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10/20/05 A Hazy Shade Of Bitner
Hey I know it's not quite winter, barely autumn, in fact, but I'm feeling pretty fucking hazy, so . . . This one may end up a mess. I don't know, cos I am heavily, HEAVILY concussed from my match last night- more later- but I think I can get this done. If I can't do anything else, I can self promote at all costs . . Fuck, where to start? That's the problem, my head is such a cottony, unfocused mess- it's all that goddamn leaked blood impairing them neurons firing, I'm sure . . .
Okay, let's talk about last night, that's fairly clear, and then we can go backwards. No, let us don’t, cos talking about going backwards has reminded me of my Dad. Not that he's going backward in his recovery, oh no . . we're up there Tuesday to see him, as we come in through the front door I hear all this commotion going on down the hall, people hollering "Look out!" and shit, we turn the corner and here comes my Dad in his wheelchair barreling down the hall, backward, as fast as he can fucking go- which was pretty fucking fast. I snag him as he gets up to us- he'd have flat fucking run down my Mom otherwise, who's standing there with this a bemused look on her face, "Is this the express lane?"- Bill: Whoa, hey, CAREFUL there, Earnheart. He looks at me like I'm an idiot D: How the hell do I know, dumbass. Can't you see I'm going BACKWARD? And off he damn goes. I swear to God, he's the craziest person who ever LIVED. But he's getting better, and that's what counts. He's just working his crazy ass off at therapy now, it's a much more individualized situation there at Meadowbrook (which is still next door to Hell) than it was at either of his rehabs, he's really bonded with this one therapist (they have two), Jim, a big guy who I'd say is in his late 50's, maybe even early 60's, just a great guy, I like him quite a bit myself- for himself, in addition to how well he's doing with my Dad- and who used to play for the old St. Louis Cardinals football team in the mid 60's (when the Rams were in L.A. and the Colts in Baltimore and I still gave a fuck about the total shit bag shuck and jive that is pro sports, more fool me), how cool, though (about Jim), you meet the damnedest people in the damnedest places (which is why I've always liked hanging out in the damnedest places), he was amazed I could ramble off this great huge list of all his old teammates, but, again, those were the days when I gave a shit, collected football cards and all, and I've got this memory thing . . Jim and I also have compared bad knees, cos he also has a pair, he checked out my right one for me, on a professional level, and pronounced it basically healed- which I would second, as it hasn't been hurting me all that much lately- (HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?) Quiet, you. Also, the window of opportunity for getting your ACL reattached runs about 6 months, then its like it's already repaired itself. Repaired itself wrong, maybe, but its repaired itself. Anyway, Jim says it's my left knee, the one with no cartilage in it that's gonna be sending me up the wall when I'm in my sixties, that bone on bone shit . . . whatever. I'll deal with it when it gets here. My Dad is doing better. More alert, stronger physically. Keep those prayers and letters coming.
Tarzan: Tarzan want marry Jane. Fuck, I'm on the FLOOR. Mail bag. Thanks to Joe for getting the photos on the sight, I've apparently got a couple new young NL fans- new friends of Sarah?- I don’t know, but they come across as young, college guys, bright, but goofy, anyway, dudes, didn't I TELL you Molly/Jynx was hot, listen, ask Joe, he's goes back with me to fucking junior high, ask him if he has ever, fucking EVER, seen me with a girl who wasn't shit fucking hot? It just doesn't happen, I've had some of the best looking girlfriends of all time, man. I can get 'em, I just don't know how to keep 'em, something about this crazy concept they have, "Be Nice" or something, I can hang with that for a while, but then the fucking asshole that I am asserts himself and it all just goes in the fucking crapper. By God, though, it's fun while it lasts. These same guys were also saying, if she's so smoking hot, as described a couple NL's ago, why isn't there a photo of Anita in the NL? Guys, there are many, but I'd suggest you check out "Jim And Mister Peanut." Anita's the one who's not a pen and ink drawing of a peanut. I've been off the internet for a while due to the move, once again sorry to all you folks I haven't gotten back to in a timely manner- the computer's been hooked up out here at my parents- aka my- house for over a week, but I couldn't get a dial tone, therefore, not on the internet, I did everything I knew to do, which was to plug the son of a bitch in and out about a dozen times, each time threatening to throw its mother fucking ass in the creek, a fairly hollow threat considering I don't have a creek behind my house anymore, I'm sure if I'm still here in a year or so you'll be able to drive behind this house and see a huge pile of recalcitrant machinery that got the old heave ho, without the covering grace of a creek to wash it away to someone else's backyard. Then I came down here today and noticed a second plug in, in the back of the computer, stuck the phone cord in it, and I'm on. It's fucking magic, I swear. So okay, fuck. What's Bill been up to? Joe, Doug, and Chris and Debbie all brought their trucks and stalwart asses out Saturday before last to help me move such furniture that I have out here to my parent's house. Thanks to all, and in a special Bill Bitner show of appreciation we all went to Cold Spot on Bill's tab and ate and drank all fucking day, some folks got salads and fries and shit, we also got a giant tub of wings, plenty of beer, pitchers of Guinness and Bass ale and making our own Black and Tans, Chris drank hardly any cos of the stomach problem he's been having, you need to get that shit fixed, man, you not drinking just ain't right. Chris has also disappointed the fuck out of me by becoming re-employed, but at least, first off it's temporary, and second off its not like real work, he's doing cool shit like wading in streams and electro shocking fish and other small aquatic wildlife (watch out for pythons and alligators- if you see any, call me) so that's okay. Just stay outta them fucking offices, here? What's Bill been reading? Finished that Annie Sprinkle book- thought I had last issue but there was a coda- it reminded me, even though she didn't put it in this book, she took her faux last name- I started to call it her gimmick name, this wrestling shit is taking over my life- cos one of her first sex jobs was as a piss artist, which to a Brit (and me) means an alcoholic, but in the sex work field is someone who gets paid to piss on people. Jesus Christ on a broom stick, there are scams, and then there are SCAMS, but getting paid to piss on people has to rank right up there at the very top. I can't even imagine. How could you not laugh your brains out all the way to the bank? Back when Loretta and I still were experimenting, our first year away at school, we got around to the pissing on one another stage. Neither of us had much desire to piss or be pissed on, but we decided to give it a try anyway, some things we didn’t really think we’d like we found out we liked a whole lot once we'd tried them (can anyone say- nah, never mind), so . being the gentleman that I am, I gave her first crack, so to speak. After she took a big whizz all over me I'm sort of laying there wondering when the sexy part starts, and- Bill: That do anything for you? And that was about it. So if you're into it yourself, that's fine, knock yourself out, but it's not my thing.
After a shit long wait, Al ("Don't leave me, buddy") and I go back to the procedure room- Robbie, chickenshit that he is is, refused to accompany us- where Al is instructed to strip from the waist down and get on this reclining table, where he's then told to throw his legs up into these stirrups, and is leaned back- Al: I haven't been in this position since I was fifteen years
old. They then put this thing like a diaper on him, with a hole cut out for his dick to stick through. Then the nurse loads up this big ass horse syringe with goo. Bill; What's in there? The nurse sticks the syringe in the head of Al's dick and injects the numbing gel. Al: Oh GOD, oh FUCK, OOOOOOOOWWWW! Doesn't sound too damn numbing to me. Al sprawls there moaning for a while, no doubt reminiscing about being fifteen, gives me some more "Please don't leave me" "Nah, fuck, don't worry Al, I wanna see what they do next" and then the Doc comes in and loads up his scope. This thing isn't that thin, not to be going where I know its going. Doc takes it in hand and gets ready to stick it up Al's dick. Bill (appalled): Are you not even gonna grease it?! Doc gives me a superior look and then casually shove his scope up Al's dick. And shoves it. And SHOVES it. I feel like I'm gonna be sick. Al goes fucking crazy. So much for your fucking numbing gel. He tells the doctor to let go of my pecker you queer ass bastard, ooh Jesus, I'm gonna KILL ya , tells the nurse, I'm gonna pull the maiden head out of your puss (?!), then tells me, go take a cold tater and wait, dammit, it's not funny. No Al, your pain was not, at all. But your tirade, holy fuck- I'm gonna pull the maiden head out of your puss? I defy any one of you to hear that and not crack the fuck up. Not to mention, go take a cold tater and wait. Wait for WHAT? While scopeing, Doc decided he doesn't need the rooter at all, the obstructions aren't that pronounced, he can probably do the job with the scope- which he then proceeds to vigorously ram up and and down Al's piss canal a few times while Al hollers his head off- it was all I could fucking do to not kick that prick doctors' head in, just the off handed brutality of it, by God, if it was his piss canal being reamed . . I finally told myself, I'm going to count to ten, and if this is still going on I'm gonna give Doc a goddamn reaming of his own, FUCK this shit, you know, it's totally uncalled for, and he must've been psychic, cos he stopped like two seconds later. And not two hours later, Al never even remembered having the procedure done. Although he did keep hollering all through dinner, "WHY IS MY PECKER SO SORE?!" I signed with the AWA last week, or more accurately, Death Falcon Zero did. The American Wrestling Association was started in 1960 by former amateur champ Verge Gagne. Based out of Minneapolis, it always had that sturdy Midwest ethic to it, always emphasized skill over gimmick, and during the mid 70-s to mid 80's was as strong a Fed as there was going, easily the equal of the NWA or the (then ) WWWF, before eventually being put under by the hell spawned WWF in the early 90's. They're trying to make a comeback, and that's who I signed with- not the local APEX affiliate, although that's the promotion I'll be working for the most, but the national organization. They paid me the amazing, and rather bizarre, sum of $501 just to sign, it's a non exclusionary contract, I can wrestle for anyone else I want, just not on dates when I'm booked with the AWA. Which are quite a few, right after signing I got a booking sheet in the mail- just like the big boys- with a guaranteed dollar amount after each date, between now and the end of the year I have 12 house shows, 4 spot shows and 2 TV tapings. Did I say TV tapings? Yes, I fucking did. And when I get paid, it's with a check in a pay envelope, not a couple twenties (or less) in a handshake. They also want me to travel, they wanted me to work a tournament in Chicago on December, but its the weekend my Dad is supposed to come home so I told them I couldn't make it, still, I'm a lock to go to Puerto Rico in January if I want. Good for me. APEX works out of Oak Hill, did my first show last week (with Danny managing, and, at that point, doing quite well), a three minute deconstruction of Wes "The Best" Lynch- ha, not that night, hit him with the Falcon Buster and THEN the Oxygen Destroyer, sorry about your fucking luck, dude, and it was a nice set up they had, they have a big cooler of water in the back for the workers- you might not think that's any big thing, but in that hellish sweatbox up in Newville working for HoP workers were expected to buy their drinks from the concession stand- I spent 10 bucks of my pay in water that day, easy- as well as free food after the matches, its just hot dogs and nachos but I appreciate the offer, you know? The squash of Wes led to this week's confrontation with APEX Heavyweight champ, Mr. Black, title match, nothing like starting at the top, hey? I think I said in here he went 280, fuck me, he goes 383, legit. This guy is a monster, everyone in the APEX locker room is terrified of him, again, legit, he's this enormous, tattooed, biker, bouncer guy from Detroit who decided to get into wrestling, who's broken one guy's leg, and another guy's neck, one more time, legit. I meet him last week, tell him I'm looking forward to working with him, he snarls, "And I'm looking forward to kicking your ass", I patted his cheek and said, "You, and the rest of this world". Dude, I don't intimidate. He tried to puff on me a couple more times, I laughed him off, to where he started warming up to me in the locker room last show, especially after all the XMCW guys that he'd flattened since he's been down here were telling him, "Falcon is stiff as fuck, and he's not afraid of any bump, you guys should work great together".
In case I forgot to mention it, we're heels in APEX. Black's already asked in the back if he can get a little stiff in our match, he's dissing the others guys there, to their faces, Allen and a lot of that XMCW crew- although also Chris and Cholo, either the Hawaiian Hot Bodies, or New School, depending on whether they're working face or heel, these Hawaiian guys who I thought were pretty tough, (and who say they'll put me up if I ever make it to the big island), but they’re also taking his shit and not saying anything, I was a bit surprised, and disappointed- talking about what pussies they all are, and how he couldn’t really work like he wanted to cos he was afraid he'd hurt them. DFZ: Is it about the match, or are you just wanting to fuck me
up? Then he gets all into taking it as well- Black: During the heat, stomp the shit outta me. So, our turn in the arena comes and we start out with his shine, I grab a head lock, he slips it and slams me. Hard. Fucks sake, my neck is already killing me and we're 20 seconds in. Next I hit him with a clothesline off the ropes- and I hit him hard, come just flying at him, he's supposed to no sell it but I'm gonna crash him just the same- and I basically bounce off him. Shit. Good thing it was a no sell. He hits me with a clothesline of his own, oh boy, that's just what my neck needed, pulls me up, then calls a clubbing forearm across the back. Good Christ. Next thing I know I'm flat on my face on the mat. I think the roof has fallen in on me. He goes to pull me up again- Black: You okay? Well, I didn't have to sell anything, he punched me in the head and knocked me down. Fortunately, the next move is a sidewalk slam, and then I get to start dishing out the heat. I take the slam- oh fuck, 383 pounds down right on my fucking diaphragm. Black: How you feeling now? I look up and dear GOD- Danny's blown the finish. He's run in and jumped on Black's back and the ref is calling for the DQ- 2 minutes into a ten minute match. And I've gotten nothing in on Black so far, NOTHING. Oh, God DAMN you Danny Boyd, you ignorant, ignorant git. Black slings Danny off of his back and Danny slithers out of the ring before I can kill him, I hop up and just start whaling on Black, legit forearms to the face, I take him to the ropes and he's all about it, he's as furious as I am, "Hit me!" he he keeps hollering, "HIT ME!" and I'm only too happy to oblige, I keep slamming forearms into his face, hitting him with the bone, not the meat, finally busting him open above his left eye right about the time I bust my own elbow open as well- his head is like a goddamn rock- and then staring into his bloody, wild eyed face, I know how to save the match. All it entails is committing suicide. "I'm gonna shoot you off, reverse me and hit the spinebuster" I say, and before he can argue, or I can have second thoughts, I shoot him, he reverses me, hard, I hit the ropes and come just zooming back at him, I see him set and I go ahead and jump into it- I figure if you're going to take the spinebuster from hell, you may as well embrace it- he takes all the momentum I've already given him, adds his own brute force to it and spins me around and with all 383 pounds of him behind it, slams me into the mat. I have never take a bump like that in my life, For a minute I think we've busted all the way through the ring and hit the floor. He slammed me so hard I think he broke my fucking ear drums. Seriously, I haven't been able to hear for shit all day. I lay there for a bit, my vision fading in and out- for some reason I was thinking I was underwater, go figure- when Danny drags me out of the ring and we go to the back. I barely had sense enough to tell him "I hate you" and that's about all I remember before waking up in my bed this morning with what's becoming that uncomfortably familiar "I got my head smashed in last night" feeling .
I have GOT to go to bed, if I'd known this thing was going to take this fucking long I'd never have started it. I'm a speed king Later Bill
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Hang on to your hopes, my friend 
Shit.
Tarzan goes in to apply for a wedding license.
Okay, now we come to a little tale of horror I like to call Al Gets His
Pee Pee Hole Reamed Out. If you recall from last issue, Al needed to be
rotor rootered, hoping it would cure his pissing all over himself problem,
and the Monday after the last NL, I took him in to have it done, and for
those of you who have never had your dick drilled out, here's how it goes
. . .
So this week we work out a great match, and here's how I get the
concussion from hell. We're gonna go ten. As in minutes. His longest match
to this point has been 46. As in seconds. He's all, "Do you think you
can go ten minutes with ME?!", the only answer being, "Yeah, but
can you go ten minutes with ME?!" We're gonna work a simple shine,
heat- and I'm gonna get a good six minutes of this, to beat the living
fuck outta this formerly invincible monster- comeback, finish match, any
worker worth his boots could do it in his sleep, with the finish being him
hitting me with his finisher, a spine buster- I'm not looking forward to
that-and then Danny interfering and breaking up the pin, DFZ loses by DQ.
I was going to tell you more, and give some examples of how fucked up
my head has been today- I got lost trying to drive to the Cross Lanes
Kroger, I went out on the fucking Interstate, I kept thinking, fuck, this
must be what it's like to be my Mom, there was also a LOT more shit I
wanted to address in this issue, but I just can't do it, my brain is
fucking mud. And I guess the best way to illustrate my point and explain
my dilemma tonight is to note that I've never taken more than two hours to
write any one of these things. I started this one at 8 pm last night, over
8 hours ago. I've made what's here make sense, but I'm telling you, it
hurts, man.