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10/29/04 Ammunition Never Smiles
Hey My name's Bill, but you can call me Champ. What's the champ been up to? I don't know, not a whole lot, been kind of a strange time since the last one of these, I think I may have caught some kind of brain fever or something, cos I've been thinking CRAZY shit, even for me. Oh well, what are you gonna do? To start out on a serious note, this Tuesday is election day, get your asses out there and vote, it's an honor and a damn privilege to live in this country, I don't care what some goddamn Frenchman might say, so let's all do our civic duty, and no, I could not care less who you vote for, on any level, as long as you do it. As mentioned before, I was so disgusted at the damn choices in 2000 I didn't vote, and it's bugged me ever since. I don't think the choices are a whole lot better this time around- in total sincerity, I don't think either Bush or Kerry are qualified to wipe my fucking ass, let alone run this country, and I think it's a shit poor state of affairs when the greatest nation on earth can't come up with better candidates than we do, but, again, what the fuck are you going to do? Vote, and hope for better next time, that's all we can do. Either that or TAKE UP ARMS AGAINST THE CROWN.
I remember Ian Hunter, on "All American Alien Boy", odd album, it came out in our Bicentennial year, when many of you were still in nappies (now there's a vision), so there was some political shit on there, seemed sort of obligatory, old Ian sang "Don't wanna vote for the left wing/Don't wanna vote for the right/I gotta have both/To make me fly". Well, after I got done with THROWING UP, and screaming at Ian, "Quit writing about POLITICS, go back to writing about your nasty weird girlfriends, like 'Sucker', and 'Jerkin' Crocus (Didn't kill me/But she sure came near)" because a song about almost getting fucked to death is infinitely better than one about left and right wings, I sort of agreed with what he was saying. But it's still not worth writing a song about.
Impetuous told me a while back she's thinking of learning French, she's one of the few people who'd say something like that whom I'd take seriously, but, I don't know. It's FRENCH. Deb used to speak pretty good French there for a while, I don't know if she still does or not. There was a time, long ago, when I was semi-fluent in basic French, I originally learned the language while still in Maryland, from an actual French woman, who was a stickler for the correct pronunciation, so the few times I tried it out on a real frog, they complimented me on my lack of an American accent. They said I still had something of an accent, but it was more like what another European who spoke French as a second language would have. And I must say, French is a dead sexy sounding tongue, probably the best in the world for pillow talk. Je t'aime, indeed. But it's still French.
What's Bill been up to? Well, Dave and I didn't make it fishing last week, it was raining too hard, so we sat around his house and ate waffles instead. Still pretty much dry, went two weeks without a drop, then drank 3 Newcastles last Saturday night, more on that later, got into it a bit this week as well- got into the Booker's in fact, that is like the best shit in the WORLD, well, other than that stuff I really like the smell of, Jason, you the damn man, and thank you- but still, doing pretty good on curbing the "I'm awake, therefor I drink" deal. Drinking right now? Green tea. And this is while I'm in dire pain, no less.
Monstervision on TV this week, but it's the same complaint I have most every year, it's all crap, Halloween and Amityville and Omen and Scream and dreck like that. I did watch "House Of Frankenstein" and "Scars Of Dracula" the other morning, later Hammer horrors when they were trying to get a little more willfully perverse, they're okay, Chris Lee is still my favorite Dracula by far, that tall, lean and athletic build, great face, aristocratic and mean as hell looking at the same time. Also watched the end of "The House That Dripped Blood", one
of the many anthology style horror movies very popular in the early 70's,
my favorite among which is "Tales From The Crypt", but the final
segment of THTDB is worth the time for any heterosexual male for the
ungodly built Ingrid Pitt just falling out of the top of every thing she
has half on. People been asking about my Dad, not much to report, again, haven't been by there much the past few weeks, these things tend to run in cycles, there'll be a month or so where I'm by there almost every day, then I'll go for a while where I'm only by a couple times a week. He's had to go off the oral diabetes medication, having to do the insulin injection thing, which I think just pisses him off more than anything else, he's actually been feeling pretty good of late, by his own report, and also because he's doing that crazed singing thing he does when he's feeling good. He just makes songs the hell up, I was out there Sunday, he passes through the room "Oh, I wish I knew/I think I can fly/Hello to you/I mean, goodbye" which is funny enough on paper, but if you could have heard the total self absorbed way he was crooning this nonsense, like an insane Bing fucking Crosby . . . The wasps from hell win, at least for the moment. Went out and doused them with a second dose of super wasp killer- I think that was what was in the first sprayer as well, cos it didn't hurt any of the plant life all around and under the nest- and they shrugged it off like they did our first assault on them. B: You know, we really should just leave 'em alone. They're not really
aggressive, or they'd have killed you when you were up on that ladder a
while back, so it's not like we have to get rid of 'em right this instant.
Let's just wait till this winter, when they're all either dead or
comatose, and I'll get up there then and knock the nest off the wall. So, sorry that this didn't end in any amusing (for you) Bill all stung to fuck story, but that's how it goes. Maybe weasels will invade the downstairs and me and my Dad can get in a funny fight with them, if so, I'll let you know. As for Al, he's just getting meaner and meaner. I've been getting stuck with taking him to breakfast the past couple weeks, Robby's about half bailed on doing that, he'll meet us for coffee, and then take Al on from there, but he won't actually eat with us, cos Al is such a pain in the ass, Tommy bailed on eating out with Al a while back. Used to be Al liked to flirt with the waitresses, but anymore it doesn't matter how cute they are, he's just downright hateful, about the stupidest fucking stuff, Tuesday morning this waitress asks Al if he wants his coffee warmed up, he says yes, so she tops off his cup, then he bites her fucking head off, "Dammit, now I have to put more cream and sugar in it (Al drinks his coffee like a pussy, or a Frenchman) I didn't ask for more coffee! Why the hell did you pour me more coffee!" Let's see, because you ASKED HER TO?! I know the poor old fuck can't help himself, he's sick, but when he does stuff like that I just want to fucking punch him unconscious. Think bad thoughts about me if you want. But you know what- YOU AREN'T THERE. Robby had joined us by this point and he's all exasperated, "Al, dammit, why do you have to be like that?" Al looks him in the eye and without the slightest trace of (intentional) humor say, "Cos I'm a curmudgeon". No argument here. Me and Robby are about to go around again, we had words about a month ago over him telling me to bring Al somewhere in the morning and meet him, and then him never showing up, I told him he needed to cut that shit the fuck out, nicely, I thought, but he took offense anyway, "Well, I'll just quit fooling with Al then, leave him for you and Kathy to deal with." I called that bluff, "You do whatever the fuck you want to, Robby". But he's doing it again, did it twice last week, and again this morning, he'll call the night before, say "Meet me at the Cracker Barrel in Barboursville at 10:00", well, you know, I kind of wanted to be home by ten since I'm supposed to go off the fucking clock at EIGHT, but okay- Al and I are at that Cracker Barrel so much anymore, the wait staff toss coins over who has to serve us- we show, again Robby doesn't, and then won't answer his cell phone when I try to find out where the fuck he's at. I've tried to tell the fucker, just say you don't want to fool with Al that day, that's fine, but it's FUCKED UP for me to drive all the way to Barboursville, then all the way back to Al's house when your weak ass doesn't show up, if you let me know you're not going to be there, even though YOU'RE the one calling to set all this shit up, I can still take Al out to eat there in Huntington before I leave, instead of driving all the way to BARBOURSVILLE, to the fucking Cracker Barrel where they're starting to hate us, and me not getting home till later than I'm fucking happy with, like fucking today at one in the damn afternoon. So far this second time around I've just been swallowing hard and saying nothing, I don't want Robby to take it out on Al cos he's pissed at me. Even though I called his damn bluff a while back, we, meaning Kathy and I, and Al, would be in some shit if Robby quit coming by. But it's really starting to get on my nerves. And what I'm afraid is going to happen is that I'm going to just keep taking this shit, and saying nothing, till it reaches the point where Robby is going to meet us at the Cracker Barrel one innocent morning, "Hi Al, hi Bill", "FUCK YOU, ROBBY!" and I'm going to hit him with the Oxygen Destroyer and that, as they say in your police file, is gonna be that. Not everything with Al is pissy, there's this Tobacco and Liquor store at the stop light there in Barboursville just before the Cracker Barrel, every time- and I mean EVERY TIME- we're stopped there, Al remarks, disapprovingly, "Look at that store. All they sell is tobacco and liquor." The first time he said it I replied, "Yeah, if they just sold women too it'd be a one stop shop". Al found that funny, so now every morning when he makes his comment, I make mine- it's too damn hard coming up with a different response every time, when he's gonna say the same thing 900 fucking times.
R: Are you the one that told Al that tobacco and liquor store there in
Barboursville sold women? For those of you asking about my knee, it's better, and I appreciate you asking. As for my shoulder . . . I always follow Al when he goes upstairs. He gets pretty pissy, cos it's obvious what I'm doing, "I'm not a baby, dammit". I understand where he's coming from, but sometimes he's unsteady, and he's not tumbling his curmudgeonly ass down those fucking steps on my watch. Not if I can prevent it, anyway.
Okay. (IT MADE MY DAMN DAY). Don't play so hard to get. Anyway, there should be some stills of the match attached to this on the site, enjoy. Remaining in the upcoming events column, I still have renowned WV film maker Danny Boyd's wedding to go to this Saturday, should be a fine fucking time. And the DF is going to feature VERY prominently in the upcoming documentary on indie wrestling currently being filmed in and around the XMCW locker rooms and rings, Danny says he can't wait to interview me, then interview the Death Falcon. See, he's someone who gets it. After that- like right after that, later that day- comes Joe and Laura's Halloween party, and that should also be a hell of a lot of fun, looking forward to it immensely. Did I say immensely? Yeah, I think that's the word. Just need to watch it earlier, at the reception, because I don't understand moderation, I don't understand pacing yourself, I don't understand any of that shit, you're wasting your time, I just don't GET IT. Thank God I have the stamina of a fucking sled dog. Not to mention the intellect. Okay, here's where it gets a little sticky. I can tell a funny story, and maybe piss some people off. Or I can not tell it, and not. Wait a minute- tell a funny story AND piss people off? Where's the conflict there?! Besides, these drawings are too priceless not to share. Saturday was also Joe's sister (and my landlord, and Jack's wife) Mary's 50th birthday. They had a party for her at their house, which is in what I consider to be my back yard. After the DF's title win, I stopped at the party for a bit, before coming on down here to the house. And not to leave my boy Joe out of this, he very kindly came down and taped my match, instead of going (on time) to his sister's one and only 50th birthday party. He was there by the time I got there- I had to clean up a bit first, including washing an alarming amount of Smokey's blood out of my mask, there's still some smeared all over that saw blade thing on the top- along with Laura and Charlie, Joe's sister Geneva and her husband Jay, their two kids, and their friends Steve and Angela, and their two sons, Nicholas and Louis. Except for me, and Joe's crew, all the rest are liberal vegan folk. I mean way liberal. And radical vegan. Steve and Angela are full blown hippies. I don't use the term hippie as a pejorative, just descriptive. In fact, I thought they were both very nice people, Steve reminded me a lot of David Byrne, even down to that intense, fixed, psycho killer stare. He played a couple of his original songs on acoustic, good player, he sang this one anti-war song, which is where the title of this issue comes from, it's the only line I can remember, but it really stuck in my head. Like a bullet. That never smiled. I brought the belt in with me- why do I have the belt with me, when traditionally X keeps all the belts with him, to bring to the show? Because I plan on having sex while wearing it in the near future, now aren't you sorry you asked, nosy? In fact, I've already "christened" it, and that's probably enough about that, anyway. Anyway, Louis and Nicholas- cute kids, shaggy headed moppets both, Louis is six- "six and 3/4's" is what he told me, how totally cute, I'm not sure Nick told me how old he was, but 9-10 is a pretty good guess- took a shine to the belt, and some wrestling talk, especially Louis, and then later, Louis watched a tape of the match, and it was just, look the fuck out, the child had the fever. (DEATH FALCON MANIA, I CALL IT).
I'm going to quote from an e-mail Joe sent me, about the party in general, cos I was only there for a small part of it. Before I got there, local wildlife artist of renown, John Breeden, was there, he painted this picture of some ducks there in Mary's living room, that Steve was admiring. Quoting Joe now- Hippie guy Steve: Did you paint them in their natural environment? Later, Charlie mentioned he was an undecided voter, and apparently got read the entire script to "9/11", then after I left, certifiable nut job Jack drags out his arsenal and starts shoving it in the hippies faces, so, again, here's Joe's take on the hippies party experience as a whole- "I'm visualizing what's going through Steve and Angela's minds. 'First, there's this miniature Tarzan (John Breeden is about four feet tall) who paints dead things, then there's that neocon kid with his anti-Kerry agenda, then that barbed wire barbarian comes in and teaches the children to bash one another's skulls in, and now this wild eyed maniac is tossing guns at us. What's next? Are they going to make us squeal like pigs?
Well first off, that paragraph is so goddamn funny I roll on the floor every time I read it. And second, who knows? Maybe they had fun here. If you ever read this, come back anytime guys. I liked you too. Hmmm. Well, that turned out okay, I can't really imagine anyone taking offense at that. When I started, I guess I thought I was gonna more take the piss than that, but I didn't. Still, pretty funny though, huh? And if some hippie defender somewhere did somehow take offense, cos I'm not always the best judge in that area . . . uh, so what. The good thing about messing with hippies, is, seriously, what the fuck are they gonna do about it? Granola your ass to death? Unless you run afoul of some of them armed to the teeth survivalist type hippies like Jean and Tad, who I'm sure would be happy to plug your ass with one of their ten million guns if sufficiently provoked. But I'm not out to provoke here, and let's all be buds, seriously. I got some genuine and very unfamiliar feeling love vibes going on myself right now, feels strange as fuck . . Name your price A ticket to paradise . . . Light of the world, shine on me Since it's election time, I'll close with a story about my fringe involvement with politics. I was gonna preface it with another story, cos I watched "Dog Day Afternoon" last night, and the two are connected, but this one is already starting to run kind of long, and I'm flagging badly here, cos I am SO damn tired, and my shoulder still hurts, and- (JUST TELL THE FUCKING STORY). Yeah, probably be quicker. I had this friend I graduated with named Rick Ramell. Joe remembers him, I'm sure. Rick and I were REALLY tight there for a while, in fact, our senior year of high school we were thick as thieves best friends, although we eventually drifted apart, as will happen. And here's how we did. Summer '75, year after we graduate, he asks me for a favor. His older sister by a couple years, Mary Ann, whom I've never met, she stayed in Columbus going to Ohio State when the rest of the family moved to WV before Rick's and my (and Joe of course, but I didn't see much of Joe that year, he was doing that half day 'got a job' deal) senior year, is coming in, and she asked Rick to hook her up with someone to take her out for an evening. So he asked me. He asked me third, he asked Dave Helmer first, and then some other guy who I can't remember, and then, since for some reason neither of them could or would, he asked me. B: Yeah, well you know, I don't think so. So, Mary Ann comes in to visit, I stop by to pick her up, in my '70 Mercury Montego, white with black vinyl top, red interior, they absolutely do NOT make 'em like that anymore, and wonder of wonders, she's cute. As hell. Blond, petit, killer smile- Jesus. Looks not a thing like the rest of that mudpuppy family, maybe she was adopted. We go out to eat, then to the movies- "Dog Day Afternoon", seeing it last night brought this earlier night back to me very strongly, hence this story- and we both are just having a damn good time, we felt immediately comfortable with one another, which I didn't expect, but really, it makes sense. She was a lot like her brother, who I liked very much, so it was sort of like being out with Rick, if he'd been good looking, and a girl, and her tastes were enough like her brother's, who liked me very much, so that the things he liked about me, she did too. The movie ends and I'm not near ready to take her home, so I ask if she wants to pick up a six pack and cruise a little. That whole cruising thing seems to be gone, and as far the drinking and driving part I guess that's good, but when I was a kid we never went to bars, we drove around and drank. She says the six pack sounds good, but is there someplace we can park and drink it? Dear God, is there. I took her to this place off Rt. 35, not too far from John Amos, where you used to be able to drive over the tracks and then drop down to this very sheltered and private place on the other side, it was like you were instantly a million miles from everywhere. I showed Torch where it was one time, cos that's the kind of friend I am, it was late spring and all you could hear was the sound of a billion horny frogs, so Torch, being the goof he was, christened the place Bullfrog Alley, does that name ring any bells for you Joe? I think we went there one night, me and Loretta and you and that Cathy girl she set you up with (we hate her, but we can't hate her for that, can we?), but I don't remember for sure. Anyway, Mary Ann and I parked there and it was so very nice, and I can remember it like it happened just last night, sitting there in the front seat of that old Montego, the moon shining in through the windshield, my arm around Mary Ann and her head on my shoulder, a cold beer in my other hand, the two of us softly talking, and thinking, this is so fucking SWEET, this is why I'm alive, swear to God, just for moments like this. Well, nature took it's course, as nature will, and as I've often noticed in similar situations, it takes its own sweet time about things, so that you're suddenly looking up and going, "My God, the time!" I got her home late, way late, I half expected to find the whole Ramell clan waiting on the front porch with shotguns, but no, the house is dark and quiet when we pull up, I was able to give her a ten minute good night kiss there on the porch, all was right with the world. Till the next day. Rick's ringing my parent's phone off the hook all morning. I'm in still in bed, and not getting up for his ass. Finally, maybe 2:00 that afternoon, he comes by the house and my Mom sends him down to my room. He's practically breathing fire, "We need to talk", "Okay", "Not here, the cemetery"- we used to go up there a lot that summer, Rick liked to pick me up after he got off work- I didn't have a summer job, go figure, I have YET to find somewhere that'll pay me for drinking beer and jerking off, but by God, I keep looking- and we'd go up there and just hang out and smoke this fantastic pot he'd gotten, I was never into pot, at all, but I enjoyed going up there with him and copping a buzz, usually a BIG ass buzz, that stuff was potent, then we'd usually go swimming of all things, swimming stoned out of my fucking nut was great fun, but not the safest thing- more than once I was convinced I could breathe underwater- I've ever done. Then again, I'm not sure what was. Anyway, the cemetery was like our "private place", so I knew something big was up, I'm thinking, shit, did she tell him something crazy, like I forced her, what the fuck is UP here? We get there, I'm waiting for this big accusation, and he goes- R: Why'd you have Mary Ann out so late last night? Well, the gigantic look of relief on his face not only hurt my feelings, bad, it pissed me off. Those two feelings pretty much go hand in hand with me. B: Would it have been so bad if I did? Things might have been okay, but the fucker took me up on it. On down the list, "Did you feel her up?" "No." "Did you kiss her?" "No." "You didn't even kiss her?" "No, Rick, not one time" and with every lying denial he just keeps getting this bigger and bigger grin on his face, and I'm about to bust. The fucker. Finally- B; So, is there anything else you want to know? It was a short fight, but intense. And if Rick'd been twice the size he was, he might've won. Or at least not taken such an enormous ass kicking. And while Rick and I eventually made up to the point that we were friends again, things were never the same between us. I asked him to be in my wedding to Loretta, and he was, but, he got married a month later, and I wasn't in his. I wasn't even fucking INVITED. So, to the election/politic story. For some reason Rick got deeply into student politics our sophomore year at Marshall, got on the Student Council for the dorm contingent, he was so insane about this shit that when someone quit he got me appointed to their empty position. Even then I was as political as a fish, but Rick said if I showed up at meetings and voted how he told me to, he'd pay me in beer, so I was right there. That experiment lasted two meetings. They were held in the evenings, around 7 or so, the first one I showed up at drunk, and they had me sitting next to this girl from the off campus contingent, she was fucking hot, so I started hitting on her, not being obnoxious about it, or so I thought, just, you know, expressing my interest, but she was about 30 or so, and married, and didn't like it apparently one bit. She complained, so next meeting my seat was reassigned, and I got a lecture from the Student Body President on proper conduct. Whatever there, Abraham. After that second meeting I saw Prez pull Rick aside and chew his ear, so then Rick comes over to me and says, "You're kicked off the Student Council." "WHY? I didn't hit on that girl again, I didn't even speak to her. Shit, she was all the way across the room. I didn't even look at her. Hardly". "Yeah, but you still showed up drunk." "Nothing was said about that." "Ah, Bill . . ." "Hell, Rick, I was quiet with it." "You don't remember calling me an asshole? And that girl from South Hall a crazy ass bitch?" "Okay, except for that". So much for my career in politics. Rick, however, just developed this tremendous hard on for political office, so much so that he decided to run for Student Body President for the following year, and asked me to help him get elected. I didn't care, I wasn't exactly buds with the current Prez, Carrie fucking Nation, and I also already knew I wasn't going to be back next year, so it was all the same to me. Rick got himself this slime ball campaign manager from down Hamlin way, so dirty politics was already in this guy's blood, he got me a job working at the polling booth, it paid 5 dollars, plus I made sure I got assigned to the booth in the lobby of the girls dorm, which turned out to be a stroke of genius on my part, with the understanding that I would go along with this weird ass scheme to stuff the ballot box in Rick's favor. Yeah, absolutely, but that's gonna cost you twenty, I told him. He didn't bat an eye, just handed it over. I should've asked for fifty. I don't remember the details of the scheme, other than that it was something sure to land us all in jail, so when Dave, the campaign manager, slipped me the extra ballots, past an obviously bribed campus security guy standing there monitoring things, he'd hardly made it out the front door, when I went out the back door, and threw them all in the fucking trash. The security guard saw me, and if I wasn't sure if he was in on it before, the way he was laughing his ass off when I came back in pretty much cinched it. I ran into an unexpected bonus working the polls there, cos a lot of those sweet young things just couldn't seem to figure out how to vote. I don't know if they were truly that dense, or if they were just trying to start a conversation, and honestly, who fucking cares, when opportunity knocks- "Sure, darlin', I'll be glad to show you how to cast your ballot. Walk you right through it, nothing simpler. Say, what's your name, anyway? Yeah, I've seen you around campus, I just never . . . of course I noticed you, who wouldn't notice a pretty girl like you? No, I'm not just saying that, you're very pretty. Stunning, in fact. Don't try and tell me you don't know that . . . oh, really? Thank you. Say, listen, maybe later we could-" Rick won the election anyway, handily, and I suppose, honestly, I don't really know. I went to his election celebration that evening, pretty damn wild affair, had this girl wearing nothing but a banner saying- I don't remember what it said, I wasn't really looking at it, to tell you the truth-popping up out of a cake, only time I've actually ever seen that, wouldn't mind seeing it again sometime- oh yeah, and remember last issue, that girl I said I knew who did nude modeling, it was HER, what a small fucking world it is. I didn't stay long, I had someone with me that I'd met that afternoon at the polls, and we were both pretty intent on getting out of there so she could yank on something other than a voting lever. While I was there, though, old campaign manager Dave comes up to me, all drunk and beaming, big glass of whiskey in his hand- one thing I did like about Dave was that he drank his whiskey straight, and in large doses- and shoves another big glass of straight whiskey in my hand, when he makes the transfer, a folded bill comes with it. "This is for doing such a good job for us," he tells me. Oh yeah, sure, anytime you want something tossed in the garbage, give me a call. Ya idiot. After a while he wanders off to glad hand somebody else, I unfold the bill, and it's another twenty. I should've gone after him and asked for fifty. This is dedicated to the one I love. Later Bill
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Something
something something 
I
assiduously keep politics out of this thing, I know a couple of you are
really into it, and more power to you, but there is not a subject on this
fucking planet that bores me more than politics. Not sleepy boring, but
"Shut the fuck up!" boring, cos I really just do not want to
hear it. I don't care what you think, okay?
I'm
a registered Republican, which for some reason seems to surprise a lot of
people, I don't know why, but that's just a fucking word, I don't hold to
any particular political credo in the slightest. Jean used to say I had
libertarian views, which basically means I want the government to leave
me, and you, the hell alone. I'm good with that.
On
the subject of Frenchman, there's one staying in Satan's fucking house! Or
a potential Frenchman, anyway. Through Rachel's French class there at
school they're hosting this 14 year old French exchange student, he's only
there for this week before he moves on, will wonders never cease. I
haven't spoken to Rachel since he got there, but Sarah says Frenchie- she
told me his name but I forget it, something Fromage, I think- is just cute
as a damn bug, and Rachel seems to be quite taken with him. Yeah, well, a
lot of things are cute when they're young, aren't they? Sarah was going to
take a picture of him and send it for inclusion here, but I haven't gotten
it yet.
And
before we leave the just too painful subject of the girls, Sarah is in her
school's production of "Henry IV" this week. Do good,
sweetheart, Daddy loves you. Whoops, I mean break a damn leg, ya little
shit.
Haven't
been to the library in a while, read all the new books I got- I got some
more on order, but they haven't arrived yet- so I've just been reading
more old comics, mostly just more of that Brit stuff I've already
mentioned, in particular, Judge Dredd. Great stuff, seriously. He is the
fucking LAW.
There's
a famous publicity still of her from THTDB that's easy to find, Joe, try
to include it here if you would, I found it at- www.moviemasters.com under
Carla Lynde (the character's name), I think you can probably find it under
the movie title as well, and while I'm thinking about it, she also looked
pretty damn special in "Where Eagles Dare"- and you guys (and
gals) will see what I'm talking about. Filmfax used said still for the
cover of issue #62, first issue I ever bought, and I'll tell you right
now, that cover is what sold the magazine. To me, anyway.
Last
night when Robby called to make the appointment for this morning that he
wasn't going to keep, he asked me-
Well,
last night was not a good night for him, I should've been more alert, but
I wasn't at my best either. About halfway up on the way to bed, he
staggers backward and falls, shit, he was almost past me before I woke up,
I shot my arm out and caught him, but when I did I again heard that
familiar fucking "POP" -they're getting ready to put my face on
a cereal box, I swear- from my already fucked to hell right shoulder, and
whatever popped in there this time, it hurt like fucking hell. Still does,
in fact. I was supposed to get some pain pills this afternoon, but they
never arrived, so I'm just hanging in. Hurts like FUCK, though.
That
epitome of vigorous, contemptuous, unsettling masculinity, Death Falcon
Zero, brutalized outclassed homeboy and local favorite Smokey C last
Saturday down at Nitro, to become the XMCW Hardcore Champion. An okay
match but not great, a couple good spots, a couple blown ones, and one
truly bizarre one, involving Smokey and his ever growing pyramid of
chairs- like Jay said viewing a tape of it afterward, "It's like he
really just wants to build this crazy damn chair thing, and the match
keeps interfering". Hilarious, and totally accurate.
Anyone
wanting to see the DF defend his XMCW title can come to the Nitro
Community Center 11/6 and 11/20, 7 o'clock bell time, or the Embassy Suite
in Charleston at noon on Monday, 11/22, for a free show open to the
public. Also, he may be defending his CAPW belt at the Martin Luther King
center in Charleston on 11/27, I'll know for sure after Saturday. And re:
the CAPW site, someone's saying hello to us from Zimbabwe, check it out
Joe, pretty funny. As for the rest of you, if you've nothing better to do,
come watch DFZ fuck somebody up. Particularly (but certainly not
exclusively) if you're a pretty girl. It's always more fun busting heads
with a pretty girl watching, Impetuous came to the match last Saturday and
made the DF's damn day.
(I
THINK I CAN SPEAK FOR MYSELF).
As
well you should. This sweet faced little vegan hippie child, who minutes
earlier had been telling me about singing in church, and how meat was
murder, starts PUMPING UP, I'm in stitches, Joe and Charlie are as well,
he starts hollering, "I'm gonna get me a barbed wire club and I'm
gonna hit Nicholas in the HEAD with it!", then he starts just
savaging these stuffed animals there in the room, then sits down and draws
these INSANE pictures of him bashing his brother's brains out with a
barbed wire "club" as he calls it, and himself as DFZ as champ,
his parents are trying to be cool about it, "Uh, Louis, we don't do
those kind of things, we don't even talk about them", "I'M GONNA
BEAT HIM IN THE HEAD!" It was fucking hilarious, and I've got the
pictures to prove it. Again, Joe has 'em, they're on the site.
I
liked them, but I'm thinking they were out of there environment'."
