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4/3/04 GREAT BIG GIANT HAIRY ISSUE 100
Welcome to great big giant hairy issue 100 of this thing. I don't know how big it's going to be yet, since I'm just getting started, same with giant, not really sure how great it's going to be, either . . . and it probably won't be any hairier than any of the others, but what the hell. Hope everyone had a wonderful April Fool's Day, or Poisson D'avril (April fish) if you're one of them Frenchy Frogs, in which case I feel sorry for you, not to mention, I hate you. What's Bill been up to? Sick as a damn French dog this entire past week, Tom brought in some godawful stomach virus thing with him last weekend, my parents and I all got it, set a new record for throwing up, this time so fucking hard I broke blood vessels in my eyes, it was nasty. I got it worse than my parents, fortunately, cos in total seriousness, if my Dad had gotten as sick as I got, it would've killed him. I've been punched in the stomach, kicked in the stomach, headbutted (by humans, big dogs, goats and cattle) in the stomach, had shoulders driven into my stomach in football and wrestling, fallen out of trees and off of houses onto my stomach, been thrown across split rail and stone fences, and metal railings onto my stomach, rammed my stomach into dashboards on my way out through the windshield in car wrecks it would've turned your hair white to witness, and I have never, EVER experienced pain in my stomach like the fucking cramps that Virus From Hell gave me. Next time you get sicker than sick, GBHFT (and there's always a next time), you need to take your illin' ass to yo mama's house, really, cos if you ever make me this sick again, I'm gonna fucking kill you. Seriously. Since this is issue 100 I was gonna do sort of a retrospective type thing, but that turned into too damn much bother, so I'm not. But I will make note that it was 874 days ago that I first sat down and pounded out "The Bad Idea From Hell" in one GIGANTIC, virtually unreadable paragraph, and it's been nothing but fun times ever since. What's Bill drinking? Green Gatorade, the only one worth drinking, fuck this Power X shit, still feeling weak and dehydrated, you would not believe how much fluid I've lost through both upper and lower cakeholes since Sunday. It's been ugly.
Under the "it's always something" file, I was going to say I went off the road two Sunday nights ago but that's not true, I stayed on where the road should've been, it's the damn road that wasn't there, to the tune of busted tire and rim, $227. Fucking hell. I mean really, fucking HELL. Any of you guys coming out here (probably small danger of that) WATCH your damn selves, this piece of shit road is absolutely falling apart, the place where I busted the tire has now fallen completely over the side of the hill, they have signs up now at least, but still. I'm also almost flooded in as we speak, I'm getting more and more certain that my time living at world's end is coming to a close, probably as soon as the girls go back to Baltimore after summer vacation. I still like the actual house I'm in, but the inconvenience of living SO fucking far out, on this shit poor road- it's not worth it. Speaking of girls, they came in for Spring break, so MY heart's right again, at least for now . They'll be here through Easter, when I again turn them back over to Satan and Gandhi (who was apparently oozing contempt on the way out of here one Sunday morning after they'd picked the girls up, about what a low life area it was and what losers would live out this way, and she's right there backing him up, putting this Poca area down- Loretta's grandparents lived out this road, and a lot of her cousins and what not still do- dear God, she turns my fucking stomach, what a genuine creep, to put down your own blood- who were certainly good enough for her back in the day- to please your snob ass boy friend). Hope to get by to see those of you who're in the area (unless you see us first, I know) this upcoming week, the only concrete plans right now are the girls going out with Laura and the ZMM crew for girls night out on Tuesday, me and the girls going to see Hell Boy (I think it's about me as a kid) Wednesday afternoon. What's Bill been watching? Well, since I don't usually hold out any hopes for good TV I'm seldom disappointed, but I've been goddamn disappointed in the Discovery Channel's Animal Face Off, which is where they have different species of animals fight one another, which is right down my damn alley. But it's really one of those build 'em shows that are so popular right now- but not with my ass, I HATE that kind of shit, good God, how boring, and I think that mean old guy on the choppers show needs a fucking wrench put to the back of his fucking head, the mother fucker, I've only seen him on commercials and he pisses the hell out of me. Anyway, they spend ALL DAMN SHOW building models of the animals- SO FUCKING WHAT, and WHY?!. Then these idiots get so excited, gob smacked that these great huge metal jaws can bite through a watermelon- morons. Then they don't even have the models fight, like some robot wars thing, so again, what's the point in building the damn things?! The animal fights are all of a minute at the end, piss poor computer animation-AND they're poorly executed. Watched the first one down at Joe's- this was the night I busted my tire out going home, I wore out my damn cussing muscles that night, you better fucking believe. It was great white shark Vs. salt water crocodile, potentially some prime entertainment, but like I said, it sucked, huge. Best parts of the show were when they showed this crocodile jumping way up out of the damn water and into this tree to get this big bat, something you- or at least, I- don't see every day. Also something to think about next time you're leaning over a crocodile pit. Also showed a clip of a couple Orcas ripping this great white apart, you know I loved that, if it was up to me there wouldn't be a great white on this fucking planet, the hell with your damned ecology and balance of nature, I wouldn't care if the seas were fucking black from shore to damn shore with seal shit, KILL 'EM FUCKING ALL is what I say. They also showed a little of what looked like a damn cool fight between a walrus and a polar bear- that's what I'm talking about, not some fucking bolt monkey going "Lookit them metal jaws." Assholes. Anyway (again), shark beat croc, gotcha, although the fight itself was punk, and just wrong- a shark's not gonna swim right with a fucking pectoral fin ripped completely off, and crocs can hold their breath for longer than two minutes. I didn't see elephant vs. rhino, but if you think a rhino's gonna win that one you're on fucking drugs, watched the end of tiger vs lion, they say lion cos they're meaner, I dunno, I've seen mean beat big before myself, but I'd still go with the tiger. This week is hippo vs. bull shark- I give 'em points for creative match ups, I'm waiting for electric eel vs, wolverine- my bucks are on the hippo- I'll probably watch the last 5 minutes to check it out- but with this bunch, who the fuck knows. Maybe the shark will jump out of a tree and hit him with a bat. Since we're into animal fights, in Death Falcon news, he was in the first ever WVTTI back on the 20th, teamed with MSWA champ (and weak sister) Jack Miller. We went out in the first round under questionable circumstances, to the Rydas, who I had a little trouble with putting over- professionally, not personally, you couldn't ask for two nicer guys. However, as a full contact thespian, you seldom get to write your own script. I expressed my displeasure by giving Juggulator a little face slap every time I did the throat thrust thing. Not hard or anything, just making a point. Joe may be able to pull a capture from the tape to put with this- right now he's busy finishing up the CAPW website, so don't bother him (shoo fly). Caught Juggs with a nice stiff short arm clothesline off the ropes, also hit a tope but, as always, these mugs are always going out of the ring AWAY from the camera, so we keep getting nice shots of my butt as it goes sailing through the ropes. The Mighty Moore family were there in force, good to see you, and, NO, YOU SHUT UP! Going to Vanceburg, KY- if I'd looked on the damn map first, I'd have probably turned this one down- to do an Appalachian Wrestling Fed show April 9th. It's a charity event for some kid, needs a new liver- no, that would be me- he needs something medical, anyway, and it's real expensive, this show is to raise money for him. (MAYBE I COULD TAUNT HIS SICKLY ASS AS I GO TO THE RING. YOU KNOW, MAKE FUN OF HIS AFFLICTION). Why don't you just spray red mist in his eyes and tip him out of his wheelchair while you’re at it? (OKAY). Oh dear. This should be fun. I'm sending Joe an e-mail with the newspaper article in it so he can link it up for you.
Got an e-mail today from The Canadian Brian Douglas about, imagine this, wrestling in Canada, somewhere in Ontario to be a little more precise. This Canadian promoter got a clip of the WVTTI- don't ask me how- and is wanting to send a bunch of his guys down here to work, in exchange for a bunch of us coming up there and working some for him. Doesn't he know anyone closer? Beats me, but I told Brian I was up for going if it works out. Bobby's been talking about going to Mexico and Japan this summer, said
he'd drag me along- I could be what they call the "catch man",
which means you get to let all them little Japanese and Mexican fuckers do
all their crazy flying shit and land on you, which I guess is where the
catch part comes in- or not, depending on whether they're assholes. Oops,
sorry dude, is that cement floor hard? Not too optimistic, wrestling's way
down everywhere, even strongholds like Mexico and Japan, Doug sent me a
clip where All Japan, the absolute flagship of Japanese wrestling, has had
to align itself with some porn company to stay afloat. Actually read a couple better than average books since last letter, "King Bongo", this mystery set in pre-revolution Cuba, '57 I think, I bet that was the damn place to be, cheap rum, cheap beer, cheap cigars, cheap women, goddamn that Castro anyway. Also, "Business Of Dying", first novel by this Brit, Simon Kernick, that's a Brit name if ever there was one, about a cop who's also a hit man on the side, very well written, a little too over the top right at the end, which is a problem a lot of writers have- I can believe you killing one or two guys, ten or twelve and you lose me. Still, good book, gonna look for his next. Read four or five okay ones, nothing to write home about, not so lousy I want to piss all over 'em here.
You long time readers will note, there were no trips to Martinsburg last year (2003). Both "Martinsburg Is Hell" and "Martinsburg Is Heck" date from 2002. How the time does fly. Well, get ready for installment three, which I'll probably entitle "There Is No 'B' In Ammalance", cos my Dad and I are going back to Martinsburg the weekend of the 24th. My Dad has been after me pretty relentlessly to get back up there this spring. I've managed to put him off, but a week or so ago he gets this thing in the mail, about some damn train day trip you can take from Hagerstown down through the mountains to Romney- or Rominey, as he calls it- and then back to Hagerstown, on 4/24. He gets FIRED UP. D: This is perfect. We can go up on Friday, get some crab cakes at Big
Hoss's, then take the train trip on Saturday, then we can go find those
graves (he and my cousin want to go tombstone crawling for some morbid
reason) on Sunday with Kathy Jo. He acts amazed. D: You really don't want to go? He mopes around all day, and I start feeling bad. (YOU DAMN WIMP. YOU'RE GONNA BE SORRY) Don’t I know it. Anyway. B: I was just kidding, I'll go to Martinsburg with you. When was that
again? D: So now you want to go?
There's a sign at the head of Dairy Road, Elect G. Wayne Van Bibber for something, I never read the rest. I don't know old G. Wayne, he may be a hell of a guy, but with a name like that I'm betting he's not, I'm betting he's an attorney, and someone you'd like to slap and take his lunch money. Or I would, anyway. Not that I had much truck with that bully shit as a kid, never was one, never suffered one gladly, either. For the first time in a long time, Comics Corner. You're welcome, Dex, and thanks for being patient. Think I'll talk about an entire label, Eclipse Comics, this time. They were based out of rural northern California, a place I really think I'd like, redwoods and nice cool air, get settled in with some really good looking hippie chick, into massage and red wine in the afternoon and screwing like a goddamn rabbit, macramé and candles and fuck materialism- that sounds really, really lovely. I got your macrobiotics right here. The woman that ran the label sounded like a hippie chick, Cat Yrwonde, and her editorials read like a hippie chick's, and that was fine with me. She ran the label with her husband, Dean something or other, I forget his name, he was a semi-big keyboard player, I'd heard of him, his brother as well, bro played guitar on that surprisingly good learn how to play guitar record in that learn to play guitar book you used to have Joe, till I borrowed it well over 20 years ago and never gave it back- it's here tho, when you want it- until Dean's musical commitments got too much, then Cat ran it by herself. Bill's wet dream #6, I've gotta quit my comics job cos my band is doing so well.
I think I'll close with the story about the time my Dad killed a Frenchman- I'm the only Raleigh William Bitner not to have killed one, but not to worry, there's still time. It's not a funny story, but you know, life's not just falling naked off a carport roof into the snow and siccing lobsters on people, sometimes you gotta kill a fucking Frenchman. My Dad was stationed in French Morocco with the Army Air Corps starting in '49 (right after he got done subduing the Japs as part of the Occupation forces starting in '46). He used to drink with a bunch of Foreign Legionnaires, which I think is pretty cool in itself, but these were all Germans, all WW II vets, and a pretty goddamn tough bunch they were, but you know, we're talking my Dad here, he could hang. The Legion at that time was apparently full of the refuse from WW II, guys on the lam from shit they'd done, or guys who'd lost everything in the war and didn't have anyplace else to go, or guys that just fucking wacked out and found out they really liked killing. My Dad said there was one of that type among this crowd, he'd flown in the back seat of a Stuka- amazing he survived the war, and that reminds me, next issue tough guy, Hans Ulrich Rudel- and my Dad said this guy was a real slime bag, he'd talk about how they'd fly over Russian refugees early in the war and he'd machine gun the shit out of them, while rubbing his crotch (in the bar, though maybe he was doing it then, as well). Jeez. My dad said all the others were very cool, especially this great big red headed guy, looked more Norse than Teutonic, my Dad really enjoyed hanging out with them. Said they had to watch out, there was this gang of Eastern European Legionnaires, Poles, mostly, lost their homes and families to the war, and they HATED these German guys. Small wonder. There's lots of jokes made about Polacks, but these were shit tough guys- think Charles Bronson- and if they showed up, the Germans would move on. My Dad was out drinking with these Germans this particular night, and they'd been in this bar, the Poles had come in and the Germans had moved on, not turning tail and running, just not looking for trouble. Well, a bunch of suicidal French Army guys had seen this and gotten the gist of what had happened, so they followed these German Legionnaires- and my Dad- to this second bar, and started giving them a bunch of shit about being chicken shit. Oh dear. Let's see, some French guys start a fight with some German guys, wonder how this is going to turn out? Exactly.
My Dad woke up batoned to a fucking pulp in this scummy French Moroccan jail- sounds exotic and exciting, but I bet it sucked hard as fuck at the time. He was informed that 3 French soldiers had been killed in the fight, and he was going to hang for it along side his Legionnaire comrades. A little later my Dad's C.O. comes by, my Dad hears him and this French big dog arguing, Frogmeister's not gonna let my Dad out, he's gotta swing, then his C.O, comes to my Dad's cell and absolutely REAMS my Dad's ass, then leaves. My Dad figures he's fucked, about an hour later there's all this commotion outside, then this French guard comes to let my Dad out, one of the guys from my Dad's outfit is with him, he's got a gun to Frenchie's head, my Dad goes out and there's all these armed Americans basically busting him out of jail. My dad gets back to base and starts to apologize to his C.O., thanks him for rescuing him. "Like I'd let a fucking Frenchman kill an American." Hear ya. They did hang the German Legionnaires. My dad says he's sure he never killed any of the Frenchies, but he WAS charged with it, so that counts as far as I'm concerned. It counts as far as the Frogs are concerned as well, to the point where my father is still persona non grata in France, the French coppers came to roust me- true- at the dorm where I was staying in Paris in '72, thinking I was my Dad, gonna throw me outta their shit stinking country, yeah, do me a favor, why don’t ya? All them little Clouseau's were about to bust a brain vessel trying to figure out how a kid born in '56 killed a Frog in '49. Uh- it was my DAD! "So . . you din' keel a Frenjman een 1949?" "No . . . but I wish I had." And I do.
WHO GIVES A SHIT! See you next hundred. Later Bill
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Hey
Laura
saw the witch doctor, she told her what to do. She saw an acupuncturist
week before last (she may have seen one this week as well, but since she
didn't come into my bathroom while I was heaving my guts out to tell me
so, I couldn't tell ya) for this really bad circulatory problem she has in
her leg, says it helped quite a bit, so I think my impulse to go the
acupuncture route for the chronic pain in my shoulder was probably
correct, but I just can't go the $60 a week, every week (beer's cheaper,
and works almost as well).
They're not doing
porn matches- not yet, anyway- just taking porn money, FMW had this former
porn guy who was working for them 5-6 years ago, Chocoball Murai, so named
cos his nut sack was (allegedly, as I never saw it) deep, dark brown. Them
Japanese. I bet Giant Baba is corkscrewing in his grave at this very
moment.
Movies?
Watched "Attack" (catchy title, that) yesterday afternoon, with
Eddie Albert as this chicken shit Army Captain (Oliver, say it ain't so),
Jack Palance and Buddy Ebsen (and Richard "they never made a war
movie from '55 to '75 without me" Jaeckel) as soldiers in his
command, you can figure what happens, Jack's only gonna stand that shit
for so long, it was based on a play so it's a little talky and histrionic
in places, but still pretty good.
Lay
on the couch last Monday all sicked up and watched a bunch of that old
noir-y stuff that I love, including, (but not limited to) including
"Lady From Shanghai" with Orson Welles affecting a horrid Irish
brogue, along with the really damned good looking Rita Hayworth, who was
married to that ugly bastard (Welles, we're talking here) at the time,
more proof that being on TV/movies can get you hot women even if you're as
goddamned ugly as Orson Welles. Or that little piss ant Bobby Flay from
Food Network, the boot's going IN should he and I ever cross paths, who's
dating the very pretty Stephanie March (who I didn't know was on TV
herself till Sarah told me). It's all so unfair.
Listening
to? My good buddy Roky Erikson. Soothing sounds from a psycho. And
someone- I could check who, but it doesn't matter, at least not to me-
asked if last issue's lyrics- "Jesus says I'm giving up, etc."
were original, yeah, from "Jesus Says I'm Giving Up". and
thanks.
He
and my mom depart on their cruise later today, God help everyone on that
damn ship. In fact, since I can't think of a funny story right now I may
close with a story about my dad. A few other things first.
Eclipse's
heyday was in the mid-80's, which sort of coincides with mine, which I'm
sure is one reason why I'm so nostalgic about them, as mentioned
previously, 84-86 were as good a years as Loretta and my marriage saw,
things were going so fucking well, in every way possible, it was like
magic, all to come to a crashing halt in December '86. Still, their
product was damn good as well, the previously documented Scout, the
DNAgents (one of Loretta's favorites when she was still uncool enough to
enjoy comics), new versions of Sky Boy, Air Wolf and their pulpy ilk,
Eclipse also did some great comic versions of a lot of Michael Moorcock's
(what a name) stuff, the various Eternal Champion sagas, Elric, Corum, and
(my favorite) Hawkmoon, who wasn't an Indian like he sounds, but Dorian
Hawkmoon, Duke of Koln who fought against the perverted armies (they wore
helmets in the shape of their animal totem- vulture, pig, wolf, etc) of
Granbretan in this post apocalypse alternate Europe. I love that kind of
stuff.
They
also published Miracleman, a very dark update/take off on the old, light
hearted Captain Marvel/Marvel Family comics, by Alan (Watchmen) Moore (gotta
watch them Moore's). He had his little buddies, Young Miracleman- Dicky
Dauntless, you gotta love it- and Kid Miracleman, and he hollered "Kimota!"
instead of "Shazam!" to trigger the change, but very soon we're
off into alien technology and government conspiracies and it all gets very
violent and ends in blood and tears. Doug used to spend nights over at our
house fairly regularly back in those days, and he read a big stack of
Miraclemans one morning waiting for Loretta and I to get up- actually, we
were already up, but- well, never mind- and he was a fan. It was a good
comic, a damn good comic.
My
Dad figures the Frenchies thought nothing would happen cos there were
about a dozen of them, and just my Dad and these 4 Germans, well, the
Germans jump up and just start pounding the dog shit out of these Gallic
pricks, my Dad said he stood aside, he wasn't interested in fighting and
his buddies didn’t look like they needed any help anyway, but the noise
drew more and more fucking Frenchies from outside and they started piling
on, so my dad jumped in, then he heard the gendarmes blowing their fucking
whistles (what IS IT with them?), next thing he knows some gendarme's
broken his baton across the back of my Dad's head (and no, NO HAIR GROWS
THERE, not to this day), my Dad said he stovepiped Mr. Gendarme for his
trouble, but more and more of them showed up, and beat down my Dad and his
buds.
Still,
all this killing is a rough way to end an issue- not that I haven't done
it before- so we'll close with a joke. If you drop a great big giant hairy
Frenchman, and a little tiny scrawny Frenchman out of any airplane at the
same time, which one hits the ground first? All together now-