If all my days were hills to climb 
And circles without reason 
If all I was, was passing time 
My life was just a season

Hey

Well . . . here we are with the sixth annual New Years Eve newsletter, and no, this one isn't going to be any more uplifting than the others have been. Started to go back and read some of them before I started this one but I had to stop, it was making my chest hurt. Jesus Christ, whither goes the time?

(WHITHER INDEED?)

It's not helping that I had to take the girls back yesterday, it seems like no matter how long they're here it always feels like they just walked in the door before I'm having to take them back. I really, really hate it.

Since we (or at least I) got nothing better to do, let's go ahead and jump into the mail bag, I already got one letter today from someone (bored and trying to kill a half day at work), asking "Where's my NYE newsletter?", sorry, and you're very sweet for asking- yes, I know you're a guy, you're still very sweet- I just didn't have one in me last night. TFT, as in too fucking tired, feel the same way today even though I stayed in bed- not the same as slept, sad to say- till 1 pm. So, with apologies to all, Joe and Laura in particular, who I told might be graced with my presence this evening, I think I'm staying home, in fact, I'm not even getting dressed today. It's just me and you, plaid (not tartan) sweat pants.

I got a couple letters since last issue agreeing with me that Kirsten in a cutie, told ya, also one from a person who can't believe I don't like Chelsea Handler, thought she'd be right down my alley, I admit a foul mouthed drunk with big tits sounds like Bill's dream girl but she just doesn't do it for me for some reason, not that I wouldn't give her a good hard rogering just for the hell of it, wipe that snarky look off her face with a big load of you know what (or at least cover it up).

Good gravy, I'm STILL getting letters from people worked up over my 122 drunk dry year, honestly, do you people have any clue who you're talking to here? For a couple All American he men like me and the Death Falcon, 122 drunks isn't even a wet afternoon. I remember one night back in the day, I got drunk over 200 times, plus I fucked the 37 best looking women in the world (they were having some kind of contest- I stared with Number 1 and worked my way down to #37 in case my fuck wand got tired, but of course it didn't) all of whom got pregnant and gave birth just three days later to full grown teenagers who all went to the future and became The Legion Of Super Heroes, then I kicked Mike Tyson, Davy Crockett and Galactus' asses, then I took a long shower and a longer dump, and STILL got up the next morning and went to work- that was when I was working on that giant octopus farm (only job I ever liked) wrangling giant octopi and poking them down holes with a stick.

(SOUNDS LIKE A WILD NIGHT).

Shit. That was on Monday. You should have seen what I did on the weekend.

So do you think getting shit faced drunk a mere 122 times spread over an entire year is anything to me? Exactly, no and no.

I also got a surprsing amount of letters saying there's no way your trip to Baltimore went as smoothly as you're trying to pass off, youre obviously just, to quote one letter, "trying to put a good face on things". Well, again, as anyone who has known me for longer than five seconds can tell you, putting "a good face on things" is not somthing Bill does. Ever. Putting a great big long evil face on things, yes, but good, doesn't happen. Look, it went fine, believe it or don't.

I was going to go into a long winded (that I'm good at, too) explanation as to why, but I can make it very simple, there are two reasons why this trip could have ended with Bill in jail, anger, and jealousy. And I'm not angry any more. I KNOW how hard that is to believe, especially for you who know me personally, or have been reading this for a long time- I consider it nothing less than a fucking miracle, myself, swear- but it's true. Last summer, she apologized, I accepted, done and done. Simple as fucking that.

As for jealousy, I might have gotten jealous if she were still my Loretta, but as stated, she's not. As for personality, she's much- duller, now, in her interests and her conversation, boring actually- than the Loretta I loved, and I'm not trying to be pissy at all, just stating how I honestly and without rancor percieve her now, and boring, or "mature" if you'd prefer a more neutral word, just does not excite me in any way. As for her current looks . . . well, let me quote the sage Frankie Yankovic, "I don't want her, you can have her . . . ". You can fill in the rest.

(SHE'S TOO FAT FOR ME).

I didn't mean you, dammit. I meant them.

(THEY WERE TOO SLOW).

And as for how I was able to get along with Paul while there, I don't sweat him at all anymore cos like I've said, what he has, number one, I never had, and number two, don't want. I'm over that him and Loretta running around while we were married shit cos she was already not my Loretta by then, and I'm also no longer a saint in that area myself.

(WHAT AREAS WERE YOU A SAINT IN?)

Stop it. I'm not real cool with some of his racist and homophobic beliefs, but that's not my problem, cos ALSO like I've said many times, the folks with skin color and sexual practices not my own that I hate, I don't hate for those reasons, I hate them-

(COS THEY'RE FAT?).

You're being a lot of help today. I will admit to one, uhm, nostalgically hard (as in both difficult to deal with, and erection) moment while there . . .

(SEND THE KIDS OUT OF THE ROOM, MA, HERE HE GOES AGAIN).

For a good ten years, we always used to go to Loretta's Mom's for Sunday dinner. Normally, we- Loretta and I- would start getting ready about noon. First we'd take a shower together which we neither tried to hide nor make a big deal out of- "Girls, Mommy and Daddy are getting our shower now, behave" and they would, because in all truth they were good kids, they very seldom bothered us while we were showering, or after, or period, really- one time when Sarah was about six, Mrs. Hurley called-

Mrs. H: Can I talk to your Mother?' 
Sarah: She's in the shower. 
MH: Then can I talk to your Dad? 
S: He's in there with her. 
MH: I'll call back.

-any other child would've been banging on the door, "Mommy, telephone". Like I said, good kids.

One of the things I truly, truly miss the most about the old days are those Sunday mornings. Soaping up that body Loretta had on her then was pure delight, and getting soaped back up in return wasn't no chore either, in fact, she always used to soap me up so well we'd end up with extra lather if you get my drift. And the shower was only act one.

Then we'd go to our bedroom and I'd flop starkers on the bed while Loretta would put on this vanilla scented skin moisturizer, then sometimes she'd even go so far as putting on her bra and panties, but that was just a tease, cos as soon as she'd sit down on the side of the bed I'd loop an arm around her waist and pull her to me and we'd commence Act Two, made all the better for both of us by that extra lathering in the shower, first go Bill can be a bit- urgent, but having had the edge taken off in the shower, this second go the pacing was much better, and I can remember so very vividly how soft her freshly showered skin felt on those days, and how smooth, and cool, and that sweet, sweet vanilla smell . . .

Then- crazy, I know- we'd get up and take a brief second shower to get the sweat and other stuff off, and then get dressed and go eat one of Mrs. Hurley fabulous meals.

(SOUNDS LIKE YOU'D ALREADY EATEN ONE OF MRS. HURLEY'S FABULOUS MEALS)

As well I had. We did this at least 51 Sundays out of 52 for close to ten years, and we BOTH loved it, not just Bill, and looked forward to it all week. One of the epiphanies I had in the closing days, in knowing we were well and truly over, was waking up one Sunday morning to hear the sound of Loretta showering alone. Sunday morning coming down, indeed.

What's all this got to do with anything? Well, the first night I was at Loretta's house I went in the downstairs bathroom to wash my hands and at the first squirt of hand soap I was back on Carriage Way on Sunday morning cos the soap was the identical vanilla scent her moisturizer had been. Have to admit for a brief moment I considered going upstairs and knocking Paul out and then tossing Loretta's big ass in the shower and getting a good soapy hand job, then throwing her on her bed and screwing her back teeth out, for old times sake, but I didn't. But it did make me briefly horny, and sad for what we both once had, and don't any longer.

And on a side note, I get home, first time I go to wash my hands- what the fuck?- out comes this same vanilla smell. I think I'm losing my damn mind, seriously. My Mom's been buying the same yellow Dial soap, cake and liquid, my entire life, now out of the damn blue she switches to THE EXACT SAME vanilla smelling stuff Loretta uses? "It was on sale," she says. What are the fucking odds?

What else?

Al turned 84 on the 18th of this month, if he sees 85 it'll be a dark miracle cos he continues to fade, fast, and I can only imagine the condition he'd be in a year from now. Actually, I can't see him even making it to this summer. Only coherent response he had to his birthday was to abruptly shout "Godamighty damn! I CAN'T be 84!" at one point, I hear ya, Al.

Robby continues his nitwittery, said a couple weeks ago, "Bush is the worst President we've had in at least 300 years," yeah, at least.

And The Haunting of Al House continues, Kat told me just today that Jason told her he quit working nights there- and won't go back, she tried to get him to fill in some while I'm off and he refused- cos he gets too scared. Says he hears voices in Al's house, people talking, at night. You should remember Phyliss' complaint way back about the folks in the apartment above Al (there isn't one) playing their TV too loud, her main complaint beng the voices as well. Creepy. I don't even care, though. Normally I'm scared of ghosts but right now, any mother fucking ghost shows up on my watch I'm hitting it upside the head with one of Al's used, ten pound Depends. You want to go, you ectoplasmic fuck, we'll go.

So, what's Bill been up to?

Going back to the day after last NL, Paul, Loretta, Rachel and I went up to get Sarah at Newark Airport, Paul drove, good thing, cos I was wrong last issue, I can't take 8 lanes of 80 mph bumper to bumper traffic any better than I can when it's stopped. I just don't have the temperment for big city driving, or living for that matter. Not sure anymore if I even have the temperment for country driving and living.

(I'M NOT SURE YOU HAVE THE TEMPERMENT FOR DRIVING- OR LIVING- PERIOD).

I'm not sure you're not right. Anyway, Sarah got home safe, wonderful to see her sweet smiling face, on the drive back one of the first things she said, as she glanced at the SUV's outside temperature reading, was, "Farenheit, how I've missed you," funny. We got back to Loretta's about midnight, but then left only a couple hours later cos I had to be- where else- at Al's that morning.

We- Sarah and I, Joe and Laura, Doug and Rosa- went to see Sweeney Todd on Sarah's 21st birthday, 12/22, the movie was dire, even Sarah didn't like it- Lori and her kids went to see it yesterday, they also didn't like it, and both Sarah and my nephew Jeremy really liked the play- so I'd avoid if I were you. Then we went to the bar at Embassy Suites- Talent runs it , but he wasn't there, too bad, been a while since I've seen him- drank some of that Morgantown microbrew- okay, not great, not shabby- so Sarah could order her first legal drink, and yes, she got carded.

Sarah's friend Ryan- not the Ryan she went out with last summer, Ryan she went to school with who was in Japan for a while, we'll call him Jappo- get over it- joined us, so he and Sarah and I went up to Chris's- ran into Joe's sister Kathy as she was loading into the Suites, always a pleasure- not running into her literally, I meant seeing her, although I suppose running into her could be fun too- and watched the latest Bourne movie- I'm not a big fan of these infallible indestructable superman "thrillers", cos I don't find them the least bit thrilling, but the Bourne films are the exception, they're good and I've enjoyed them, Ron and George were there as well, hail fellows, well met.

(Note- here was about six paragraphs detailing the very surreal Sarah and Tina meeting Paul and Loretta at the Empty Glass to see Sprugie episode, good stuff, but you'll never read it now cos this computer is a total piece of shit).

Rachel came in the next day, Sunday, and I guess here we're going to have to address my Mom. I wish I could address her, and mail her somewhere far away . . .

The bottom line is my mother is a very controlling and manipulative person, always has been, and I'm sure, always will be, as well as being spiteful and mean as hell. I don't say this with any ill will, believe me, she's my Mom and I love her. She also is what she is.

When she was up at Lori's a couple weeks ago Lori agreed to take my Mom to do all of her Christmas shoppng, what little she was going to do. This included buyng a Christmas ham. When it comes time to buy the ham, my Mom tells Lori (I found this out later) "I'll just have Bill take me to Wal-mart at home and get one". Lori says fuck that, we're at Wal-mart now, get your ham here, but no, my Mom insists she'll get Bill to take her to get one when she gets back to Cross Lanes. Why? Cos by God she's going to enforce her fucking will and make people do what they dont want to do, on her say so, i.e. have Bill take her to Wal-mart.

So Sunday comes and she says "I need you to take me to Wal-mart" and I tell her you're shit out of luck old woman, cos it's not gong to happen. She whines, and she sulks and she pouts, and I honestly dont care, call me hard hearted, but I'm just immune to that shit anymore, and we ain't going to the fucking Wal-mart. Then sweet hearted Rachie gets in, and talks me into it (for which she'll later be sorry) and I agree, but we're not going till like 1 am Monday, my Mom naturally bitches about that as well, but on this point I'm adamant, late or never, take your pick.

Not that it helped. We get there at 1 am and the place is fucking PACKED. I do so very much hate Wal-mart- I hate the retards that work there (ran into an XMCW DFZ fan, don't care, still hate him), I hate the retards that shop there, if that makes me an elitist prick so be it, I despise the fucking place and everything that it stands for.

At first she said she just needed ham, so of course by the time we get there she's got this big list- my Mom is also not the most honest or up front of people- she can't find the chipped beef for a cheese ball she ends up not making anyway, so she asks this Asian lady who is stocking shelves- it didn't help the hellish congestion that they're trying to restock the entire store, so you've ten tons of shit piled in all the aisles in addition to about ten million hygenically challenged rubes-

Mom: I want chipped beef.

So the Asian lady takes her to the chick peas.

Asian lady: There chick pea. 
Mom: I want chipped beef. 
AL: Chick pea right there. 
M: I want chipped beef 
AL: Right there. 
M: Chipped beef. 
AL: Right there. 
M: Chipped beef. 
AL: Right there . . .

I see that this is about to go on for the next 900 years, so I go find the chipped beef and give it to my Mom, who, never being one to leave well enough alone, shoves it in the Asian lady's face.

M: THIS is what I wanted. Chipped beef 
AL: (frustrated) That not chick pea. Dry beef. 
M: Chipped beef. 
AL: Dry beef 
M: Chipped beef. 
AL: Dry beef. 
M: Chipped beef.

Oh, good LORD.

After more torture, we get to the hams. After diligent searchng my Mom finds the only ham in the fucking store without a bar code or price tag on it. THAT'S the one she wants. I know this sounds made up, but Rachel was there, she can back me.

Bill: Don't take that ham to the register, Mom, it doesn't have a price tag on it. 
Mom: It's the one I want. 
B: It doesn't have a PRICE TAG. 
M: I'll take this other ham too, they can scan its price and give me this ham. 
B: No they can't. 
M: They've done it before for me with clothes. 
B: They don't sell clothes by weight.

No amount of arguing by either Rachel or I can convince her not to take this priceless (really) ham to the register. She asks a couple clerks on our way to check out-

M: If I take this one ham to the register, they can scan its price and give me this one, right? 
Clerks: Uhm, no. 
M: (Testily) They've done it for me before. 
CS: Whatever, then.

So we get to the check out and guess what- they can't scan one ham and give her the other. Does that deter her? Obviously, hell no. She still has to have THAT ham. Not the one with the price tag on it- the other one. So they take it to the back and weigh it and tag it and bring it out to her, which only takes 20 minutes- WHILE SHE'S HOLDING UP THE ENTIRE FUCKING LINE IN CRAZY ASS CHISTMAS EVE WALMART. Fuck this shit, I'm done, don't know ya, I went and sat on a bench, but Rachel loyally stayed in the increasingly angry (and I don't blame 'em a bit) line with her Grandmother till they bring her out her newly priced ham- and then my Mom wanted to argue the price with them. Even Rachie'd had enough by then.

Rachel: Grandma, why do you have to BE like that? 
G: Like what?

And trust me, "that" ain't crazy- it's just pure mean, I'm gonna get my way, cussedness. And then on the way home we got a flat tire. Swear.

Christmas wasn't much better this year, this thing of all of us getting together on Christmas Day has truly outlived its time, we only continue cos, exactly, it's what my Mom wants, this year was so miserable even my Mom said, "I think next year will be the last year we do this", I'm not making any promises. When Christmas makes you throw up blood, like it did me this year (no lie, I was in the bathroom at 4 am the morning after puking bright red spirals into the toilet water) you might want to rethink how you celebrate the day.

May have been the Christmas night drinking, but I don't think so. Drank a six pack of Harpoon that Tina got me for Christmas, plus a couple AAs (Absolut and Accelerade), the first mixed kind of light, the second kind of heavy, while the girls and I watched the Simpson's movie- it was okay- and a bunch of Samurai Jacks, we'd watched Disturbia earler, a remake of Rear Window, again, it was okay, but I don't see the point- but that small amount of alcohol would never cause me to throw up, blood or otherwise, so something else must have been going on as well.

Then on Thursday we had lunch with Joe and Laura at Porkers, who has also left servitude at ZMM (Laura we're talking here), good on ya girl, Porkers is a literal stone's throw (before I destoyed my right shoulder, anyway) from my parent's house and it's the first time I've ever been in there, my Dad hated the place, not cos of the food but cos the only time he was in there somebody pissed him off- RIP, old man- I got the pork barbeque which was pretty good, ketchup-y, typical for around here, when we all know Bill prefers Carolina style vinegar-y BBQ, but it was still not bad.

Then I took Rachel to the Urgent Care cos she was sick and sore throaty, they gave her some meds, they weren't really helping, so Loretta took her to the ER last night when they got back to Baltimore, turns out Rachie's got mono- yikes. So if you were around her when she was in, my apologies, and be forwarned.

Thursday night we went to Geri's for dinner, Steve cooked another excellent meal- Bill said, even though he didn't eat, but it looked amazing, Sarah said it tasted same- Martha was there, along with Colorado Jean and Tad, Steve and Geri's son David and daughter Carrie (David gets his first NL tonight, I lost your address a while back when your Mom- or Dad, I can't remember, I was drunk then too- gave it to me, but it appeared by magic- not as if by magic, by magic- here at my computer earlier today, so here you go, be careful what you ask for in future) and some of their friends.

I meant to eat, truly, but as soon as I got there Martha said "I waited for you to open the bomb bay", I thought, okay, how appropriate, thinking she meant a bomb bay, but she meant the Bombay, as in gin, might have been safer to drop explosives, I got into the Bombay hard and got way too ginned up, I'd worked out heavy right before going up there and hadn't rehydrated at all, which can partially explain how I got so hammered, but the main reason was simply that I drank too much gin and tonic, the girls and I counted six for sure the next day, and we're all thinking it was more than that.

And in the "How can Bill live so cheap" column, I was asking Geri where I could get a cheap wine rack, and she said "Here" and gave me one. Of course I went off and left it- I think- but I've still got a free wine rack. Somewhere . . .

I think that pretty much covers what Bill's been doing, and a fascinating read I'm sure it was. How about DFZ?

Okay Joe, honestly, I've got a serious computer problem here and I don't know what to do. Again, Joe, AGAIN, this computer just dropped over 30 mb, 12- 15 good sized paragraphs, and over an hour of work. I hit save- and please, PLEASE don't try to tell me I didn't or much as I love you I'll surely kill you- and it went to "The document you're looking for can't be found". By the way, I'm not trying to lay any of this on you, just trying to get you to realize this is real, not some crazy Bill shit Then when I go back to drafts I get what I saved over an hour ago- and again, not even the last save. I don't understand it either, but its HAPPENING and I am so goddamn mad this instant I could honestly kill, if there was only something here TO kill. Other than myself, I mean.

So, here's what you missed boys and girls, cos this was a big damn issue, and I'm not doing it twice- some way witty repartee between me and the Death Falcon, the stoy of Loretta and Paul joining Sarah and Tina at the Empty Glass, GODDAMN THIS COMPUTER, in all seriousness, this may see the end of the NL if I can't get this shit fixed, I don't pour my fucking guts out just to see this goddamn electronic whore MAKE IT GO AWAY, what else disappeared, what's Bill reading (that was some good writing also, four or five well wrought paragraphs on Marvel's Civil War among other reviews) listening to, and drinking, Bill's Big Plans For Belize, an RIP to the Angel of Death (ironic, I know) and a long LONG dissertation on DFZ and his recent beating of both NBW Champ Brandon Morgan and WVWA Appalachian Champ Wildcat to become the first AWA-MWA Unified Heavyweight Champion- maybe this computer hates wrestling, the last time it dropped a big load of shit on me, so to speak, it was all that DFZ Death Match stuff . . .

Whatever. I'm the fuck outta here, had a nice little NYE speech I was gonna close with, not now . . . something gotta change, cos this save function is obviously rigged.

See you next year, or in hell, whichever comes first.

If all I was, was passing time 
My life was just a season

Later

Bill

Oh yeah, and like everything else on this chancre, the time function's not right, it's really only 11:30 so date this one 12/31 when you put it on the site, please, Joseph.

Happy motherfucking New Year.

Godamighty damn.