Oh God, he's thrown the handle 
And the train it won't stop going 
No way to slow down

"You can cut the electricity with a knife." Gorilla Monsoon

Hey

Well, after sixty three months of doing this thing (I see it as my duty to all mankind), a month has gotten by me with only a single issue. Sorry. Why only one issue last month, and well over a month between issues, far and away the longest gap ever? I can attribute it to a number of things, actually, one of them being that during the week (Monday-Friday) I'm spending literally all of my time either at Al's (spent a mind destroying NINETY hours there last week), or here trying- trying being the operative word- to get some sleep. It's been tough, but I only relapsed into artificial energy land one time since last issue, and that was when I was 5/6's asleep, and behind the wheel, and it was march or die (good movie).

As for the weekends, I've been a busy boy socially, but the main reason I haven't written a weekend NL is because the past four or five weekends have been very wet ones- with alcohol, not excited female juices, mores the pity, although I have seen Sally again since last issue, not that it was particularly juicy- and I've been too busy running about and getting drunk as Lord Ganesh (Hello, Lord Ganesh!), or too hungover, to put together even a semi coherent NL.

Why am I spending so much time in Huntington? Well, first there's that making hay while the sun shines thing, and I don't think Al's sun is going to be shining too very much longer, but also, there are still only three people- actually, more like two and a half- willing to put up with his pitiful, urine soaked ass, so alot of hours just come with the territory anymore.

Al's not sleeping well again, so I don't even bother laying down there anymore, just sit in the recliner all night reading or watching some goofy ass late night TV, depending on if Al is actually up at the moment, or not (you can't read while Al's prowling the house looking for his forever lost mind). So that's three nights out of every seven with no sleep (and little chance of getting any once I get back here with Crazy Dot in the house). And with going off the stimulants that helped me get through (not to mention drinking all weekend when I should be resting, and yeah, I know, that's directly on me) . . . it's a good damn thing I'm a freak of fucking nature cos this shit would kill a normal man.

To stay with Al for the moment, since we're already there, he's getting to be a picky eater on top of everything else, especially at breakfast, can't get him to eat anything but pancakes (or pamcakes, as Hellboy calls 'em), but them he'll eat like a trooper (or a Hellboy). It can't be that good for him, all those pancakes, but it's better than eating nothing, and I can get him to eat more healthily at dinner.

Rob's favorite new place for dinner is Golden Corral, lets all say "Yuck", shall we. You can get a decent meal off the buffet there if you work at it- grilled chicken and salmon, broccoli, carrots, fruit, which is what I get for both Al and myself, and he eats it just fine (just don't ask him to fix his own plate) but I flat fucking despise the whole redneck, pigs at a trough aspect of the place, it's the dining equivalent of going to Wal-Mart, if I got a dime for every camo ball cap in the place I could pay for our dinner and have change left over.

Al and I had this exact conversation NINETEEN times at dinner last Monday (yes, I counted)-

Al: Are you taking me home? 
Bill: Yes. 
A: Do you know where I live? 
B: Yes. 
A: Good, cos I don't.

I know he can't help it, but mother fuck, that gets old. Then we go to leave, Al wants to wander all over the parking lot, "Where's my car?", "This way Al, you're riding with me", he gets me so distracted trying to keep his tottery ass from getting run over that I hit the trunk open button instead of the door unlock, right as Al's walking past it and I'm exhorting him to get in the fucking car. Al stops dead in his tracks.

Al: (Genuinely concerned) You're putting me in the TRUNK?

He sounded so funny, pitiful and outraged at the same time. I crack up, I can't help it.

Al: No, really . . . don't put me me in the trunk. 
Bill: I'm not putting you in- 
Al: I can't breathe in there . . . don't make me get in . . . I DON'T WANT TO RIDE IN THE TRUNK!

I hold the passenger door open for him.

B: Get in the fucking car, Al. 
A: Oh, okay . . . I thought you were going to make me ride in the trunk.

Not yet, but I make you no promises. That was the Cadillac, I was driving the Volvo- which Robby calls a "vulva", Jesus CHRIST, as in, "How do you like that Vulva?" "I like that vulva just fine, but this car is called a Volvo"- for a while before it started acting up again.

Since we're sort of on the topic of food, here's my first NL recipe in a long time, salmon and eggs for breakfast (or anytime, really). Open one of those foil pouches of skinless, boneless salmon into a bowl, dump three poached eggs on top of it, stir it up until you've got a nice eggy fishy mess, then eat. It's good, seriously, it comes in at a mere 420 calories (same as two Pop-tarts), 53 grams of protein, no carbs.

Make a man out of you, swear to God, I eat it at least a couple times a week. It's certainly better than the over processed horseshit most people in this country eat, it's no wonder so many of them are so goddamn waddling fat, they eat this CRAP that lines the shelves of every grocery store from sea to shining fucking sea, or packs the menu of every fast food place, that has all the nutritional value of sawdust, thousands of calories worth at a time, then an hour later they're hungry again, cos their bodies are going, "where's the fucking vitamins, man, where's the damn fiber", so they cram MORE of this ultra caloric salt/sugar/fat/white flour poison down their gobs, to no effect other than the further inflation of their already bulging fat cells, and of course they got no fucking energy to get off their fat asses and exercise even if they were miraculously motivated, cos all they're eating is garbage. I'm telling you, it drives me nuts.

(WHY SHOULD YOU CARE?)

You know how hard it is to find a fit woman in WV?

(GOT YA.)

I saw an adopt a dog ad in last Sunday's paper, "Tank- Good with kids, needs a home without chickens". Good gravy- that's the EXACT same ad I put in the singles wanted column. What do you want to bet someone picks that damn dog first?

(HE PROBABLY WON'T HARANGUE THEM ABOUT WHAT THEY EAT).

Maybe not. But he should.

To briefly hit the mail bag, heard from a Hank Jr. fan quite upset about the shots I took at his boy last issue (way back when), he went on to tell me what a great musician/songwriter HJR is (fucking please), then, to quote him misquoting me, asked "what, exactly, do you mean by "gizzard lipped" and "fish headed?" First, I called him a fish head mother fucker, not fish headed, I don't mind you quoting me, but get it right. Both mean exactly what they imply, gizzard lipped- big fat flappy fleshy lips, like a gizzard, okay? And fish head mother fucker, how hard is that to figure out, his head looks like a fish head. And he's a mother fucker. I'm sorry he fell off a mountain onto his face, but not really, I can't stand the fucker, plain and simple. And I realize most people quit making fun of other people's looks along about junior high, if not sooner, but as we all know by now, Bill Bitner is not most people. You fish head gizzard lipped mother fucker.

Also got a lot of "uhm, are you okay?" letters, especially the past week or so, yeah , I'm fine. Thanks for asking, and don't worry, I'll start squirting these things out like knots (I have no idea what that means, it's a Brit expression I heard once that stuck in my head) again in no time.

Got some more "Nigella Lawson is hot" letters, I'm getting more response now than when the whole FN hottie contest was going on, you people, Jesus. Yes, I agree, she is (Chris wanted me to note that she was his choice way back when, and I forgot, so, so noted now) her bum might be a bit on the big side for me, but if it was perched on my lap, preferably nude and bouncing up and down on a Death Falcon sized erection, I doubt I'd complain much.

(I DOUBT SHE WOULD, EITHER).

Here, here. Although I think she doth protest too much with her "Sexy? Me?" schtick, "Doesn't everyone lick the spoon?" she asks guilelessly, yes they do, but not as lingeringly as you do, dear Nige, while looking knowingly into the camera at every man in the audience. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Lick away.

This brings me to something I was complaining about at Chris's, last Movie Club. Even when you try to get away from the sex thing, and attempt to gear down your already overdriven sex drive, this damn country won't let you. Seriously. Forget the fact that eveything in America is sold with tits and ass. You try and watch Food Network, you got Nigella blowng a fucking foot long wooden spoon.

(SHE CALLS IT HER DEATH FALCON SPOON).

I have no doubt. You want to just watch some science fiction, you got this insanely sexy, slinky blond Cylon licking some ungodly lucky guy's face, (she reminds me strongly of someone I used to know), I never saw Tricia Helfer's Playboy spread, and it's probably a good thing, but if you can pull a photo from it for in here, Joe, please do, or else you got some super hot Vulcan chick showing off her high, firm Vulcan tits in her skin tight space age suit. Lord love a duck- I just wanted to watch a ray gun fight. STOP WINDING ME UP.

You can't even escape it on the Outdoor Network. A few weeks ago Al and I are watching, this show comes on (3 pm, weekdays), Getting Closer with Tiffany and I can't remember the guy's name, he's not the least bit important, anyway. The thrust of the show, if you will, is this outdoor type guy is wanting to introduce his new bride to the outdoors. Tiffany is a young, blond cutie pie, so I can understand why this guy wants to get her out in the woods, I just don't understand why he's bothering with this hunting and fishing shit.

I still wouldn't have bothered to watch, but this first show, they're somewhere in the midwest, riding in boats real fast, which causes this kind of mutant minnow shad type fish to jump out of the water in great shoals, and when they do, you shoot them with arrows. I'm not making a word of this up, and it looked pretty interesting, so I decided to watch it.

Did I say it looked interesting? I had no idea. They ride along for a bit, then Tiffany, who was wearing this long t-shirt down past her knees, decides she's hot (was she fucking ever), so she takes it off, to reveal a bikini barely containing an eye popping pair of tits, that the motion of the boat is making bounce and shake and jiggle in the most mesmerising way imaginable. Even Al was struck.

Al: Lor- DEE. That girl's ENDOWED. 
Bill: Yes, she is. 
A: She's gonna fall out of that boat if she's not careful. 
B: Yeah, but she won't drown.

Body wash (and spray) is for girls and sissies. Bar soap is for men. Those girls in the commercials are laughng at your asses all the way to the bank.

So, what has Bill been up to, lo, these many days?

I've drunk a lot of wine and I'm feeling fine 
Gonna race some cow to bed

Chronologically, got a big wine buzz on up at Danny's house after the XMCW show on 3/9 (Geri's son and grandson were at the show, I heard later they remarked on how much I seemed to be enjoying myself, hey, beating the fuck out of Allen Lynch always puts a smile on my face), he was wanting to talk about some serious shit, he was out of beer so he started opening up bottles of wine, Francis Ford Coppola red, I have no idea if it's good or not- like Danny said, "what's wine to a pig?"- indeed, we drank three or four bottles and got shit faced. Don't know if we ever had our serious talk or not. And God, do I hate a wine hangover.

The following Sunday, I met Beverly and Kat at St. Andrews Church in St. Albans, haven't been there since Shawn and Allegra's wedding, no one recognized me so I wasn't thrown out, to watch Jim play. If the band had a name I can't remember it, but it was Jim on guitar, plus a husband and wife duo on percussion and flute, Peery was their last name, and some guy named Dave on some synth thing, which was amusing, at one point he went for a reed sound and got yak or yeti or something, I'm telling you, fucking machines . . .

They were good, the problem with a lot of these instrumental acoustic groups is when they try to play fast they often get into that Irish shit, and even though there's a huge glob of Irish in me, I'm a fan of neither jig nor reel, they didn't go too far down that lane, afterward we went to Tomahawks and I drank some Heineken on Jim's tab. I had a triangular red dent in my head from a chair shot the previous Friday that everyone found amusing. Happy to be of service.

Next weekend I went up to Martha's to have dinner with her, Jean, Geri and Steve. Lovely to see them, as always, the food was first rate, Steve is an exceptional cook, shrimp scampi, salad, a salmon spread and a spinich mushrom bruschetta for appetizers, we drank a bunch of wine, a couple reds and a fruity white that I was either given by or stole from Danny when I was there the weekend before, with dessert, and I think after all these years I may finally get wine. Not the complicated complementing food thing, just that, at least for me, unlike beer, you can drink copious amounts of wine and still eat, so you can have your meal and your buzz as well. Good deal.

Next weekend was Movie Club, Chris and Ron and I went to Chili's and drank some beer- they ate, as well- then we met the crew and saw 300, eveyone liked it cos it was GOOD, made me want to FIGHT, that whole Spartan thing of respect and honor, no retreat or surrender, win or die, that's how it should be.

(YOU WANT FRIES WITH THAT?).

Exactly. Ex- ACTLY. Then we went up to Chris's, hung out on his deck drinking pisspots full of beer and smoking cigars, scratching our massive hairy balls and talking man talk. Good fun. Then we came inside and watched Godzilla: Final Wars, a mish mash of aliens, mutants and all the kaiju you can shake a stick at. I liked it, not so sure how well it went over with everyone else. We may have watched something after that, but I'll be damned if I can remember it.

I wasn't in the best shape the next day to drive down to Huntington and see Sally, but I'd told her I would, and I try my best to be a man of my word. Not saying I always am, cos sometimes a lie can make your life so much easier. But I try.

I hadn't seen or talked to her for a while, then while Robby was having lunch with me and Al sometime the week prior, at Panera Bread (which the idiot insists on callng Panama Bread) she called him about some real estate thing, happened to ask him, "Have you seen Bill lately?", he said, "Yeah, he's sitting right here" and handed me the phone. I tried to get her to come to Charleston for Movie Club, she wouldn't do it, still not sure what's up with that, so I agreed to meet her Sunday afternoon at the Starbucks at Pullman Square.

It was nice, upon seeing me she hugged me and gave me a peck on the cheek (and upon dong so remarked, "Mmm, you smell good, what is that?" Shaving cream smell, actually, from where I'd shaved before coming down, again, children, real men smell like shaving cream and bar soap and sweat and blood and pussy, not body wash) which, as reserved as this girl is, was like someone else stripping off their clothes and screaming "Take me, I'm yours". But then there was no follow up. We had a pleasant afternoon, got an over priced coffee and a chocolate cream cheese cupcake at Starbucks, went over to the book store there and looked around a little bit, she hung with me and even took my arm at one point, but when I suggested we go somewhere else afterward she begged off. So, I don't know. I'd say I'm confused, but I'm always fucking confused.

The NEXT weekend, DFZ worked twice the same night, again beat the shit out of Allen Lynch down in Rand, as well as some joker going by the name of Howitzer, one half of Heavy Artillery- you know I couldn't make this shit up- then went out with Danny, Kat, Jim and Beverly to first, again, Blues and BBQ, better crowd there than last time we were in, again pounding the Harpoon IPA's, then when they closed, we walked up the street to whatever shit kids bar was still open, pumped up guy with metal detector at the door and they served the drinks in plastic cups- Guiness in a red plastic cup, what a pathetic, colorless, atmosphere less hole, it was vacuous on a stick, all these college boys, or college age, anyway, lined up trying to snag a girl, don't know the name of the place, but it was a waste of space.

Finished getting hammered there, though, multiple shots of JD (they didn't have Wild Turkey) on Jim's tab, here's to you, big guy. Wasn't driving, spent the night at Danny's. So there.

That Sunday was Wrestlemania, which I could give two drizzling shits about, but Kelly, the Angry Filmmaker was passing through, on his way to Boston from somewhere in NC, so I met him and Danny at Hooters, where you could watch WM for free. Again got pretty beered up, Kelly's a good guy and great fun to hang with, DFZ has a prominent spot in AF's next documentary, where he was working out with Kelly in the ring, got to get a copy of that (no recent word on 16 to Life). And as I've said before, you know those girls on the Hooter's billboards? None of them work in Charleston.

That was the last time I've had anything to drink until tonight, an incredible ten day gap, but Rachel was in last weekend, so I didn't drink any, being too busy trying to entertain my baby (she hasn't even left yet and I'm already missing her, how crazy is that?). Wish I could say I felt better for it, but I really don't. Drinking some Rolling Rock tonight, not many, let's see, on number nine, not so much buzzing, just chilling. I'll get buzzed tomorrow night at Movie Club (I think me and Rach are spending the night, Chris).

What have Rachel and I done since she came in (30 pounds lighter than the last time she was here at Christmas, GOOD FOR HER)?

(SHE MUST HAVE QUIT EATING SAWDUST OR WHATEVER).

We went to the movies, first to see 300 since she hadn't seen it yet, she liked it a lot, then we took my Mom to see Wild Hogs cos she wanted to see it, fuck, it got her out of the house so I was fine with it, the movie was- vacant. It wasn't so much horrible, it was again just one of those films where I watch it and think "Who thought this was a good idea? Who wrote this thing? Who financed it? Why did any of them fucking BOTHER?" Cos honest to fuck, THERE'S NOTHING THERE. Just a total waste of time.

Also watched some DVDs here at the house, Fearless, very good, but you'd thnk as many times as Chow hass been poisoned in a movie he'd start to catch on, The Prestige, not bad, but I didn't care for the endng, and The Chumscrubber, which sounds like a particularly nasty porn film, but is in fact a movie about disaffected rich kid suburban youth. Rachel's a big fan of it, go figure, as she pretty much defines disaffected rich kid suburban youth. It's pretty good.

We also went bowling the other morning, that was fun, been a while- in fact, the last time I went bowling was the girl's spring break six years ago, when Loretta and I both took the week off and we spent it doing family things, the four of us, less than two months before she filed for divorce, guess Loretta didn't have as good a time as the rest of us did. I used to be a good bowler but I had a hard time regaining my groove the other day, I was picking up single pin spares right and left, but frame to frame I was inconsistent as fuck. Rachel bowled well, but who cares about her, this is my newsletter.

Rachie also went to Lubeck last Satuday with me, DFZ defended his Hardcore belt in a handicap match against Gino Martino and Josh Jade, with Demon, Demon being this hairy ape looking guy, sort of a scaled down Geoge "the Animal' Steele, who was managing them.

They were green, it was a basic squash, DFZ pulverizing and pinning them both (DFZ hasn't lost a match since last April 21), took Josh's cherry, he got some good color, I made his gig for him, I thought about cutting it long as a joke, it would have been funny, but he was a nice kid, I didn't see any reason to fuck with him (but it WOULD have been funny), all was fine until I see John come out form the back and take Syn's kendo stick away from her (she was managing DFZ as Danny was in Martinsburg for Easter) and just start whaling away on Demon. Turns out Syn had been whacking Demon with her kendo and he was no selling- I think from ignorance, not cos he was a dick. The results were the same for him either way, unfortunately.

Demon jumped in the ring to get away from John, hmmm, frying pan, fire, I had John throw me in a chair and I fucking waffled Demon's ass with it. I laid it in, it warped that chair almost into a fucking V. He didn't no sell that, by God, he went down like- well, like he'd been hit in the head really fucking hard with a folding metal chair. I felt bad about it afterward cos I was trying to explain to him why John had beat hell out of him with that stick, and I'd crushed his skull, he seemed really stupid and clueless, after he walked off I said to Cash, who'd been listening, "Shit, I'd have never tried to smarten him up if I'd known he was a retard." "He wasn't like that before you hit him with that chair".

Oh. Shit.

DFZ's coming into a busy summer, gonna pick up the XMCW tag belts with John so we'll have to make all the outdoor summer shows XMCW is still doing, besides all the Rand shows, also gonna beat Allen for the EWE Heavyweight title in a belt vs. belt match, they're wanting to bring in some names for DFZ to work, so I'll have to make all the EWE stuff, they're gonna start running a couple times a month, plus DFZ and John are going up to this Ohio fed, New Breed Wrestling, to take the tag straps off of their current champs- Heavy Artillery. That should take a brisk thirty seconds, but then afterward, again, we've got to make evey show to defend the belts.

(I DON'T CARE. IT'S FUN BEING CHAMP).

I agree.

Another obit-

(DEMON?)

Funny, no, Ernie "The Big Cat" Ladd died of cancer last month, he was the funniest interview ever, even better than Terry Funk, who was slobbering, bug eyed malice personified, who could stretch out the simple phrase "Dusty Rhodes, you're an egg sucking dog" to over five minutes, and make it sound like the most depraved thing a person could possibly be, or Builldog Brower, who would frequently just bark and roll his eyes, while ducking the occasional imaginary dive bombing bird. Ernie was fucking priceless, and I can see Gordon Solie announcing him into Heaven now-

Gordon- Here comes Ernie "the Big-" and he's just Pearl Harbored the angel Gabriel, ladies and gentlemen! We've got a real pier six brawl on our hands now!

RIP Ernie, you big cat, you.

Gonna go. I'm gettiing tired, got a big day tomorrow, gotta take my Mom to Gallipolis first thing, then get geared up for MC, I never did get around to explaining why this issue is called She Saw Dinosaurs, I'll do so next issue (if I remember), which will be soon, true believers. Soon.

It was a new day yesterday But it's an old day now

If you're happy, I'm happy for you.

Later

Bill