2/20/05

What's So Funny?

I feel like a woman. But I'm about $50 short.As I walk through this wicked world
Searching for light in the darkness . . .
There's one thing I wanna know
What's so funny 'bout peace, love and understanding?

Hey

Been just writing up a STORM today, tired of doing the serious stuff but still in writing mode (assume ATTACK FORMATION), so I just flipped over and started this, which is why you're being graced with two issues in one week for the first time in a long time.

What has Bill been writing? Working more on the Death Falcon Zero Vs. The Zombie Slug Lords script, this re-write shit is a pain in the ass, not to mention I've been fighting like a son of a bitch with this damn scriptwriting software Danny gave me- go figure, I fucking HATE every goddamn technological advance beyond the fucking lever- and I'm not too damn fond of the lever, if truth be told.

Still, it's cool as fuck to work in script format, INT/DFZ'S PRISON CELL/DAY and CUT TO: INT/DFZ'S HOT TUB/NIGHT and all that neat shit. Also put in a good couple hours on the treatment for "Peacemaker", now called "Gottlos", which is German for "God lost" and I think very evocative, but I'm sure it's not a commercial enough title to ever be used, should this particular script ever get filmed.

Danny was talking the other night about Prague, he kept referring to "Rudi", finally I'm like, "Who the fuck is Rudi?" "He's the guy you're gonna pitch when you're in Prague." "I thought that was Robert?" Nope. I don’t even remember Rudi from Danny's wedding, although apparently he still remembers me. However, that was also the day of Joe's Halloween party, and my mind wasn't on any Czech dudes anyway, it being much more focused on . . . something else, like going 90 miles an hour down a dead end street. Which I did, with the expected results.

Hey, though, that opening quote is a serious question, what IS so funny about peace, love and understanding? I've been getting a LOT of response to these recent issues, I don’t know if it's cos it's winter and everyone is just staying inside with nothing better to do, or what. However, response has been running about two to one "Yeah, sure" to "Thank God" concerning my declaration last issue that I was leaving all that Loretta shit behind me.

Okay, don't believe me, (those of you who do, thank you) but it's fucking TRUE. When I think about Loretta now- which I really haven't, much- all I feel is sorry for her. I don't approve of some of the choices she made, I don't appreciate being lied to all those years, but you know what? So what.

(SO WHAT?!)

Seriously, so what? First off, I've finally realized and accepted, she did that shit, I didn't. It's NOT FUCKING ON ME. Second, people fuck up, they make mistakes, sometimes big ones, they do the wrong thing and hurt themselves and the ones who love them- that's LIFE, motherfucker, that's how it works, get the fuck over it (or get the fuck out). I'm tired of pointing fingers and being unhappy. If I choose to remember Loretta at all, it will be the good times- and there were plenty of them- and I'll let that other shit go to hell where it belongs.

Some of you may be confused, or calling me a hypocrite (but don't you dast dare to my face, seriously), cos you think I'm suddenly saying I now think Loretta is a good person. Not at all. Loretta as she stands today is a lying, self centered, materialistic bitch I wouldn't cross the street to piss on. Forgiving someone doesn't make them a better person. But it does make you one. That last sounds uncomfortably pompous, but I'll let it stand.

Somebody asked me if I'd told Loretta the news, no I haven't. I figure I will when I see her next around Easter, it's something I'd rather do in person, and I don't expect much to come from it. I'm simply going to tell her I'm sorry- two words I haven't juxtaposed when talking to her since the day she told me she was divorcing my sorry ass, but which I sincerely mean, I'm far from blameless in this fucking drama- and that I truly forgive her, which I fully expect to get the "Who the fuck are you to forgive me, I didn't do anything wrong, it was all you" response, but you know, that's not the fucking point. She doesn't have to accept it- I just need to say it.

And those of you who wrote in genuinely concerned that the newsletter wasn't going to be entertaining anymore without all my fucking bile- you know, I'm real happy you found my misery so entertaining, you goddamn pukes, please feel free to go fuck yourselves at any time, on my tab- I really wouldn't worry too much about that. I still got a SHITLOAD of frustration going about other things, so I wouldn't look for any diminution in the piss and vinegar quotient in this thing, it just won't be directed at Loretta anymore. Although I have to say, I have felt this odd sense of peace creeping up on me every now and then-

(SNAP OUT OF IT!)

Right. And for my last word on the subject, concerning the religious aspect of this change in attitude, all I'm going to say is that I honestly don’t think I got out from under this shit by myself (and I AM out from under, doubters line up over there by the machine gun). Those of you who have been praying for me all this time- you know who you are- my sincere thanks. I'm not quite ready to convert- but now that I think about it, I bet I could be a hell of a preacher-

"Repent, motherfuckers. I said, REPENT. Now say hallelujah. I said, fucking SAY HALLELUJAH! Don’t make me get out the barbed wire bat of the Lord, cos I'll smite your ass . . "

By the way, check out the picture at the very bottom of last issue. Joe is a very funny guy.

I taped my penis to a candy bar once.

What's Bill been up to? Not a lot, really. I really need to clean house, as exciting as that sounds, do the whole scrub each room from top to bottom spring cleaning thing, not really cos I give a shit about having a clean house, but because that whole concerted, focused type cleaning calms down my brain for some reason, and a calm brain is a good brain. I guess I get it from my Mom, I always knew when I was a kid if my Mom was having a bad day cos I'd get home from school to find half the furniture out in the front yard, sometimes even scattered all over the neighborhood, and the other half just shifted randomly throughout the house.

B: Having a bad day, Ma?
M: Get away from me, you little shit.
B: Okay . . . uh, do you know that the dining room table is up on the roof, and my bed is out on the sidewalk?
M: Go to hell.
B: I think I'll just go play in the traffic.
M: Scalding water and tacks for dinner!

I was supposed to chaperone Al at the Aristocrat last night, it fell through. I, for one, was damn glad. As mentioned earlier, I just sat here at the computer most of the day writing (and writing, and damn, it felt good), listening to and half watching old movies on the TV behind me, stuff like "McQ", this '74 John Wayne movie where he's this out of date detective- I prefer him as a cowboy first, then WW II soldier, he doesn't work for me at all in "modern" times- who delivers goofy ass tough guy lines like "If you’re shining me on, I'm gonna come back here and iron your face" with WAY too much conviction, and "The Split", with Jim Brown leading a team of crooks- Earnest Borgnine, Warren Oates, Jack Klugman, Donald Sutherland, good GRIEF, I think casting just went in some bar and threw a net over whoever was in there- in a heist of the L.A. Coliseum, and "Objective Burma!" with personal fave Errol Flynn.

What's Bill drinking? Well, I was gonna have a dry weekend, had the best of intentions, I really do need to get back into working out seriously- although my left (broke) hand was hurting like hell yesterday after lifting. I even wrapped it real good first. It's not really bothering me if I don’t use it, but it gets very sore when I do. I did go for a good run today, down to the bridge and back, my knee's a little sore, but it's not killing me, or anything.

I went to get a sweat shirt to put on after my shower- the heat is out again here, don't get me started- and found the bottle of vodka I bought the other day while I was killing time waiting for my passport photos, it was in my sweats drawer, I'm honestly not sure why, I think probably the devil put it there. So I've been drinking vodka and Fresca since about 6 pm, and feeling pretty good from it right about now.

What's Bill listening to? The Corn Sisters, rescued from my freezer-

(WHICH IS WHERE THE VODKA SHOULD'VE BEEN, YOU CLOT).

-as well as a couple other Neko Case CDs that sort of just magically appeared here- honestly, Anita, when did you give them to me? That goddamn Al is contagious- and HE's been a damn pip lately, I don’t want to talk about it, I damn near waxed his ass the other night he pissed me off so bad, he opened Kathy's car door right into my head when I was trying to clean up a goddamn mess he'd made, the corner of it gashed my head right open, oh fuck me, for a second there I wanted to pound his pissy old ass into a little puddle of monkey fuck so badly I almost gave myself a hernia not doing it.

Anyway, listened to the CDs a time or two this week, they weren't getting to me at all. Then I listen to 'em tonight with a buzz, and I fucking LOVE 'em, particularly the Corn Sisters, (the vocals on the Neko CDs sometimes remind me of Dolly Parton, and that's not a knock) with all these great old school country covers, those old country guys and gals could flat write a song, they'd take all these truly complex issues like love and lust and cheating and just hit the nail right on the damn head, in songs that sound simple until you actually listen to them. These new country fucks are USELESS (although Shania Twain can sit on my lap anytime).

Whatever.That reminds me, do any of you remember this ad Shania did for some lipstick, Revlon I think, a while back, I'm thinking '98 or '99. I remember one time Loretta and I were screwing on the couch when it came on, so it couldn't have been much more recent than that. Shania was in a corset and top hat and looking hot as fuck, but there's this one part where she holds out a tube of lipstick and the color shoots off it onto this other model's lips, I just thought that was suggestive as fuck, this phallic lipstick tube squirting shit onto this other woman's mouth, I mentioned it to Loretta at the time (not the time we were screwing, another time) and got her standard (latter day) "you're just a fucking pervert." Whatever. I never let people beat me up and called it sex, either.

(WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR NEW ATTITUDE?)

It's still there. I'm just calling a spade a spade.

(LOOKS LIKE YOU'RE PUSHING IT TO ME, BUT OKAY).

I gotta quit using people's real names in this thing so I can talk more about 'em. I'm constantly reminded that a lot more folks read this than I know about, I found out last Wednesday that this guy in my scriptwriting class has started reading it, he's this short, stocky Oriental guy, a big science fiction fan apparently, but you sort of have to pick that up by osmosis cos he's way reserved, hardly ever says a thing, his name's Joe- imagine that, a guy who hardly ever talks named Joe- and I just didn’t take my own advice, cos his name really is Joe (and that's really how he looks).

Anyway, Joe said his brother told him about this "strange wrestler type guy"- his words, hey, walk a mile in my boots first, you know?- who had this website that he, the brother, had been checking out, so Joe does as well, and realizes, "Hey, this is Bill from my scriptwriting class!" Good thing I hadn't called him any names in it, I guess. Turns out his brother was told about the site by Alex Moore, although I didn’t get how his brother knows Alex, but he did say his brother thought Alex was my nephew, I'm sure that makes Doug and Rosa's day. Still, small fucking world.

So anyway, I'm now kind of reluctant to reveal that someone in my class is- nah, I can’t say it. I'll tell you in person sometime. But I figure it's true cos I got it from the horse's mouth, and Danny, as stated last issue, was right to be looking out for my ass, I owe him one.

Been getting some good eats lately, me and Curtis and Ritchie (he's this guy from Tanzania who's gonna be C.P. on the DF movie, hell of a nice guy, I was asking about the dangers there, since it's looking strong that I'm gonna go in May, he says, in complete seriousness, "You have the Mazda, you have the Datsun, you have the Subaru . . . " ) have been getting together on Sundays, and Wednesdays before class, to work on movie shit, we've been going over to Roy's a lot, that place there across from State where you can always see (and smell) them grilling outside when the weather's good, and getting rib sandwiches, that is some good damn shit. Good fries too, I think it's cos Roy never changes his oil, seriously, and when you come out of there you smell like some serious grease.

What's Bill reading? Al, Kat and I (after he'd whacked me with the car door- man, I'm STILL mad about that) went down to that new book store there at Pullman Square on Third Avenue in Huntington, it's pretty nice. I got a Carbon 14 magazine, which I've never seen in a store before, I got a couple through the mail before, C 14 is kind of a strange bird, but interesting, sort of a music/movie/wrestling/art/porn type deal, they always have great graphics and I find it amazing that a couple of yahoos in Philly, this married couple, can put out such a good looking publication by themselves. The writing is actually of a surprisingly high quality as well.

There was this one art guy in there talking about his stuff, how "avant garde" he was- personally, I think that has no meaning if you say it about yourself- but at least he had some genuine artistic talent. There was this guy in this "Fiz" magazine way back, before it became "Fizz", and then defunct- that I thought had the greatest scam fucking EVER.

He did what he called "body art". He had this one photo- that he sold for some OBSCENE amount of money- called "Homer Swami". Remember this Joe? I know you have to, we laughed so fucking HARD. This guy took a Homer Simpson doll, stuck its head up into his hairless nut sack, so that Homer, imbedded in this guys' scrotum, looked like he was wearing a turban, and then took a picture of it. And got PAID big bucks for the photo, cos it was "art". I was so goddamn jealous I was almost sick- why didn't I think of that!

This guy- I wish I could remember his name- also did Jackson Pollock one better. He'd squirt a bunch of tempura paint up his fucking ass, then squirt it back out onto canvas and again call it "art". And again, people would line up to give this guy huge wads of cash for the damn things. Incredible. The article had some photos of him at work- yeah, well, what kind of magazines do YOU read?- he'd lay on his back with his legs up in the air and the canvas flat on the floor beside his ass, and "painted" that way, as opposed to standing up over the canvas, I guess you’d get too many big glops in one place that way.

That got me to thinking at the time- we're talking probably '91 here- about maybe trying my hand at something similar- I'm being serious here- but then I got distracted. I have a problem with that, distraction. Anyway, I'd wanted to do something that felt better, I mean enemas can be okay, if they're being administered by a good looking nurse wearing one of those dead sexy, real tight, short skirted nurses uniforms, as long as it's just a set up for something else and not an end in itself, but you know, paint and all . . . so I started to think about spunk . . . COLORED spunk.

I know you can make it taste different by what you eat and drink, so logic only follows that you should be able to make it different colors as well. What a job THAT would be. You could jerk off- or better yet, have your lovely assistant do it for you- onto canvas, and then sell it. It's genius, I tell you. Fucking GENIUS. Then when you went to apply for a passport- cos God knows you'd be rich enough to travel like a beast- under the section marked "occupation" you could put "I whack loads of multicolored spunk onto canvas and sell it to fucking idiots who also buy "paintings" some guy's squirted out of his asshole. For fuck's sake. God bless America."

Unfortunately, I never could get it to change colors, and the regular stuff, once it dried, you couldn't see it- yes, absolutely I tried it, I've got one of the canvases in my closet right now, swear- so, like I said, I was soon distracted. Also, my lovely assistant wasn't the most cooperative.

L: You want me to help you WHAT? Goddamn, you ARE a pervert.
B: No, I'm an artist. There's a difference.
L: Not in this house.

So it never worked out for me, sadly enough. If I could just get that different colored thing down, maybe some device- Joe, get to work on that for me, will ya? Toot sweet.

It's getting COLD in here, and I'm not happy. I'm going to try talking to the heater nice first, as befits my new attitude. But if it's not working by morning, it's getting some harsh talk, and if it's not working by the morning after that, the son of a bitch better know how to swim.

Probably should think about going to bed, have to be over at Curtis's tomorrow at one for another "co-write" session on the script. Curtis is getting co-credit on the script cos he needs it for Danny's class, and I don't have a bit of problem with that- my name comes first, of course- but I simply can't write with him, or anyone else, I'm just not the collaborative type. Tomorrow we're going over scenes 16- 23, basically Curtis reads them and then comments and contributes, and I say sorry, no, as in, "No, we're not changing that . . . no, not that, either . . . hmmm . . yeah, that's actually a pretty good idea, I like that, I'll rewrite that part- no, not you, thanks, I'll do it . . . no, HELL NO, we're not changing that part, it's four naked girls in the hot tub with DFZ, not three, what's wrong with ya?! . . . okay, cool, we're done then, I think . . . let's go get a rib sandwich and a fucking Pabst Blue Ribbon . . . of course it's not my treat, we're charging this to Danny."

Then down to Al's, Kathy and I will probably take him out for dinner, and for all you people from earlier going, "Oh, Bill shouldn't say hateful shit about the poor old guy" consider this, if he weren't a genuine hateful fuck he wouldn't have alienated his ENTIRE goddamn family and have to depend on people like me to take care of him in his declining years. Yes, he's sad cos he's sick and he's old, but he also made his own fucking bed. And if he ever hits me in the head with another car door I'm gonna fucking kill him. And steal all his money, steal his car, burn his goddamn house down and piss on the fucking ashes.

(OH YEAH, YOU'VE CHANGED A LOT. ALMOST MISTOOK YOU FOR GANDHI).

That shit about Al, that's just the alcohol talking.

(LETTING ALCOHOL DO YOUR TALKING . . . WOULD THAT BE THE BOTTLE OF VODKA, OR THE ALL THE BEER YOU DRANK SINCE IT RAN OUT? YEAH, YOU'RE A NEW MAN ALL RIGHT. I'M PROUD OF YA.).

Lighten up, Jesus.

This is a relatively short one, but what the hell, it's been less than a week. Anything else you want to say, big guy, before we go?

(UNLIKE YOU, I AM PURE OF HEART, AND HAVE THE STRENGTH OF TWENTY MEN).

Okay. Thank you, Sir Lancelot.

(GALAHAD).

What?

(SIR GALAHAD. LANCELOT WASN'T PURE, HE WAS FUCKING HIS LIEGE'S WIFE BEHIND HIS BACK, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE. ALSO, HE WAS A SHIT BAG FRENCHMAN- DU LAC, THERE'S YOUR FUCKING GIVE WAY RIGHT THERE- AND THOSE FROG BASTARD MOTHERFUCKERS WOULDN'T KNOW PURE IF IT CRAWLED UP THEIR WORMY ASSES AND BIT 'EM WITH YOUR FUCKING GRANNY'S FALSE TEETH).

Fine, sorry, Sir Galahad. And you leave my Granny out of this. Did Galahad nut shot his opponents, then?

(IF HE WAS SMART HE DID).

Fair enough. Fucks' sake. I'm loving that damn Corn sister's CD now, just crooning the FUCK along with it. Probably get evicted in the morning, ha. Actually, I probably WILL get evicted the first of the month, since I've already spent the rent money on replacing the car I fucking wrecked, and my plane tickets to Prague. Fuck it, as I've ALWAYS said, that's THEN, this is NOW!

And now's feeling pretty good.

Later

Bill