5/25/11

Surrender Or Just Fight

I don't need to sell my soul
He's already in me

Hey

Got a busy (wish it was busty like I first typed) Memorial Day weekend coming up- just busy in general anymore. I'm not really a fan of busy, I much prefer relaxed or even drunken stupor- but I have some free time tonight so . . .

Last issue generated a lot of mail, a lot of it surprisingly sympathetic over Bill's going batshit in Gallipolis. Danke, although I'll be the first to admit it wasn't my finest hour. My Mom continues her ever downward spiral- her lack of anything approaching good sense reminds me more and more every day of Al, it's very disheartening, seems like there's a problem (for me) here because of it every single day. Like the simple act of her knocking a dish rag into the sink ending with her burning up the motor in the garbage disposal and clogging up the pipes. Or Tina taking her to the doctor for me (good) but then not going in with her (bad) so my Mom tells the doctor she's having problems with constipation when she meant to say diarrhea (because she won't wash her fucking hands just like Al never would) and he gives her some super strong stool softener and Bill comes home to a mess you really don't want to read about.

I'm actually feeling better though (thank you for your concern) the cough is finally gone and I don't feel sick anymore. Just tired as fuck, physically and mentally.

Also got three, count 'em THREE respsonses to my request for free speakers, going to take my bud Jason S. up on his. See, it never hurts to ask.

My girls are both now unemployed, Sarah (who will be flying in here tomorrow evening for Memorial Day) and the financial folks came to a mutual agreement that the job was not for her, and Rachel got promoted at her burger place only for it to shut down a few days later.

(DAMN, THAT WAS FAST WORK).

I know. Daddy's so proud.

I may have quit cutting grass at PAR. I got pissed today and walked off, not sure if I'll go back to it or not even though it's the easiest of my three jobs. Just haven't been in the mood for Ronnie's stupid ass, there's only so much of his hillbilly retard act I can take and he's just been a real bitch lately (he and Phil haven't spoken in weeks and the problem is all Ronnie) he was being especially pissy today. Nancy (who always takes his side in these disputes which Phil and I don't like but understand cos he and I could be replaced in a heartbeat but she'd have to pay a new hire twice what she pays Ronnie) told me "Deal with it,", my response being I can deal with it one of two ways, I can kill his moron ass or walk away. So, see ya. She called here three times this afternoon after I left "Bill, call me", uh, sure, call this, bitch. Fuck 'em both.

The library has been emptied out by that prick security guard so working there has been pretty much cake lately. Only have two more weeks of easy duty till school's out then I have to work the main library this summer. Not thrilled about that but it's better than losing the hours.

Little Miss Chaos Butt reappeared last week, came flouncing up to the front desk where I was talking to Olivia, one of the librarians (and a burgeoning Death Falcon fan, I sold her 3 promo photos and a copy of the book for twenty bucks and she thinks she got a good deal)-

(AND SHE DID)

LMCB: Hi, did you miss me?
Bill: Never knew you were gone.

So then she went over to the computers swishing her ass like she was trying to shake flies off of it.

Olivia: Is that for you?
Bill: If it is I'm not claiming it.
O: Smart man.

You can- Olivia can, anyway, so I had her do it- pull up a person's library card info if they're signed on to a library computer so I had her do it with LMCB as a purely defensive measure- know your enemy. LMCB doesn't live in Meadowview thankfully, must just come here to visit, and at 15 will hopefully be moving on to high school next year. I know much more than that about her but I'm keeping it to myself.

(I STILL SAY-)

I can't hear you, I can't hear you.

What's Bill been up to?

Slacking on the yoga that's for damn sure. Only made it over once since last issue and I didn't participate in class that time but sat out on Rosa's deck and drank some Breckenridge 700 something (as best I can remember, fucking bad brain) $15 for six but good and strong, and smoked a cigar. I got your health nut right here.

Went to Rosa's 50th birthday party at CL Cold Spot a few weeks ago, had a good time. Ron picked me up, we were only going to stay a little while, that didn't work out, drank a bunch of Bass Ale, came home and drank some more.

Went up to Adelphia Sports Bar next to Pies and Pints last Wednesday to meet with Danny, Allen and the Festivall folks about wrestling at Festivall this year. Was going to have a beer, the waiter goes, "I know you, I waited on you once at BBW, you're going to want a pitcher," ha, it's good to be known. I guess he's the guy who was behind the bar when Rach and I were in there is all I can figure, and he was right, I did want a pitcher (Yuengling was the best they had). He was so right I ended up drinking two. Go figure. As for Festivall there's going to be a lucha exhibition (yeah, right) 6/25 at 3 pm on Hale Street, four matches, main event Los Estrellas de la Muerte (DFZ, Shane Storm- in our new Mexican gear!- and Mathis from AX) VS. Los Cantoritos (Juggulator, Allen and Maximus from AX). That one should be worth the price of admission alone.

(IT'S A FREE SHOW)

As it should be. Power to the people.

Ran into this young guy outside before I went in, "Bill, great to see you!", knew I knew him but had no idea who he was- I know, it's getting TERRIBLE- whoever he was he was damn glad to see me, I had a hell of a time getting away from him, finally pulled the old, "Well come on in here and buy me a beer," trick which scared him off sure enough. Which makes even more sense when Danny (who had also run into him) told me it was my little drinking buddy Steve from Belize. Now I'm sorry I didn't recognize him, I liked that kid.

Also had another fine dinner at Mike and Sig's, no movies this time, the weather was pretty much perfect for sitting on Mike's deck and drinking beer and smoking cigars so that's what we did. Very nice time, very relaxing.

It's not exactly breaking news anymore but who else thinks Catherine Zeta-Jones being crazy makes her even hotter?

(ME! ME!)

By God me too. Adds a whole new dimension to my fantasies.

I don't normally mention obituaries here covered by the mass media- I figure that's what they're for- but I do want to note the passing of Harmon "Killer" Killabrew.

(SON OF A BITCH COULD KNOCK THE HELL OUT OF A BASEBALL)

I doubt he'd appreciate you calling him a son of a bitch, but indeed he could. He was one of my Dad's and my favorite ballplayers back in his day (one of the few things my Dad and I could usually agree on was ballplayers- that and the fact that at least one of us was fucking crazy) and even with all the roided up pieces of shit that have come through baseball in the past 20 years- yeah I'm talking to you Mark and Barry and Rafael and even you "how'd I gets so white" Sammy- he's still #11 on the all time home run hitting list. And by all accounts was a hell of a nice guy. So RIP Harmon Killabrew.

And I can't not note the passing of Randy Savage. I first saw the Macho Man around '81-'82 when one of the channels around here started running his Dad Angelo's outlaw ICW promotion out of Lexington, bizzarro low budget wrestling at it's finest with Mop Head matches and False Teeth on a Pole matches and champ the Macho Man's truly over the top promos. I knew wrestling was a work back then but I remember the first time I saw Savage I said to Loretta, "That guy's legit nuts." And as Joe said, who would have thought the only person to get Raptured would be Randy Savage? So, RIP Macho Man, oh yeah.

(DIGGIT).

"You're face looks like a wet geranium."

What's Bill been reading?

Well, a big book of Dashiell Hammett's short stories, where the above quote comes from, said to the Continental Op after he'd been in a bust up with a bunch of thugs. Also The Winter War about the Russo-Finnish conflict 1939-40, lemme tell you, those Finns were some tough sons a bitches-

(I DOUBT THEY'D APPRECIATE YOU CALLING THEM SONS A BITCHES)

-touche, also a book about the Mau Mau uprising in Kenya back in 50's, Pulp History: Shadow Knights about Special Ops in WW II, Viet Nam Remembered, Totally Wired about the post-punk (always hated that phrase) bands, Haiti Noir, two old Lawrence Block crime novels from the 60's, The Barrens (F. Paul Wilson short stories), Dead Sea (zombie novel, sucked), a big (700+ pages) anthology set in Jack Vance's Dying Earth (very good), Hulk Hogan's autobiography (he comes off a complete ass) as well as Road Warrior Animal's (he fares somewhat better, but if you're really such a tough guy you shouldn't have to tell me every other page) and about 25 graphic novels, the only one I'll mention being Justice with it's incredible Alex Ross art (I'd have him do a Death Falcon portrait but the son of a bitch- I know, he wouldn't etc.- charges $4000). I especially like the cool retro-future silver armor on the Atom. Good stuff. Oh yeah, and kudos to whoever wrote it- I can't remember- for portraying Aquaman as a badass, not a joke (and includng the original Doom Patrol and Metal Men).

What's Bill been watching?

Found a bunch of movies on you.tube, the original Dawn of the Dead, not as good as I remember or even how I remember, Damnation Alley, every bit as shitty as I remember (Joe, Loretta and I saw it one weekend when he came up to visit us in Fairmont, I wanted to burn the fucking theater down- we also watched Animal House, Buck Rogers and March Or Die, the three of us, on other Fairmont visits by Joe, wouldn't mind seeing MoD again). Found the DVDs Joe gave me- I'd foolishly set them down on the dining room table and my Mom came along behind me and piled a bunch of shit on top of them, so I watched the Lemmy documentary. He seems like a pretty cool guy except for his fixation with Nazi gear/memorabilia.

I realize that if you have that bent it's hard not to be impressed by their military excellence- the Wehrmacht was easily the best professional army the modern world, and maybe the world period has ever seen (and the Luftwaffe were no slouches even though they didn't have a heavy bomber worth a shit)- the United States Army which kicked their fucking asses was a citizen army God bless 'em and the Red Army simply overwhelmed them with a never ending stream of men and machines- even at the end when the Germans were fielding mostly old men and kids and backpedalling to save their lives they still inflicted losses on the Reds at a ratio of 5 to 1. Even so- the Nazis were some evil, evil motherfuckers and it's not okay (at least in my book, the only one that matters) to wear their gear no matter their battlefield prowess or how goddamn great it looks.

Cos make no mistake, look great it does. Red and black is a very powerful color scheme-

(TELL ME ABOUT IT)

-and they were all about the iconograghy but still- burn that shit or throw it in the fucking trash where it belongs. Fuck the fucking Nazis.

(I AGREE. FUCK THE MOTHERFUCKERS AND THE TANK THEY RODE IN ON)

What's Bill drinking?

Tonight some berry flavored water. Got to work at the yard tomorrow (I didn't quit there, just maybe-probably- the mowing) from 8-2:30, the library from 3-8 and then go pick up Sarah at the airport. Supposed to stop in and see Danny and Balsa (who's returning to Montenegro next week, my only chance to see him before he leaves) after that, may drink a couple beers with them. While I've had more to drink the past few weeks than the few before that, by Bill's standards I'm not drinking much at all. Fuck busy anyway.

It's still relatively early so maybe I'll start on the story I mentioned last issue. Lori was out here a while ago, I forget how it came up, but she goes, "Remember the flyng fish?"

How could I forget.

Starting when I was around five years old, after I read my first Outdoor Life and developed this sudden and insane passion for fishing, every time we'd go visit my grandparents in Martinsburg at some point Raleigh William Bitner Marks I through III, Raleigh I being armed with a shirt pocket full of cigars and an ass pocket full of whiskey and a brain full of animosity for his fellow man, would set out in pursuit of fish. Or at least one of us would. My Granddad just wanted to get out of the house and explore (and drink and smoke). He was always telling my Dad, "Yeah, I know of this great fishing hole" and my Dad the poor sap would always fall for it with the result that we'd drive all over fucking creation till my Granddad saw a place he'd like to check out and he'd go "It's around here" and then we'd park the car and just walk all the fuck over, Bill lugging his damn rod and tackle box-

Billy: I don't think this old bastard knows where he's going.
Dad: You let him hear you call him an old bastard and I know where you're going.

-till my Granddad had seen all of the local scenery that he wanted to see and would go, "Must not be around here any more" or else we stumbled across water. Walk fucking far enough often enough and you're going to run across water sometimes just through blind chance. And any water was water to my Granddad.

Grandad: There you go boy. Fish.
Billy: Where?
G: There.
B: THERE?
G: Yep.
B: It's a mud puddle.
G: Did you come to fish or complain?
B: IT'S A MUD PUDDLE.
G: Sounds to me like the boy needs whipped.
Dad: Dad, it's mud puddle
G: Sounds like you do too.

Oh, the joy. Used too drive me OUT OF MY MIND.

One time my Granddad sent me under a barbed wire fence ("Me and your Dad will try to find a way around") and into a field with a bull in it- he saw it, I didn't- with the guarantee that there was a trout stream on the other side (to his credit he knew how to work my ass, I'd never caught anything up to that point but some suicidal sunfish most of whom lived in mud puddles, trout were what the big boys in Outdoor Life caught, all right, stand back and lemme at 'em) then laughed so hard he both choked on his whiskey and dropped his cigar when that fucking bull chased me around and around and AROUND that field-

Billy: Whoa, bull. WHOA!

-before I managed to escape with a picture perfect baseball slide back under the fence. If it hadn't been perfect I would have ripped my face off.

My Dad was kind of upset-

D: For God's sake Dad, the boy could have been killed!
G: A bull's not gonna kill that boy. He was born to hang.

As I've said before my Granddad wasn't real fond of me and that's no joke.

(I'LL SAY)

For one thing my nigh constant singing and dancing of self-created (and aggrandizing) song and dance irritated his tormented soul-

Billy: Howdy Grandad, you want to hear my new- hey, you almost hit me with that!

Mostly he'd throw whatever was already in his hand which meant I learned to avoid him when he was downstairs in his cellar workshop/retreat, one time down there he threw a ball peen hammer at me and no I'm not kidding, also once when I bothered him outside, a brick. If I hadn't been born a freak of fucking nature with the reflexes of a jungle cat- or a Death Falcon- I wouldn't be here to tell you these tales I assure you. And either my Granddad or later my Dad would have ended their days in the big house. Or bug house depending on how good a lawyer they got.

One day we were all in my grandparents living room, they were watching either Lawrence Welk or Gunsmoke which I think were the only two programs their TV picked up, I was in that house a thousand times as a kid and those were the only two shows that were ever on. I was at the back of the room singing (softly, in self defense, I didn't want my Granddad throwing the TV set at me) to myself some song about Billy Bitner and doing a little improvised shuffle step when my Granddad remarked-

Granddad: Paint that kid's head with shoe polish you could put him in a minstrel show

If you'll recall a while back when I was annoying the piss out of my Grandma on my mother's side on the train ride back from Rock Hill (or maybe it was in the Super Giant, most likely both) she also suggested my joining a minstrel show although she left out the part about the shoe polish (which I thought was a neat touch, and being somewhat touched myself, was all for).

My Mom happened to overhear and even back then she was sticking her nose in where it didn't belong and causing trouble that didn't need to be caused.

Mom: You're not putting shoe polish on that child's head.
Granddad: What?
M: I said you're not putting shoe polish on that child's head.
Dad: Dot, I don't think he was-
G: By God I will if I want to.
M: No you will not.
Billy: I don't mind.
M: He's not putting shoe polish on your head.
G: The hell I'm not. Georgie where's the goddamn shoe polish!
B: Neat!

And off to the damn races we went. I don't know how many family's have had fights that lasted for hours over painting a child's head with shoe polish but around the Bitner house it was just another day.

And you can probably figure how this ended up. Couple months later my parent's have some people over, the Smiths, McGees and Arscotts are the ones I remember (I think it was at one of these things that I saw the bottle of J&B mentioned last issue), I guess their version of the MC. About halfway through this soiree here comes Billy, head as black as a chunk of coal and still dripping shoe polish to jump up on the coffee table, drop to one knee and launch into his rendition of "Mammy".

The only word of the song I knew was Mammy but I was hardly going to let that stop me.

Billy: Mammy. Oh Mammy. Mammy, Mammy, Mammy. Mammy, I tell you. MAMMY!

It didn't exactly receive a standing ovation

Mrs. Smith: What in the name of God . . .
Mr. Smith: What the hell's all over his head?
Mrs. McGee: Dot, I think there are special schools . . .
Scotty (Mr. Arscott): That's the funniest damn thing I've ever seen in my life. Sing it again kid.
Bill's Mom: BIT!

Yeah, my Mom being my Mom blamed (and blasted) my Dad. Don't ask me how the hell it was his fault- it was my Granddad's idea and I put it into execution- but she was furious with my Dad. I guess cos she could get a reaction from my Dad, both my Granddad and I not giving a flying fuck if she was pissed or not.

As an added treat the shoe polish didn't entirely wash off so for the next few months here my parents were traipsing around early 60's DC with their little mulatto boy in tow. Who was only mulatto from the neck up. Yeah, we got some looks.

Still need to get a shower and do some other shit to get ready for tomorrow so I think I'm going to sign off (I know, what a far cry from the drunken, sent out at 5 am psychobabble newsletters of yore- fear not, neither you nor I have seen the last of their kind) even though we haven't even gotten close to the flyng fish part of the recitation yet. I think I'll save it for next issue. Give you something to look forward to.

I wanna be adored.

Later

Bill