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7/25/11 Billy Vs. The Flying Fish I got to run to keep from hiding . . . Hey Well, hell. Damn near another month between issues. I try to get them out more frequently but as I've been saying, I'm uncharacteristically busy of late. Four women, three jobs, two gonads, one Bill. You do the math. (WHAT MATH?) See? No complaints though (also uncharacteristic) not even about the excessive employment cos while I hate to fucking work, and I do Auntie Em, I really do, I hate being broke even worse. Besides, as Ronnie whined to Nancy the other day "I don't think you should call what Rambo does work." So let's get right to what Bill's been doing this past month (only mail bag I can recall at the moment were a couple folks asking about the Festivall photos absent from last issue, I guess Joe can put them in this issue when it goes up) so I can finally get to the story for which this issue is named.
Scrapyard still dead, Hot Rod Rambo still driving poor Ronnie around the bend on the grass cutting front. Once again I fell asleep on the damn riding mower (you get my already insomniac and now burning the candle from end to end ass out on that machine with the engine noise and the rocking motion and the hot sun and I'm telling you boys and girls it's lights out for Hot Rod Rambo) and ran it up on this great big pile of asphalt chunks where someone once pulled up this big parking lot and now it's all grown up and shit and tore the fuck out of the bucket (not the blade fortunately). I pried the mower off the pile (after I pried myself off of the pile) and since it would still run I kept cutting. Crybaby Ronnie (he's such a big girl's blouse, honestly) who has to check up behind me comes into the office a little later after I've gone in there to get some more water and sunscreen (even tanned up like I'm getting that sun will still light my ass up for real wthout it). He's got some kind of shit in his hands he's ALL worked up about. Ronnie: Rambo! This brings Nancy out of her office to look at the debris in Ronnie's hand and to give me a sour ass look. Nancy: You're costing me more than you're worth!
Ronnie: I need a nut check. He just keeps standng there with an expectant look on that crazed retard face of his till finally Nancy asks-
Nancy: Okay, Ronnie. What makes you say you should get a check
for being a nut? Later that week Nancy had Ronnie do something to the throttle on the mower so it won't go as fast. Fuck me if I won't wreck the damn thing again anyway just to show 'em. But it won't be this week cos I'm working tomorrow and Tuesday helping move the Elk Valley library (might stop in and see you Dave if you're working) then doing security at the Main Library Wednesday and Thursday. Nancy's not happy and Hot Rod Rambo doesn't care. A friend of Rosa's (RF) joined us at the River's Edge Cafe last Monday where we've been going sporadically after yoga for a while now, regularly for the past month or so (I've been terrible about actually participating in the yoga part, just showing up for the after class beer- I'll buckle back down this fall, swear), another nice girl, again good looking which I presume should go without saying at this point, went down to Crumbpeckers after the Cafe closed, she and I stayed after everyone else left to get better acquainted. We went out to Grumpy's (used to be Tomahawks) Friday night and had a very good time, the "entertainment" of Dave "Corncob" McCormick notwithstanding. I promised Rosa no details in here or in person and I intend to honor that so I'll simply say that by the evidence so far it appears that her friend likes me. A lot. Bill's new friend from the Point Pleasant retreat (PP) showed up at the matches a few weeks back so I guess we can use that as a lead in to DFZ corner. Worked that Boone County show in Sylvester for Allen on July 2nd and it was hot as fucking balls. Dear God, I could barely breathe even before I put the mask on. It was a bought show and he brought a short crew (just ten workers) so we'd all get a good payday but it was another one of those shows where Allen only got the rest of his guarantee at the end of the two hour show. No two hours, no full pay. Yeah, I saw this coming too, already happened once before. The early guys were trying to go long but it was just SO fucking hot, the clock reads 2:50, the show doesn't end till 4:00 and the only matches left are mine and Juggs and Allen and Shane. Yeah. So Allen and Shane go out and work twenty minutes then DFZ comes out and interferes. Then Juggs and I go out and work what felt like the longest twenty minutes of my life and Shane interferes. We were obviously setting up for a tag match to finish but the hillbilly crowd beat us to it chanting "Double match, double match!" Funny. We went the full half hour and I thought it would never end. To fill the time I even took some bumps- I know- at one point Juggs slammed me and went up to the top for a leg drop, the mat started literally burning my back the very second I hit it, lying there sizzling, fuck kayfabe, "Hurry up Juggs, this mat's hot, THIS MAT'S HOT". I got the crowd chanting "THIS MAT'S HOT" which was funny but not so much as Juggs is up there laughng instead of jumpng on me. Burned my fucking back for real, it ended up blistering. By the end of the match my eyes were almost swollen shut from all the damn sweat that had run into them, Juggs wants to shoot me off for a clotheline, "Wait, I can't SEE," too late, I came off the ropes and ran right into him. Juggs: Can you not see? Finally it ends, we get our pay and are all just bitching about how much we fucking hate wrestling when this promotor running an outdoor show in Huntington that evening calls Allen and wants to know if some of us can come work his show. He specifically asked for me and Juggs (among others). I quoted him an outrageous price for my working his show assuming he'd say no way- cos I fucking hate wrestling- but the son of a bitch said yes (and paid me without complaint after the show) so Juggs and I ended up wrestlng again that night. It was hot but after Sylvester it was like wrestling- I don't know, someplace really cool. Iceland, maybe. DeathStars 2.0 worked at the ASC the next weekend with special guest referee Bobby Blaze. Man, it was good to see him. Sad as well. He's had two neck surgeries since I last saw him and his neck is still fucked up, he's been getting injections in it hoping to avoid another surgery. Fucking wrestling. Blatantly showing off for him Shane and I had a really good match with the trainees (who are finally getting decent enough to have a good match), Bobby "calling it right down the middle" as an unbiased ref until the finish when he takes off his boot and just BLASTS (I saw that one coming a mile away) the trainees with it and the DeathStars win once again. In the back the trainees were both trying to discretely cradle their aching heads when Bobby asked one of them- Bobby: Did that boot hurt? Good fun. But I still fucking hate wrestling. Seeing Bobby again inspired me go through my files and count all my matches. That one was match 524. (MORE THAN HALF WAY TO ONE THOUSAND) Right. Point Pleasant girl showed up at the ASC show- wasn't expecting her but was damn glad to see her. I wanted to get straight to business but instead we first went to the Gino's in Nitro with Jock- the most unintentionally, hilariously crude person on earth, he's fuckng Cartman come to life "Linda. LINDA! Godammit, she's deaf!" (she is)- Mathis from AX, Smokey C, and their respective women. Fun to hang with those guys, PP found them amusing, then we went to her place where I ended up staying the night (while telling my Mom I was at Rosa's, how fucking high school is that?) Worked last weekend up in Ohio for that shit fed, had no interest at all but the Black Irish Saints were calling Shane and I out for real. We'd already passed once on going up and working them- I don't have fuck all to prove- so they were talking shit in the locker room and on the Internet that we were legit afraid of them. Again, fuck that, I got better things to do with my time, especially now, but it got Shane all worked up so in a show of tag team solidarity I went up to Lancaster (damn near to Columbus) with him to confront these fucks- and when we showed up the BIS were all backpedaling "We don't know what you've heard but anything we've said was just a work." Whatever, rosebud. Actually had a decent match with them (though Shane and I both stiffed the fuck out of them, if it's a work you need to let the guys you're working in on it, you know what I mean?), invited them down here for a match but I don't think they'll accept. Went to a White Castle after the show where I bought a case of 30, one of the trainees was designated driver (at his expense) while the other was designated beer buyer (ditto)- all part of their training- beer boy almost get left in Ohio when he came back to the car with a case of Bud Light, sent him back in for a six of Heineken. Have to say I found the ride back relaxing- ate ten White Castles, then drank the six Heineken and nine Bud Light- I know but they were there, and free, and I wanted to keep my buzz going- got home around 3:30 am and slept like an innocent child. Went to a cook out at Joe and Laura's on the 4th, great spread, lovely to see most of Joe's family there. Kathy bought a bunch of books, God bless her, and called me a picaresque hero, God bless her again. Might have been better fireworks and being able to drink hard and stay late wise to have had it on the 3rd but as Tommy Rich says, hindsight is 50/50. Went over to Mike and Sig's last night for an excellent steak dinner- yes, people are too good to me- and beer and cigars out on the deck till the early am. It's crazy the disparate names that will come up in our conversations- Carlos Hathcock, Peter Capstick, S.Clay Wilson, Roy Buchanan, Sterling Hayden. Mike knows a lot about a lot which is one of the reasons I enjoy hanging out with him. If I lived alone I would have stayed all night cos I wasn't ready to leave when I did. (YOU COULD HAVE CALLED AND SAID YOU WERE STAYING AT ROSA'S) Don't want to wear that one out. Also it might be nice to let Rosa know next time before I do it. (SHE SAID SHE DIDN'T WANT TO KNOW WHEN YOU DO IT) Just with the one. Let's conclude the flying fish story. I've been both out and up late every night for over a week now, put a lot of beer away during that time- exercised hard today for the first time in close to a week (well . . .), worked up a nice frothy sweat that was probably at least 3.2- starting to get tired even though it's still early (Bill's drinking green tea tonight). We've already established that little Billy was crazy about fishing. I have no explanation for it- I mean logically, even if things work out to their highest potential the best you're going to end up with is a fucking fish. But as already stated Billy was all about it and being the good father that he was my Dad would often take me. This trip was down to the Shenedoah River (which my father always referred to as Big Eddie for reasons known only to his crasy ass) around summer '65 or so which would put our hero at eight years of age. Where we fished was about a 45 minute drive from my grandparent's house and it was always a big deal for me when I could talk my Dad into going there instead of those horrible trips just driving around looking for he called "fish water" with my nut job Grandad cos we sometime actually caught fish out of Big Eddie (that name cracks me up to this day). Along on this trip were my Grandad- grumpier than usual cos we weren't out crawling the backroads- and my sister Lori who was around four or five and who was there cos I'd told her she couldn't come and she went crying to my Mom who said she could. Some things never fucking change. We found a nice spot right below a little waterfall where the river bent- Sports Afield says below a watefall's a good place to fish- where there were plenty of shade trees around this big open space on the bank. I throw out what I think is a pretty good cast to the base of the waterfall, my Dad does the same for Lori- Billy: You're letting her fish?!? -and himself and then we take our seats cos that's how we fished back then, we'd throw some worms in the water and then wait. My Grandad wandered off muttering to himself and puffing on a piece of old rope that he called a cigar. After a few minutes of no fish action Billy gets bored-it didn't take long then and it doesn't take long now- so he decides to entertain himself with a song. Billy: Oh, my name
is Billy and I'm the King Bill's Dad: HEY! I figured he was just singing along so I kept going. B: Billy says, say hey mother- OW. Hey! What'd you hit me for?
I gave him the look that deserved. B: Only a big fat fairy would sing, "Say la de da". Billy sings,
"Say hey-'" Having no desire to sing out the other side of my head- I had no idea what that even meant but I was pretty sure I wouldn't like it- I shut up for a while, But you can only keep a good song down for so long. My Grandad came back from wherever he had been casting his evil spells and since we weren't exactly pulling them in hand over fist started trying to talk my Dad into going to this place he knew of "where even that boy could catch a fish." I figured they were distracted enough I could get in another verse or two. B: Oh, my name is
Billy and I'm the best Billy's Granddad: BOY! Fortunately about that time something tugged on my line cos telling my Grandad to go piss up a rope probably wouldn't have ended well for Billy even if he was both the King and the best. B: Hey. I got a bite. I GOT A BITE! I set the hook like it was Moby Dick on the other end and started reeling like the crazed thing that I was. A few seconds later this fish shoots straight up out of the water like a fucking rocket. B: He's jumping. HE'S JUMPING! This was a big deal. TV fish jumped. Magazine fish jumped. The bottom feeders we normally caught, the sunfish and bullheads and suckers- they didn't jump. This was new and exciting ground for all of us. Only instead of falling back in the water this fish keeps going straight up at speed, ten feet, twenty- B: He's trying to get away! Lori starts crying cos the sight of a fish rocketing around in the air upset her four year old sensibilities, my Grandad starts laughing like I never heard him do before or since, soon to be followed by my Dad as my fish flies up into where the branches of this tree are hanging over the water. The line stops dead and as hard as I reel I can bring no more in. B: He flew up into that tree! I handed my rod to my Dad- "If he gets away now it's your fault"- and went over and started climbing the tree that crazy ass fish had flown up into. Like I'd really cast over a branch and not know it. Fairly high up- easily thirty feet without exaggeration- I saw him dangling out over the water, my line looped around the branch multple times. B: I FOUND HIM! I shinny- my Dad's word- out along the branch to where the fish is swinging in the wind, a sucker (in more ways than one) maybe all of nine inches long. He's kind of banged up from where I kept yanking him into the branch while I was tangling him around it but I don't care, I caught him and he's mine. Holding on to the branch with one hand I reach out to unhook him and- have you ever grabbed a sucker? They're soft and cold and slimy, like grabbing a hand full of zombie snot. B: Ick. Oh shit. I let go of the sucker. I also let go of the damn branch. The fall was sufficiently far for my Dad to have time to yell "Aim for the water!" -yeah, kind of hard to AIM there Pops when you're in free fall- and Lori's scream to rise through four octaves. Fortunately no aim was necessary and I landed in the river, which I found both surprisingly cold for summer and hard for water. The depth was not quite over my head- again luckily, I'd hit flat- and after I floated for a few seconds to regain what few senses I had I began to thrash around in the water like I was being attacked by crocodiles. I was embarrassed about falling out of the tree but why I thought this display would make it better now escapes me. L: Daddy, Billy's drowning! I waded back to shore and even though I protested vigorously- "there's FISH here!"- the combination of flying fish and flying brother was too much for Lori and we had to go back to my grandparents house. But she remembers the flying fish to this day so I guess that's something. And now maybe you will too. I'm out of here. I'll try to be back soon (and drunk). Later Bill
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Ronnie keeps a bug up his ass about the Hot Rod. He comes in the
office last Monday and walks up to me and Nancy. 
