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8/6/11 Dial H For Hero
Hey We're back boys and girls with another issue of that internet phenomenon (boy howdy) I like to call the Bill Bitner Newsletter. Leaving town in the morning- actually that would be later this morning- for a mixed business/pleasure trip to the big city that I'm playing atypically close to the vest this time around- who says Bill can't learn from experience?- (YOU MEAN BESIDES ME AND ANYONE ELSE WHO'S EVER MET YOU?) -so I hopefully won't have to answer any more questions like (for example) "Hey Bill, what happened to that movie you were going to be in where you were going to seduce Daryl Hannah? And take pictures? And post them?" with a sorry ass "It fell through. And actually it would have been Joe posting them." "What?" "It fell through goddammit, it fell through!" Not this time, he vowed. Lots of mail already, the ones with Billy and his Dad always draw a lot of response, again much of it of the "you either had the most bizarre childhood ever or you have a very twisted imagination" ilk, my answer as always being "Why can't it be both?" since to me one would naturally seem to lead to the other. And even though no one called me on it (danke) let me apologize here and now for all the typos and sloppy spelling toward the end of last issue, both of them sheer anathema to Bill (Shenedoah, fucking please). I was hurt brain tired by that point but that's no excuse. Spell it right or don't spell it at all. Also got a lot of comments on the new, made in Mexico gear as featured in the Festivall photos (I normally let Joe's captions speak for themselves but as I've already told him I think "feeble kneed DFZ maladroitly executes the spot" is both sadly accurate and funny as hell- more on this later in DFZ news), yes that is a big red star with a skull inside it sitting dead square atop Bill's manhood. Genius, I agree but I can't take credit for it, it was that master of the gear making art (and he is, legit, he makes the finest masks I've ever seen) El Mariachi's idea. After we'd told him about the lettering down the side and the "100% rudos" on the ass he points at my crotch and goes- El Mariachi: You wan' someting dere? And I pointed at Aztec's hot sister, the one I insulted on the radio last year blithely unaware that she was listening in- I honestly don't think it was the fact that I said she could be had for a price that pissed her off as much as what I quoted as her price (and demanded change back from Aztec)- and who apparently hates me for real. Ain't no kayfabe for that girl. She starts spewing a stream of Mexican invective that had all the Spanish speakers open mouthed with admiration. (IF YOU'RE GOING TO PISS 'EM OFF, BY GOD PISS 'EM OFF) No worries there. Mariachi suggested a red star with a white skull inside it. Bill: You know, for a second choice that's not bad. Will it be cheaper than her? More invective followed. (I THINK SHE THREATENED TO DO THE DOUBLE DECEMBER ON OUR CHESTNUTS)
That reminds me. Ron. I got (today) the text you sent yesterday. I don't know how to respond to it (telephonically) but I did get it. Never did mention it in here but Bill has a cell phone, has had for a couple months now. Of course someone gave it to me. No, I don't know how to use it. Much. I can answer it if you call. I can call you. Don't expect either to happen much. Saw in the paper the other day where Kent Carper called these people, "Scofflaws with a capital S." I think Mr. Carper is a total puke but that's funny. If you ever say "awesome" at me in a falsetto voice I will kill you. Oh yeah, some more mail bag I forgot. Got a letter from a literate reader saying, "You should call yourself Hot Rod Rimbaud". While admitting that that egocentric pug Stallone is hardly the best role model (and very definitely giving props to the fact you recognize that Rimbaud is pronounced the same as Rambo), why on earth would I want to name myself after a dissipated Gallic fruit cup? (A SEASON IN HELL?) There is that. I'll run it by Ronnie and see what he thinks, he's the one who came up with the Rambo tag in the first place. Okay, maybe thinks isn't the right word.
No more four. (I KNEW IT WAS TOO GOOD TO LAST) It just didn't feel right being out with these women when I was all about someone else in my head. (WAIT A MINUTE. YOU PULLED THE PLUG YOURSELF?) Yeah. (OKAY, WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH BILL BITNER?) I was thinking if someone is willing to see me as a good person maybe I should try to act like one. (I'M ONLY GOING TO ASK YOU ONE MORE TIME. THEN I'M GOING TO THE AUTHORITIES) Good luck with that. Be sure to write when you get out. (WELL PLAYED. OKAY, BUDDY. BUT I'M GOING TO HAVE MY EYE ON YOU) Till something with curves walks by. (DAMN. WELL PLAYED AGAIN, SIR.) Haven't done much cutting lately, helped move the Elk Valley library last week which wasn't hard work but it was kind of hot, but nothing like this past Thursday when I cut from 7 am to 5 pm and just got lit the fuck up over the course of the day, thank God I'm a FOFN or I would have suffered like a human. Didn't destroy anything, although I did get Ronnie to rev the mower back up- Ronnie: Just don't tell Nancy I done it.
At one point Thursday I parked the mower and walked around behind one of the buildings to take a piss in the shade and damn near walked into this buzzard. Startled me. They're all over the yard, in the morning dozens of them line up along the tops of the abandoned buildings and spread their wings, it'd make a great intro for a horror movie, but I've never seen one on the ground before. He was just standing there looking at me (fucker was big) no more than twenty feet away. I didn't see anything dead on the ground, maybe he was just back there taking a piss himself, I don't know. I went back around the corner and pissed by the mower. (YOU BACKED DOWN FROM A BUZZARD?) I'm not comfortable with any bird who's pecker is on the same level as mine. (THAT I'LL GIVE YOU) Fear not. If he'd wanted to go, the orphans would have been eating buzzard soup that night. (BETTER THAN THE BUZZARDS EATING ORPHAN SOUP) Yep. Especially if you're an orphan. Also cut what I call the Truck Field, this huge field with about forty vehicles all going to rust on it- panel trucks. semis, tractors, cranes- Ronnie hates to cut back in there, when asked why he told me "Cos they's all kine's a yeller jackers up in there!" so here I am on the look out for a bunch of masturbating Asians, turns out the dumb fuck meant yellow jackets. Dammit, say what ya mean, Ron. It's my sad duty to hit obits again. Bob Massengill died the first of July. Got up and put the coffee on, went back in the bedroom to get dressed and never came back out, cleaning lady found him laid back on his bed dead as a hammer. After the way I've pissed all over him in these pages over the years I'm not going to go all hypocrite and eulogize him now, he was an asshole, now he's a dead asshole. But he was my parent's neighbor for 39 years and he did cry at my Dad's funeral so I will say RIP Bob. I'd be lying if I said I'll miss ya. NL SUPER FAVE Ingrid Pitt is gone, sometime back in the fall. Now THIS really upsets me. Now I'll never get a chance to meet her. (OR ME TO GREET HER) Rest in peace my sweet Ingrid.
Another sad RIP to John Walker of NL faves the Walker Brothers (I still listen to "The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore 10-12 times a week, it's on my favorites list as a you.tube gateway, just a wonderful, wonderful- fuck, I sound like Lawrence Welk- song and one of the best slow dance tunes ever), he was the Jim Morrison looking one, the one who wasn't Scott. Had a very good voice in his own right but you're not going to get a lot of attention for your singing if you're in a group with Scott Walker. Best place to hear (and see- sweater cool)- John would be the live '66 Ready Steady Go version of "Sun" which is easily found on you.tube and well worth searching out. What's Bill listening to? Walker Brothers on you.tube rotation. Go figure.
What's Bill been reading? The usual. Have six big stacks of library books here by my desk, a bunch of genre fiction (SF, horror, mystery/crime, western- Loren Estelman writes a good mystery but he writes an excellent western) and graphic novels- by the way, just got the finished art back from Rahb in Vienna for my second Chillers story,"Free To Good Home,", have to say he did a great fucking job, I'm very happy with it. If Chillers doesn't fucking kill it's not going to be Bill's fault. Got two more still to be drawn, "Blur" and "It Drank Meat" and I'm telling you my worst story in this book is better than the best of the rest. Is that bragging? Not if it's true. And I'm not pissing on the book cos it's strong. I'm just strongest. And speaking of Rahb, it's looking pretty solid right now that Danny and I are going to hit that month long Montenegro- Romania- Vienna trip in June. Be sweet, especially since Brazil in January is shaky- I can go, I'm just not sure what's the point- (YOU MEAN OTHER THAN SEX ON THE BEACH?!) -and I'm even waffling about Mexico in November (although smart money says I'll go, bitching the whole way). I'm not afraid- come and get it you bastards- but I just get so frustrated between what it could be and what it is. I've actually been talking to Cesar a lot recently, told him I'm only coming back for a ten day, five gig deal, take it or leave it- fly down Friday, work Guaymas, Empalme and San Carlos that weekend, spend the week on the beach at San Carlos where it should still be warm enoguh for gringos- it was in February- then the big shows, Obregon on Friday, Hermosillo on Saturday, fly back home on Sunday, that would be such a fantastic tour if Cesar would get off his lazy Mexican- (I THINK THAT'S REDUNDANT) -ass and book it. And promote it. Also (we're back to the books stacked by my desk) a bunch of biographies- Iggy Pop, Robert Heinlein, Bret "Hitman" Hart, Charles Fort, Tony Hawk, Jack Nicholson, H.P. Lovecraft (really looking forward to that one), Dean Koontz- I think he's a terrible hack, although about a billion people would disagree with me- (WHY NOT, THEY DISAGREE WITH YOU ABOUT EVERYTHING ELSE) -but he's supposed to be just a hell of a nice guy- (LET'S ASK HIM FOR SOME MONEY) -now there's a thought- and writer bios interest me whether I like their work or not. Also Seriously Funny about the rebel comedians of the 50's and 60's and Dark City Dames about the women of my beloved film noir. More also, some nature books- The Princeton Field Guide to Dinosaurs (elasmosaurs rule, baby), the New England Guide to Sharks and Close to Shore about the shark attacks in and around Matewan, New Jersey back in 1916- why I want to read this shit, kids and their would be rescuers getting torn to shreds by sharks in creeks DFZ could piss across, the literal stuff of my nightmares, is beyond me. Why do I pick at scabs, or want to go back to places where I was young and happy when I'm neither? Some military history- Douglas Porch's definitive 723 page book about the French Foreign Legion (alas, I'd have probably done no better for them that I did for the USMC, I'm afraid I'm just not military material- you want me to WHAT? Not since you handed me that gun, mother fucker), a book about the Me-262, another about the battle of Shiloh, Phantom Warrior about Medal of Honor winner John McKinney, one of those true fucking heroes that makes you goddamn proud to be an American- at least it does me- Hellcats about sub warfare in the Pacific theater, and- I can't even see that last pile well enough to tell you what's in it. This in addition to the $200 worth of books, forty some in all, that arrived here the other day from that discount house I'm so fond of. Why would I buy all these books when I have a jillion library books at my fingertips? Well, cos none of these were, and because I like books- and oh yeah, you e-book reading, book store destroying sons a bitches can all march right straight into Hell (with a capitail H). Won't hurt you any cos you don't have fucking souls. And yes, you know who you are and YES, I am talking to you. What's Bill drinking? Supposed to go out tonight for a few, begged off, didn't feel like it, nothing personal. Had about a quarter bottle of WT white label, thought I might sip on it while I wrote this, right. Sip is one of those words like jog, I understand them I just can't put them into practice. The WT is long gone, don't really want to drink anymore so every now and then I'll sniff the empty bottle. Serious. Think we'll do DFZ news and call it a morning. Ha- not much DFZ to do. So I'll trot out my Festivall excuse. My legs did indeed betray me but thank Jesus (and a lot of bench presses and upright rows) my upper body did not as it was all muscle that (barely) got Juggs over on that superplex. It would have killed me (not to mention him) to have stuck him, cos when I called it he said "I don't like taking superplexes"- don't blame him, neither do I, not exactly a fan of throwing them- "but I will from you cos I know you'll take care of me." That's a lot of responsibility. But he didn't kick off which would have helped immensely. Bill: Why didn't you kick off? No work since last issue, supposed to work the 9th at ACS if I get back in time as well as sometime later this month for Corey who I'm becoming more and more convinced was born to die with my hands around his throat. Trying to get him to let me work Viper in a singles at his next show, saw Viper at Corey's last show and he fucking scared me. Physically Heath has gotten just buff as fuck, dropped his gut and is all muscled up (although he's just scarred to fucking hell) but mentally- man. His eyes are scary, this weird spaced, glittery stare- guaran-fucking-tee you we're looking at some legit brain damage- he's got some dead wicked new scars across his chest he told me came from taking a face first top rope power bomb- seriously, no fucking way right there- through two panes of glass and into a box full of broken beer bottles. Then he shows me this clip from IWA-EC where he takes a hip toss over the top rope to the outside- I know, Jesus- where he catches his feet on the metal guard rail and lands right the fuck square on the back of his head on the concrete floor. "Yeah, they told me not to do it," he shrugs. "But I did anyway". When "They" are legitmate nut jobs like Mad Man Pondo- not Sane Man Pondo you'll note- and Necro Butcher- and they're telling you to not do something you might want to listen to them- Fuck me. I love my boy Heath, straight up, and we're going to have to have a come to Jesus talk. I'll kill him before I'll let him kill himself. (THINK HE'LL APPRECIATE THE DISTINCTON?) Don't care. All right. Next stop the stars. You take my hand, I'll take your hand Later Bill
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Be on my side, I'll be on your side, baby 
It was something like that. 
The other speaker on my computer went out. Fuck me anyway. Now
I'm speaker-less. So Rosa gives me (I know) a pair Monday at yoga
class (which I particpated in) and I go to hook them up and guess
what? In all my thrashing about here (you don't want to see what
goes on in front of this computer- you really don't) I find I've
unplugged the original speakers from one another, pulled the speaker
plug out from the back of the computer AND unplugged the speakers
from the power strip here at my feet (where all power strips should
be). Hooked everything back up to what it was supposed to be hooked
up to and again, guess what? Yeah, both my speakers work. Thanks for
the extra pair though, Rosa. You want to buy them back? 
Even though the sun was set on kill it was actually an enjoyable
day and went surprisingly fast, Bill alone with his thoughts the
entire time. I was cutting back on the abandoned part of the yard
which is very cool in a post-apocalyptic kind of way, all these huge
structures hundreds of yards long all falling to ruin, warehouses
and buildings where they used to do, I don't know, some kind of work
or something. We got some strange wildlife there as well. I saw
something back there once that was either a pygmy deer or a giant
rat and I swear to you it looked more like the rat. 
And wrestler and Cleveland All Pro promotior J.T Lightning- for
those of you who were at the Night of Champions way back in 2003
(with Japanese All-Star Wrestling champ DFZ) or watched the DVD, he
was the guy who did the long "skoal dipping, cow tipping" anti-WV
rant before his match with Bobby for the CPW belt (which he won with
help from the aformentioned DFZ) died Thursday at the age of 40 from
throat and lung cancer. JT was kind of a jerk but he never was to me
(I'm sure mostly because of my connection with Bobby) but he was a
good worker and a great promotor and way too young to be dying. RIP
Eagerly I wished the morrow 