"I chose this life. I know what I'm doing. And on any given day, I could stop doing this. Today, however, isn't that day. And tomorrow won't be, either". Batman

Hey

Here we are with issue #190, also the fifth annual (mother of God) New Year's Eve edition of the newsletter. Actually, two years ago it came out on the 30th, but we're not gonna go there. Not tonight, anyway, I'm morose enough as it is.

Before we get into this issue's mail bag, I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and that each and every one of you got whatever it is you most deserve. I mean, desire. We didn't have the best of one's here, my Mom didn't do so well, but we got through it. As for me, I haven't had the heart for Christmas for a very long time now. I do my best . . . I just gets so tired sometime, boss.

I did spend a wonderful weekend with the girls, just the three of us (my Mom went up to Lori's Saturday morinng), we did very little, but it was great, I enjoyed cooking for them and they enjoyed eating it, just simple stuff, but Daddy's home cooking like they don't get at home, one night we all just sat on the couch all evening and watched TV (Food Network, mostly), while Rachel and I worked the word scramble and crossword puzzle in the newspaper, I honestly can't remember when the last time was that I've felt that relaxed and content, it was really, really nice. I'd trade an evening like that for a night with three strippers any fucking day (chew the Viagra, snort the speed).

Rachel had to go back the 26th, Sarah is here for maybe a week or so more, there's still some question about her transport back (her boyfriend Evan is in, he was going to drive them both back but as he went to The Famous Bill Bitner's Famous School of Famous Driving, he totalled his Mom's car on the drive down here, and walked away unhurt. Yep, that's how we teach it).

While we're on the subject of Sarah, I'm so proud of that child I could about bust. She worked incredibly hard this semester at school, and came away with a 3.89 average- 6 A's and a B. God love her little heart.

So, on to the mail bag, which was a full one this time around, it may be that folks have been off for the holidays and have had extra time to write in, I don't know, like I've said before, there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason that I can detect that causes one issue to draw a lot more comment than another.

Anyway, got another one of those analytical letters, I usually get one or two a year, this one calling me, among other things, a "sex obsessed existentialist"- not nearly as good as "a prolific hunk of man meat" like I was once called, but whatever, I don't think I'm an existentialist (I'm not even gonna argue the sex obsessed part), but we'll discuss that letter further in a minute.

I also go a letter asking me "How can you be Black Adam when you're not black?". Ahem. Well, first off, sir or madam, you obviously didn't read last issue on the site (people forward this damn thing all over, I got an e-mail- it must have been a couple years ago now, maybe even longer- from some guy in Texas, he only wrote the few times, I asked him how he found out about the newsletter, so he told me, the guy who sent it to him was someone I've never heard of in my life) or you would have seen a drawing of Black Adam (and the overly endowed even for a superheroine Power Girl) and realized that Black Adam isn't black, he's from the Middle East somewhere.

I can understand why you might make that mistake, as most superheroes with Black in their name- Black Panther, Black Lightning, Black Goliath (who became plain old Goliath, and who just got his giant ass killed by a Thor clone created by Tony Stark, who shot him through the chest with a lighting bolt, bad Thor clone, I always liked Goliath). But in the case of Black Adam, the Black refers to his attitude, not his skin tone. 

And Chris informed me last night I'm not Black Adam any more anyway, now I'm Wildcat, this crusty old fuck that the JSA (probably my favorite super team ever- what do you mean, you don't have a favorite super team? That's your problem, not mine) uses to train the new guys coming in, to toughen them up. That's cool. And if you want to write in to say that I can't be Wildcat cos I'm not actually a cat or something, just don't bother, okay?

(I'D BE A HERO, BUT I CAN'T STAND THE STENCH).

As for the earlier mentioned piece of fan mail, this guy also remarked "I like you best when you're being sensitive and intelligent, and least when you do what you're famous for," (I'm famous? That's great news, but somehow I always thought it would pay better) "that hard drinking, hard living stuff".

Fair enough. But (and I say this in all seriousness), what makes you think I'm here to be liked? I built this NL on a foundation equal parts self aggrandizement and self loathing, with a healthy dose of (often black) humor, and that's how she'll stay. Besides, if I were sensitive and intelligent all the time I'd be boring, and you know it. 

It still surprises me how other people see me, though at this point I don't know why it should, Joe and I were drinking beer in Murad's a couple weeks ago, I remarked that someone, I forget who, "gets on my fucking nerves", Joe asked, completely sincere, "who doesn't?", a few days later I said the same thing to Sarah, about someone getting on my fucking nerves and she also, with no attempt at humor, said, "yeah, but Daddy, who doesn't?". Dunno . . . I don't really feel like I'm that fucking cranky- you'll never believe this, but I actually see myself as a pretty nice guy- but I guess I must be. I just wish you people would quit getting on my fucking nerves.

I don't make NY resolutions, but I have resumed something I used to do, what I called "keeping stats" (Impetuous and Anita used to joke that they had obsessive compulsive hyperactivity disorder, and I know exactly what they mean, I can be feckless as hell about pretty much everything, but obsess to the point of mania over a single stupid thing that makes no sense).

I started keeping stats many years ago, fifteen, to be exact, to settle an argument I was having with Loretta, who said I was drinkng too much. ME?! Heaven forfend. So I said, I'll keep track of every day I drink for a month and we'll just see how much I'm drinking. I decided there'd be no negative reinforcement, so instead of marking the days I drank, on the days I didn't, I'd put a star on the calendar. Starting after noon and drinking past midnight still only counted as one day, but if I started before noon and was still drinkng after midnight, I had to count both days. 

I also made as part of the rules, I could have one free beer and it wouldn't count as a drinking day, so that if I had a beer, I wouldn't feel like I had to go ahead and drink ten, cos it was going to count the same. Might as well not have bothered, cos the one beer rule never had to be used.

So, the end of the month rolls around- January '92- and there's a grand total of four stars on the calendar. Shit. Loretta's going, "See, you got drunk 27 days out of 31", I'm like, "Yeah, but who's to say that's TOO MUCH?" Well, she was, for one.

So, I decide to try and cut back, and to help me- cos it genuinely was a wake up call to see I'd been drinknig that much, it hadn't really seemed like it to me, but that's mostly cos I was DRUNK ALL THE TIME- I'd continue to keep track of drinking days. As an adjunct I'd also keep track of how much I was working out, cos it couldn't possibly be as much as I thought it was, cos again, I was DRUNK ALL THE TIME.

Keeping track, among many other things, actuailly did help me cut my drinking way down- it was probably still too much, but it was a lot less than it had been- and increase my working out, so I kept doing it- it got to be one of the odd habits I have that I have a difficult time breaking, keeping stats. 

The last year I kept stats- 1999- I added sex to the list, and for the same reason I started keeping stats in the first place, to settle an argument between Loretta and I, I was complaining that it seemed like we hardly ever had sex, she was going, are you mad (well . . .), we fuck all the time, so (without telling her) I decided to keep track of that as well.

This also required some rules. Even though this is a Billocentric world, I decided not to make Bill's ejaculation a determining factor (and don't even think of asking me to keep track of Loretta's fun, cos I can't count that high- you think she fucked me cos I liked it?), instead, each time Loretta and I got together would count as one sex. So, if we had a good extended night, and Bill popped his cork three times during the proceedings, that would still only count as one. If, however, we had sex in the morning and Bill popped his cork but once, and then later that day, say, in the afternoon, with again but a single hurrah from Bill, that would count as two, cos they were two seperate incidents.

I don't know, it made sense to me.

As an aside, Torch one time ages ago told me he'd had sex ten times the night before, I rightfully told him he was full of shit, turns out he was counting evey time they switched positions as having sex- and the fucking goofball even counted when they went back to a position they'd already used, so not only did he not have sex ten times, he didn't even use ten positions. Torch, you're not impressing me, son.

Anyway, the year comes and goes- I indicated one sex by a little red heart on the calendar- these were little monthly things I kept in my desk, not something that was hanging on the wall- and at the end of '99 there were 251 hearts on it. So a few days later I confront Loretta with my stats, "See, I told ya, it wasn't even quite four times a week", she of course, took the opposing view, "Two hundred fifty one times in a single year isn't enough for you?!" 

Well, not when you compare it to when we were first married, when we went through a stretch of almost four years where we had sex at least once every single day, no. But if you want to compare it to now . . .

For some reason I decided to start rekeeping stats on my 50th birthday, just to again get a feel for where I'm at when it comes to drinking and working out. I don't have to worry much about the sex thing, there are no little red hearts on December 2006's calendar. I guess I could subsitute drawing a little fist with a dick in it, but for one thing, even I don't want to keep track of that- there's keeping stats, and then there's KEEPING STATS- and for another, my hand would get so tired drawing all those little fists that it would be too tired to make a big fist when I need it (which would then cut down on having to draw all those little fists) so, no.

The stats for December 2006 (don't worry, I'm not gonna do this every month) are- weight 12/1- 223.5, there are 19 stars, 5 BLD's (Big Lift Day) 5 LLD's (Little Lift Days), 18 A's (Aerobics Day), weight 12/31- 225- which I'm happy with, Backwards Billy is actually in better shape the heavier he gets, when the weight goes down it's cos I'm getting soft.

I have to admit I bailed on some scheduled lift days and just went with the aerobic stuff, my shoulder is getting really bad again. Still, not a bad month.

(YOU GOT DRUNK TWELVE TIMES).

So? I didn't nineteen times.

(I GUESS THAT'S ONE WAY TO LOOK AT IT).

It's the only way to look at it.

So, what else can I entertain you with?

My Mom held up really well the first few weeks after my Dad died, but she's starting to fade some now. She's also still . . . I can't sleep at night unless I'm hammered, no news there, I can't get hammered at Al's so I just stay up all night, on the followng afternoons I'll try to get a couple hours sleep here at the house, the other day I told my Mom I was going to lie down and try to get a nap, she says fine, I manage to drift off to sleep . . . to be woken up by my Mom, asking, "If I run the vacuum cleaner, will it wake you up?". Well, not now. Jesus Christ.

And remember when I lamented last issue, who's gonna talk crazy talk to me now? Well, never fear, as long as Robby's around . . . in a single conversation one morning last week, he remarked, "Everyone's looking for the pot with the golden rainbow in it", when this lady was giving him a hard time over something she was told about Robby, "Like I told her, there's two sides to every street", and my favorite, "Two plus two doesn't make sense." Not when you say it like that Rob, no. 

Got a lot of votes on who's the hottest Food Network cook, but I'm not happy. The leader so far is Giada di Laurentis, Jesus, no way, what's wrong with you people? Them teefers of hers always make me reflexively clutch myself protectively, also she likes to rub her child of privilege upbringing in your face, and also also, I've heard she's a stone bitch in real life, and I believe it. Coming in second is- yeesh- Alton Brown- who I'll concede is a nice guy, but he looks like a stepped on baby bird with big glasses. Oh well. It's still not too late to stuff the ballot box with votes for Sandra Lee, so if you haven't already voted, help me out here.

Have some new obits, everyone knows about the ones in the newspaper, the purpose of NL obits is to inform you about the ones that may have gotten by you, like comic artist Dave Cockrum, who co-created a bunch of the new X-Men (Storm, Nightcrawler, Thunderbird, Colossus) as well as giving all the Legion of Super Heroes (I was Colossal Boy) cool new costumes in the mid 70's, he was young, early 50's, died due to complications related to his diabetes, hated to hear that, I read a number of interviews with him and he seemed like a very good guy.

Also gone at age 61 is Don Jardine, the orignal Spolier, after the Destroyer one of the first major American masked wrestlers (though he weren't no Masked Superstar), he was kind of a dick, read some of his inteviews as well, where he took credit for way too much ("back when I invented wrestling") and would also talk shit about anyone and everyone he ever met, so fuck him on that score, but in his prime he was a good worker, first guy to make a big deal out of walking the ropes. 

Since we're in the vicinity,we can talk about the Death Falcon-

(SAY IT LOUD, I'M DFZ AND I'M PROUD)

-he worked neither Season's Beatings, due to a booking error made by my erstwhile partner the Professor- he inadvertantly booked us- which then became just me- for two different shows the same night, Joe and I went to Murad's and drank beer instead, nor Christmas Chaos, which ended up being cancelled cos John and Arpin were going to co-promote, then Arpin tried to take over the whole show- just exactly the kind of thing I don't like him for.

Last year I went back and added up all of DFZ's matches for 2005, don't feel like it tonight- I'm wicked hungover, and feeling quite low, besides- so lets just say, DFZ again wrestled a lot of matches in 2006, and won most of them.

I have to say I've eaten really well lately, had two good meals Christmas day, one at Lori's, and then later a seafood dinner at Joe and Laura's, Sarah and I went to Cozumel for Mexican with Danny last week, also drank some Tecate, best Mexican beer out there as far as I'm concerned, way better than that over rated Corona chihuahua piss.

We had a Movie Club at Joe and Laura's last night, watched Ray Davies Return To Waterloo, also had some Kinks videos attached to it, some of them- Laura, Debbie and Evan, mostly- watched A Scanner Darkly, which I was interested in seeing, but it was done in that ghastly style where they draw over the actor's faces, I've seen in done in commercials and absolutely despise how it looks, there's no way I could sit through a movie done like that. So, the rest of us went out on the porch and pounded beers and smoked cigars.

We came back in later and watched Gojira, which led into a conversation regarding the Japanese and WW II the likes of which I hope to never have again, seriously. I was drinking Harpoon IPA's, a ton of them, got more buzzed last night than I've been in a long time. And I'm paying for it today. So what is Bill drinknig tonight? Rolling Rock. 

I went to the DMV Friday to renew my driver's license, in my photo from five years ago I'm wearing a red and black flannel shirt over a white t- shirt. In this year's photo I'm wearing the same flannel shirt, over a gray t-shirt. The lady taking my photo noticed and remarked on it.

I gave her Bill's serious face.

I thought about telling her I lived in a Dumpster and survived on garbage and ditchwater (and the kindness of strangers), but I figured that might be pushing it.

Let's stagger down memory lane again, shall we? No NYE reminiscing, that's hitting a little close to the bone this lonely night, but we can still party. Lets stay in the Marshall era and revisit this costume party Bill went to the spring of '75. I don't know why they were having a costume party in the spring, but they were. I don't even remember who "they' were, it was some school sponsored thing- my mind still retroactively boggles when I recall all the alcohol fueled parties Marshall threw for the students while I was there, God, the '70's were great.

Actually, I don't remember that much about the party itself, but the getting ready is still etched forever in my mind. My room mate at the time, Dear Gay Steve, being, obviously, gay, decided four of us- he and I, plus Rick Ramell, and our gay black friend Keith (did you ever meet him, Joe, I can''t remember?)- should go as a glam band. Rick was hesitant, to stay the least, but Bill, being manly enough to go glam, said sure. I even gave us our name- Homo Superior- which Steve and Keith loved and which I thought was a pretty damn clever play on words if I do say it myself, homo superior being what they called the mutants in X-Men, the next evolutionary step after homo sapiens. Funny. 

The drink was flowing heavily while Steve tarted us up, the queer boys were drinking Harvey Wallbangers- basically screwdrivers with a big slug of that vile Galliano on top- I told 'em, you gay fuckers must drink that Galliano shit so that afterwards, even cum would taste good- Rick and I were drinking screwdrivers.

(PRETTY FUCKING GAY RIGHT THERE, IF YOU ASK ME)

- no kidding, a fruity scarf at his throat, a pair of glitter rimmed sunglasses, with some glitter on his face as well, and a piece snipped from the sheer blue nightie I was wearing wrapped around one bicep.

(I THOUGHT HE DIDN'T WANT TO GO TOO FAR?)

Well, comparitively . . . I was wearing some wicked tight white flares, and the aforementioned blue sheer ngihtie, left in my room by a girl named Susie, who we may or may not discuss later, Steve put lipstick on my lips, and cheeks, and drew lipstick stars on my chest and stomach, specifically over nipples and navel ("Goddamn Steve, this is gay as fuck" "Duh"), and blue diamonds around my eyes with, I don't know, some kind of blue shit he had, he also teased my then substantial mound of hair up like Little Richard ("Aretha Franklin is the Queen of Soul, but who wants to be Queen when you're the King of Rock and Roll? Ooh, bless my soul, thank you") and streaked it with some silver hair spray he had.

(I'M SURE YOU NEVER LOOKED BETTER).

I never have.

Keith had on this black velvet outfit, jacket and pants, with a blue mesh tank top I loaned him underneath, and this big ass medallion that said something like "I am a big fag", but somehow, to me he just wasn't looking . . . glam enough.

Smart man.

So I painted him silver, just from the waist up, no Bond girl Keith (unfortunately), and fuck, he looked great (you can judge for yourself in the photos), but the judges at the party obviously thought so cos he won first prize for best costume. It was money, I can't remember how much, I got so mad when he refused to share it with me- "Who's idea WAS it?"- I tore down a bunch of the crepe paper streamers they had decoratiing the place and went to strangle him with them, but he'd already disappeared- hammered as I was, he was hiding in plain sight, I'm sure- so I ended up wrapping them around my own neck instead, I can't really tell you why. 

I do remember that I had a great time at the party, carried on like a wild man, or wild cat, Rick was mortified afterward, worrying that people would think he really was gay, he should be so lucky, cos maybe a month or so later, I was at this party at some place off campus and this girl, Katie, starts talking to me, she'd been at the costume party, she's telling me how cute I was that night-

(OH BROTHER)

-that's what she said, she said I danced with her but I honestly couldn't remember doing so then or now, we talk a little more and it dawns on me, holy shit, she thinks I'm gay as that motherfucker Steve. I start to disabuse her of that false notion, but, luckily, before I can, she starts down this track and I realize, she's one of THEM. Steve had told me how every now and then he'd run into a girl who was convinced that she could fuck the queer out of him. They offended the shit out of him . . . but not me. 

And you know what? She must have been, cos I've never even considered being gay since.

(THANK YOU, KATIE).

Yes, indeed. Thank you, Katie.

Time to shut it down if I'm going to get this out before midnight. Not going to close with any end of year reflection or recapitulation this time around, not in the mood, and you'd be a damn fool if you listened to it, anyway. I'll just say . . . no, I won't. How about you?

(I DON'T FEEL ANY BETTER THAN YOU DO).

Yeah. 

Happy New Year.

Later

Bill