So you wanted to be like me, to be seen 
So you wanted to rise from your darkest dreams 
So you wanted to be the things I've been? 
Let me tell you something 
It's not what it seems . . .

Hey

I meant to get this one out much sooner, call it "The Scourge Of Colorado" but I've been busy as absolute fuck mostly doing nothing, or not so much nothing as the same old shit, the Colorado trip is already starting to fade on a day by day basis, I made some notes but I lost them, go figure- Jean described her version of it as "the trip was kind of like a sandwich, high anxiety . . . relaxation . . . high intensity", yeah, exactly- so I'll just hit the high spots, which is probably better anyway, on the drive back Tad said when I write this up, "be brutally honest . . . and make me look good", being brutally honest at the time I told him "I can't do both", and I can't, so we'll be honest, but not brutal. Hopefully.

This issue's title courtesy of something I saw at a wrestling show last month. Wish someone had taken a picture.

So . . . the holiday season is here, normally the cue for an angst filled piss fest NL from Bill, however, not this year- I know, I know, you can't depend on fucking nothin' no more. While the holiday spirit was exorcised from me, I figure forever, with the divorce, I don't feel all shitty this year like I have for the past FIVE years I've been writing this thing (Lord love a duck, and all its little feathers). I'd say the biggest reason for Bill's lack of crybaby NL this year is that both of the girl's are doing SO well, world traveller Sarah and piercing queen Rachel, I feel especially good about my girl Rach, she's like an entirely different person from the sullen, distant kid I (seldom, though not for lack of trying) talked to and never saw last year, I talk to her at least once, and usually twice a week now, talked to her for almost an hour earlier tonight in fact, and she's back to being the sweet, (with an edge, fuck she's a Bitner) bubbly child (till next Saturday when she turns EIGHTEEN) she was back in the day.

Ranking right up there in freeing my mind so my ass can follow is finally ditching that Loretta angst/guilt thing that had gutted and nutted me for the past six plus years, this time for real and true and forever, that four hour talk she and I had last summer finally did it, and unless you've been there you have NO idea what kind of weight I was carrying around . . . gone. If I had a set of wings, man, I know I could fly.

(LIKE A FAIRY?)

No, like a motherfucking Death Falcon.

(DUDE.)

Also feeling really good about my writing, which I love doing more than anything in the world except maybe drinkng and fucking and fucking off, and drinking while staring up my own ass and talking about fucking and . . . anyway, beside the DFZ book next spring, I got a short story collection coming out, it's a done enough deed I'm okay with talking about it now, 13 stories, about 65,000 words, buy or die, dammit. More info as it gets closer to coming out, and these two are just the start- apres moi, ce deluge.

Also (to start a third paragraph with the word), not feeling too bad physically at present (other than this damn cold), knees and shoulder bearable, eating right and working out regular, got the weight back up over 220, feel fit and strong, off all the drugs and more importantly have lost the desire for them, also drinking very seldom right now, don't have the time, twenty years ago that wouldn't have mattered, I'd have dropped something else and made the time to drink, got a little bit of a romance thing going, which I'm going to quit talking about for fear of jinxing it, though it's not gonna break my heart if it crashes and burns . . . not to sound cold, but never again. Never again.

Don't worry though, I'm still Bill, I'm not all THAT happy, it's all relative.

While it wasn't perfect by any means- I spent a many a long lonely night out there, not to menton mornings and afternoons- I was missing my old place out on Harmon's Creek bad the other weekend, nice crisp fall afternoon, I wished I could just drive back out there with a case of beer and a bunch of new magazines and CDs like in the old days and sit back in that bright, bright back room at my desk, getting pounded and reading and listening to music, with no fuicking responsiblity whatsoever other than to myself, instead of always being in a house, either here or at Al's, with a sick old person I'm responsible for, which, even if you're a freak of fucking nature as I am, just fucking WEARS on you.

I'm missing my Dad a lot right now as well, his birthday's coming up in a few weeks, also the anniversary of his passing, crazy coot though he was, he was a good, good guy, and a good Dad (and Grandfather) and believe me, no one misses the "Bill and his Dad" conversations in here more than Bill.

Let's get to the mail bag, got corrected last issue by one of the Prague group (had NO idea she read this, scary) telling me it was MATT, not Mark who made the "let's pretend we're Canadian" comment and she's absolutely correct, sorry Mark, she said she remembers it distinctly cos when Matt got up to slink out "you threatened to punch his bones out. That was the first, and only, time in my life I've ever heard someone threaten to punch someone's bones out". You should hang out with me more, kid, I got a million of 'em.

Not much funny with Al since last issue, and nothing funny at all with my Mom, Al did come in my room late one night a couple weeks ago, I was still awake reading, I'm awake almost all night down there still, which is going to make my new schedule quite the brain destroyer- Tuesday morning to Friday morning, three nights in a murderer's row down there, but Tommy's working at the Marshall newspaper now, and Jason quit, said he got a new job but he's not working anywhere so I guess his new job is not taking care of Al's shit caked ass, if it paid a little better I'd take that job myself. I can't work this schedule for long, but I can't believe Al's got that long, although he could fool me and live forever, who knows. Anyway, Al shuffles into my room-

Al: Are you my Daddy?

He was being serious, so, against my nature, I didn't fuck with him.

Bill: No. 
A: Do you know where he's at?

I started to say, "in the cold, cold ground, and from all I've heard, good fucking riddance"- Al's daughter Denise once said to me her grandfather was "the evilest man who ever lived"- but I thought that would be mean, so-

B: Yes. 
A: Is he okay? 
B: He doesn't have a care in the world, Al. 
A: That's good.

And he went back to bed.

And yeah, since I'm working Thursdays, I'll be spending Thanksgving with Al this year. We're invited to Robby's for Thanksgiving dinner. That should be surreal as fuck.

In the what's Bill been doing column, need to backtrack and get in some things that didn't make last issue, starting with meeting Bob Tinnell when he came in to speak at State, REAL nice guy, much cooler and more down to earth than I expected, he thinks the DFZ illustrated novel is a great idea, here here, we went over to the Goal Line to drink some after his Friday evening talk, what a waste of fucking time, location wise, instead of being the pretty cool bar it once was, with draft beer and liquor- me and my old lesbian office mate Courtney would frequently stroll over there from CCIL to get, as she called it, "a nice gin drink" to refresh us- it's now one of those shithole video lottery/poker parlors, what the damnfuck, no liquor or draft, only got about three types of over priced bottled beer. Fuck video lottery/poker and the brain dead numbfuck suckers who play it, I hope every shitting one of them goes broke and dies starving in the goddamn gutters with their assholes bleeding poop water gruel.

(POOP WATER GRUEL?)

Poop water gruel!

Danny went to the showing of 16 to Life at the WV Film Festival while I was in Colorado, he said it LOOKS great, but the sound is still wonky (technical term), so it's still not been released yet, but like we were talking the other night, they already sent it out west to be fixed, don't know what else they can do. When it comes out, trust me, you'll know.

Also, as mentioned last issue, took Aline back to South Carolina, it was a fucking feeding frenzy, Friendly Cafe, home of the best damn southern chili cheeseburger ever, has closed down after over sixty years- again, what the damnfuck- but some guy who used to cook there went to- I forget the fucking name, something Mill, another authentic old lunch counter type place- and took the Friendly chili cheeseburger recipe with him, so we went there and I ate two huge CCBs (hold the fries, and yeah, I know it's crazy, but no sugar in my tea), then we went to- Jesus, I hate this, I NEVER forget these things, never used to, anyway, but I can't remember the name of this cafeteria, been going there since I was a kid- for dinner and I got both fried chicken and catfish- and if you're only used to the catfish we get around here, I don't care for it either, it's usually dry, and both musty smelling and tasting, forget it, ths is a whole different animal, moist and delicious, with a hint of cayenne in the cornmeal coating- plus sides of sweet taters, turnip greens with turnip chunks, blackeye peas with bacon, broccolli and cauliflower salad, a big chunk of cornbread- I wouldn't have gotten it otherwise, but it came with the fish- and a big piece of pie I thought was coconut cream but turned out to be pineapple. I ate every damn bite, and it was GOOD, and I looked and felt like the python tried to swallow the alligator, i.e. GOOD.

(YOU THINK ANYONE REALLY GIVES A SHIT WHAT YOU EAT?)

I think I don't care.

Incredibly, later that night I ate a gigantic pimento cheese sandwich- feeding FRENZY, he said-I've talked multiple times about Southern pimento cheese before, let me do so again cos it is fucking ace, this isn't that sweety bland muck you get around here, down south they make it with sharp cheese and mayonnaise, not "salad dressing", yuck, Jesus, what a USELESS and nasty fucking creation, Miracle Whip my ass, only thng that vile shit could possibly be good for is if I needed to miracle whip my dick and there was nothing else around to lube it up with. Market that, you Kraft bastards.

I was going to go off on Aline's worthless as fuck son Tracy, but I just went off on Miracle Whip, don't have another rant in me just yet. I'll just say Tracy's as punk ass a person as I've ever come across, he LOOKS like a goddamn weasel, and he is, if he stays out of jail it'll be a miracle cos he's not abiding by the rules of his probation, lazy ass motherfucker won't work, I'm all about the not working thing but if the consequences are incarceration, I say get a damn job, he's behnd in his child support and wants Aline to pay it, and she probably will, she has before, his brothers and sisters, good, good people all, are completely done with him, Teresa's husband Mike won't allow Tracy in their house anymore which I'm sure is smart cos I wouldn't put it past Tracy to rob 'em blind, Aline's next youngest son Jeff got jumped and beat up by some guys who thought he was Tracy . . . as much as I love Aline, which is considerable, I can't stand the sight of the whiney ass, "none of this is my fault" little fucker, truly.

(GLAD YOU DECIDED NOT TO RANT).

However, while I was in Rock Hill I got to see my little buddy- not so little now at age eleven- Tanner, aka the Flying Dutchman, and give him good counsel, which he wisely, or maybe not so, came to me seeking.

(YOU'RE AN ENGLISH MAJOR?)

Yeah.

(AND YOU WRITE A SENTENCE LIKE THAT?)

You ain't seen nothing yet.

Anyway, once we get to Aline's and settled, in between feeding frenzies, Tanner's mom Teresa came down, tells me, "Tanner's really wanting to talk to you about something, he won't tell me or Mike what it is . . . you be nice now, hear?"

What else could I possibly be?

So Tanner comes down, he calls me Mister Falcon, holy fuck do I love this kid, wants my advice on something, hey, that's why I'm here (incidentally, it was far too dry to fish, the dock we fished off of a few years ago was on dry land now, the lake was so far down it was sad, and scary, it was the same in Colorado, water wise, get ready boys and girls cos in 10-20 years there's not gonna be any fresh water left, and the ocean will be right outside your front door, believe it). Turns out Tanner's in love-

(AND HE'S COMING TO YOU FOR ADVICE?)

-with the thirteen year old girlfriend of his twelve year old cousin Clay (all the kids down here have these antebellum white folks names, besides Tanner and Clay I also ran into Hamilton and Parker later that day). I decide to give him the best advice I can, and I just wrote down our dialog, but on reflection, it's not really that funny or interesting-

(AND TALKING ABOUT PIMENTO CHEESE IS?)

-wait till I get started on ginger ale. So to condense, first I gave the Dutchman some kidding around advice, which was funny cos the poor kid doesn't know Mister Falcon as well as he should, although to be fair, one of my greatest gifts is to be able to say the most outrageous things with a totally straight face, FD took me seriously and was both appalled and a little frightened, so then I gave him some genuine advice- if he wasn't willing to kill his cousin, get the fuck over it and get your own girl- which I hope he takes.

A little while after the Dutchman went back home, Teresa walked down, asked if we'd had a nice talk, I told her yes, she then jokingly (I guess) asked "You didn't tell him to hit someone with one of those metal chairs, did you?" which was both funny and prescient as I sure as hell did, and when he told me they didn't have any- "They probably have some at church", "You want me to hit him with a chair at CHURCH?" "What better place, he'll never expect it, plus, when you crush his skull, he's already right there with God"- I told him to whack Clay with a baseball bat- "Hold it behind your back and say, "Clay, what's that over there?', and when he turns to look"- but I told Teresa, "Of course not." With a totally straight face.

(YOU REALIZE IF THAT KID KILLS HIS COUSIN-)

Nah, he liked the getting his own girl idea a lot better. Besides, I've never talked to that kid in my life, understand?

As compensation for our man to man, Death Falcon to Flying Dutchman conversation I told Tanner he needed to steal me a pair of his Aunt Denise's panties. "You mean like her UNDERWEAR?" "I mean exactly like her underwear, yes. The kind she wears on her fine, fine butt. And don't take any of that fancy ass lace shit, that stuff's too damn chewy, and gets caught in your teeth, just get me a nice plain pair of cotton panties, got it?" "Okay . . . " He's supposed to get them and keep them for me until I bring my Mom down in the spring, but I'm not holdng my breath.

(KID COULD SURPRISE YOU)

One can only hope.

"Aku must think me a fool to walk into so obvious a trap . . . FOOL I BE." Samurai Jack

What's Bill been watching? More of the best samurai ever- it takes a while to get through 39 episodes. Not a lot else, really, Monsterfest on AMC was its typical pitiful non event, I diid try to watch a couple films I haven't seen since they came out in the early 80's The Howling, and The Fog (you ever notice how in some things Adrienne Barbeau's tits look huge, and in others they just look sort of big? I have. And have you noticed how some women have pink nipples, and some women have brown? I've noticed that, as well), one afternoon at Al's, eventually had to turn both of them off, Al just can't watch that kind of stuff, he can't differentiate at all anymore about what's real on television and what's not, anything even mildly scary, like say the X-Files, just disturbs the fuck out of hs demented geezer ass.

Actually, I have been watching something else, got an e-mail a while back from a NL reader named Bret in Louisiana, asked if I liked FMW (Frontier Martialarts Wrestling), I said sure, he said if I'd send him my address he'd send me 18 hours of FMV video for free, I figured nothing ventured, so I did, amazingly, while I was in Colorado 18 hours of FMW video from Bret showed up in my mail box. I've been watching it a lot while on the aerobic step, and thanks a lot to Bret (how'd you end up reading this thing, by the way, I never did ask).

We had a Halloween Movie Club a couple weekends ago, everyone was supposed to bring scary movies, no one did, so we watched The Wild Bunch instead, and smoked cigars and drank beer, except Rosa, who drank martinis, la de da, and ate cream of cheeseburger that Rosa and Doug thoughtfully brought along.

What's Bill been listening to? More SSSLB CD's from way back when, (a NL reader told me a while back that he read in the NY Times- I can't imagine why you'd bother with the Times when you've got this thing, all I can say is that I hope you read the BBNL first, and realize it's far more truthful and accurate- that sometime in 2008, Target, Best Buy, Circuit City and Wal-Mart are going to quit carrying CDs, don't make a fuck to me, greedy ass Biz over Art bastards have pretty much ruined music anyway as far as I'm concerned). While looking through the Music Masters catalog, again a while back, I saw some stuff by Felt, I remember the reviews in the old Trouser Press Guides saying Felt were good and comparing them to Television, so I figured I'd try one, better to buy something over twenty years old that you've never heard, based on a review you read over fifteen years ago, than anything current, that's what I say.

I got Forever Breathes The Lonely Word, I would have gotten the wonderfully titled Let The Snakes Crinkle Their Heads To Death (Rory Gallagher really should have talked to these guys about naming LPs) but it was only an EP, for the same price. I was hoping when TP said Felt sounded like Television they meant that they had that same cool, spikey guitar sound- instead, they meant the guy can't sing worth a fuck, like Tom Verlaine. Actually, he sings better than Tom- Joe sings better than Tom- and after a few listens- nothing really jumps out at you- and you start to make out the lyrics, which are well above average, it gets pretty good. Got a lot of organ on it as well, which we know Bill always likes.

Also listening to Bolt Of Apollo by Black Sun Ensemble cos the guy from Aural Innovations, who's usually pretty spot on, drooled all over it calling it a "new psychedelic masterpiece", not, it's not bad, but coming at it with heightened expectations like I was, I was disappointed.

Had Al in Borders a couple week ago, we had dinner with Robby at IHoP, then went over to the mall, Robby and Al drank coffee and ate pastry- you know, I bet Al could eat a box of doughnuts-

(HELL, HE'D THINK HE ONLY ATE ONE)

-exactly, "Why am I so damn full on one doughnut" "Cos you ate it twelve times", I may do that this week for a lark, "Here, Al you want a doughnut?" "Okay." "Here, Al, you want a doughnut?" "Okay." "Here, Al, you want-" Don't get so fucking excited, I'm only kidding- who do you think would have to clean up the mess when he pooped out a dozen damn doughnuts down his skinny leg, anyway?

While they sat, Bill looked through the store, found some good books but I'm gonna wait till I bring some discount coupons with me to buy 'em, also found The Best of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds which I'd borrowed from Falcobnette Anita either a million, or two and a half years ago, good CD, never got a copy made of it like I'd wanted to back then so I picked it up at Borders, it was discussed in issue Red Right Hand so I'm not going to re-review it here other than to say "I held her hand, but I don't hold it now" is as pithy and poignant a statement of loss as you're going to find.

Had something nostalgic and weird happen last week driving home form Al's, I seldom to never listen to the radio in the car, like 99% of everything else, it gets on my nerves, but I was really tired that morning, imagine that, so I turned it on to help keep me awake, and heard "Jet", by Paul McCartney and Wings and then "Rock On" by David Essex, back to back. What's so nostalgic and weird about that, you ask? Well, I'm here to tell you.

Back in February of 1974- you want the exact date, it was February 26, you want the weather report, well, it was after 6 pm so it was dark, it was February, so it was cold- Kathie (that's how she spelled it) Dodson and I made love for the first time in the front seat of the Falconmobile, parked down past Ridenour Lake, and those two songs were playng, in that order, while we were doing it. I'm mildly embarrassed to admit it only took two songs, start to finish, but that was many years ago.

(YEAH, NOW IT TAKES YOU TWO SONGS JUST TO GET YOUR DAMN TRUSS OFF).

Good one.

It made an impressionon me, we all know how music does that to Bill, and a few months later, one beautiful spring evening- we broke up July 10, 1974, her call, hurt at the time but I'm over it, mostly, one of the many stressors on our relationship was that her parents absolutely, deservedly hated me- I wouldn't let MY girls go out with that sex crazed drunken troublemaking car wrecking bastard, believe it- I was kissing her goodnight at her front door, and then I smiled at her and said "Jet" and she got it immediately, smiled back at me and said "Rock on."

In print that looks a little, I don't know, silly, goofy, even, but in real life it was very romantic and sweet.

(WAS IT PITHY AND POIGNANT AS WELL?)

No, but you're an insensitive dick.

(AND DAMN PROUD OF IT)

Anyway, both of those songs have always held a special place in my heart, but the other morning was the first time I've heard them back to back since, well, February 26, 1974.

What's Bill been reading? Read the graphic novels I got from Tinnell, they were all good, but my favorite was The Faceless accurately described as being like "The Saint crossed with Curse Of The Demon". Also read that beer book mentioned a while back, not as boring as I was afraid it'd be, found out how Schlitz, which was a BIG time beer when I was a kid, fuck, when you're out of Schlitz you're out of beer, not to mention beng the beer that made Milwaukee famous, number three in the nation, how it went to shit so fast, it was cos the last guy from the German family who started Schlitz died and it was taken over by businessmen instead of brewers, who figured brand loyalty was a hell of a lot stronger than it was, and that folks would drink piss if it came in the Schlitz can, and so cut costs tremendously by making a much cheaper, really shitty tasting beer- and in six years- I remembered it being fast- Schlitz went from #3 in the country to bankrupt. Fucking businessmen.

(STARVING, GUTTER, POOP WATER GRUEL?)

Exactly.

Read some other library books, and Blaze by Stephen King that Laura let me borrow and that wasn't too bad, started this library book down at Al's last week, collection of vampire stories, cover looked really good so it fooled me, I get about three stories in and "Fuck. This is FGF," which a look at the editors on the back flap would have warned me of, I can't stand that shit cos it sucks, so I was stuck with nothng to read that night.

Finally, reading Rock's Wild Things about the Troggs, (cover price $18.99, I got it for $2) I love the British Invasion anyway, this is some good, entertaining stuff, one of their competing bands back in the day was Hubble Fudge- how the fuck do you come up with a band name lke Hubble Fudge? Does someone just blurt out "Hubble Fudge!", like having a seizure? I imagine you'd have to, cos even giving it two seconds thought, you'd never name your fucking band Hubble Fudge- one of their management companies was called Gaytime Promotions, I have no doubt, also, did you know that Angelina Jolie's uncle wrote the song "Wld Thinig?" Explains a lot.

What's Bill drinking? Rolling Rock, but as hair of the dog, I'm going to try and keep it under six tonight, have so far, drank a few Busch driving back from Parkersburg Satuday night, they were the first beers I've had since MC two weeks earlier- no, fuck me for a liar, that's not true, Joe and I went down to Huntington last week to get some stuff out of the computer at Al's, drank three pitchers of weak and sour Bud at the Twentieth Street Bar and Grill where Tommy works in the kitchen on Sunday afternoons, place has really gotten run down since I was last in there, I was gonna say a few yerars ago, it was actually over ten, April of '97, then went back to Joe's house and drank a couple Harpoon IPA- then last night I wasn't feeling good- as mentioned earlier, got a pretty bad cold- laid down at 5:30 when I got back from Al's and slept a couple hours, got up and started drinking beer, figured I'd just relax and have a few while I read the Troggs book, go to bed early, but I guess that nap gave me my second wind cos I kept drinking and getting more and more wired, not less, till I finally went upstairs about 6 am, only drank fourteen beers in all that time, but I'm still feeling rough today, I thnk it's cos I'm sick (and tired) as well as hungover.

"We have two animals fighting in the ring . . . but one of them is a good animal!" Lord Athol Layton

"I'm catching my blood!" Playboy Buddy Rose.

Been a while since we talked about DFZ, so long I haven't addressed the comments I got on the photos from Regatta a couple issues ago, yeah, I agree, I think the black singlet is a good look for him also.

Not much recent action, Scarefest got cancelled, XMCW on hiatus right now, a combination of problems in Allen's personal life and getting burnt out on wrestling, I feel his pain, says he's gonna start XMCW back up after the first of the year. DFZ's only worked two matches since last issue, both for Ohio hardcore feds, took a lackluster win over Damian (sweet kid, limited worker) for Pure Impact Wrestling, next weekend had an even worse tag match for Barbed Wire Wrestling, the guy I was tagging with was coming back after being away from the ring for six years, he should have stayed away, he made Damian look like Lou fucking Thesz, terrible worker, blew the fucking ending, he didn't even understand the basics of a hot tag- I asked Heath if I could work this guy, Twister, next show, but Heath knows I'm pissed at the guy so he probably won't do it. Be the longest three minutes of Twister's fucking life if it happens, though.

Went to Parkersburg to take Brandon's New Breed belt away from him last Saturday- I was promptly going to rename it the Old Breed belt- but some kid got hurt, at first they thought bad, cranial or spinal injury one, they stretchered him out, legit, but now I hear he just has a concussion- two matches before main event, which was us, and they cancelled the rest of the show. Probably worked out for the best, anyway, as now that I'm not committed to a belt I can walk away from that Fed, which is what I'm going to do, cos I don't like the way they're doing things.

(WAIT A MINUTE. THIS IS ONE OF THE BIGGEST FEDS IN THE STATE, THEY HAVE NATIONAL AFFILIATION WITH THE AWA, THEY ARE ALL ABOUT ME, WANT ME TO BEAT NOT ONE, BUT BOTH OF THEIR FUCKING CHAMPIONS AND BECOME THEIR FIRST UNIFIED CHAMP- AND YOU DON'T LIKE HOW THEY'RE RUNNING THINGS?!?!)

No.

With no Decvmber AWA/MWA show now, and a couple other cancellations besides- PIW are pulling out of Portland cos the dicks that run the building there stole about $250 bucks from the gate last show- all DFZ now has left this year is the House of Pain show at the Apollo in Martinsburg this weekend, looking forward to that, and the BCW Brink of Death death match tournament 12/8 in Rutland, OH, that should actually be a lot of fun as well.

Haven't done Bill's dreams in a while, had a couple good ones, one Friday night and one last night, we'll do them and then out, this is getting long and it's getting late- not really late, I guess, but I'm tired, I'm just going to give the SOC it's own issue, wait until I get some photos from Jean, maybe I can find my notes by then. So . . .

I dream I'm in some kind of fighting tournament in Japan, it's more like a video game tournament than real cos it's got animals and robots and monsters and shit in it, my opponent is this crocodile looking guy, croc head and body but he stands on two legs and he's wearing pants- and my second is my Dad. Loretta's mom used to freak out whenever she dreamed about people who were dead cos she said it was a bad omen or something, but I dream about dead foks all the time. Anyway, the fight is about to start, we're outside in this sand pit with the circular arena seats rising up all around us, I look back and my Dad hands me this fleshy thing about the size and shape, and color for that matter, of a small football.

Bill: What the hell's this? 
Dad: Grenade wrapped in a pig's ear. Throw it to him, he'll eat it . . . boom.

I'm thinking "damn, good idea", I should have known better, I throw the grenade/ear to this thing and sure enough it swallows it . . . and then starts to grow.

B: What the fuck? 
D: Damn, that might have been the enlarging pill. Hold on. 
B: Oh, for Christ's- 
D: Wait, here's the grenade. 
B: It's TOO LATE NOW!

This damn crocodile thing is already the size of a dinosaur and still growing, I turn and run like fuck, the crowd stars booing, my Dad is going, "come back, I got another idea," the dream fast forwards and I've run halfway across town, I turn to look back, croc thng is now the size of Godzilla, towering over the arena, it starts out after me, I start running again, and wake up.

The dream I had last nght was even better, continuing the dinosaur theme for some reason (I never did relate the title dream for issue She Saw Dinosaurs, I should still do that sometime, it was a real good one, too), I dreamt I was watching this cheap shit Jurassic Park/Carnosuar rip off movie, where these government guys are trying to grow intelligent dinosaurs to fight in our wars, there's a mad, as in crazy, General in charge (even though security isn't soldiers, but these mercenary type guys) and he does something to piss off the dinosaurs and all of a sudden I'm in the movie, as so often happens in these dreams, just as the dinosaurs, a shit load of raptors, and a T. Rex, come busting out of the jungle and through the big barbed wire fence surrounding the lab/compound area like it was nothing, the mercs, of which I'm now one, all start firing, I had an AK instead of my usual dream tommy gun, maybe cos I was a bad guy, I don't know, we're killing some of the raptors, but more guys are getting eaten than raptors shot, and the T. Rex is unstoppable, so I run into the lab building and upstairs, start head shooting raptors from an upstairs window- as usual in my dreams I'm a dead fucking shot- I hear this crash and run back to the top of the stairs, there's these three raptors coming up them, I shoot the fuck out of them, dinosaur brains and blood all over the place, and when I stop shooting, everything is quiet.

I go look back out the window and the battle is over and everything is dead, all the raptors and all the mercs, except the T. Rex, and the crazy ass General, who's out there challenging it to a fsit fight. That doesn't go too well for him, and I'm thnking, okay, it's over now, T. Rex will go back in the jungle- when the fucker starts crashing down the lab building trying to get to me. That pisses me off huge, so I go running outside thinking, I'm gonna shoot that motherfucker's eyes OUT, whether I end up eaten or not, but when I get outside, what's knockng down the building isn't a dinosaur. It's Katee Sackoff from Battlestar Galactica, in leather dominatrix gear.

Hot damn. Tricia Helfer is normally my BG girl, but I have to say Katee looked absolutely mouthwatering in this dream. She starts toward me and I'm flat fucking ready to go, for all that she's like 30 feet tall or something, hey, I love a challenge, but then she starts growling and I realize she's still the T. Rex, it's just now, for whatever bizarro Bill dream logic reason, disguised itself as a super hot blond in leather gear (and the last time I related a monster into hot woman into monster dream in here, I do have a lot of them, numerous variations on the theme, I got a bunch of "Bill sees women as monsters" psychobabble responses, keep it to yourselves this time around, okay?)

I'm kind of torn about what to do, fuck it or shoot it, and to make matters worse as Katee Rex approaches me she starts shrinking, so when she's just a few feet away from me she's human size and I've got a hard on that was still with me when I woke up . . . then Katee opens her arms and smiles and winks at me, that settles that, I throw down the AK and go for her- and in an eyeblink she turns into a raptor and bites me in the neck and kills me, and then I woke up, in a really, really bad mood.

Now I'm gonna go- no, wait, I forgot to include this way back at the beginning, guess where I'm going to be the weekend of December 15th/16th? Visiting my girl Rachie, and staying under Paul and Loretta's roof- I know, the end of life on Earth is near, I can't help it. Sarah is coming back from her world tour Monday the 17th, really wants me to be there with her Mom and Paul to meet her when she gets off the plane, she'd already expressed that wish to me before she even left, so during that marathon conversation last summer I asked Loretta how she felt about me staying that weeknd in her house, and then riding to the airport with her and Paul.

She was okay with it, she said, but, "Do you think you can handle it?" she asked. I looked her dead fuck in the eye and told her "I think you'll have a hell of a lot harder time staying out of my bed than I will out of yours," and I'm telling you, if you never believe another word I ever write, believe these, she looked me back in the eye and said "You're probably right." Damn fucking straight I am. So, incredibly, I'll be visiting in Baltimore next month and sleepng in the same house as Loretta for the first time six and a half years.

I'm not saying Loretta exactly warmed up to me last summer, but among other verbal concessions she did grudgingly admit that on a certain level, like horizontal, she did miss me, and noted "Life with you was never dull". Very true, in fact, exactly and only three times in the entire twenty five years that Loretta and I were together did she say to me, "Dear God, Bill, you're boring the shit out of me" . . . and each time was during anal sex.

(SO THERE YOU GO).

There you go, indeed. Okay, now I'm going to go. Anything else you want to say?

(FAST COMES THE HOUR WHEN FADES THE FAIREST FLOWER).

Damn. Beat me to it.

Do you still want to be like me . . .

Later

Bill