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2/6/06 Walk The Proud Land
Hey It's Speedy Gonzales (hey, better than Wile E. Coyote or Elmer fucking Fudd), back with more, yes, MORE, of this chemically fueled drivel. What's been up with Bill? Got a lot of responses to the last issue, disingenuous as I'm sure it may sound to some of you, let me say for the hundredth time, DO NOT WORRY ABOUT ME (although I am losing control of the alphabet, and no, Susan does NOT start with- was it "K"?). All kidding aside, I am a man of superhuman abilities- I am, straight up, I fucking am- and a little speed and alcohol, or for that matter, a lot of speed and alcohol, are not going to hurt me. Now, the fucking hangover/come down when I quit, THAT'S gonna hurt like a bitch. But that's not gonna be today, and as always, when do we worry about tomorrow . . . ? Exactly. Never. And I will bury every damn one of you, Roger (and Charlotte) Pritt's Mom the fortune teller told me so.
As we have the past few issues, lets first address what's been transpiring here on the Titanic. My Dad continues to improve physically, (his PT and OT have both been cut back to once a week he's doing so well- this is all relative, you understand- they'll be stopping altogether soon, we've already lost his HHA for bathing, all these home invaders have commended us on what good care we're giving my Dad, yeah, thanks, gimme that and a case of beer and I'll get DRUNK) while regressing mentally. He's been plagued lately by what he calls "hoopy dreams", and trust me, plague they are, for the whole damn bunch of us. He woke me up the other night complaining he'd dreamed he was being chased by a "voodoo witch"- B: A WHAT? -and then the next night- D: I dreamed me and you were working in a Chinese garbage dump (?!). It
was so filthy a person would die after working there only 30 minutes. He also keeps seeing shit, and I'm getting more and more convinced he really is seeing it (his vision is fucked, so I'm not so much sure he's hallucinating, as just misinterpreting what he really is seeing), he's not trying to be funny. Even though he is.
We'd better watch out, then. If it gets a hold of that head of my Dad's, we'll never get the damn thing out of here. Middle of the night- D: Hey, Bill. Wanna see a ghost? Next day. D: You see that colored preacher standing over there? Ask a stupid question . . . My mom had to go to the doctor Thursday, her oncologist, six month follow up from her surgery, but he still, thank Jesus, noticed the precipitous drop off in my Mom's cognitive abilities since he first saw her in July, and ordered some blood work, good for damn him since her regular doc seems as oblivious as she is, I'm not wanting to point any fingers but STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM "DOCTOR" PARIKSHAK, I took her to SVI Friday morning to get that done, with my Dad in tow, we're sitting in the waiting room and this scruffy ass looking guy comes in and sits next to my Dad, who looks him up and down and then remarks, conversationally, "You here for a drug test?" The guy got offended and changed seats, I'm falling out of my chair. Afterward, we went over to IHOP for breakfast cos I'd promised my Dad, let me tell you, he went to damn TOWN on them pancakes, ("MORE!"), while we're eating, some guy with tinted glasses stops by and says "Hi" to my Dad, (he fucking knows EVERYBODY) as the guy walks away my Mom asks my Dad, "Who was that?", he replies, totally straight faced, "Stevie Wonder."
Here's where I rant. I look at those photos and think, okay, maybe I was (and remain) the devil, maybe I still am- (THAT'S REDUNDANT). -hey, FUCK YOU, what I STILL want to know, even at this late date, is HOW a person could consciously go out fucking around, with those two little angels sitting at home, loving you with all their child's hearts, and trusting you implicitly to do what's right by them, while knowing that what you were doing would end up hurting them- fuck me, THEM- terribly. It is just fucking beyond me, it really is. And hey, I am over it (what she did to me, anyway). I just don't understand how she could do it to the girls. (AND NEVER WILL). I don't see how. The second school of comment wanted to talk about how hot Loretta looked in that ancient photo on site. Once again, I agree, one person said she was a "fox", boy, that's a term I didn't use even when it was current 30 years ago, always thought it sounded a little silly, but, yeah, I don't say she used to be hot as fuck just to hear my gums flap. And, ancient be that photos lads, it was taken in late August of 1978, at my Grandma Heimus' house while Loretta was on vacation with my family (she was 18 at the time of the photo, younger than Sarah is right now, I know, and not a hell of a lot older than Rachie, and, incredibly, less than a year away from becoming Mrs. Bitner, whew) after we'd already been to my Aunt "Frying Pan Killer" Ruby's, and before we went down to Florida to see John Douglas' family. That was a wonderful trip, my Mom did her best to keep Loretta and I from coupling, never mind that we were both adults, engaged, and had spent the past year away at college together. My Mom had already caught us rocking the house in my downstairs bedroom a couple years earlier and I think it fucked with her head, badly, my feelings on that being, if you say you're not coming home until ten, then DON'T COME HOME UNTIL TEN, unless you want to catch your son and his girlfriend going at it doggie style like a couple of fucking pit bulls. However, even the best laid plans . . . earlier the very day that the NL photo was taken, Loretta and I managed to get away from the house alone under the pretense of going for a "run", which wasn't out of the realm, I always ran down at my Grandma's, since I was 10 or so, she had this mile and a half stretch from her house out to the main road, 3 miles (gotta run back) has always been my preferred distance for a good run, and in that hot, HOT SC summertime sun, I'd sweat like a beast and just loved it, so there was history to back me up, and Loretta was on the track team in high school (although even ratcheted down as tight as she could get 'em in a sports bra, Loretta running was a pretty damn distracting sight), so her going along with me didn't seem to get second thought. Fuck. We ran up around the corner, out of sight, and took a hard (Ha) right into the woods and fucked like wildebeest (my Dad already took minks). And I don't care what she says now, she was all about that shit then. We also got another fix that trip when we got to Florida, Loretta, John and I went out to this bar (this was when you could legally drink at age 18, as you still would be, were I in charge) not far from where he and his mom and sister lived while the too old and too young folk did whatever it was they did, had a few drinks- gimlets, been a long time since I've had one of THEM, too- heading back I told John to park up the street from his house, Loretta and I were going to take a walk on the beach- they lived right on it, lucky bastards. He says okay, but obviously didn’t get my drift, cos he came along with us, all Loretta's eye rolling notwithstanding. We get out on the beach, it’s dark and deserted, perfect. B: Hey, John. J: What? So he did, and we did, there on the beach, the sand felt great, soft, not gritty, and womb warm- gentleman that I am, whenever there's a questionable surface I'll take it first myself, so we started with her on top, fine by me, I love that position anyway, loved the fucking view, cos that rack of hers would bounce and sway like to fucking hypnotize me, anyway, we did it like that for a while, then some with me on top, then finished up with neither one of us on top (think about it), then we walked out into the surf to wash the sand off of and out of our respective cracks . . . as I've said in here well more than once, I have had some GOOD FUCKING TIMES in my life, and that night is high on the list. Laura commented after last issue that she thought she'd heard all my stories, but those were new to her. As I told her, and now tell you, when you've lived and loved like the Death Falcon, there's ALWAYS another story. And here comes another one, but first- Sometimes I'm satisfied That's not from some song or anything, it's just something I felt like saying. Cos, it true, you know. It's true. Okay, this incident came up a few weeks ago when Kat and I were going down to see Al, I think its time to give it to the world, and may it singe the bumfluff off your upper lips, what? This happens in '92, I'm at Abraxas now, not really going out and drinking with my DHHR buddies like I used to, different schedule is all, no hard feelings or anything. It's a Friday and I'm SICK, in huge caps. Fever, chills, the sore throat from Hell, just fucking raw, every time I coughed it was like razor blades in my throat, I haven't been that sick since, and I've been fucking sick. Kat, or Bev, or both, call me late that afternoon, come out and drink with us, I can't man, I'm sick. I'm sure they thought I was just blowing them off, no dammit, I'm sick, they're being very insistent- no one can be insistent like those two- I keep saying, NO, dammit, I'm SICK (and when I'm too sick to drink . . . ) finally I just hang up on them. They call back and I hang up again without answering and they don't call back. At an appallingly early hour, maybe 8 pm, Bev calls me, and I can tell she's blitzed out of her fucking mind. I can hardly understand a word she's saying, but the gist is "Help us". "Do you not understand I'M FUCKING SICK!" I holler, and slam down the phone. A few minutes later the phone rings again, and Loretta answers it. She's on it for a while, then comes in the bedroom- L: That was Kathy and Beverly on the phone. So I haul my sick as fuck ass up to The Levee (the Levee, Jesus, that was their first damn mistake) I get in and see Brian (not the AWA Brian, although this one also later did some serious jail time, not that I hold it against either of them), Beverly, and Kathy all in various states of drunken fall about at this table, and Sharon- I never found her particularly attractive (sorry, love), but she did have big tits, and the drunker she got, the prouder of them she got, she used to get drunk all the time and be unbuttoning her blouse down to her ankles, whatever, you know, this night she'd been compelled by drink to get up on the bar and do this semi-strip, when I walk in the door I see two guys leading her staggering drunk and half clothed ass out the back door, to the alley. Sharon was going willingly, but I don’t think she'd have liked it once she got out there. I imagine her husband would have liked it even less. I hustle over and in my best Clint Eastwood impression, which wasn't hard considering my throat was sore as fuck, rasped-
These guys looked pretty punk, although looks, as at least I know, can be very deceiving. Still, physically, they were pretty unprepossessing, young, say early twenties (I was 35 at the time), no muscle that I could see, I couldn't figure if they were preps trying to look white trash, or white trash trying to go prep, neither one was a pimple on MY ass, but there WERE two of 'em . . . They stopped, a bit uncertain, but still wanted to give me some lip. Amusingly, (at least to me), most of it of the "we saw her first, dammit" variety. Another night I might have had some fun with it but this night- have I mentioned I was SICK? There was an empty beer bottle on one of the tables, I picked it up- I didn't even have the strength to break it. B: I'm not talking about it. Get the fuck out of here or I'm gonna turn your heads fucking inside out. This was 99.9 percent pure bluff, if not more. I'm not normally a fan of bluffing, as I figure it's a pretty good way to get your teeth kicked in by someone who isn't, but if bluff is all you got . . . as in this case, as even trying to move fast would have turned my own head fucking inside out. If they pushed it, I was going to get my ass kicked, if not worse. Still, faint heart never won, nor saved, fair maid. There was a moment's stare down, and then, "Okay, dude, chill" one of 'em said, hey, chill would have been nice, as I was BURNING UP ALIVE, and they detached themselves from Sharon's oblivious ass, and left. I watched them all the way out as Sharon set herself down- never, EVER turn your back on someone you've had a confrontation with in a bar- (ESPECIALLY IF IT'S ME). - no kidding. I could now turn my attention to the folks at the table, and I have to say, they were about as drunk a bunch as I have ever seen in this very eventful life. I tried, futilely, to haul each one of them in turn to their feet. It was like trying to pick up eels. Drunk eels. I'd grab one of them under their arms and hoist (and yes, I copped feels off of all three of the women folk, fuck it, I had it coming to me and then some as far as I was concerned) only to have them slither, boneless, back into their seats. Worse, now that Captain fucking America (holding the top of his skull on with a leather strap) had shown up and they knew they were all safe, it was now back to shits and giggles, they weren't cooperating with me in the slightest, they even wanted to order some more drinks, "Okay, great, Bill's out to drink with us now". I got pretty fucking hot. B: Look, I know this is not getting through to ANYONE, but I'M SICK!!!! I don't want to be here. I don’t want to be doing this. I want to go home and get my blow job and go to sleep. Or vice versa, at this point I don’t fucking care. If you fucking drunks don't start cooperating with me, I swear by God, and Jesus, and the devil, and my own great big, giant, hairy and sick as fuck balls, I WILL WALK OUT OF HERE AND LEAVE ALL OF YOU TO YOUR CERTAIN FATES, IS THAT CLEAR?! Well, I'll give 'em credit, they did try. They began to compose and comport themselves as best they could so I could somehow get them home, Beverly starts speaking to me very calmly, and very much in control, the only problem being she's speaking Hittite- fuck, I think it was reverse Hittite, I've never heard such gibberish come out of a human mouth in my life- and I live with my DAD. Sharon starts swishing and swaying around, trying to put back on or completely take off her clothes, I don’t know which and I don't think she did either, then she abruptly grabs my wrist- B: Leggo of me. I jerk my arm away and Sharon falls down. Shit. At this point Kathy sort of climbs her way up me, getting me in a death grip around the neck.
And she did. B: Brian, a little help here? Brian: I'm her' chief . . . I'm on . . . I'm onna job . . Brian staggers over to Kathy and begins trying to tug her to her feet. Brian: Sorr' chief, I been try . . . I say I been . . . sorr' chief- Then he saluted me. And then HE fell down. This could go on forever- that night seemed to- but I eventually got them into my car and to Beverly's house, and then took my feverish ass home, where I had to wake up Loretta to get my blow job- "Can’t it wait till tomorrow?" "I'll be damned". Someone commented about how locked into the past I am, well, you know what, for one, the past is safe, and for two, I really don’t see a lot of bright spots in my future from here on out. Seriously, I don't see me ever again living the life I want to live, I honestly don’t see that happening, I want too many things I don't think I'll ever have again, if it weren't for the girls I would blow my fucking brains out as I sit here tonight and be happy in a job well done, if you've never believed a single word I've ever said, believe this. I figure everyone else other than the girls could just get over my self inflicted .45 therapy. I'm not saying I don't care about anyone else, or that my drilling a hole through my head wouldn't leave a void in some of your lives that would be hard to fill, cos love me or hate me, I doubt you know very many people like me. I just think you'd get over it. Not that you'll have to, or anything. Just talking here, boss. So- what's Bill been watching?
(I SUGGEST YOU DON'T). My favorite of the genre is Goliath And the Vampires which I saw at the theater with the hapless Ronnie Darnell back in the day, we got his Grandma to take us and drop us off- my parents always knew better than to leave me un-chaperoned in a theater. After the first time, anyway. Before we went Ronnie asked me "You're not going to try and kill me after the movie's over, are you?" "No", and I was as good as my word, we weren't even half way through the damn thing when- B: God BLESS, did you see how Goliath went-
Sarah spent the weekend in NYC, went to the three story Forbidden Planet comic book store (damn, Chris, we should check it out) among many other things, as well as going to CBGB's Saturday night to see her friend's band Disassociate play. Damn. Uptown girl. I wanted to do more, but I'm crashing (no speed since noon, only nine beers left in the case). DFZ news and then out. Hillbilly is now DFZ's best friend, which is okay by me, I never went looking for that fight anyway. He's actually a fairly intelligent guy- (YEAH, I ONLY HAD TO BREAK HIS NOSE ONCE) -ha, he's getting ready to go to Idaho for some reason I can't remember, worked him and Black for the millionth time- last week? it all runs together- getting tired of it cos they're a night's work, believe me, but Brian keeps giving me this "You're the only heel I can put with them who realistically looks like he can beat them", hey, get some bigger heels is what I'm saying, cos truly, when your Fed's biggest heel is only 6', 220 (on a good day), even if he is a freak of fucking nature, that's not gonna work. Anyway, I took a move where Black picked up Hillbilly and slammed him on top of me, a 400 pound guy throwing a 330 pound guy down on top of you as hard as he can, no way to fake that, crushed me pretty damn good (me and Danny still won thanks to the DF's loaded mask) when they asked later if it hurt I said "fuck no". But between you and me, it did. I remember making a big deal last summer about five matches in ten days, DFZ worked five matches this weekend, Friday night, two for TV Saturday morning, Saturday night in Sabine, then this (Sunday) afternoon in Summersville (for 8 people, thank goodness I'm on contract and get paid the same no matter what the house). Went two and three this weekend, two wins by pinfall, three losses by DQ-so I cheat, so fuck me. Worked Friday night clean, sped all day Saturday, no apologies, left here at 7 am and I didn’t get home from Sabine till 1 am, you want me falling asleep at the wheel and crashing?- not that it would hurt me, but it would fuck up my Dad's car- ran out of Dexies and had to resort to this cheap trucker speed, one guy was taking that shit you can get at like convenience stores, Stackers, fuck that shit, I need genuine pharmaceuticals, this other guy had what he called yellowjackets, they were always downs when I was a pup with Hector, he gave me three (again, people just seem to give me shit, I don’t know why, maybe it's my silly grin), I tried one, it wasn't a barbiturate, but it didn’t have that immediate kick that the Dexies do, so I went ahead and did the other two as well, oh boy, delayed reaction, by belltime, 1 pm, I was bouncing around that locker room like a Superball. Since there were only 8 people there Brian said I could bump Black, which I can’t do normally cos he doesn’t want to puncture the myth of Black's supposed invulnerability (until he does it himself- hell, it's his company). So I finally got to hit Black with an exploder, and yes, I CAN get a 400 pound fucker up and over. Not easily. But thoroughly. There was also this spot where Brian comes out and talks shit to Black, who goes out of the ring to confront him, then I go outside as well and jump on Black. In my speed addled brain- I was really out of it there for a while, unfortunately, mostly during the match- I figured, I haven't done a tope in a long time, I'll do that, but, somehow, I got Black confused with Breeze.
Breeze: Dude . . man, dude what are you . . . DUDE! Yeah boy, fun times in Summersville today. Actually, they were. I LOVE this shit. I just don't really have time for it anymore. Oh yeah, sorry I didn’t make it by today Chris, some guy's ride went off and left him, so I gave him a ride home from the matches, to Teays Valley, that ate up the time I would've had to stop by and hang for a beer. I am still buzzing like a bee hive, I think part of it is from not eating. Not sure what I ate yesterday, lets see, I had a club sammich- good one, too- there in Oak Hill after TV, then a couple free hot dogs in Sabine, today, nah, not much, two coffees and a cherry pie- that's not slang, it was a cherry pie, in a box- NO, it was a cherry pie in a box, really. That's not much fuel for a machine like this one. Probably should eat something. Maybe tomorrow. Now that I'm not trying to make her hate me, I'm getting along fine with Photographer Girl. She, however, made the mistake of telling the other wrestlers that she and I now aren't a couple- I never realized she had told them we were- and is now being swamped with more offers than she has any interest in at all. I know they're nothing but a bunch of hillbilly horn dogs down there, but it still surprises me just how many guy are very seriously all about this person I just don't find attractive at all. I'm often accused of being too fucking picky, and I realize that, but I also like what I like, and that's how it is. I like 'em fit- they don't necessarily have to be Cory Everson (the body builder, my favorite female one by far, and not the pretender who usurped her name and does porn under it) but I do like curves plus tone, and I like them bright, the brighter the better, and, truth be told, I like 'em nasty, although if they're built, and bright, I can make them nasty, that's not a problem. I'm thinking more and more that Loretta may have been a once in a life time, short term (twenty five years is short when you're going to live to be ninety) aberration.
(MISERABLE?). Exactly. Jesus. It's damn near four in the morning (this is my Mom's night in with my Dad). I am well and truly exhausted, and still have more energy than I know what to do with. Think I'll shut this one down and try to relax a bit. If my heart doesn't explode I think I'm well on my way to setting some kind of record. (MOST MANAGERS MISTAKENLY TOPED INTO THE BLEACHERS?) That would be it. What you see is what you get Later Bill
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Walk
the proud land with me 
I
forgot to mention last issue, I took my computer over to Joe's for him to
clear a bunch of gunk out of it, while he had it plugged in over there it
blew one of his circuits. Swear. Too much Bill Bitner build up in it. And
that's what Joe said. Slider, indeed.
D:
I didn't see a red headed duck fly through here the other day. 
I
forgot- I'm struggling here, already, rough weekend, OH YEAH (imagine that
in Randy Savage voice)- mail bag, got a number of comments on the photos
on the site last issue, one school going on about how adorable the girls
looked, yes, I agree with you completely. They were, and remain, extremely
adorable.
B:
Let her go.
K:
I'm gon' be good. 
Danny
gave me some DVDs the other day, some old sword and sandals with Steve
Reeves and Gordon Scott, my two favorites from that late 50's early 60's
bodybuilder bunch, I've read interviews with both of them and they were
both really cool guys, not narcissistic dicks at all, just neat guys who
liked to lift weights, the movies were quite enjoyable- I watched them
while I did my time on the step, very motivational- even if plot wise they
were as convoluted and formulaic (bizarre combination, I know) as any
episode of Matlock (a show much loved by old folks, I can understand that,
no matter how old they may be, here's the icon Andy Griffith looking twice
their age and playing the hero as well, although go up to some geezer
who's watching Matlock and ask them to tell you what's going on, and if
they can tell you anything more than "Matlock's gonna get 'em in the
end", I'll kiss your ass- fuck, ask ANYONE that question, have you
ever actually tried to WATCH Matlock, it's like taking acid, it's CRAZY).
These
movies always have the chaste and innocent girl that our muscle packed
hero is hot for, all the while spurning the villain's extravagantly buxom
and half clad evil consort (dumb fucks), said consort always falls for the
hero and helps him escape from a tunnel full of lava, or a cage full of
tiger bears, or some such shit, only to get caught herself and whipped
naked, or shot with an arrow naked, or some other thing, naked. They also
have great dialog like "I suggest you do not show opposition to
me."
Man,
I'm hurting here. Still got a ways to go, lets see how far we get. I'm
gonna skip what Bill's been reading, what's he been listening to? Well,
got a new CARE package the other day, 7 books, 5 CDs, all for under fifty
bucks (SSSLB) and am currently listening to The Best Of Cornelius Brothers
and Sister Rose and sir, let me tell you, this is some classic shit,
especially the magnificent "Treat Her Like A Lady" (always good
advice). Great dance song, I've had some people actually tell me this song
is "corny", you know what, corn this, motherfucker, although
some of the lyrics are a bit . . . "Strange as it seems/You can't
treat a woman mean". Strange as it seems?
How
do you confuse a 5'9" 170 pound black guy for a 6'3" inch 400
pound white guy? Hey, it's easy. So I run across the ring and launch
myself through the ropes at Breeze, hit his totally unsuspecting ass
flush, and knock him up into the stands. He flops around up there, going-
It
also always seems that the women I do find most attractive are the ones I
have the hardest time getting along with, even on a friendship level, for
any appreciable period of time. To illustrate (and answer the question
I've been asked sporadically these past few months as to why they never
appear in this thing anymore, together, or as individuals) I'm now totally
estranged from the Falconettes (