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11/13/06 Zero She Flies
"Now, if I say anything you don't understand, I want you to stop me so I can explain it to you". Thunderbolt Patterson Hey Been a while, I feel like I've been really busy since the last newsletter, but if you'd ask me what I've been doing, I'd have to shake my head and mutter "Nothing, really . . . " Been doing a lot of it, though. I'd hit the mail bag now but I can't recall anything of real note that's come in since last issue, and I'm too lazy to go back and check . . . I will say that I agree with Joe's point in the last on line issue, this is a newsletter, not a porn site, if an occasional unclad woman pops up in its pages from time to time, all to the good, but that's not what you should be reading it for (what you should be reading it for I cannot truly say, but it's not that). Not going to discuss my parents this issue, it's just too fucking depressing. I have a hard time even seeing them as my parents anymore, this childish, petulant, ultra-demanding cripple is no more my Dad than that constantly nagging, lost in space mental defective is my Mom. They're just a couple pitiful old folks who need (lots of) taking care of. I make occasional noises about how I'm going to blow this fucking pop stand if I don't get some more help, like I did to Joe and Laura the other night when I stopped by, but the truth is that I won't, unless it's feet first, or strapped raving to some nut house's gurney, I'm here to the bitter fucking end. If it turns out to be Bill's Last Stand (as it's feeling more and more like with each passing day, I don't know if the pressure in my head or the stabbing pain in my heart is going to take me away first), then so be it, I fucked up big time at the most important thing I'll ever do in my life, which was to be a good husband and father- maybe my current hell on earth existence is my penance for that, who knows- but I'm not fucking this up, I vow to be a Good Son, if it fucking kills me. Just not a good natured one, hell, I may be a freak of fucking nature, but I'm still only human. And bad tempered. Someone did mention how I haven't ripped on Loretta here in a long time, hopefully those days are past, I'm just not feeling the hate like I did for so long. Too tired, maybe. I guess my main problem with her now is just her revisionist double think- and here I'll quote Mister Orwell, because it seems to sum Loretta up so well, double think being "the power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one's mind simultaneously and accepting both of them" along with "the telling of deliberate lies while genuinely believng in them, to forget any fact that has become inconvenient, and then, when it becomes necessary, to draw it back from oblivion". I don't know when you met Loretta (probably 1984), George, but that's her, all right. Bobby Eaton: Now, Harry, don't you call him a liar. So . . . what's Bill been doing? Went fishing with Dave a couple weeks ago, it was good to see him (been a year and half, Jesus), drank a few beers afterward, did a taste test comparison between cheap and often sneered at Schlitz, and the much more expensive and highly thought of Bass Ale, and I'm here to tell you, I could serve you a Bass Ale in a glass, then slip you a Schlitz in your next glass, you'd never know the difference, they taste that much alike. Problem is, you can't find Schlitz around here anywhere (and I still gotta find a new beer, as mentioned last issue). Rachel came in unexpectedly weekend before last, accompanied by
her (maybe) future cousin by marriage, Paul's niece Emily, it was a
rare treat to see my baby- who'll turn seventeen this coming Friday,
everybody say it with me, HOLY FUCK. And Emily's a nice girl, we had
a fine, if way too short, weekend, DFZ had to wrestle that Saturday
in Sabine (more later), we went to the Huntington Mall Sunday and I
bought Rachel some stuff for her birthday, ate a bunch of free pizza
(right place at the right time, for once), Rachel also gave her
Daddy his birthday present early, it's a bust of The Lizard that's
way cool, doesn't look like a comic book character at all, more like
a raptor in a shredded lab coat. Scary. As I said, it was wonderful to see her, she's looking really good- run her school photo here, please, Joe- she was in good spirits, I avoided fighting with her like I've been doing with almost everyone I come across lately, only way it could have gone better was if she'd been able to stay longer. I have no idea what the girls visit schedule for the holidays- the SIXTH since Loretta and I split up, everybody say it with me again, HOLY FUCK- is going to be, tried to talk to Loretta about it last weekend- civilly, too- but as usual I got the "I don't know, it depends on my work" response I've gotten for the past three years plus. As for Sarah, she's working very hard at school (either that, or she's working her Daddy), almost every time I call her she's doing homework, to quote her tonight, "my head is swimming from all the crazy ass chem crap I gotta do"- and yeah, I do actually believe that. Jerry Jarrett: I'd wrestle tonight, Lance, but I got the
histoplasmosis in my eye. What's Bill drinking? Well, as said earlier, I've got to find a new beer. Drank 11 PBR last night, that's like a night off when it comes to Bill and drinking, woke up about 3 am (that was my problem, going to bed so early) with a killer headache, it felt exaclty like a hammer to the head ache (I've been hit in the head with a hammer a number of times, the last being recounted in The Good Son), seriously, it had that whole heavy metal impact to the cranium that feels like the bones of your skull have actually been cracked, I mean it HURT, I'm blaming it on the PBR, gonna get pounded tongiht on Bud 22 ouncers (tastes like fucking sugar water, but I wasn't in the mood for searching out a new brew tongiht, also Bud is a good choice for comparitive purposes), if I have the same result tonight it's not the PBR, it's beer in general, which will upset me no end. I can go off the PBR, can't go off the beer. It's the same old record playing What's Bill listeing to? More new old shit, again "free" from BMG, the double CD reissue of Bomber by Motorhead, quite good, although the second CD doesn't really add a lot, if you've got No Sleep Till Hammersmith (and if you don't, you should) you don't need the live stuff, I don't mind the single sides, but I don't see the need to include three (marginally) different versions of each of them. Also a Hollies best of I'm not too thrilled with (I have GOT to stop ordering things off the Internet while drunk, I got a bunch of wrestling DVDs the other day, some absolutely great shit, mostly from old Texas and Memphis promtions from the 70's and early 80's, not just the matches but the insane promos, which are liberally quoted throughout this issue, Danny needs to watch this stuff and learn how to cut a promo since he's so in love with getting on the stick, cos his long winded schtick purely sucks- the thing is, I have no recollection whatsoever of ordering them), I put it on and it's got no "Bus Stop" on it. How the fuck can you have a Hollies best of without "Bus Stop"? You can't, is what I say (and all you youngsters out there going "The Who-llies?", The Hollies were a second tier British Invasion band, but very good at what they did, which was close harmony pop songs). I look closer, which I should have done before clicking the "send Bill this 'free' button", this is just an Epic best of, so none of their early singles, which I liked the best- "I Can't Let Go", "Stop, Stop, Stop", "Look Through Any Window", "Pay You Back With Interest" (a sentiment I can certainly endorse)- are on here, instead it's stuff like "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother", which on rare occasions when I'm paralytic drunk on my ass and maudlin actually seems kind of moving, and at all other times seems cornball to the extreme (at least this isn't Neil Diamond's overwrought version). Fuck me for a drunken idjit, anyway. Also got a Gerry and The Pacemakers best of, good shit, especaily the jaunty "I Like It", and an expanded remix/reissue of T. Rex' Electric Warrior- like I said, I haven't bought anything "new" in years, I don't hear anything I like, but since I don't listen to the radio I'm not exactly sure where I expect to hear anything new. Yes, I am a reactionary old fuck, and I like it that way. Dream Machine: I've got an armfull of muscles and a head full of
curls, I wrestle all the fellas and thrill all the girls, I-
What have I watched? Evil Brain From Outer Space, a self explanatory title if ever I heard one, an over the top mess (my favorite kind) with live action Japanese super hero Starman mixing it up with all kinds of alien bad guys, also The Undertaker And His Pals, not too good, sub- Herschell G. Lewis, and Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things, a lot better, The Choppers, with goof ball Arch Hall, Jr. singing ("I got monkeys in my hatband/I can do a hand stand"- I got ants in my pants, and can piss through a keyhole, but you don't hear me singing about it) and definite non-goof ball Marianne Gaba, Playboy's Miss September, 1959. Also all the old Fliescher Superman cartoons from the '40's, this is some of the best animation you will ever see in your life, ask Chris. Also . . . I think that's about it. All I can remember, anyway.
As it was, DFZ didn't even break a sweat, Danny almost got killed, that's about right. He went to take a double hiptoss, then realized he had never taken one before, and instead of just jumping and tucking like any old idiot would have done (and which will get you through almost any move, whenever in doubt, jump and tuck)-
- I know, anyway, Danny tries to analyze things, in a situation where there's simply not time to do so, these boys already had him up in the air, he's going (he told me this, it's not Bill speculating) "Where do I post? How should I land? What do I- uh oh, I'm about to come down straight on my big brainy thinking too much head!" And he did, which got a gasp from the "crowd", all seven or eight of them, and a disgusted glare from DFZ- although I still cringed, I know it just jammed his neck like fuck, he couldn't even turn his head by the time we got back to Charleston.
(I BET HE NEVER TAKES ANOTHER ONE). I'd say you're probably right. The girls were more entertained by the spectators, there were these mulleted, inbred delinquents in camo there who taunted one wrestler with "You got tossed out of the ring. Haw, haw!", responded to another guy's bump with "Oh shee-it!", so Rachel and Emily entertained Danny, PG and I all the long ride back with "Haw, haw! Oh shee-it!". Indeed.
This bunch is trying to ape the (old) ECW and it was a pretty brutal show, two broken bones, a finger and an ankle, the ankle break was a bad one, fortunately DFZ wasn't invovled in any way with any of them, Johnny Hard no showed- afraid of DFZ legit is what I was told, but they may have been jerking my chain- so I worked my old buddy Smokey C. for the EWE Hardcore title. Excellent match, Smoke is easy to work, he's grown into a nice looking young man so it's instant heat as soon as this evil old bastard in a mask starts beating the shit out of him, Danny was there as my manager and we got HUGE heat, the whole crowd hated our goddamn guts, legit, not the "we're in on the joke and are booing the bad guys" deal, these people were genunely pissed, cussing us like crazy and throwing shit at us, I got hit in the side of the head with a full can of pop, still got a knot there - Danny said afterward, "That's the first time I've actually been afraid of the crowd"- it was WONDERFUL.
Her eyes get huge- she could see this was no work, I punched her
boy in the face not a foot in front of her- "YOU COCKSUCKER!" she
screams, and out of her chair she comes, I had to jump back into the
ring to get away from her (it was that or knock her out). So, a fun,
fun match, DFZ comes away the EWE Hardcore Champ, so he's double
belted at the moment (although it was actually an old WWF replica
belt they handed me, their own belts hadn't come in yet, you can see
DFZ covering up the WWF logo with his hand in the photo), these guys
are serious about their hardcore, they say I can have any kind of
match I want (unlike XMCW where they were afraid of upsetting the
Community Center), so we're looking at some Russian chain, and
barbed wire, and flaming tables matches soon. I know it's a drive,
but you guys should try to get up to Lubeck for some of DFZ's
upcoming title defenses. (I'LL SHOW 'EM WHO PUT THE "HARD" IN HARDCORE). Absolutely. Mood we're in, it'll be a fucking pleasure. Talking about Sport Mart last issue reminded me of a very sad story, maybe the saddest yet to be told in here, but tell it I shall, for this issue's trip back in time. Get your fucking hankies out. One of the guys I worked with at Sport Mart, and the only one I actually liked- I tolerated some, actively disliked the rest- was Mike Galloway. He was a lot like Mario Batali on Food Network, dark hair instead of red and maybe not quite as hefty, but close, and they have/had a lot of similar mannerisms, first time I saw Mario I was instantly reminded of Mike. Mike was a bright guy, and funny, and a fellow wrestling fan, and the only thing even approaching a friend that I had at SM.
Anyway, they only had one car between 'em (as did Loretta and I at the time), during the holiday season, Thanksgiving to Christmas, Sport Mart stayed open till 9 pm, with half crews, so you worked one night till 5 pm, the next till 9. Mike and I were on the same shift, he lived in St. Albans, so I offered to give him a ride home on the 9 pm nights so Joyce wouldn't have to come get him (Loretta was getting a ride home on those nights from this lady she worked with who also lived in Cross Lanes). Most of those nights I'd give Mike a ride we'd end up in CJ's pub there on Main St. and he'd buy me some beer for giving him a ride home, then I'd buy us some, we usually closed the place down (which made getting up the next morning to go to that shithole SM a real chore), shooting the shit and playng video games, Galaxian and Tempest, the arcade games thing in a bar was still a novelty back in those dark ages, I have really good, really vivid memories of those nights. Joe knew Mike and liked him as well, he, Loretta and I spent New Years Eve '82 at Mike's house (don't know where Laura was, Ravenswood, maybe). So, I quit SM in a huff (and yeah, four eyed fruit cup is a pretty funny thing to call someone) Mike was the only guy I stayed in contact with. He came over to the house in February '83 to watch some WWF wrestlng on USA when they were still showing the MSG cards (and Bob Backlund was champ). Mike was wearing a white cable knit sweater and as soon as he came in Loretta and I both noticed this big lump on his chest, right side, take your first and stick it up under your shirt and that's just what it looked like, it was huge. What the fuck, Mike? I mean, I'd seen him maybe 6, 7 weeks earlier, it hadn't been there then. He wasn't sure himself, said it had just popped up a couple days ago, didn't hurt, he thought it was some kind of muscle spasm or something, his doctor did as well, Mike had called him about it and was scheduled to see him and have it looked at later that week, probably get some muscle relaxants and that would be it. He wasn't too worried, it couldn't be a tumor cos one couldn't have popped up that big, that fast, Doc concurred, and that's exactly what I was thinking as well. Shows what you get for thinking. Mike calls after his appointment with Doc, more bemused than scared. It was a tumor, some kind of fucking sarcoma, and they were sending him to Ohio the very next morning for treatment. Bill: What are they going to do? I'm thinking they'll go in and take out the tumor, and maybe a chunk of muscle out of his chest, that'll suck, but you know, he'll still basically be fine. I didn't hear from him for over a week, so I call Joyce, she's a fucking train wreck. They went in to take the tumor out and the damn thing was attached to his shoulder blade- think about that, and it was still popping out of his chest. At least our boy made the medical history books, this was far and away the largest one of these sarcomas fucking ever, they'd taken it out and sectioned it up and sent pieces of it not only all over the country, but all over the damn world. Bill: So is his shoulder going to be- They took out every bone that poor son of a bitch had on his right side, from his neck to his waist. Dear God. I wanted to puke then, and I want to puke now. I remember that conversation with Joyce like I had it tonight, how heart and gut sick I felt, and how appalled, I just kept thinking 'How the fuck does shit like this HAPPEN?!", Loretta was the same way, when I got off the phone and told her she kept saying, "But he was just here, and he was fine. He was FINE". I know. Mother fuck, I know. After that incredibly radical surgey Mike still had to undergo both chemo and radiation, he didn't come back hiome until late June. I talked to him a few times while he was still in Ohio, he was in amazingly good spirits even taking into account he was on some prime fucking drugs. Mike: When I get back we're still gonna watch wrestling together,
right? So, Mike comes home, calls and wants me to come over, I say sure, Joyce calls me back a little later while Mike's taking a nap to warn me how bad it's going to be, and to say if I don't want to stop by she certainly won't hold it agianst me. I'm genuinely offended- B; What, you think I'm some kind of candy ass, can't take
something a little gross? After all I'd heard, I still wasn't prepared. Joyce lets me in, I sit down on the couch and then this- fuck, I don't want to be callous and call him a thing, but this . . . half a person shuffles into the room. May I never, EVER see anything like that again. I can only try to describe how grotesque this poor guy looked. Hairless as an egg, his curly scalp hair, beard and mustache nothing but history, he looked creepily, unnaturally infantile, and with . . . nothing on his right side, I know that doesn't sound so horrible, nothing, but it was, stomach wrenchingly wrong, it looked, his neck- still red and raw from the radiation he'd recieved, with a pair of X's where'd they'd marked the focus spot actually burn scarred into him- looked about two feet long, he's totally asymetrical, and with his ribs missing there was just a flap of skin covering his lung- he had a protective device he was supposed to wear, he was so delicate in that area he could roll over on that side in his sleep- theoretically, anyway, I personally don't see how- and kill himself, but it was hot and they didn't have AC so he didn't have it on, I could see his lung inflating and deflating as he breathed, nothing at all like watching a person's whole chest rise and fall . . . And this wasn't just some guy on the street, this was my buiddy Mike. Fuck. Mike: Pretty bad, huh? I shrugged. Bill: I've seen worse. Joyce goggled at me a second, as did Mike . . . and then all three of us burst out laughing. It was that, or fucking cry. I'd like to tell you this has a happy ending, but I'm sure by now you know it doesn't. Mike never did shake that fucking cancer, it came back on him a couple times, he never had any more surgery but did go through the chemo/radiation thing again, all for fucking naught, he died January '86 (almost 21 years ago, my God, where does it go) at the age of 31. To this day I can't shake the fucking sudden, out of the blueness of the whole mess, one day he was fine, the next he's got this lump, the next he's been hacked apart like . . . fuck. RIP Mike, you deserved much, much better, my friend. I still miss you. Well, I certainly don't want to end on such a bummer note, so I'll leave you with words of wisdom from the best promo man in the business, my idol Terry "I'm the meanest man in professional wrestling" Funk. And I'm sure with Mike's blessing, he loved the Funker as much as I do. Terry Funk: I'm gonna tell you something. Let me tell you one
thing. I'm the meanest man in professional wrestling. Now, I'm gonna
tell you something (holds chair up), I'm gonna take Lawler (punches
chair three times, it falls over the annouce table, Funk picks the
chair up and bashes himself in the head with it five times, then
pounds the chair on the announce table, then into his head again,
and then throws the chair on the floor). I'm the meanest man in
professional wrestling. Good Lord, indeed. Anything after that would be superfluous. It's over, well over And your closing words? (MR. T PITIES THE FOOL). As do I. As do fucking I . . . (I'D SAY MORE, BUT I GOT THE HISTOPLASMOSIS IN MY EYE). Beats what I got. Later Bill
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Black is the color 
Beside the old wrestlinig stuiff, what has Bill been watching?
More of that cheap DVD stash I got a while back- missed tons of good
stuff on TCM the past month- Russ Meyer's Faster Pussycat, Kill,
Kill and Mudhoney, George Romero's NOTLD follow up,
The Crazies, the excellent Japanese ghost story anthology
Kwaidan- late Friday and Sunday nights have been prime, I've
just missed this stuff by being busy elsewhere or not knowing it was
on until it had already run- gotta look at the TV guide more, I
guess. 
DFZ's hiatus has ended and he's resumed his vocation (and
avocation) as the terror of the squared circle (although not the
meanest man in professional wrestling), went down to Sabine,
probably my least favorite venue of all time, last weekend, to
defend the Apex belts against El Disco (good gravy) and Smokey
Johnson (good gravy again). If you're guessing these aren't exactly
#1 contenders, but instead a couple of scrubs thrown together for
the champs to crush, you'd be guessing right (while Brian is giving
us the finish- DFZ's Mind Over Matter, a pretty cool move if I do
say so myself- Flex was standing behind these two making pummeling
motions, while I'm trying manfully to keep a straight face). 
(WHEN IN DOUBT, I WHIP IT OUT) 
I'd be more sympathetic if the toss had been called on the fly,
but it had been called in the back for Danny's benefit, precisely so
what happened wouldn't happen, "You have any questions?" I asked
him, "No", "You good with everything?" "Yes". Oh well. Bet he knows
how to take the next one. 
Had just the opposite experience this Friday, went up to Lubeck
(yeah, exactly, where? it's near Parkersburg, we drove around for
half an hour after we got close cos the directions we were given
were shite) for the inaugural Extreme Wrestling Entertainment show,
had an amazing crowd- over 100+ paid, plus another couple-three
dozen hangers on who came with the workers, and they were hot (in
attitude, not looks). 
This one old cow- hard to tell how old she was, maybe 40, maybe
60- sitting front row was INCENSED, "Leave him alone, you
motherfuckers!" she kept screaming, "Leave him alone!" well, when
you've got the crowd that riled up, the only thing to do is take the
match out into 'em, I get Smokey by the hair,"Sorry, brother" I
whisper, "Do what you gotta do" he says, what a fucking pro,
seriously, I drag him over in front of his biggest fan, tell her,
"This is for you, bitch", and punch him square in the face. Not
killer hard, but hard, he of course sells it like I've punched his
lights out. 
Mike was a couple years older than me, married, his wife Joyce
was a big old girl, they fought a LOT, about money mostly, she
worked up at the State House doing something, and she was always
after Mike to get a better job, but he was actually content at Sport
Mart so he wouldn't, he'd complain to me all the time about what a
bitch she was, but she was always really nice to me for some reason-
and I don't mean "nice", nothing like that, she was just always very
pleasant to me, even when she was chewing old Mike a new one. They
had a daughter, Adrienne, a real cutie, about two then, which would
make her- fuck, 26 now, I wonder what she's doing? 