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2/17/06 Theater Of The Absurd
Hey Hope everyone had a good Valentines Day and all that shit, blah blah, woof woof, the sorry highlight of mine was working 750 pounds worth of sweaty rednecks with no more assistance than what you can get from 150 pounds soaking wet of college professor in tights (and that ain't much) at AWA-APEX's My Bloody Valentine show. To quote Lord Athol Layton, "I'm back, but I'm bitter". Got a couple unexpected Valentines myself, (not counting the one from my sister Lori thanking me for my good offices on behalf of our parents this past eternity, which was nice of her, and appreciated) these other two were of the romantic variety, one electronically, which I'll address now, and one uncomfortably in person, which I'll address later. To Miss Jane Doe- I'm not being cute, that's who it came addressed from- who sent me the smoking hot E-Valentine, on the off chance that you're a real person and not a rib- last time I got a piece of correspondence so good I couldn’t believe it was genuine, it turned out to be quite real, so you never know- thanks, but no thanks. Seriously. The aforementioned "last time" I bit on something like this it started out great but ended up a trip down the garden path- (YOU WENT DOWN IT LIKE A LAMB TO FUCKING SLAUGHTER, TOO). Pretty much, yeah. (YOU FUCKING DUMBASS).
In other mail, thanks to Kat for her note to all regarding the Levee adventure last issue- as I've oft told you guys, I don't make ANY of this shit up, I don't have to, I'm the fucking Death Falcon, trouble magnet extraordinaire- anyway, Kat, you're quite welcome, although at the time I wasn't too thrilled- hell, though, if it was easy, everyone'd be a fucking hero. Although I've always considered myself more of a hard place to fall, actually. Hard and spiky. Or spiked, anyway. This could well be another long NL tonight, I've only had one complaint about the marathon proportions of recent issues, something along the lines of "How do you expect me to read these novel length things at work?" Hey, my question to you is, what the fuck are you doing at WORK? That sounds like a problem of your own making to me, pal- a subject I'm an expert on, by the way. I've had way more comments about people liking the expanded issues, "We like it longer, Bill", yeah, no shit, a nickel for every time I've heard THAT. Am I speeding tonight? Not at all. Sober? Not on your fucking life. I get one night off a week anymore, this is it, and I'm not wasting it. So- what's been going on here at . . . I can't even think of a funny name for this place right now. For one thing, this piece of shit computer is fucking with me again, it's not saving things it's said it's saved, which just pisses the mortal fuck out of me, it's also slowed back down considerably after working better briefly after Joe cleaned it up, now it's like some caveman's computer- (HOW APPROPRIATE) -really, that reminds me, I was watching TV the other day with my Dad, not really paying attention, in my mind I was lying on the beach with Barbara Eden, she was straddled my face while I nibbled grapes out of her honey sweet cleft- ("HONEY SWEET CLEFT?") -shut up, anyway, someone has to sit with my Dad all the time anymore as he's convinced himself he can walk unassisted, which he can't, he fell a couple Tuesdays ago while I was at wrestling and it was just him and my Mom here and she'd gone off who the fuck knows where instead of watching him like she was supposed to be doing, of course she couldn't get him up off the floor so I come in to find him lying there all propped up on pillows like the Sultan of wherever that guy in the commercial says, anyway, my Dad suddenly says, all pissed (we're back in front of the TV now), "If that bastard looked at me like that I'd knock him out of his damn chair", uh huh, I says, being distracted and all, about an hour later, he says it again, even more agitated this time, I look up and its that Geico commercial where the rep takes the pissed off cavemen to dinner to make amends. B: That's a caveman in a commercial He was really pissed off, too, not just playing around. Crazy. LEAD BOTTOM COOKING MIRACLE CURE. My Dad's gained over twenty pounds since coming home (good for him, I'm struggling like hell to keep the weight on), doing well enough that they decided to remove his g-tube, something I never thought I'd live to see. It's done as an out patient procedure and it's real high tech, Doc grabs hold of the fucker and yanks it out. Seriously. He deflates a cuff first, like a catheter, but that's it, clean and jerk. Bill: Shit, I could've done that. He was also released from all his in home rehab today (Thursday) cos they say he's doing so well, and he is, physically, I'm gonna take some credit cos I put a lot of time in working him, although as he's told me more that once, "You're no Flo Nightingale" (he says this like he knew her), no, I'm not, I'll admit my sick room manner sucks- "Walk, damn your sorry ass, WALK!"- but a lot of the credit for his recovery, such as it's been, goes to his own stubborn self, cos he truly does works hard as fuck. Mentally though, he's still questionable, still seeing shit ("Who's that over there?", "NOBODY, dammit") and he does it with everyone, so it's not just a matter of him jerking my chain, which he's not above. He's much worse at night, lately he's gotten it into his early am punkin head that he's living in the Barboursville Fire Department- no, I not making a word of this up, ask my Mom- he woke me up last Sunday night all worked up over this party we'd had that turned into a big fight, cum riot- D: There I was sitting up on my throne on top of the fire truck (?!-
he's had this damn thing about being royalty ever since he came home,
maybe because of how we have to wait on him now, or maybe cos he's BUG
FUCK NUTS), ready to have a fine time, but your damn mother messed up all
the seat placements and everybody started fighting over who got to sit
closest to the beer keg. You were right there in the damn middle of it- During my Mom's stint with him last week, I wake up to her fumbling into my room sometime in the wee fucking hours, all aflutter- M: Bill, Bill, your Daddy says the house is on fire! I listened for a minute. B: No, he's not. He's yelling "Fireman". So she DID ("Bill says if you don't shut up . . .). And what's more, he shut up.
I go to get him out of bed the other morning, he's already been all up in his Bible, next thing I know I've got one of his giant, gnarled fingers- he's got hands on him like a damn ape, or some Dr. Seuss creature- jabbed in my face. D: You need to repent, bucko. Enough current events, next up another trip down memory lane, no wank this time about Bill enthusiastically pumping into this one or that one's creamy upturned buttocks- ("CREAMY UPTURNED BUTTOCKS"?! HOLY FUCK, FIRST IT WAS " HONEY SWEET CLEFT", NOW IT'S-) Get off, I'm practicing. I'm gonna start writing romance novels for some quick bucks. (YEAH, WELL DON'T QUIT YOUR DAY- NEVER MIND). I got asked in a letter since last issue, how could I get in trouble in a movie theater? Ha. Well, let me tell ya . . . This starts out in the halcyon year of 1964, which was a damn fine year to be a kid, I have to tell you. Ronnie Darnell and I are sitting unimpeded by adult supervision in that big old theater that used to be off Forestville Road, right outside of D.C. proper- had the undersea mural with the gigantic octopus on it painted on the side, great place- dropped off by his Grandma- "You boys behave, now, oh yes ma'am"- to see- I don't fucking know what. Cos as soon as I knew we where there alone I wasn't there to see the movie anymore. I was there to fling lemonheads.
Every now and then there'd be a rustle, or someone would murmur something, I was causing a minor disturbance, but I didn't get the big response I was trying to get. What I was TRULY hoping for was to catch someone turning around to see where they were coming from and hit them in the eye with one, not to blind them or anything, just to hear 'em go, "God damn, someone just hit me in the eye with a LEMONHEAD!" I don't know why I found bombarding unsuspecting theaters patrons, who just wanted to watch a damn movie in peace, with spit soggy lemonheads to be the very height of entertainment, but I did, and my fate was fucking sealed when, as we were walking out, we got behind this teenage girl and her big bouffant 'do, who'd been sitting directly in front of us about a dozen rows ahead, and I see the back of her oblivious noggin is studded with what looked like a bunch of little mutant yellow eyes, I just fell OUT, into Joker like hysterics, Ronnie's going "Billy, it's not that funny" "It is, Ronnie, it IS", well, I was fucking hooked, we had to come back to the theater and do the same thing next Saturday.
The usher gave us the hairy eyeball when he saw us sitting in the back row, but didn't say anything. The movie starts- again, I'm embarrassed, but I can't remember what it was- I wait until we're about twenty minutes in, then start fishing lemonheads out of their popcorn concealment. Third or fourth toss I hit paydirt, someone goes, "Ow, dammit, who's throwing shit?" and immediately Mr. Usher Man is on me and Ronnie- MUM: Hey, you kids! He checks us, makes us get up and looks under our seats and everything- MUM: You kids better not be throwin' shit. I wait a bit, make sure MUM is looking the other way, then fling another. It doesn't hit anyone but makes a pretty loud CRACK as it hits- I don’t know what. MUM is again right back on us- MUM: I told you damn kids- He checks us again but, again, can't find any reason to toss us, still, his last words to us are "Anymore trouble and you two are out of here", I'm all a picture of wounded innocence, "Quit PICKING on us!", I'm so crazy I actually convince myself that he is, he goes back, grumbling, to his aisle, but now this asshole is on my shit list. I'm thinking, all right, mother fucker, I got something for you . . . Hubris, thy name is Bill. I wait a good fifteen minutes, till I see he's relaxed some- there for a bit he kept turning around real fast and looking at us, dumbass, I’d give him a cheesy grin, finally, he's got his back turned. I slurp a lemonhead good and drippy, give it a Whitey Ford wind up and throw the son of a bitch at the back of his head- right as some ungodly sixth sense, or dumb luck, or some damn thing, warns him, and he turns around. Not only did I fucking miss him, but he saw me throw it- I know this cos he bawled out "I SAW YA" and headed for me. And I headed out. I was always on the lean side as a kid- it was all that running for my life I had to do, I figure- I was up and over Ronnie nimble as a monkey, and out the other side of the aisle before MUM got anywhere near me, I led him and his fucking usher buds a wild chase all over that theater, and I may have still been running around it to this day, but some damn do gooder solder boy (he was in uniform, saw a lot of that growing up around DC) snatched me out of the aisle as I ran past him and held me till the ushers could get there, I was so pissed I started to snap "I hope you get killed in Viet Nam, ya jarhead fuck", but something in my head said "DON'T, cos he will", I'm serious, it was like I somehow knew that if I said it, from my lips to the devil's ear, so instead I swallowed it, thereby saving his life- I honestly believe that, by the way. They took me to the managers office, and they were like a bunch of little Joe Fridays.
What you don't realize from reading these things is that normally as a kid I was super respectful of adults, honestly. Until I got in trouble. At that point I realized no matter what I did, it was still gonna be the belt, in excelsis dio, so I may as well have some fun, gallows humor if you will. I finally told them my Dad's name (in those pre fem days no one gave a shit what your Mom's name was) and home phone number, REdwood 5-5964- how old is THAT, when your phone number started with a word- and he came down and got me and Ronnie, who wasn’t in any trouble, as I'd nobly told the theater folk he had nothing to do with the rain of lemonheads, which was nothing more that the truth. I got spanked to beat Jesus, and a lifetime ban from that theater. I know, for throwing lemonheads. However, I'm still here, and it's not, so who's laughing NOW, motherfuckers? I'm on a roll, another story about me and the hapless Ronnie D and throwing things, though it may cost us later in the current events column, but since right now I got no damn life, the only one who ever gets out of this house is that fucking DF, you aren't going to miss that much. We're up now to the summer of '65, I'm getting ready to leave 78th Street and move to Camp Springs, me and Ronnie have wandered a fair distance from our neighborhood, back then you fucking had to stay outside during the day, parents didn't want kids underfoot, any kids, not just troublesome gits like me, "Get out of the damn house, and don't come back till suppertime . . tomorrow". We'd found where they were starting to put in this new subdivision, mostly just foundations (no quick mud, thankfully) and were wandering around in there. We have with us a watermelon in a steel bucket (?) and a knife to cut the watermelon with, provided by Ronnie's grandma, and yes, she was criminally irresponsible. We decide to sit down on this dirt bank overlooking the main road and eat our watermelon. We're mostly through, I'm sitting there working my way through my last slice- there are worse lunches than watermelon on a hot day- watching the cars go past on the main road, and idly looking at all the watermelon rind we've tossed in the bucket when- B: Hey, Ronnie. He thinks about it for a minute, then agrees. I imagine he was just glad I didn't suggest trying to throw the knife through a car window. As has been noted multiple times, I'm a throwing machine, so next car, seriously, NEXT FUCKING CAR, I throw a big piece of watermelon rind at it, Frisbee like across my body, and the damn thing zips, spinning like a fruity green boomerang, right in the car window, and into the side of the driver's head. It hits with a crisp WHAP sound, this guy yells HEY!" and stands on the fucking brakes. I'm off like (ahem) Speedy Gonzales, making tracks, I look back and Ronnie is still standing there. B: RUN! That was one of Ronnie's biggest problems (beside his horrendous choice in playmates), his damn lollygagging, like I tried to explain to him after that time I threw a rock at that big ass hornet's nest just to see if I could hit it and knock it down- by God, I could, too- and Ronnie ended up getting stung damn near half to death while Billy was already almost in the next county and still accelerating, when things have progressed to the point where I holler "RUN!", we don’t have time to discuss WHY. This guy runs up the bank and grabs Ronnie by his shirt collar and starts shaking hell out of him, "You think it's funny, kid, huh?", well, I DID but this looks like it's getting serous, then he hauls off and smacks Ronnie right in the head, hard. I'll be fucking damned. I'm genuinely appalled, that an adult would actually hit a kid that wasn't his- I know, my Dad used to whack me around but that was with love, and also I deserved it. Ronnie's terrified, and crying his ass off, I'm hollering to him "Get the knife!", but I'm also crying MY ass off too, you think I'm kidding but my eyes are actually tearing up again as I write this, I can still remember VIVIDLY how much it fucking scared me, this grown man roughing up Ronnie, I'm thinking, this bastard is gonna kill Ronnie, and it's gonna be my fault, and that started pissing me off . . The only thing worse than pissing me off, is pissing me off and scaring hell out of me at the same time, cos if you do, all kidding aside, the odds are real good that I'm gonna try to fucking kill you. I picked up the biggest rocks I could get my hands on- construction site, I couldn’t have asked for better- and started flinging them, hard and straight, man. Hard and straight. The first couple missed cos I had to adjust for the water in my eyes- this guy had also whacked Ronnie in the head again by this time, and my fear factor was pretty fucking high- but finally I caught him dead square in the back, I thought the watermelon rind made a satisfying sound on impact, this was sort of a thud/crunch. Beautiful. He drops Ronnie's collar- who thank Jesus finally had the sense to fucking RUN- and turns, just in time to see and duck a chunk of cinder block that would've taken his fucking head off, or at least put him in the market for dentures. I've always been a headhunter when pissed, now that Ronnie's gotten away and I'm more mad than terrified, I open up and start winging rocks at this guy's skull. Guy: Quit throwing them rocks at my head! In retrospect, I really think this guy thought Ronnie was the one who hit him with the watermelon rind, I'm not sure if he ever even saw me until I started trying to knock his damn brains out with pieces of construction debris. B: I'm gonna hit ya in the pecker if I can find a rock small enough! I was all of eight years old, and I still think that may be the wittiest thing I've ever said. A few more near misses and I guess this guy decided to cut his losses. G: I'm calling the cops, ya little prick bastards! And he left, and we left. Man, I didn’t realize how much that incident had marked me till I started writing about it tonight, and reliving it. I was fucking SCARED. Didn't learn my lesson, though. As for the Super Spear-pedo . . . Dad: Whatcha got there, boy? A little later . . . Ronnie: What's that, Billy? Whoa. What's Bill drinking? Bud double deuces, started with ten, hold on, let me see how many I have left- fuck, only two, plus the one I'm drinking now. Not that buzzed, but I am pretty fucking tired, also I'm supposed to have lunch with Joe and Laura tomorrow, don’t know how good the eating part will go cos both my appetite (for food, anyway) and stomach have been really whack lately, just never hungry, and when I do eat it hurts more than it's worth, I think we'd better go straight to DF news and then out, next issue I promise there'll be more "What's Bill whatevering?", and maybe even some recipes and comic shit and stuff like the old days. Or not, if you believe one of my promises you deserve what you get. Unless I tell you that I love you, or that I hate you. Those you can take to the fucking bank. Always.
DFZ is still working his knees and shoulder into an early grave, they hurt so much it's ridiculous to even talk about them any more. I'm not the only one hurting, Flex hurt his shoulder badly since last issue, and Allen hurt his thumb, everyone is getting worn the fuck down. WV PBS came down and filmed both Danny's match and my match at the Huntington show, also did an interview with us- I didn't think it went that well, myself- as well as us jumping Hillbilly when he tried to do an interview after ours, it will air on- I can't remember the name, its like Campus something, it comes on Sundays at 1 pm, watch for it, at first I thought it was going to be a segment on GOW, later I found out it was just on Danny, so we'll see how much DF footage makes the cut. I'll still get a copy of all the footage they shot, should be cool, yet ANOTHER title match with Black, Brian knows how tired I'm getting of them, so again I went to him before this one and asked- Bill: Can I bump Black in this match? I go to Black. Bill: Brian says he doesn't care if I hit you with a chair while we're working outside. Do you? He thinks a minute. Black: I'll take one across the back. No head shots. So later during the match I whack him across the back like he asked- then ram his head into the metal ring post while he's selling. I just don't know what gets into me sometimes- I'm just a damn cut up I guess. Anyway, I didn't ram it real hard, just sort of, it went BONG, you know, not BOOOOOONNNG. He chased me back into the ring, I couldn't tell if he was really pissed or not so I cut him off as he rolled in and started stomping the shit out of him- stomped one of his earrings out, his fault for wearing it, although Danny caught it and give it back to him, here's a quick guide to wrestling reality, if you see DFZ stomping some guy's chest or back, it's a work, if he's stomping the head or face, it's a shoot. He seemed kind of groggy after he got back up, forgot the finish, I could have taken advantage but I didn't, played it straight, in the back, instead of being mad he was grateful- Black: Thanks for covering for me there at the end, I got kind of lost.
Brian: Princeton show you're gonna want to set him on fire, right? Had some fun Tuesday night in Oak Hill as well, Danny and I are still drawing tremendous heat, so much so that there were some marks still waiting for us when we went to walk to the car after the show, I LOVE how these people are so into it, swear to God. We were aware of it before we went out so Flex went out a little ahead of us, kayfabe, he did a good job of distracting them as we walked by, they talked a little shit but we ignored it. Until . . . As we're pulling out past them in my Daddy's Caddy, I roll down the window and, still in character- I forgot to mention, Brian has me kayfabing to the point where I have to stop and put my mask on as we roll into Oak Hill, and wear it until we're out of town, which makes my turns at driving an adventure, to say the least- and holler some shit at Flex, "You see what WE'RE driving, you redneck piece of shit" we go don't even turn the corner and Danny goes, "What was that, that just flew over the car?". I stop, and find that one of the redneck marks has thrown his show at us. This wasn't his throwin' shoe that he brought specifically for that purpose, this is one he took off of his foot. It's lying there in the road, so I pick it up. Redneck mark: Hey, gimme my shoe! Then I threw it on top of the bank building. RM: HEY! I hopped back in the car and off we drove. I talked to Brian about it yesterday, he calls- Brian: Bill, did you throw some mark's shoe on top of the bank building
the other night? Indeed it is. Fuck, I'm too far gone to discuss my second Valentine, maybe next time, or maybe not. Divers asleep Just like me. Later Bill
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Fools
rush in, so here I am 
Pretty
much, yeah. Anyway, even though my motto has always been Live Hard, Learn
Nothing, I don't think this is something I feel like biting on a second
time. Sorry. The sins of the fathers . . .
Recently
he's been getting himself some of that old time(r's) religion, I've seen
it before in persons who've gotten badly injured, or seriously ill,
suddenly clutching at that religion straw, although my Dad was a steady
church goer for 20 years, that's how we got mixed up with Pasture Tom in 
I
was CRAZY for throwing shit as a kid- I'll talk about the Super Spear-pedo
here in a bit- I have no idea why. Just loved to throw shit, just LOVED
to, and what I most loved was to throw shit AT people. So for the duration
of that movie, Ronnie and I sat in the back row of the theater while I
sucked on a box of lemonheads, one at a time, and once they were nice and
sticky, threw them down into the fucking rows in front of us.
We
went back to that same theater the next weekend- I wish I could remember
its name, I just went upstairs and asked my Mom and Dad if they did, they
both went, "The one you were banned from?" but couldn’t
remember the name either- and I don't know if it was because some idiot
kid had been in the the week before throwing lemonheads, but they had a
bunch of extra ushers -this was in the day when you still got ushed - and
I noticed they were shining their damn nosy flashlights at everyone as
they came in, so while we were still out in the lobby- I was a sharp and
sneaky little fuck, I have to say- I bought a box of popcorn along with my
lemonheads, then before we actually entered the theater part dumped my
lemonheads down in the popcorn and buried them.
MUM:
What's your Dad's name? 
Breeze
and I are carrying one of the ring sides- those fuckers are brutally
heavy- out to the truck after our last show in Huntington, he looks at me
and, apropos of nothing I could tell, we weren’t talking about movies,
we weren't even talking, goes, "Even if I like Brokeback Mountain, I
ain't gon' tell nobody". FUCK.
Brian
came up to me later.