Should be calling this one "If I needed a new computer keyboard" cos I do- and yes, I know I just got a new one- I opened a Labatts Blue 24 oz last Saturday night (gone up to $1.09, still a bargain) that had been in the freezer too long, ain't it funny how time slips away, and the damn beer came flying and foaming out as soon as I cracked it, sprayed a bunch on the monitors and down in the damn keyboard before I could get it under control by drinking it all very fast and giving myself brain freeze (of course, if you're gonna get it, best to get it from super cold beer). Now this keyboard is still all sticky- sorta was before but we won't go there- and some of the characters want to stay down when I press them and if Harmon's Creek still ran right behind me. . . so it goes here at Festung Bitner. Not a lot of mail lately, except an issue or two we'll address as we get to them, so let's go directly into what's Bill been up to. Still scrappin' during the week, in more ways than one. If Phil doesn't come back soon and take some of this load offa me, I'm walking. And yeah, that load may only consist of actually working an hour or less a day (prices have dropped twice more since last issue and bidness ain't good), the rest of the time I read and write and pace and walk the yard (when it's not pouring rain) and stretch and do push ups and torment the afflicted and spend half hours at a time in the men's room and come out smiling, and sometimes sleep. Seriously, Thursday mornings when Nancy's gone for a couple hours doing the "banking"- I don't know what she really does but banking for this place should take you about six minutes or less, and that's if there's a line- I often go back in the kitchen and take a nap, Nancy REALLY hates that when she comes back and catches me, "I'm not paying you to sleep", ha, if you only knew what else you were paying me for you'd think sleeping was a bargain, about the only things I can't do there at the old yard are look at naked women and vintage wrestling videos on the Internet, and lift weights, and drink, and oh yeah, and BE SOMEWHERE ELSE. I'm getting really mean- (GETTING?!) -okay, really meaner, then, and I'm complaining, not bragging. You know those businesses where you go in and the staff act like they're really pissed off that you're there? Welcome to Putnam scrap. There is NO money in scrap right now, so the only people coming in are the scroungiest of the scroungers, bringing in these pissy little bits of nothing for their miniscule checks, the last seven checks I've written- covering last Wednesday through Friday- totaled less than twenty dollars, I've asked more than one person lately "Why the fuck are you wasting my time with this shit?" (GOSH, AND YOU SAY BUSINESS IS DOWN?) -well, FUCK these idiots, you know, why don't they save up this trash- and that's all it is, trash- and just come in one time for a big old four dollar check, why the fuck they want to come in and wake me up or interrupt my reading for like a dollar twenty, then come back two days later for the same, or less? Couple weeks ago I made this poor old lady- well, I'm sure she's poor, at 62 you decide if she's old or not- unload her tiny little bag of Beast cans and a piece of aluminum downspout she probably took off someone's house while they weren't looking, in just a fucking deluge, it was raining so hard it washed the dip of snuff right out of her lip, and plastered what little white hair she has down across her spotted scalp in nasty looking strings- while I stood back in the shed out of the rain, cos she pissed me off. I thought later, with what I think you humans may call remorse, maybe that was a bit much, but dammit- she pissed me off. (YOUR FAMED TOLERANCE IS STARTING TO SLIP) It's sliding over the fucking cliff. And it's not just little old ladies Bill's going all thug on, I threw some big old boy off the the lot just last week, two- three inches taller than me easy, and stocky, (and smelly, but I've wrestled all ^"*""- ha, that's what 6'8" looks like if you forget and hold down the shift key- 360 pounds of Scufflin' Hillbilly in August when I'm sure the last bath he took was in June, so smelly don't scare me) cos he started giving me shit over wanting me to pay him whole car price ($4.75/100 pounds) for a trailer full of car parts ($2.75/100 pounds- prices were $10/100 and $6.50/100 when I started in August)- which I wasn't going to fucking do, after he finally PISSED ME OFF I told him to take his fucking car parts somewhere else, so then he says, okay I'll take car parts price, I told him I'm sure you will, but not here cos I already told you to take 'em somewhere else so GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE. He left in a huff, or maybe it was a lather, but either way- (NANCY NEEDS TO FIRE YOUR ASS. AND QUICK) I'm hoping. (YOU BEEN CALLED BACK TO THE BAR YET?) No. Your point being? (YOU JUST WEREN'T MEANT TO WORK WITH THE PUBLIC) Amen to that. And do you know why? (COS THEY PISS YOU OFF?) Boy, do they. Got sort of a wake up call about all this pissery and where it's headed last Monday, this kid pulls on the scale with a pickup load of appliances. I walk out there, look at his load, tell him- Bill: Let me get your weight and you can throw it on that pile right in front of you. He grunts at me and starts to drive off the scale. B: Hold on, I've got to get your weight. He keeps driving. B: Hold on. Stop, dammit. STOP! I started to yell, "What the fuck, are you DEAF?", the words were on my lips when the angel I never listen to tells me "Don't say it", and I don't. The truck stops, backs up, and this guy in the passenger seat leans over and goes, "Sorry, he can't hear you, he's deaf." Yeah, I kind of picked up on that. Part of my recent ultra-pissiness- while it's no excuse- can be put down to my knees, which have really kicked in on the pain front and are about to drive me out of my fucking mind. They hurt pretty badly during the day, but they hurt like crazy at night, I have trouble sleeping anyway, but with these knees doing that full of flaming broken glass thing they do some nights it's just impossible. I'm starting to get this gimpy fucker walk that I hate, saw myself reflected in the big glass door as I walked up to the theater a couple weekends ago and was just appalled. I can compensate and correct it when I'm thinking about it, but when I'm not . . . and yeah, I'm taking pain meds for it, the same ones I've been taking on a regular basis since I was fifteen. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn't. Another contributor to my current pissiness is that this damn job is interfering with my drinking, and I'm being completely serious. I need to get buzzed up at least once during the week just to take some of the edge off, and I haven't been doing it that much lately- this is my first beer since last Saturday- cos I hate going to that scrap yard with a hangover twice as much as I do just going. It's one of those damned if you do, damned if you don't situations. Ronnie's still goofy as fuck, but I don't feel like talking about him this time around, maybe next. Someone asked if working at the yard has made me miss my time with Al, I miss those days for certain reasons but not cos staying with Al was such an easy gig, let's not sugar coat the past as some of us are wont to do, staying with Al was NEVER any fucking picnic. Days weren't too bad but once the sun went down it was a whole 'nother story, either he was keeping me up literally all night running into my room in his skivvies every ten minutes hollering "Where's Suzanne?!" or else he was shitting big cow piles in his bed and then rolling around in them (and then wanting to fight when I tried to clean him up). As for how Al's doing, he's still breathing. I haven't seen him since last December, before he went to Meadowbrook nursing home, where my Dad was those couple months, nice facility and they were very good to my Dad, but I have no desire to ever set foot in that place again, so probably the next time I see Al will be at his funeral, if I make it. What else? Lots of stuff, it's been a month, Rachie's been in a couple times, in fact she's upstairs right now watching tv with my Mom, last time she was in we went to a late movie cos she was bored, it was nice and relaxing, not very crowded, we saw Taken, formulaic as fuck but still not bad, like Rachel said it was a good movie for us to see together, about some guy who kills around a billion people to rescue his daughter- Bill: Anybody that'd kidnap you would be a bunch of sorry
motherfuckers. As for Sarah, she got an award for graduating with the highest GPA in her major, I'm quite proud, seriously. No devastating car crash is gonna stop that girl. On a very somber note, some of you may remember Sarah's boyfriend from a couple years back, Evan, who came down to visit Christmas '06 (and who wrecked his car on the trip down, I guess trying to fit in). He struggled with depression the whole time Sarah knew him- they met her freshman year- and was on all kinds of fucking meds, too damn many if you ask me- as far as Doc Bitner is concerned there's two cures for depression, Vitamin D and Vitamin P, and if that don't cure you, take larger doses- he had dropped out of FDU and was going to school somewhere near his home and working part time, although he continued to come by and visit Sarah about once a week. He got a pissy message on his answering machine one morning a few weeks ago telling him not to come in, he was fired- his response notwithstanding, it is punk ass as hell to fire someone over the phone, especially by leaving them a fucking voice mail- and instead of saying, "Thank you Jesus, time for a beer" like I would have done, he went out in the garage and hung himself. Just a tragic, tragic event. As someone who once put a gun to his own head- two, in fact, cos by God I wasn't messing around, I was gonna leave a headless corpse, for real- I understand thinking there's really no point to this world or this life. But the thing is, its not all about you, and it's a real shitty selfish thing to do to the folks who love you. I feel deeply sorry for Evan cos I believe he was genuinely sick, and I hope with all my heart that wherever he's at, he's at peace now, but still . . . you fucked up, kid. Sarah's dealing with it well- she's an exceptionally strong person in her own right- but I know it hit her really hard. Had a MC out here two weeks ago, nice cos I can get real hammered not having to drive, and I get to drink all the leftover beer the following week, or night, actually, we were drinking black and tans, smoked the cigars Rosa brought, can't remember what they were, getting- or rather staying- real bad about that- watched The Frisco Kid, not that well known but very funny, it makes me nostalgic as hell for summer '79, then Zombie Strippers, which should have been good but was horrible, tried for funny but missed by a mile, same with arousing, Jenna Jameson has never done much for me, too fucking fake from head to toe, and she gives off a vibe I don't care for- dogs can sense it too- off the top of my head I could easily name you fifty- really, I could- porn stars who are far sexier and more attractive than JJ. At least they are to me. Mark M came out and helped me with some computer stuff Thursday before last, I was going to buy him some beer in compensation but he ended up picking up the tab- hey, come by ANY time, Mark. Rosa met us down at the Cold Spot (Cross Lanes), had a very pleasant evening drinking big, cold Bass ales and conversing, I've had some VERY nice times in Cold Spot (and in their parking lot, and the one around the side as well, happy birthday to ME) but dammit . . . I HATE that fucking video poker bullshit, they've taken half the nice big bar area at CS and walled it off for that VP BS. The bar area's okay now, but only half as nice as it was. There's been plenty more doings this past month, but let's move on. What's Bill been watching? One NL fan wrote in a while back saying, you complain about how shitty television is, why don't you do something about it? Well, I am, I'm pitching a show right now, "When Animals Attack Billy Mays". I think it'll sell. Jim L wrote in telling me I need to go on Survivor, cos I'd win. In all the years it's been on, however many that may be, I've never watched the show one time. It was on once when I was down at Joe's but I had to leave the room cos it was making me mad(der) at the world than I already am, but what the fuck, I'm game. What is it exactly that I'll win? If it's Ginger and or Mary Ann, somebody sign me up NOW. Due to popular demand- flattery will indeed get you somewhere with Bill- in response to the many requests I've gotten, I'm bringng back the you.tube recommendations. You're welcome. But that damn you.tube still pisses me off. Anyway, being the two fisted action man that I am- (ACTION MAN? YOU'RE SITING ON YOUR ASS IN FRONT OF A COMPUTER POUNDING BEERS) Yeah, but I'm doing it with lots of action. Watch this. (YOU COULD HURT YOURSELF DOING THAT) That's the point. And if you'd let me get back to the one I was trying to make, even an action man can get into a sappy slow dancing mood now and again, and I've been in one of late. Got over it- a nice cold dose of reality will do that to you- but you may not be, and if not, let me tell you there's nothing better for cozying up on the dance floor with your honey- or potential honey- than a sweet romantic soul ballad. "Hey There Lonely Girl" by Eddie Holman- I recommend the live vesion on you.tube, that fucker can still SING- fits that bill more than nicely. In fact, if I'd written this NL last weekend like I'd intended before whatever it was that I can't remember kept me from writing it, it would have been titled HTLG, and that would have been a mistake. "HTLG" is a wonderful slow dancer, though, first got out on the floor to this one in junior high, and it still sounds like magic. Also check out "Ooh Baby Baby" by Smokey Robnson and the Miracles, studio version this time, I don't care if I never hear "I Second That Emotion" again, oldies radio has wrecked it and a lot of other songs for me through their incessant overplay of their miniscule playlists, but this song- killer. Great lyric, Smokey in fine, fine voice . . . if she's not cuddling up to you after taking her for a spin to one of these two, give it up, cos it's not happening. Mistakes, I know I've made a few . . . What's Bill drinking? Right now, Labatt's Blue in the big can. It's better in the bottle, but I like drinking out of the big cans, and as I've noted, you can't beat the price. I mentioned that CS tea I was drinking one recent issue, maybe last one, Tension Tamer, I don't normally recommend CS stuff (don't normally drink it) cos for one it's made by hippies and hippies piss me off, and for two I don't usually usually like teas made from weeds, but CS Tension Tamer with eluethero, whatever the hell that is, beside being all chock fulla B vitamins, does a good job of calming the nuclear furnace raging in my bowels I refer to as my stomach. It's worth checking out. Oh yeah, it tastes pretty good, too. What's Bill been reading? Scads. Someone wrote in and asked, "Don't you ever get tired of reading?", that's like asking if I get tired of breathing, or if you, dear sir, get tired of scratching your bum. No, I don't get tired of reading. But I am often tired. A short list of what I can remember since last issue, Bumper Crop, a collection, and Lost Echoes, a novel, by Joe Landsdale, Eternal Lovecraft, a collection, and yes Bill does like his Lovecraft (and his love craft), Ghost Soldiers, about the rescue of POWs from the Japanese prison camp at Cabanatuan in the Philipines, my favorite line in the entire book is "At the latrine, deaf Edwin Rose was still shittng, oblivious to the firestorm around him." This deaf and somewhat dotty Brit prisoner was in the crapper during the entire rescue! Woke up the next morning to a deserted prison camp, being Brit instead of haulng ass for the hills, he first got himself all spiffed up, and then calmly walked out- funny. Also The Domino Men by Jonathan Barnes, quite good (he also wrote the very good Somnabulist) full of strange, bizarre concepts and very well written, The Beautiful Sound of Silence, a Brit mystery, Whisper in the Blood by Dana Stabenow, her early stuff was really good, Martha and I would check them out of the Dunbar library when we were with CCIL, but then she started veering perilously close to romance novel crapola, the cover of this one was discouragingly RNC looking but I Took a Chance, and it turned out to be good, Transgressions (800 plus pages) ten mystery/suspense novellas edited by much missed Ed McBain, The Ruins, the novel the movie was made from, it was surprisingly not bad at all, and a big (700 + pages) book about Neil Gaiman and his work, again I find him vastly overated, "A Study in Emerald" is brilliant, but I absolutely do not get the adulation that's been poured on the Sandman stuff. Oh well. I don't get a lot of things. Also read a long bio of Man Ray- American Artist is its subtitle, well, he aint no Frank Frazetta, he seems like a marginally talented scammer to me and I say that with full admiration, he'd take a photo or slap some paint on a canvas and call it by some avant garde term and people would buy it. I'm telling you though, I could handle that '30's Parisian lifestyle for sure, sleep till noon, go round to the cafe and get some cafe au lait and a baugette, spend a couple hours in the afternoon pissing around and declare it "art", spend the evening in a bistro swilling wine on someone else's tab and chatting up the mademoiselles, bring one back to my garret and have her suck my, I mean, show me her appreciation for my "art", then do it again the next day. I checked it out cos they used to throw his name around back in the day in reference to the stark, b/w look of the mid-70's NY punk bands - the arty ones like Television and The Patti Smith Group, not the cool ones like the (RIP, boys) Ramones. Read a bunch of comics as well, but I'll discuss the comic stuff next issue cos I want to go down memory lane. What else, got some obits, haven't done any in quite a while, three (count 'em, three) wrestlers. Andrew Martin, AKA Test, former WWE worker of the jacked up steroid ilk, or is that redundant, dead at 34 of a drug od, Steve Dunn, did well in the the PNW and Memphis territories, mid-card jobber for the WWF in the mid 90's, 48, had (wrestling injury related)back surgery and threw a clot that stroked him a while back, threw another one about a month ago that killed him, and- fuck me- ABISMO NEGRO, aka The Badass Space Bat From Space from the Galavison NL, he had just the coolest mask/headgear ever, lost his mind on a bus, made the driver stop on a bridge, got out and ran off into the darkness, later found face down in the river. Drugs are suspected in playing a significant part in his mind loss. Also Lux Interior, singer for the Cramps from an aortic shear- ouch- at age 62, same age as poor damp Wanda. In DFZ news, wrestled AWA World Heavyweight Champion Brian Logan-
all I'll say is that the world keeps getting smaller and smaller- in
Buckhannon last month, went a solid twenty five minutes of old
school goodness and had a great time, DFZ just OWNS Buckhannon- of
all places, and no, I honestly have no idea why.
(MUST BE THE SECRET CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE) Must be. Did great at the gimmick table that night, after filling up the car and buying Rach and I our dinner out of it, I still had $93, that doesn't count my pay for working (and I held Mike up for an extra $20 cos DFZ is the damn draw up there, he bitched but knew I was right, and paid up), wrestled there again last night, another good night at the table, as well as in the ring with the DeathStars destroying D2K and Bryan Cross, got carried away and beat up Deacon kind of bad for real- blame the crowd and that damn "Fuck him up, DFZ, fuck him up!" chant, I did- but we made up in the locker room. This was after going almost 40 minutes in the blazing sun yesterday afternoon in a six man tag for Allen in St. Albans. Why did we go so ungodly long? Cos it being so damn hot everyone else went short, like, way short, fifteen minute matches were taking it home in six, and Allen had to give the sponsor two hours in order to get paid. So it goes. The Erie shows fell through, no surprise, I kept telling Mike I wasn't going without my money up front, he kept saying he didn't have it- Bill: Pay me out of the deposit. I'm no business man by any means, but fuck. And when Mike told the guy he needed some money up front to show up, the guy cancelled, which I'm sure saved a lot of grief all around. Got a show this Thursday at The Eagles, so I'll probably lose the scrap job on Friday when I don't show up. I'd given up on Santana but Jock, as a good tag partner should, I guess, talked me into calling her yesterday while we were on the road between St. Albans and Buckhannon, first time she hung up on me right away, second time after about ten seconds, figured I'd wear her down with good old Yankee persistance and it worked, third time we had a nice talk, she's not working at the Eagles Thursday night and told me she wasn't coming in special just to see my sorry not calling ass- yeah, I gotta beat 'em off with sticks- but I told her I'd take her to some wing place- B something Wild Wings?- after the matches and she said okay. As long as she's good with the free beer and wings they're giving the wrestlers (and in my case at least, his date)- Mike talked the super mark manager at this wing place into sponsoring an after party, although why he picked a Thursday- (COS MIKE IS A FUCKING DUMBASS) -everything should be golden. And Mike is a fuckng dumbass. I may make it back in time for work Friday morning, but I wouldn't put money on it. Besides, I'll need my rest for the XMCW Extreme Stakes match that Friday night. After talking with Allen about it yesterday, it's going to be a worse cluster than even I thought, some guys have already pulled out after hearing how its supposed to go, Jock was even having second thoughts, but we're going to stick. No Bill and his Dad tonight- its one of those things I have to be in the right mood for, for real- but hopefully next issue we'll not only do the boat story, but we'll make it a theme issue and add Bill and his Dad on a plane, and on a train. Carve your number on my wall (I DON'T NEED ANYONE) Are you saying I do? Because I don't, either. (I CELEBRATE MYSELF) You and Thoreau. (THAT WAS WHITMAN) Damn. You're right. (I'M ALWAYS RIGHT, EVEN WHEN I'M WRONG) So might really does make right? (ALWAYS HAS IN MY CASE) I envy you your simple existence. (AS WELL YOU SHOULD. AS WELL EVERYONE SHOULD) I'm done. Later Bill
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