? I'd put a gun to my head first. Or yours, and demand all your fucking money. There's this prim, stick up her ass type who runs the meetings, which is something I've always looked at as something of a challenge- and here I go again, but one of my favorite, favorite times from the old days was when Loretta would start her bedroom strip show for Bill in one of her business suits, underneath she'd have on some of her, uhm, leather gear- well, she'd have looked damn stupid in my leather gear, wouldn't she?- then- well, enough, but God bless, that was a hell of a show. And the audience paticipation segment afterward was even better. I digress. Anyway, this same morning I hear Ms. Prim her tell her group of show offs once their food arrived, "Now we'll eat, but I want all of you to be thinking of six achievement goals, three personal, and three professional, to discuss afterward". "Achievement goals", fuck me blind. I got your achievement goals right here. (AND THERE'S MORE THAN SIX OF 'EM). Damn straight.
Rod and I didn't hit it off from the start cos I made him quit picking on Al- why these assholes think it's funny to tease a sick old man is fucking beyond me- to the point where I offered to take his fat ass outside and teach him some manners- have I mentioned I've been hot tempered lately?- and he did the "just kidding" back down. Chicken shit. We were having dinner with them week before last at this Barbeque place on Third Avenue in Huntngton (it was surprisingly good, still wrecked my stomach, more on this later). As usual, Rod and Linda- she ain't no poodle, herself- had ordered pretty much everything on the fucking menu, and Rod's complaining about the quality while stuffing it down his gullet with both hands. Al: If you don't like the food here, why don't you eat at home? Rod: Why don't you not worry about it, Al? Robby: (either missing the point as he always does, or just trying to change the subject, cos he can see trouble coming): They never eat in Ashland, they always come to Huntington to eat, I don't know why. Bill: Probably cos they've already eaten all the food in Ashland. I felt sort of bad after I said it, cos I could tell it embarrassed Linda- Rod acted like he wanted to say something to me, he sure didn't have any problem getting smart with Al, but then decided to look out the window instead, have I already mentioned he's a big mouth, no balls chicken shit puke?- cos he is- but it did have its desired effect, cos Rod told Robby later to not invite him and Linda out to eat anymore if Bill's going to be there. Fine by me, Dumbo. It wasn't just that BBQ- which wasn't spicy in the slightest- eveything has been teaing my guts up lately, except for lovely alcohol I've been pretty much living on (when I do eat) oatmeal, green tea and yogurt, I ate some of my Mom's meat loaf this last Sunday night, I've been eating it alll my life, it's one of her best meals and again not at all spicy, though it is heavy, I woke up early Monday morning heaving (which again, I used to NEVER do) my absolute guts out. HURT. Although that may have been the weekend catching up with me. We couldn't get no silver Aline's leaving Saturday and Lord am I going to miss her. She was supposed to go home weekend before last but my Mom talked her into staying this extra time with the provsion that I'd take her back to Rock Hill when she was ready to leave. Which is this weekend. This means I'm sadly going to miss Jason's 80's party (tear it up for me, big guy) but it could be worse, it's time away from Hill House (now THAT's a scary fucking movie, the original "The Haunting"), and I'll get to see my sweet Denise, whom I've talked a lot to while her Mom's been staying here. Actually, she's someone else's sweet Denise, but it'll be nice to see her again anyway. As for that weasel Tracy, he's STILL in jail (been there since Memorial Day weekend), cos first off Aline can't afford his cash only bond, and the rest of the family has too much sense to go it (he calls here crying about it all the time, "why won't you get me out?", gets Aline all upset, punk mother fucker, take it like a man and quit tormenting your Mama, she didn't steal that shit to buy crack, you did), but also cos his court appointed counsel hasn't been worth a fuck, for real, he's continued Tracy's case every month since July, Tracy's been screaming about this guy being a worthless git and I have to admit, weasel or not, he's hit the nail on the head with this son of a bitch, when his "attorney" wanted to continue the case yet again today- cos he still wasn't prepared, kind of hard to do when you never come to see your client, or take his phone calls- the judge quite rightly jumped his do less shit, appointed Tracy new counsel and lowered hs bond, so he may be out on bail fairly soon, although whether that's a good thing or not is open to debate. Fucking weasel. What's Bill listening to? Some more "free" stuff- free, except for shipping and handling, for that price they should be handling my throbbing manhood, and yes, it really does throb, you want to check it and see?- all old stuff, haven't bought anything new, as in current, in years and that was some bizarro shit recommneded by Aural innovations (and those guys are crazy). Anyway, got three Best Ofs, Golden Earring, "Radar Love" was a cool song the first ten million times I heard it, still okay, but there's other good stuff on here like "Vanilla Queen", "Candy's Going Bad' (send her this way) and DFZ's theme song, "Mad Love's Coming". Also got a James Gang best of, oldies stations play the Funks #48 and #49 occasionally, but I always liked "Walk Away" better, nice choppy riff, good lyrics, "You just turn your pretty head and walk away", ain't it the truth, best stuff Joe Walsh ever did, easy, he was a druggie turd in the Eagles, but that was one of their requirements, you couldn't be in the Eagles unless you were a druggie turd. And a 2 CD Steppenwolf Best of- I don't know who needs 2 CDs worth of Stepenwolf, but it sure as fuck isn't me, that's what I get for getting on here drunk, it has about half a dozen good songs out of thirty something, "Born To Be Wild" was a good song the first twenty million times I heard it (which was by 1976), I find most of their stuff generic in extremis, they also left off a bunch of songs from their first album that I like a lot better than most of what's on here. Also got the remastered Quadrophenia. Some of the between song extended instrumental shit can get repetitive and tedious, but the songs themselves are first rate.
Actually starts off genuinely (and surprisingly) good, a passenger jet encounters this truly creepy orange sky, while birds starts bloodily committing suicide against its windows. Then they're buzzed by a UFO which fucks up their controls and causes them to crash in this desert (I guess they have 'em in Japan since they filmed this there, news to me). That's just the start though, as this bad guy runs off from the wreck after the crash and runs straight into the UFO, dumbass, which splits his forehead open vertically (leaving this blatantly vaginal wound, this isn't Bill being Bill, you look at this mook, and if the first thing you say isn't, "That guy's got a shaved pussy in the middle of his forehead", I'll give you ten dollars), and then one of the aliens, who look like the shit inside a lava lamp, (the lava part, not the water part) and I bet they were, goes inside his head- and let me tell you, the shots of this goop going in and out of the, ahem, gash, are downright obscene- and turn him into some kind of space vampire.
Yeah, some kind. As one of the characters remarks early on, "I have the feeling something unlikely is about to happen". And happen it does. It's your "fools trapped with monster" scenario that's been done a billion times, but's all very strange and colorful and trippy, and bummer fans will have to love the downbeat, apocalyptic ending. I've also gone off our girl Racheal Ray- (YOU FICKLE BITCH) -yes, yes I am, her recent omnipresence makes her pretty easy to get tired of, though I have to admit I'd still give her a poke if asked nicely, especailly in that round little rump, but my Mom had her talk show on the other morning, Rach may as well have had "trying WAY too damn hard" across the bottom of the screen, she was manic and shrill and annoying as fuck, stepping all over her guests who were hard damn pressed to slip a single syllable in, take a Valium, Rachel and fucking chill. What's Bill drinking? I should probably drop this segment, it's been PBR every issue for six months, at least. Good, though. PBR. What's Bill been doing? Hung out and pounded beers with Kelly (the Angry Film maker) up at Danny's while he was in (which is why I missed my computer date), very neat guy, he keeps wanting me to come out to Portland (OR) and be in his angry films, Megan (16 to Life D.P.) is wantng me to come out to Washington (State) for the same reason, it'd be nice, just not a fuckng option for me at this time.
(I KNOW PLENTY OF MAN KILLER BROADS). BroadHEADS. We also took our annual- sort of, we hit '03, and '05, missed '04- day trip, this time around the crew consisted of Bill, Joe, Doug and Ron, good men and true, and not afraid to crack a beer at 10:30 in the AM (and drink all day). Actually, Joe didn't start that early, and it's just as well, cos we got boarded by the US Coast Guard not too long after shoving off. They were very pleasant, and Joe had all his shit the way it was supposed to be, there were no problems, but I still have to say it gets up my ass to be stopped by the cops when I'm just minding my own business (I can't help it Jason, I'm sorry). They asked us how much beer we had on board, I told them, "None of your motherfucking business, Sea Fuzz. Now shove the fuck off, and be thankful you're not getting the back of me drunken hand. SHOVE OFF, I say". (SEA FUZZ?)
He also invited me and Joe to play at a whitewater rafting do this Saturday (Wes is the guy who used, and I guess still uses, the Sabres and Tang Spoons songs on his whitewater rafting videos) this Saturday, sounded good to me, but when Joe sobered up he figured it would be more work than he was up for- not the actual gig, the getting the equipment, players and set list together, you know, the kind of stuff I never worry about, I figure if I show up with my guitar and a belly full of beer I've done my part- so we cancelled. Joe was probably right, it would have been a shit load of work, and a lot of it his, so I'm cool with his bailing out, although I still would have liked to do it. I think they have a spring rafting season as well, we need to get with Wes next spring and get a gig with about a month's notice and go down there and just rock that place to the fucking ground. As Ron said- he meant it as a compliment, which is exactly how I took it- "I always saw you guys as more fun than good". I couldn't have said it better myself. It was just an absolutely beautiful day, weather and company wise, being the Fall guy that I am, pun intended, it couldn't have been beter. Found out that Ron's a Fall guy as well, this time of year gets his man juices stirring just like it does mine, also that he's all about the kiss as well, which I wasn't aware of at all, even after knowing him these 25 years, funny what you'll find out about a person on a sea cruise.
Went to the WV Film Festival in Sutton this weekend past, a couple of you have already asked me how's the trailer for 16 to Life, well, fuck if I know cos it wasn't shown. I heard it's supposed to be on the website next week, but since I heard this from the same fucking goof that told me the trailer was going to be at the Festival, you can believe it if you want, but I don't. First night's films weren't bad, but seemed pretty incestuous and ass kissy to me, since one was about the theater we were watching them in, and the other was about this local sculpting couple who were in attendance with all their friends, not to mention their wild ass kids (but who are also the real damn deal, at least the female half is, she's Chinese and has all these massive sculpures in Shanghai and other points east, Commie or not you know she didn't do all that on the cheap, I met her at the after film party, she's tiny and just cute as a bug, introduced herself as "Ai Chu" and I had to damn near bite my fucking tongue off not to reply "Gesundheit"). Still, the whole thing struck me as if I'd made a film about Movie Club, and then showed it at Movie Club. Of course it's fucking great. The sponsors threw a decent party afterward at this private loft that used to be the Mason's lodge (I bought it in an auction), I drank some free Rolling Rock, no food, although it looked good, then Danny and I went and bought some beer and we sat out on this very pleasant porch drinking and talkng with some of the film folk till about 2:30 or so. One of the guys, his name escapes me at the moment, but he was nice guy, so was his wife, they live in Dunbar, was drinking bourbon, he offered some to Danny, who took him up on it, I started to go to my room and get the emergency bottle of Wild Turkey I'd brought with me, but I decided, being drunk, exhausted, horny, and pissed- why horny? cos I always am- why pissed? cos I was jealous of these fucks, straight up, although all logic tells me there's no reason to be- I figured whiskey was about the last thing this fire needed, so I went to bed, instead. And slept like a baby, no heat in the hotel notwithstanding. Woke up the next day absolutely bright eyed, even a mere seven hours uninterrupted sleep is a hell of a lot more than I'm used to, felt so good I decided to turn my walk up to the dam into a run. Robin had asked me the day before if I wanted to go running with her this morning and I declined, mostly cos my knees haven't been hurting too badly lately and I wantd to keep it that way, but also cos my ego didn't really need her leaving my ass in the dust, as I'm sure would have happened. So I put on some sweats, wrapped my knees up good and tight with those power liftng wraps Doug (the Lug) gave me- they were already in my bag, in case you were wondering- stretched out- as much as I do, anyway- cranked out some push ups and and crunches, then went for a run up to the dam (although when asked later, I said I walked). Felt great. Nice morning, not too long a run- 3/4 of mile up, the same back- the whole way just sodden with memories, David and I fished here many, many times back in those days I stupidly thought were golden, I still can't shake those times, Danny asked me a while back "man, when are you gonna get over that shit," the short answer, never. Never. Caught some big ass fish in these tailwaters, trout, smallmouth, walleye, had a HUGE walleye on once (July 2, 1993, jig and minnow combo, while fishing with Jeff Deardorff) fucker looked like an oar in the water when he'd turn broadside (the walleye, not Jeff), hooked him on that little ultralight trout rod I caught that nine pound carp on at Ridenour that time- as I've recounted before, I almost lost that carp at the bank when wild child Rachel saw it and wanted to go into the water after it with a big stick- "I'LL GET HIM, DADDY!"- holy shit, what a kid, but there were no rocks at Ridenour, that big walleye got down in them there at Sutton and broke me off, more power to him, I guess. Attended more films that afternoon, documentaries again, I appreciate the effort that went into making them (fuck, they did, I watched, so there you go) and I don't want to seem a bitch, but I'm telling you, if this shit came on your TV set you'd change the channel in a heartbeat. And all these WV film makers preach about how they want to fight the sterotype, then why do every single mother fucking one of them track their film with this ghastly hillbilly fiddle shit? Hung out in the lobby some between films with our Tanzanian friend Hamza, who we've talked about in here before, just a lovely soul, truly, I amused myself throughout the weekend by coming up behind him and clamping the Oxygen Destroyer on him, got him hooked pretty good Saturday afternoon- Hamza: Beel . . . can't . . . breathe. Hamza's no dummy. H: Hamza . . . can't . . . breathe. Later- Hamza: Beel . . . you must admit you are a problem. He laughed like that was the punch line to the funniest joke he'd ever heard in his life. Strange chap, but sweet. Also hung out with Dave Brock- not the Hawkwind founder, but another prof/film maker at State- who I'd met a while back through Danny, but had never really had a chance to talk to. Another neat guy, he filmed a VERY hightly regarded adaptation of Stephen King's "The Road Virus Heads North". Danny says Brock is extremely talented, and Danny doesn't praise lightly. Brock is currently working on a feature adaptation of a Lovecraft story, Danny and I were both impressed as fuck with what Brock was telling us about it, and you better damn believe I'm gonna bust ass to get myself a role in it (how about a really brutal cop versus escaped monster thowdown, starts with shotgun, goes to sidearam, finally hand to non hand, nightstick against tentacle or whatever, with DFZ being the last cop, barely, standing?) (SOUNDS GOOD TO ME). Me too. I have to menton the great meal I had in Sutton, we went to Cimino's for dinner, normally I wouldn't eat when I'm planning on drinking later, but I hadn't eaten since the oatmeal at Bob Evans Friday morning (plain, with salt and butter, keep your sweet stuff, not to mention your friggin' milk, outta my oatmeal), and this restaurant is supposed to be one of the best in the state. Probably is. My meal was start to finish EXCELLENT (and ended up being paid for by someone else, though I didn't know that at the time I ordered). I started with potato leek soup, delicious, for my entree I had tuna- I know, imagine that- this was ace, a big sushi grade yellowfin steak, seared, but still raw in the center, with only a salt and pepper crust, perfect, too much seasoning and you can't taste the fish, on a bed of spinach (I ain't scared of no e.coli) and pasta in a rich gorgonzolla cheese sauce. Oh, man. Went all the way (the only way to go) and got dessert as well, creme brulee, the sexiest of all desserts- you know why? I'll tell you later- just a great fucking meal, truly. The evening films were much more to my taste, (no more documentaries about how West Virginians scratch the fleas on their ass) especially the two minute horror competition (damn Joe, two minute horror, you should have entered that) but to be honest, here half a week later, nothing really stands out, good or bad. I drank a couple beers at the party in the hotel lobby after the show but I was flagging- that's what that fucking food will do to you- then Danny and I went upstairs and hung out on the porch for a bit and and drank a few more, but I was ready to shut it down by about 1:00, Danny went back downstairs to the party for a while. I went to bed, and again fell asleep like a guiltless wonder- till about an hour or so later, when a bunch of drunks staying on my floor quite noisily brought their party up stairs. I don't know who they were by name, just a couple guys I already didn't like cos one of them tried to snark Danny and Robin's room before they got there, and some rank hippie chick named BJ, who's got an ass kicking coming from me next time we cross paths, I don't care if she is a scrawny, aging bitch, she's on my fuckng list, and that's for real. This crew rolls upstairs yammeing like a bunch of circus monkeys lost their fucking peanuts, and go out onto the porch, where one of the hell spawn drags out a guitar and they all start in on serenading my already furious ass with the world's sorriest version of "The City Of New Orleans", a song I already hated (but not like I do now). I'm wide awake now and CRANKED, woe betide thee, but I'm also sober enough to thnk, these people are all Danny's friends, and they all know I'm up here with Danny, so if I start head butting their rude motherfucking asses through these second story windows, as I so dearly want to do, it's gonna come back on Danny. So I pull out the Wild Turkey and drink. And seethe. And I drink, and I seethe, listening to them carrying on, they're just so "we're all that"- Jesus, no you fucking AREN'T, I saw your shit- fuill of themselves smug, till a little over half the bottle of WT is gone, and I figure, "I'm gonna kill these fucks, Danny will get over it"- when they call it a night and go to bed. Thank you Jesus, cos not a one of those pinheads was worth going to jail over. But by that point my stomach was Ukraine 1942 scorched earth, and I'd be willing to bet that played a part in my pretty spectacular projectile vomiting exhibition the next night. BJ. Your barren ass is mine, cow. I wasn't necessarily going down nostalgia street tonight, but today while I had my Mom at the doctor (only the second time I'd taken one of them to the doctor this week, light duty), I was sititng out in the Caddy reading while I waited, when I slowly became aware of the loud diesel grinding and back up beeping of some kind of construction- or destuction, as it turned out- going on, I looked up to notice that a couple bulldozers were knocking down Rita White's old house. It was across from the Go-Mart, next to the NAPA store there in Cross Lanes between the Interstate and the stoplight, it was a day care center for a number of years after the White family moved out . . . and now it's gone. Started me reminiscing, . . . Rita White was a plain girl, and shy, sort of like Sally Miller before she grew those great honking tits, although Rita was a year behind us in school (and, unfortunately, never grew great honking tits). Sometime the summer of '74 she and Rick- who's been in here a million times- started going out. Not sure how it happend but I thought it was a nice match, Rick didn't go out much, Rita never, as far as I knew, but they got along well and seemed to make one another happy, which is absolutely what it's all about. They went out that entire school year (our freshman at Marshall, her senior at Nitro), she'd come down to Huntington a lot to see Rick, she turned out to be a very bright and funny girl once she was brought out of herself some, though at her craziest she was still pretty reserved, we called her "Wild Rita" precisely cos she wasn't, but she took it with good humor. I grew to like her quite a bit and always made a point of chatting her up whenever I saw her, to the point where Rick got upset with me one time for"flirting" with her, dude, I wasn't flirting, I was just talking. Anyway, that school year ends and I'm thinking Rick and Rita are one of the nicest, and most stable, couples that I know. One gorgeous evening, later that summer of 1975- fuck's SAKE, to be eighteen again- I go into the Cross Lanes Pizza Hut with Karen, a very nice, very hot girl from St. Albans I'd met the previous year at Marshall. We'd decided early on we'd be better friends than lovers since we were both intense as fuck at the time, and had this temper thing going- we were a hair away from a drunken fist fight at our first meetng, I'm pretty sure I'd have won, but it would have been close, she was a volleyball player, 5' 10" and RIPPED- which isn't to say we never went out, or, on rare glorious occasions, didn't try to fuck one another into the emergency room (in a friendlly way, of course). That was the plan for later this evening, we walk into Pizza Hut and there's Rita on the bench where you sit and wait for your take out order (her old house wasn't a hundred yards away). Bill: Rita! Rita looks at us both, briefly quivers a lower lip- and bursts into about as heartbreaking a bunch of sobs as its ever been my sad duty to hear. Oh fuck. I'm hoping she's crying cos Rick's just proposed to her or something, cos I know she'd been dreamig of just that event- I'm pretty sure Rick was the first guy Rita went out with steady, I know for sure he's the first guy she ever laid, cos she told me so herself- but I'm not optimistic. I get her to our booth. Bill: For fucks sake, Rita, what's wrong? Sue was this buxom redhead, pretty hot in '75 but already betraying her tendency to run to fat, which she did in later years, big time, last time I saw her, Jesus Christ, tie me kangaroo down, sport, she was in the same class as Rita- graduating, not social- and pretty popular on the circuit, I'd gone out with her once earlier that summer myself, I'd figured she was above Rick, turned out later that she was, she was using him to try and get closer to another guy, fuck. Rita's cryng again. Bill: Here, take a drink of this beer. Yes, she could. She put the glass to her lips, and- B: Hey . . . HEY, I just said take a . . . never mind. I'll get another one. Rita told us her sorry tale while we waited for our pizzas and drank many draft beers. Rick, the gutless bastard, didn't even have the class to tell Rita it was over, he just all of sudden stops coming by, and calling, and taking her calls, this after a fuckng YEAR . . . so Rita drives out to his house to fnd him and Sue Perry all lip locked up on the very same couch where not very long ago at all she and Rick used to lip lock. "I'm dating Sue now" was all she got in explanation. What a dick. Karen: What a dick. And while it sounds like the worst cliche in the world, afer Rita left with her pizza Karen was just a total piss ass, and it ended up- B: Holy fuicking Christ on a crutch. You're not gonna fuck me tongiht
cos of what some other guy did to some other girl? God bless. Karen and I got together and fucked, hard, later that summer, and stayed friends till I hooked up with Loretta, but still . . . women are crazy. SHE was crazy. I am NOT haoppy with Rick, not just for bumping me out of a good time, but becasue Rita was genuinely a good girl, who deserved a hell of a lot better from him than the horse shit kiss off she got, and Rick should know better than to go chasing a pair of big tits, anyway. Next ngiht I stop by his house in Falconmobile Mach 1, and we go out to the cemetary to drink beer and smoke dope- and yes, he bought, do you even have to ask? Bill: So, what's up with you and Rita? He just shrugs, like it's no big deal- FUCK, this is the girl that, for a solid year . . . fuck me, I will never understand people, ever- and takes a big toke, then offers it it me. B: No, you keep it. I tried talking sense to him, hard as that comes to me, telling him how much better a girl for him Rita was than Sue, "You date her, then" he replied, which I have to admit was a pretty effective comeback, he was all about his new girl with big tits and sorry, Rita, but I've moved up, and nothing I could say to him was going to wake his ass up. B: Fuck Rick, Rita's a nice girl. I could tell that didn't sit well with him, so I figured I'd twist the knife a bit- B: That's okay, man, it's been a while. You can probably hit the sides
now. To conclude, Rick and I got over being mad at one another (this wasn't the first time, wouldn't be the last), although I lost a ton of respect for hiim over this Rita thing that I never got back- okay, chase some big tits, or some slinky blond a fraction your age, it's not like I've never done it myself, but at least be a man and clear yourself first- and a few months down the line, when Sue dumped him, Rick actually had the gall to try and get back with Rita- who, even though she wasn't seeing anyone, and I have no doubt still harbored strong feelings for her first true, if wayward, love- how could she not, I still do- politely, but firmly, told Rick to go fuck himself. Good for you Rita, wherever you may be tonight (they knocked your old house down today, by the way). Well, it's late, I'm well hammered, this damn thing is longer than
fuck- and so is this newsletter- it's time to go. Sometimes I don't thrill you Anythng you want to add? (SERPENTINE SLEEKNESS HAS ALWAYS BEEN MY WEAKNESS). Good enough. Later Bill
|
Also some complaints, again in person as well as over this thing, that
there were no tits in the online version, in an issue with
"Tits" in the title. Joe, make 'em happy this issue.
Doc thinks on this for a while (I was there in the room), then-
People been bitching for ages about no funny Bill's Dad stories
(current), hey, there is nothing funny about his current situaton, or mine
regarding him for that matter. He's about half incontinent of bladder now,
pisses himself once or twice a day out of the 10-15 times a day his
diuretic jacked ass has to go, 'it just comes automatic now, dammit"
is how he describes it, he hates wearing those fucking Depends as much as
I hate him having to, but it beats having to change his damn clothes ten
times a day (and for those of you wanting to get on me for saying I was
sick of him and Al, first off, fuck you, sincerely, second off, you try
dealing with this shit every single day, I am so mother fucking tired of
the constant stench of old man piss . . . I have no words).
He missed this weekend cos I was gone (more later) and Tina didn't give
him his laxative, I guess cos she didn't want to deal with it, imagine
that, I gave it to him Monday and it was a little slow in working, he
starts getting his crazy ass all worked up-
A couple weeks ago I accidentally put cortisone cream on his toothbrush
instead of toothpaste- I SWEAR it was an accident, the tubes were lying
right beside one another, the same size and basic color (green and white),
and I was doing it about half asleep cos I'm so motherfucking TIRED-
Robby's
got some new friends he's insisted on inflicting on me and Al. Naturally,
I don't like them. Well, the woman, Linda, is nice enough, she works for
Rob at his hot dog stand, but her husband, Rodney, is aniother matter
entirely, stone half wit redneck lard ass, 5'8'', 290 pounds of pure
waste, and with that nothing suits him redneck atitude that makes me just
want to put the fucking boots to him.
What's Bill been watching? Stayed up couple Sunday nights ago to watch Goke,
Bodysnatcher From Hell, weird ass Japanese SF (please never use the
term Sci fi around me) from psychedelic '68, which I'd heard a lot about
but amazingly never seen- although Goke wasn't exactly from hell, unless
hell is in outer space, which it very well may be (and called Gokemidoro,
to boot).
(SOME KIND?)
Yeah, Sea Fuzz. Although actually what I said was "quite a
bit", which was true. We had 18 Budweiser, 12 Newcastle Brown (which
I've gone off of as badly as I did the Foster's a while back, I used to
love NB, one of my very favorite beers, now it tastes sour as shit, even
if I haven't been drinking other beer before it- DAMN it, what's wrong
here?) 6 Pabst Blue Ribbon (wonder who brought them?), 4 Pilsner Urquell
(you ever been to Prague? and yeah, that IS getting tired), 4 Bass ale, 4
Harp lager and 4 Sierra pale ale. That sounds like a lot of beer but it
only works out to 13 a piece, which isn't much at all over the course of a
day. Plus, we met Wes and Chris for lunch and Wes drank one of the
Pilsner's.
