Every night before I rest my head Hey Who's your uncle? I said, WHO'S YOU'RE FUCKING UNCLE?! Well, it ain't me (unless you're Tommy, poor kid), but my Uncle's named Sam, and he says I GET FREE MONEY. The hearing guy up at unemployment says I'm entitled, so hell, I'm going to take it. And take it, and take it and take it. Not going to gloat about it, cos that's not what I'm about (dear God in Heaven, Bitner, gloating is exactly what you're about- the only thing worse than you when you lose, is you when you win, because you love to put it in everyone's face- ahem, I know a certain Death Falcon needs to keep his mouth shut, or instead of starring in DF0 Vs. The Nymphomaniac Amazons Of Bisexia, it'll be Vs The Flying Saucers Full Of Sharks From Hell. So there). If I may continue . . . I assume all of you said your prayers for the Death Falcon Thursday night, and I appreciate it, sincerely, but I'm telling you, you people need to get your asses back to church, I damn near got killed Never again will I try to wrestle (and WRESTLE) with my dad along. It's just too difficult to work out, and I don't need the damn stress fucking up something that's supposed to be fun. Our trip was cut short by car trouble, the transmission kept slipping coming across all those hills on I-68, started preying on my dad's pea brain, also the fact that they were predicting heavy snow for Sunday along that same area when we would be trying to come back, so we came back Friday. The events of the trip are related in the following Martinsburg Is Heck. As for the match, I don't know what the hell it is about Hagerstown, both times I went up there with a sore neck, both times I've come back with a FUCKING SORE NECK. Damien, my opponent, was a nice guy, not at all like the unlamented Punkazz. About my height, sort of fat, he said 240 but he looked bigger, had those ghastly man breasts that it just grosses me out to touch, maybe 30 years old, been wrestling a couple years, didn't give a shit whether he won or lost, talked to him about working stiff, he says fine (this would later come back to bite my ass), not too bright but real cooperative. The match went pretty well at the start. He's real basic, headlocks and body slams, no sweat stuff. One of the standard Death Falcon spots is me taking two clotheslines by the other guy running the ropes, then ducking the third, hitting the guy with a knee to the midsection, and giving him an exploder suplex (Japanese name for the T-Bone, I just think it sounds much cooler, only the Japanese say "exproder"- well, they do). Taz used to do these suplexes a lot, when he was still wrestling. So, we do that, about halfway through the match. The first time he hits me really hard across the chest, which is okay, I asked for it, only he runs the ropes too fast (or I get up too slow) cos I'm not even fully erect (grow up) coming off the first one when he's right there, and I can see he's coming in way high with his second clothesline. I turn my head like you're supposed to, so he hits me along side the neck instead of across the throat. The good thing is that I don't get my larynx crushed. The bad thing is this guy still clotheslines the hell out of me along the left side of my neck, and my left arm goes completely numb. This is a problem. He comes in for the third one, again too damn fast (for me), I manage to catch him and do my best to give him a one arm exploder. I get him up and over, but in so doing, pull the living shit out of something along the back of my right leg. At least now I'm kind of balanced. My left arm from shoulder to fingertips is numb. My right leg, from my damn (tight and good looking, girls!) buttock, back down behind the knee, all the way to my heel, is on fire. At this point, there's nothing else to do but throw Damien out of the ring and jump on him. So, I do. A one armed, one legged plancha is even more than I'm up for, so I went for the tope. I've seen Black Warrior spike guys five rows into the crowd with his tope con hilo. My suicide dive wasn't nearly that impressive, but I did stick ol' Damien dead damn square, and get him into the second row, and I think he would've gone deeper, but he got snagged on this fat kid. We get back into the ring, ready for the finish- and I can't pull it off. Story of my damn life. I finally find someone with the balls to let me hit him with the Falcon Arrow (which is a vertical suplex into a Michinoku driver, a fucking awesome move), but one armed, I can't get him up in it. God bless it. I was able to get him slung across my shoulder, so I did this bastardized sort of power slam/tombstone piledriver type thing, and pinned him. In the back all the guys (I refuse to use that biz speak "the boys" shit, I think that's just too fucking cute) told me it was a great match, which was nice to hear, one guy told me "You must be a lot stronger than you look" which I'm not sure was a compliment, he might've been saying I look like a fucking weenie. John's all about me working for him regular, but Hagerstown is just too damn far. As for photos, it was the exact same little idiot up there on the camera, he's somebody's fucking relative, wouldn't you know. He took a couple in the back, big deal, got those, I know he took a couple during the match, asked him afterward if he got my tope, he's like "You're what?" "Goddamn it you little numb nuts, when I jumped through the ropes!" "Uh, maybe." So we'll see, but I'm not real optimistic. Gotta get in a ring here local, so you all can just come and see it, pictures don't really do the Death Falcon justice, anyway. Anyone who's got a few thousand to invest, i.e. lose, get in touch with me ASAP. Love to bring in some crazed big time talent (like Sabu) for like a 30 minute match and just tear the damn place down. No kidding, your jaws would just be on the fucking floor (so would mine).
What's Bill drinking? Antifreeze. What's Bill been eating? Other than Staci, not much. Had breakfast- Friday?- with my dad (I'm serious, it's fucking hard to keep track of your days when most of them start after dark), nothing the rest of that day, nothing at all on Saturday, then sometime Sunday AM I get hungry, so I ate 3 bowls of potato soup and 4 grilled cheese sandwiches. They don't call me The Snake for nothing. Actually, they don't call me The Snake at all, but if they did, it wouldn't be for nothing. It would be for two things. What else has Bill been doing? Mostly lying around with the cold pack on my neck (when it's not on the back of my thigh). That mother fucking Death Falcon does this to me every time, goes out and gets all fucked up, then takes off that damn mask and leaves me to deal with the consequences. And no, this is not affectation, Death Falcon Zero and Bill Bitner are absolutely not one and the same person. Trust me (but not him). Don't think I've done anything irreparable, I think my hamstring's just pulled, not torn, I can walk and all, it's just really sore, same with the neck. Might want to think twice about doing this shit, not having any health insurance . . . nah. Supposed to go over to DF Sean's tonight for the pay-per view, my dad needed to borrow my car so I begged off, just as well, I'm not feeling real social tonight, sure as shit not like watching WWE. Sean said Tori had him buy her a new coloring book just for tonight, so she and I'd have something to do together (that kid is SO cute), told him to tell her I'll stop by one night this week while the girls are performing and we'll just color up a damn storm. One of my dad's old working compadres, Bob, they've been friends like 30 years, went for a stress test Friday, and dropped dead. Guess that means he failed. My dad, for all that he's a fucking crabby deaf retard, is a hell of a guy. Bob was in a nursing home, I don't think his family got by much, so once a week for the past two years my dad would pick up lunch someplace and take it over and he and Bob would have lunch together. Hope he never brought him Chinese, "Here, try some of this mustard". Anyway, the memorial service was tonight and that's why he needed my car. And I'll say it again, my dad really is a hell of a guy. He's still a fucking retard. Both my little thespians are in "Mary" this week and next at the Capitol Theater for those of you so inclined. Got some comments back on Drains, Chapter 2- yes, Mr. Spurlock, I am a bastard, but I'm your bastard, goddammit, and I don't feel so bad giving you the most horrendous death in the book- yer buddy Chris K don't fare too well, either. I'll call you later this week. Some of the rest of you, let me know, and I'm not just sucking for "Oh damn Bill, it's great" let me know what you think, I can take it, got some very constructive comments from Chris S on Chapter 1 (a brief aside, I do a few different bunch e-mailings of this, plus a bunch of individual, and out of those there are 6 Chris's, 6 David's, 6 Kathy's, and 5 Joe's). What's it mean? Nothing, far as I know. Gonna get to M is H, send 'em both out in a bit. I won't toe your line today Bill
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As for Staci, she backed out on being my valet, said what she was
going to wear was "too revealing", Jesus, look at who's gone
all modest. And I was going to suggest she come out wearing nothing but
El Atomico's borrowed mask (and a smile), which isn't that far fetched,
if any of you out there have seen the Japanese movie Keiko Mask, well
first, I'm real damn impressed, but second, the heroine wears nothing
but a red mask and a cape and kills the bad guys by landing on their
faces (yeah, I know, what a way to go). The Japanese are real weird
about nudity, they do that computer fogging stuff whenever genitalia
would be showing, one of the characters even says at one point "I
can no longer function, she showed her vagina." Know how you feel
there, too, Mr. Japanese man.
And no, I haven't actually seen it either, although you can get it
for $20 from VSOM (hey, Steve) but I read The Psychotronic Video Guide
every time I go to the bathroom (Steve knows what I'm talking about) so
I can quote the damn thing from memory. Like now.
I did go back to her apartment with Staci for a while afterward, and
honesty compels me to admit, she didn't exactly end up with Billy Love
Machine. "Yeah, that feels great, darling, and I really like doing
that with you, but would you massage my neck again? Yeah, like that . .
. oh yes, YES . . . sorry. What? No, I don't think I can do that. That?
Well, we can . . . ah, AH, no, God, that hurts too much. How about I
just lay here on my back and try not to move?" Oh well.
Honesty also forces me to say, deny it though she might, Staci is a
stone wrestling groupie, and THAT'S what she sees in me, Laura. That,
and my big tope. What the fuck, works for me.