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11/29/05 Heroes Are Hard To Find
Hey But I don't, know better that is, or I wouldn't keep doing these things. Even if this one comes after a new record gap between issues, three weeks and three days, still, it comes. As do I, although like this thing, not as often as I used to. Before we get to the good stuff, I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving (as long as you didn't call it Turkey Day, or mentioned anything about "all the trimmings", in which case I hope you fucking choked on something). I normally do a pre-holiday issue but didn't get one out this year. I'm not going get preachy, but I have not a doubt that every one of you reading this have something to be sincerely thankful for, fuck, if you've got a roof over your head and food in your stomach then you're better off than a billion people on this planet right now, easy. I hate when people say that kind of crap to me, but it is true. And as always, I can advise you to at the very least be thankful that you’re not me, someone whose ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE has been nothing but a train wreck of Bangladeshi proportions, year after fucking year of idiotic, never learning a damn thing "why the fuck'd I do THAT" decisions, pissed away opportunities, and completely wasted potential, if you can find me anyone who even approaches my God (I presume) given gifts of brains, charm, and freak of nature physicality who's come even close to doing less with theirs than I have mine, I will absolutely kiss your ass.
I continue to find it immensely gratifying, all the mail I get off of this thing, and to all of you who've written in recently concerned over my health, both physical and mental- I think you may have reason to be. For whatever reason, be it residual effects from that fucking concussion, stress, sleep deprivation, my brain abusive past finally catching up with me, or those damn aliens from Dimension X trying to make contact again, my head is fucked. I've had the headache from hell for over a month now. You're talking to someone who is no stranger to headaches, bad ones, but these are on a whole different level. Number one, they (it?) won't go away, and number two, it's so fucking bad I can't even drink, and you have to know that's bad. Very bad. Also, my depth perception is fucked, this past month I'm continually going to set something down, my glasses, a book, a cup of tea, and totally missing whatever I was trying to set it on, or else misjudging the surface level itself, I'll go to set something down on what looks flat to me, and only after whatever I tried to set down- more often than not a cup full of liquid, steaming hot- has spilled all over the fucking place do I realize the surface was fucking tilted. Jesus. And besides being even more short tempered that usual, if that's possible (You can say what you will about me/Talk is cheap and I don't mind), my head still has that full of cotton sensation whenever I try to pull something out of my memory, the other night I couldn't remember the girl's phone numbers- I've only called them hundreds of times in the past two and half years- but I could NOT remember the last four digits to save my shitting life, I dialed a couple times, what I thought might be right, wrong number every time, fuck. I mean seriously, FUCK. That should not be. Sunday I needed to call Kat about Al, another number I've dialed a hundred times at least, and I couldn't remember it either. I also went down to put some stuff in the storage building the other day and couldn't remember which one it was, had to go around trying my key in the various padlocks till I hit the right one. Have I already said FUCK? The insomnia is still here as well- look, I already said I was a mess- when I do sleep I thrash and roll like I'm having seizures, I woke up upon hitting the floor the other night after whirling myself out of bed, took me a bit to get the kicking and banging my head on the floor under control, I may have actually been having a seizure, who knows. Not me, that's for sure. I'm also beginning to think me moving in here was as bad for my Mom as it's been for me, cos since I've gotten here she's quit doing ANYTHING, its all become this "let Bill do it" deal, I think if I could eat and shit and breathe for her she'd let me. And her head is such a mess it makes me even in my current (God, I hope it's not permanent) impaired state look like Jesus Einstein. Something as simple as taking her on a trip to the grocery store is now a task of Sisiphyian endurance, two weeks ago we spent 4 1/2 hours in Kroger. I do not exaggerate and in case you didn't catch it the first time, that was FOUR AND ONE HALF HOURS. Last week we went to Wal-Mart- over my protests- to just get a few things for my Dad's birthday party (he turned 78 last Wednesday, we took some cake and ice cream up to Meadowbrook), and were in there for almost three hours. Which seemed even longer than the 4 1/2 hours in Kroger, I'm not trying to go all elitist, or maybe I am, but I truly do despise Wal-Mart, the hell with their corporate policies, which are slimy in the fucking extreme, I mostly hate the crowded, hillbilly hell nature of the place, how every motherfucking Bubba and Doris, whenever they roll out of the fucking holler, have got to make a stop at Wal-Mart. I just wrote a really evil, mean spirited paragraph- some good stuff, too- about Wal-Mart shoppers, but I deleted it, it was too ugly even for me. I realize these people are easy targets, but every time I go in Wal-Mart I just want to break out a fucking chain saw and start swinging it. (JUST MAKE SURE YOU BRING JOE ALONG TO SHOW YOU HOW TO START IT). Good point. But once it's started . . . (ONCE IT'S STARTED, YOU'RE THE FUCKING MAN, NO QUESTION). Call me Leatherface. (I ALREADY DO), Cute. As for living here with my Mom- I understand now why my Dad had a stroke, and I'm not even kidding. She's crushing my brain. Swear to God. She is crushing. My fucking. Brain. Not to worry, though, cos I'm not going to bail on her, or my Dad when he comes home- his discharge has been pushed back to the first of the year- no matter how shitty it gets. My Mom and Dad have been good parents to me all this time, and I'd be an even more worthless piece of shit than I am to not stand by them now when they're old and frail and in need. Besides, it was my Mom who created this egotistical Bill monster anyway, by telling me my entire life, from my earliest memory to just today, what a damn good boy I am. Although upon closer thought I'm not so sure that hasn't always been said pretty much in the same way you'd speak to a dog you're afraid might bite- "Good boy, gooood boy, oh yes, he's such a good boy." Whatever, I haven't bitten yet. Them, anyway. As for my Dad, his good days are pretty good- he was walking unassisted except for a quad cane last week, two days straight, which was really encouraging, but then he hasn't been able to since. And for those of you asking, I finally got to see his medical records from when he was first hospitalized, he had an aneurysm, which is a bleed, as opposed to an embolism, which is a clot, they did do another CAT scan when he went back to the hospital for a second time from Institute rehab- I had no fucking idea, they must've told my Mom- and he had anywhere from 6-8 smaller strokes after the first one. Which I already pretty much knew just from seeing him decline his first stay at rehab. His head has been good lately, very little confusion- which is not the same as none at all, sadly- I spent most of Veteran's Day with him watching old war movies on AMC, that got him all worked up and into telling his old AAC stories, I really should have gotten those things on tape years ago, he started telling me this story about how he got made company clerk for a time while he was in Bermuda, cos he could type- something similar happened to Al when he was in the Navy- after a few weeks of typing up the duty assignments the Lt. in charge told my Dad to go ahead and do the assigning as well, to save him the trouble. B: So, what'd you do? Ha. My Dad gave all these Sergeants who'd given him shit all the worst fucking assignments, he said as soon as the first duty roster he'd done was posted word got out my Dad had done the assigning, some big ass prick Sergeant comes in raising hell to the Lt., "I've been in the Army 20 fucking years, you're telling me I have to do KP cos this asshole says so?", the Lt. told him, "No. You have to do it cos I say so. Get the fuck outta here." It's been 50 years and my Dad still laughs his ass off telling it. It must run in the blood. Back in the sixth grade your man Bill- Billy at the time- was elected Captain of the School Safety Patrol (by the other student patrols, it was not a popular decision with Mrs. Schaar, the patrol sponsor) back at good old Camp Springs Elementary. The whole patrol idea was goofy, kids escorting other kids to school and helping them cross the street and goody good bullshit like that, but you got out of a lot of class to do it, and there were a couple patrol only field trips, plus a good party at the end of the year, so it was something to be, rather than not. And if you're gonna be one, may as well be the fucking boss. Or Captain. As Captain, I was in charge of the duty roster as well, which rotated every two weeks, although unlike my Dad, I didn't give hard assignments to my enemies, I gave posh assignments to my friends. And yeah, you guessed it, even at that age- I'd be out there in the hallway every other Friday afternoon- I could stretch stapling those names on that assignment board from lunch until time to go home, I told you being a patrol had it's perks, sometimes I'd even need 'help', and get a friend out of class all afternoon as well- when along would come Teresa Pelagatti- Teresa Pelagatti: Billy . . . can I have flag duty (a posh assignment)
again? So then she'd rub all up against me- TP: Bil- lee, PLEASE. Although I have to say as the year progressed I did learn how to play the game. TP: Billy, can I have flag duty? So, other than dying a slow, painful death, what else has Bill been doing? Had to take Al to the doctor a couple times- wow, it's been three weeks ago, it HAS been a long time since I've done one of these, back to the urologist for a follow up- I still think the guy is a prick- and his regular doctor, to get a steroid shot in his arthritic left knee, it's been driving Al- and by extension, me- crazy for a while now. The shot didn't seem to help Al's knee pain much- looked gruesome going in, I gotta say- but he did seem to get a nice buzz off of it somehow. Al's doctor is in Charleston, so on the way back to Huntington we stopped and got my Mom and went to eat at the Chinese place there in Cross Lanes, I was gone a lot, day and night, that week with Al, and I was worried about my Mom not eating. The meal went fine, everyone packing down the Chinese, when my Mom gets dessert, this pastry type thing with yellow cream in the middle. Mom: This is good. To illustrate, she points each layer out to me with her fork. M: See? She takes another bite. M: This is really good. I decide to try a different approach B: What flavor is it? She gestures vaguely toward the buffet B: Okay . . . thanks. Al's been following the conversation, he turns to me- Al: So, is it lemon? I think at least part of my Mom's problem is she's deaf as a fucking brick, and of course she won't hear- no pun intended- of getting a hearing aid. If Publisher's Clearing House sold the fuckers, she'd have a dozen. On the drive back to Huntington Al's buzz kicks in. I notice he's feeling downright jaunty, my first indication being that he's singing a song to himself of his own creation. It was kind of sparse on lyrics, the only ones I could decipher being "doodle, oodle do", and what it lacked in melody it certainly made up for in repetition, but Al seemed happy with it, so I was happy for him. Just past Hurricane he lunges forward in his seat and stares up through the windshield like he's just seen the mother of all UFO's- and it's built like Victoria Silvstedt. A: Hot dingity ding! I lean forward, take a look myself. There's not a cloud in the sky, nor anything I can see that could be mistaken for one. B: What clouds, Al? He does, and his pupils are swirling in a way that makes me quite envious. B: Holy shit, Al, you're buzzing like a mother fucker. And Robbie is still a damn idiot, lately keeps asking me, "Did you see that movie on Lifetime Network last night?". "No, and you shouldn't have either, you damn girl." Speaking of TV, I made a mistake last issue, my mom watches the soaps on CBS, not ABC. Although I imagine ABC has some hot bitches as well.
The same damn night Sondra made her faux offer, a little later on, Paula Dean said "I like to dip my balls (I always suspected she had a pair) in paraffin wax cos it makes 'em shiny and pretty". I'm thinking, "Hmm, I'll have to try that", but it turns out SHE was only making candy. With paraffin wax? Whatever, Paula. My Dad can't stand Paula by the way, her absolutely hates her accent, I have to admit it's not the syrupy sweet southern drawl of my beloved Bell girls, Paula just sounds like a hick, but still, I got on to my Dad about it the other day when we were watching Paula up in his room- if he doesn't let me watch what I want to, I go home- "You shouldn't hate someone simply for how they talk, Dad, Jesus." D: Since when did you become such a saint? Long pause. D: I think you may have me there, bucko. As for my two gay guys, they disappeared right after I mentioned them in here, I was feeling bad, sorry for outing you guys and getting you shut down, but Laura told me they were never supposed to be a regular show anyway. So I guess they were an irregular show, how fitting.
And lastly, me and Al both like the girl in the Overstock.com commercials, don’t care for her feeble stab at lip synching, but she's got that 50's pin up look to her that I'm such a damn sucker for. Beside TV, what else has Bill been watching? Well, the girls were in, briefly, for Thanksgiving- what's that, you say, weren't they supposed to stay in Baltimore for Thanksgiving this year? Yes, they were, and Loretta was going to fix a big Thanksgiving dinner for all of Paul's family who live in the area- these are the same people she referred to last year as "my family" when I asked why she wasn't spending Thanksgiving with her Mom and brother here in WV, as in "Because I'm spending it with my family". The only problem? Every single member of her Baltimore "family" declined the invitation. Ouch. And I'm not being pissy here, seriously, just explaining why the girls made it to WV for Thanksgiving when originally they were going to spend it in Baltimore with Loretta's family. So, the girls and I watched "The Butterfly Effect" that Friday evening- they were only with me from 6 pm Thursday till 7 am Saturday- it wasn't bad, but bleak as hell, and I thought it went on a bit too long after making its point. The girls are both doing well, Rachel turned 16 the 17th- dear Lord- and already has a job (no, she wasn't adopted, thank you very much), which I'm quite proud of her getting, she's working at the public library there close to her house, it wasn't any gimme, she had to apply and interview and the whole deal. Good girl, Rach. And Sarah is doing quite well in school, I'm also just as proud of her as I can be, it's no small thing moving away from home for the first time and attending college. I certainly botched it my first attempt, but Sarah seems to be made of infinitely less self destructive stuff than her father. (MOST PEOPLE ARE). No fucking shit. What's Bill been reading? Some more of those old paperback mysteries, great stuff, and "Vixens Of Vinyl", which I saved for last out of all those books I ordered a while back, like taking the cherry off of your banana split and eating it last. This is a GREAT damn book, I just wish it were the actual size of an album cover. I'm telling you, the 50's and the 60's were the pinnacle of sexy album covers, (as well as some damn funny/cheesy song titles, like "It Was Hard When I Told Her Goodbye" and "You Ought To See Her Box (?!)") there are some incredibly good looking women in this book, imaginatively costumed and posed, and every single one of them. praise the Lord, has her own real tits. I tend to go on about this, I know, but when I want to caress or fondle or kiss or even just look at a breast, I want it to be a breast, if I want to fondle a baggie full of salt water, I'll do that. I've only had my hands on half a dozen- no, that would be a dozen, I guess- implanted beasts, some felt better than others, but none of them felt right, at least not to me. I remember a lot of the records in this book from my parents collection when I was a kid, including the classic Herb Alpert and the TB "Whipped Cream And Other Delights", even all gooped up like she is you can tell our hottie model is a buxom lass. One of the many lost treasures from my past is a photo of Loretta replicating that cover taken our second year at Fairmont that I promise you would put a hard on on a dead man. Loretta also took one of me similarly posed, which I hope wouldn't raise any boners out there, but certainly got a nice response from her. We didn't use whipped cream, instead we used warm shaving cream, there used to be this device you could buy that would heat up your can of shaving cream- and I just saw one advertised again not long ago, BUY ONE, trust me on this- many was the Friday night when we'd buy a dozen cans and then take turns covering one another in this really hot shaving cream- holy FUCK, did that feel good. We had this great huge bathtub in that apartment that we'd then fill with hot water and wallow around in there for a while afterward to get the foam off of us. What wonderful times I've had, in my time. What's Bill drinking? Ice water. Been green tea all day, but with the trouble I'm having sleeping I'm avoiding any caffeine after about 7 at night. Which makes me feel like a fucking invalid, but there you go. Other than a single 22 ounce I drank a few weeks ago after wrestling- the same night I got pulled over by the cops, wouldn't you figure, and the night week before last when Joe came out here and helped me with some stuff, and we then went to Cold Spot and drank three pitchers of Newcastle Brown, I've been completely sober for over six weeks now. And I am most definitely complaining, not bragging, but I was serious earlier in this thing, I feel too fucking bad to drink most days I do plan on drinking this coming weekend, however, and to complete and total excess- as Chris said to me in his e-mail the other day, when you say you want to drink tons of beer, you're being literal- I don’t care how damn sick I feel. Your resident freak of fucking nature turns 49 this Thursday, and instead of going out on the actual date as traditional, we're gonna wait till the weekend so everyone can fucking tear it down, not just non working class folk like myself. Even though I don’t feel so great, I'm still working out hard, I was walking through the living room after my shower the other day in my boxers- I still haven't adjusted to not living alone- Tina was there, she asked me, "Has Loretta seen you without your shirt on lately?" "I don’t see how." "You should send her a picture." Shit, and this is from my sister. Why keep me cold That brings us to, what's Bill been listening to? Well, in an effort to continue my descent into past/present confusion madness, I found a bunch of old albums on CD for $4.98 apiece (as always, SSSLB!) so I bought a bunch, this is all stuff I have or had on LP or (lordy) 8 track back in the day, all from '73/'74 except one each from '75 and '76, you could not go to a party my senior year of high school, or first year of college, without hearing at least half of these albums before the night was out, seriously.
And good news for Bill is good news for Doug as well. Danny was in Martinsburg a couple weeks ago for some book signing thing at the Apollo- said it went terribly, no fucking promotion- I made him promise to stop by Leggz and see Jynx and see just what was up, he could do it under the pretense of talking about the movie, he came back with the sad news that she doesn't work there anymore. Shit. I got in touch with our old opponents Crucial Impact, Doken and Kano both live there in Inwood, and they owe me for damn near breaking my arm with that fucking barbed wire ball bat, I talked them into going by Leggz as well- wasn't all that hard, actually. It's not that I didn’t believe Danny, but if Molly was pissed at me, maybe she was pissed at Danny as well, and just had someone tell him she wasn't there anymore- but they got the same word, she doesn't work there any more. I was pretty bummed, but not surprised, that's how this shit usually goes. Then last Friday I get this e-mail from her like there was no problem between us at all, wishing me a happy Thanksgiving, sorry she's been out of touch but she's been real busy with work (?), she's now at Vixens, how have I been, and when am I coming back up to see her? Shit, what time is it now? So, Doug, hopefully some more vicarious stripper banging for you soon. Also heard from my buddy Mr. Angry, who says he has the perfect part for me, a "tough, complex, deeply troubled anti-hero". Hey, we're already making a Death Falcon movie. As for that shitting Death Falcon, he wrestled his 45th and 46th matches of the year last Saturday at what was overall a pretty disastrous- we were there from 9 am to 9:30 pm trying to shoot what, after commercial and "Mat Classic" inserts came out to a little more than two hours of actual wrestling- TV taping in Oak Hill. By comparison, DFZ wrestled 23 matches all of last year, and considered it a busy one. And I got to go back to Oak Hill to wrestle again tomorrow night. It's been going okay, except I'm sore as a fucking bitch, 24/7, The other morning I couldn't even walk down the steps my knee hurt so badly, I had to sit down on my ass and scoot down them. I finished up my program with Black, started one with Flex Tolley, this muscled up male dancer looking guy who I was quite prepared to hate until I met him, turns out he's a hell of a nice guy, and the Bisexual From Prague's cousin, what a small, small world, we only worked one match- photos included on the site, including one where it looks like DFZ is making our boy Flex squeal like a pig, we suplexed the fuck out of one another all through the damn thing, then the pictures come back all static, I asked Lisa, why the fuck didn't you take action photos, "When you guys were moving real fast, I was afraid I'd miss the shot". Lord, whatever.
We also got a photo of me signing my life away- or at least 6 months of it, in the APEX office, located in the alley behind Apex studio, with Danny signing as witness, and Brian looking on. Got my booking sheet for the next 3 months, it's just crazy- they've got DFZ all over, big time places, Chicago, Bay City, Detroit, Orlando, Ponce and Bayamon, PR- very heady stuff, flattering as all fuck, but they've obviously mistaken me for someone who does this for a living- (WHAT DO YOU DO FOR A LIVING?) Nothing. And that's the way I like it. No way I can make all those bookings, a lot of weeks I'm booked five days. Like I said, crazy.
Been having lots of vivid, VIVID dreams of late, think I'll finish with a couple, since the old dreams segments used to be pretty popular. First, I think Roky may have passed on the other night, and stopped by on his way to wherever he was headed- someplace good, I sincerely hope. We're talking Roky the dog, not Roky the nutcase musician. I was having this dream that I was the head of this little criminal family, beside me there was my 20 something son, and my 20 something girlfriend- who used to be my kid's 20 something girlfriend. We lived by stealing and scamming and strong arming, we'd just stolen this enormous big screen TV out of this bar, and girlfriend and I were screwing away in the bedroom to celebrate- we living in this grotty little trailer- when Junior comes running into the bedroom, "Dad, the cops have the place surrounded." I'm telling him, okay, go get the guns and when I'm finished we'll shoot our way out of here, when I wake up in my dream. I do this all the time in dreams, that's a lot of the reason why I so often have a hard time telling when I'm really awake, and in this second dream Roky has just jumped up on the foot of my bed- the bed here in my parent's house I was actually asleep in- which is what woke me up, He's looking at me in that uncertain way he would in those situations when we had him, cos sometimes I'd let him lay on the bed, and sometime I wouldn't. Sometimes, when Loretta was on one of her frequent- I'll just say out of town business trips, and move on- I’d even let him lay on her side of the bed, with his head on her pillow, which he loved to do beyond words. Since I didn't kick him off the bed, he starts giving me his imploring "Can I?" look, so I said, "Come on, Rockhead, you can lay down up here with me." So he came up and laid his head down on the pillow next to mine and gave this big, contented sigh, and I threw my arm across him- and woke up for real this time And what is so fucking weird is that the place where Roky had been laying in my dream was warm as fuck, just like he used to make it- he was a hot blooded dog in more ways than one- and I could smell him. Swear. I could smell him. Strange. I'm not trying to convince anyone that the spirit of my old dog- who as you recall went south to live after the divorce- came by to see me. But we were awful, awful close in that love/hate way that we had, and I’ll tell you what, I sure feel a lot better about inviting him to lay down, rather than kicking him off the bed. I think I'm gonna pass on going into detail about the second dream, but I'm telling you, it would make a HELL of a fucking movie-it was planet Of The Apes crossed with Jurassic Park, with some Hellraiser and King Kong thrown in- Kong's fight with the demonically possessed Tyrannosaur was fucking unbelievable, as was the huge POA gorillas, armed with flamethrowers and machine guns, versus raptors battle, even DFZ, with a long spear- and who was also a famous heart surgeon in this dream, where the fuck did that come from, and was married to Helen Hunt, Jesus, I don’t even like Helen Hunt- had a really cool fight with a couple zombie raptors who were trying to keep him from setting off the atomic bomb that would blow the whole fucking mess up, as it very much needed to be- what happened? You think zombie raptors are going to stop the fucking Death Falcon? Kaboom, that's what happened- but to try and get it all down in any detail would take ages, and I'm getting tired. Doesn't mean I'll be able to sleep, but when I get tired my headache gets a lot worse, and I'm having a hard time concentrating to type. So, take care all, next time you hear from me I'll be a year older. But no damn wiser, trust me. Do that thing I like. Later. Bill
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When
I was a child 
My
personal take on holidays anymore is fuck 'em. I live every day with a
sense of loss so overwhelming it would break a lesser man, and frequently
comes damn near to breaking me, this time of year only serves to grind
what I no longer have directly into my face. However, sincerely, I hope
you all have fantastic ones, no dog in the manger me. More like a rat in a
barrel.
And
my new Food Network girl's name is Sondra Lee, not Sara Lee. Still hot,
though, really nice tits for a slender girl, and she likes to show 'em
off, too, I had her on behind me here a while back while I was typing away
and she said, "Take a look at my pink". I spun around in my
chair so fast I damn near got whiplash- but she was just coloring some
damn cake icing. Tease. She also said something else real suggestive- at
least it was to me and Butthead, here- but I didn't write it down and have
since forgotten it. But I haven't given up on Rachael Ray, that was a good
photo of her Joe put in last issue, maybe I can get together with her and
Sondra at the same time, now buddy, THAT'S cooking.
Sticking
with TV, I went off a while back about all the 
I
got 4 Todd Rundgren, 3 Doobie Brothers (which may surprise you if you're
only familiar with their later, torpid Michael "My Mouth Is Full Of
Shit But I'm Gonna Sing Anyway" McDonald era, and not great stuff
like "Long Train Running and "China Grove") 2 Fleetwood
Mac- every long time reader knows of my very high esteem for the early,
all male, three guitar line up of Fleetwood Mac, killer band, led by the
fantastic, and soon to go tragically bugfuck nuts Peter Green, these CDs
are by the line up right before Buckingham and Nicks joined up, I wasn't a
fan when they came out in '73 and '74, but John Douglas- THERE'S a name
from antiquity, Joe- had them on tape and they were playing the summer of
'78 when we went to Florida to visit him and his Mom, and Loretta- look,
we had 25 years together, she was there A LOT- and I snuck out and made
love in John's swimming pool, I've always had a warm spot in my heart for
them ever since- as well as 2 Foghat, yes, I said Foghat, and 2 J. Geils
Band. Ain't nothin' but a house party. Jesus.
The
Flex program got derailed when my little buddy Raw Talent pissed off Brain
by no- showing without calling, and he got shoved into a quick program
with DFZ- I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended that he's
being put in with the DF as a form of discipline. Either way, DFZ put 3
straight beat downs on Talent last week, and should start working Flex
again tomorrow
