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4/30/07 He Became A Space Pirate
Hey Once again, c'est moi, barely slipping in under the wire and getting a second issue out this month- although after all the big deal about last month being the first ever with only one issue, I looked at the site and realized I only got one issue out the month before, as well. Whatever, fuck me for stupid, I guess, let's get to this issue's adventures, more wonderful tales of living too fast and loving too hard, proving once again that aging and growing up are two entirely diffferent things. Not a lot of mail since last issue, a couple more, belated, "are you okays?" from my sweet and concerned readership, again, yes, and yes, I'm master of the fucking universe (as well as my domain). My knees and shoulder are giving me fits again, but as I've been abusing them lately with excessive workouts and ring work, I can't bitch much, I've gotten heart and stomach sick a couple times since last issue, which I figure is nothing more than fatigue and stress- (FATIGUE AND STRESS CAN KILL YA) No, fatigue and stress can kill THEM. Nothing can kill us. (OH YEAH. I FORGOT) Speaking of fatigue and stress, like Mike Love, I can't wait for June. I'm not going on safari to stay, (be nice) but for the summer at least, I'm cutting my Al time back to once a week- Monday 10 am to Wednesday, 12 pm- still 50 hours, but not a pimple on the butt of what I have been doing. I'm just so completely burnt out on the piss soaked old fucker it's not funny, if he's still home and kicking in September I'll pick up some more hours, but as for now, or rather June 1, once a week is all I can do. Hopefully me being around more this summer, and dear Sarah being here (she spent this weekend in NYC, most of it at the Metropolitan Museum of Art- oh, my cosmopolitan child), will straighten my Mom out some, she's still about to drive me out of my goddamn mind with her "let's spend four hours grocery shopping, cos what the fuck, Bill has nothing better to do", like we just did Saturday (needless to say, there's still nothing to eat in this house- she started to fix macaroni and cheese last week, then had to send me out for macaroni- ten minutes after I got back with the macaroni, she's sending me to the store again for- you guessed it- cheese) or her hell driven "I know Bill's told me a million times not to wake him up this afternoon, but I will anyway, to remind him today is Tuesday and the trash needs to be put out tonight" bullshit- JESUS. Tina (who's just back from England and Scotland, which she justifiably loved, as noted many times before, we Bitner's are a world travelin' bunch)- (TRYING TO STAY AHEAD OF THE LAW) - pretty much, anyway, Tina may have hit the nail on its grey and toothless head when she said "you know how when a kid or an animal feels it's not getting enough attention, it will do something bad just so you'll pay attention to it?" Shit- I think she may be on to something there. At least my Mom hasn't chewed the crotch out of all my pants yet. (ONLY COS SHE'S GOT NO TEEFERS).
Yes, I am a fuckng martyr (someone who suffers frequent or constant pain as a result of trying to do right, or someone who complains a great deal in order to get sympathy from others, take your pick), thank you. Speaking of workouts, like we were in passing a few paragraphs ago, I met this quite lovely lesbian- I guess, she was there with her not at all hot girlfriend, I couldn't figure it out, but then again, I rarely can- at Pullman Square week before last. I was down there with Al drinking way too expensive Starbuck's coffee and soaking up some much needed sun (and checking out the lovely lesbian), she asked me if Al was my Dad- God fucking forbid- and we struck up a conversation, I complimented her on her physique- she was tall and lithe and truly gorgeous- and she complimented me on mine (forearms and calves specifically, go figure, she must be a Popeye fan), which was sweet of her, the upshot is that she was big into yoga and offered to show me some sun salutations which she said would do wonders for my flexibility- it had certainly done wonders for hers, have I mentioned this girl was lovely? Cos she really, really was. They're all either taken or gay works both ways, ladies. I don't really have much interest in yoga. and I had no intention of doing them, I was just enjoying watching her show me how they went, as was Al- Al: What's that girl doing? -but, I've started doing nine of them- why not ten? cos I don't fucking feel like doing ten- before every workout, aerobic and lifitng, and I think they may be helping, better than the boring and apparently mostly ineffectual stretches- I'm limber as a fucking brick- I usually do. Getting back to the mail, not one, not two, but three guys wrote in thanking me for turning them on to Gettin' Close, (one of them said "only you could find a hottie like that on a daytime hunting show", which is exactly opposite of my point, my point was THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I WASN'T LOOKING FOR), it took Joe a while to get it up (ahem) but once he did he got some ace fucking pics on the site of my gal Tiff (any joke about Tiffany, deer hunting and big racks is so obvious, I'll let you make it yourself), same guy quoted above said he now Tivo's the show and watches it every day when he gets home from (you poor fool) work. In the "be careful what you ask for" file, even though I encouraged him to do so, now that I've seen the nude photos of super hot Jolene and Trish (and after seeing the nude shots of her, Ms. Helfer reminds me even more strongly of someone I used to know) I can't watch 'em on TV. Tried watching that Star Trek show last Monday, forget it, that goddamn throbbng boner I'd get every time Jolene (dear Lord, she's hot) was on screen was driving me to complete and utter (or udder) distraction. (FOR YOU THAT'S A SHORT TRIP) Very short, indeed. In the "Big News" column- we're all about files and columns this issue- Doug and Rosa's eldest son Alex- a truly fine, FINE lad, and I say that not just because I love his parents dearly- will graduate from high school next month, which would normally be big news in itself, but the BIG NEWS is that he'll be gettng married this August. This is big news not only for itself, but for the fact that he's defied all the physical laws of this universe (which I happen to be master of, excuse me, Master of) cos I was JUST AT his father's bachelor party not more than a couple weeks ago, swear. How does this shit happen? We had a great time at Doug's party, Chris and Ron and Richard (who, if you're reading this, Doug says you do sometime, drop me a line ya out of touch for ages fuck), got pounded drunk, even for us, watched some porn, the one I remember was Traci, I Love You with the undeniably hot Traci Lords, and who at the time I was watching back in that other world, was almost identical in build and ability to my then wife, and if I ever lose my mind, or last remaining shreds of morality, and make the tapes she and I made together public, you'll see I'm not just talking out my ass- or hers, you'll also understand why I miss her so much, she may have been a bitch, but she could fuck your damn spleen out of its socket. And then back in. Doug and Richard got into some backyard wrestling, some drunk wanted to shave Doug's passed out head- he had hair then, for those of you who know him now going "Shave Doug's HEAD?"- but was talked out of it and settled for shaving his bride to be's name in Doug's jungle thick chest hair (which worked out okay anyway prank wise as they went on a cruise, or to the beach or something for their honeymoon, so everyone could see ROSA shaved into Doug's chest). However, I- I mean, the malicious drunk who did this- started out too big, so only two letters would fit side by side, so he had to split her name up, and it came out on Doug's chest (and dog hairy stomach) lookng like this- RO Rosa wasn't too happy with the malicious drunk who did the shaving, but it was still better than if he'd shaved Doug's head, Rosa said if I had she'd have never spoken to me again . . . hey, wait, WHY DID YOU GUYS STOP ME?! (uh, just kiddng, dear- yow, shit, now she's gonna beat me up again like she did all those years/just a few weeks ago). What's Bill been up to? Had MC Friday night a couple weeks ago while Rachie was still in (we had a wonderful week together, I feel like we really reconnected, that's the first full week I've spent with my youngest daughter in almost two years, she's called me more, and talked with me far longer and in depth, in the two weeks since she went back to Baltimore than she did in the four months prior- and to you who commented on how pretty she looked in last issue on the site, thank you, and yes she did, I truly believe that both of my girls are flat out beauties), we watched Casino Royale, I think Daniel Craig makes an excellent Bond, vey athletic, very dynamic, good looking but not a pretty boy, he's quite the hardass, guys like Moore, whom I like, but not in this role, and Brosnan, who was better, could pull off the sophistication side of Bond, but literary Bond always had the smell of muscled up tough nut thug about him as well, and Craig handled that aspect far better than anyone since Connery. I was haivng a great time, pounding beers (Rach and I were spending the night, no driving) and smoking good cigars, eating Doug's brats (I know I never eat and drink together, but that had nothing to do with what happened) and just enjoying that MC atmosphere of being with your good, good friends- but then when we came in off Chris's deck to watch Hollywoodland, all of a sudden I got hot as fuck, and then a splitting headache, and then I got nauseous and started puiking (in the toilet, fortunately). No idea why. Maybe I was stressing Rachie going back, cos that was what I was thinking about right before I got sick, but who knows. Same thing happened that Sunday only worse, after I got back from turning Rach back over to her Mom, got back to the house, drank a couple beers and all of a sudden again here comes that heat/headache/nausea bullshit again, this time accompanied by the fucking chest crush. Again, I have no idea why. Maybe it's just cos I'm a pussy about some things, like my kids living in Baltimore for the past four years. As everyone who reads this thing knows, I cultivate this mean ass exterior to conceal and protect my soft candy coated center. (THAT WOULD BE YOUR SOFT, CANDY COATED CENTER. MY CENTER IS PURE-) Your center is pure bullshit. (YEP. BUT IT'S HARD BULLSHIT. HARD LIKE ROCK). That I'll give ya. Had lunch with Jean last week, she told me Brother Dick ran a losing race down some stairs with a bunch of dogs and broke his leg. Take care, brother, and get well soon, although if I know Dick he probably spit on the break, maybe rubbed some dirt on it, then got up and did a few laps around the house. Jean, Tad and some others are going to Colorado to hunt elk this October, they've kindly invited me aliong, and by God, I'm going, no take backs (and PLEASE let us run into Tiffany out there, Jesus, I swear I'll be good). Don't want to hunt- I don't want to pay $500 bucks for the license, also I'm not at all interested in killing something I don't have a personal grudge against, any mammals, anyway, I'll be quite happy to kill as many trout as we can catch and eat (not to mention no few bottles of beer and maybe whiskey, as long as they hide all the guns first). Since we're in the travel column, or maybe it's the travel file, I'm not sure, the Absolut and cranberry (didn't feel like beer tonight, still gotta fnd something cheap that's not Rolling Rock) is kicking in, Danny is now saying that the trip to Belize is looking good for winter semester break next school year, January I guess, sounds good, but the way my life goes, January is so far away it may as well be on Mars, I'll get more worked up as it gets closer, but it should be a hell of a trip if it comes off- (JUST WATCH OUT FOR THE MARLIN SPORES IF YOU GO FISHING DOWN THERE) I'm sure I'm going to regret asking this, but what are marlin spores? (IT'S HOW THEY HUNT. THEY JUMP UP OUT OF THE WATER AND SHOOT OUT A BUNCH OF SPORES, AND IF THE SPORES GET ON YOU- LOOK THE FUCK OUT. YOU HAVE THIS UNCONTROLLABLE IMPULSE TO JUMP IN THE WATER) Really? (SURE. HAVEN'T YOU SEEN HOW THEY STRAP THE GUY WITH THE ROD DOWN IN THOSE BIG CHAIRS WHENEVER THEY'RE FISHING FOR MARLIN? THAT'S SO WHEN THE SPORES GET ON THEM THEY WON'T JUMP OVERBOARD) Makes sense. But then what keeps all the other guys on the boat from jumping overboard? (THEY'RE ALL WEARING MARLIN SUITS) Marlin suits? All the fishing shows I've ever seen, all the other guys just looked like they were wearing regular clothes (WELL, MARLN SUITS LOOK A LOT LIKE REGULAR CLOTHES. YOU HAVE TO KNOW WHAT TO LOOK FOR TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MARLIN SUITS AND JUST PLAiN GET YOUR ASS KILLED SHORTS AND A T-SHIRT. BESIDES, I DOUBT YOU WERE PAYINNG MUCH ATTENTION TO WHAT THE GUYS WERE WEARING, YOU WERE PROBABLY LOOKING FOR SOME BLOND BIMBO WITH GREAT BIG FUCKING TITS IN A CAMO BIKINI) Well yeah, probably. (LIKE I SAID, YOU GO TO BELIZE, WATCH OUT FOR THEM FUCKING MARLIN SPORES. I'M TELLING YOU, YOU GET THEM EVIL FUCKERS ON YOU AND UNLESS YOU'RE STRAPPED DOWN, BROTHER, NEXT THING YOU KNOW YOU'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAMN OCEAN. THEN YOU EITHER JUST SORT OF DOG PADDLE AROUND UNTIL YOU DROWN, OR, IF THE MARLN IS FEELNG MEAN, AND THEY USUALLY ARE- THEY DON'T SAY "MEAN AS A MARLIN" FOR NOTHING- HE'LL COME ALONG AND POKE YOU WITH THAT DAMN STICK HE'S GOT-) Poke you, huh? (YEAH, WITH THAT BIG DAMN STICK ON HIS HEAD. IT LOOKS LIKE IT'S ATTACHED UP THERE BUT IT'S NOT, IT'S JUST LAYING IN THIS SLOT, AND ONCE MISTER MARLIN COMES UP ON YOUR SOGGY AND SPORED UP ASS HE'LL PULL THAT STICK OUT-) He'll pull it out?! (YEAH) With WHAT? (WITH HIS HANDS, OF COURSE) I never till this moment knew that marlin had hands. (WELL, YOU WOULDN'T, COS REALLY THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO WOULD KNOW THAT ARE THOSE THAT HAVE SURVIVED A MARLIN ATTACK, AND LET ME TELL YA, WE'RE FEW AND FAR BETWEEN. ANYWAY, HE'LL REACH UP WITH HIS COLD AND FINNY MARLN HANDS AND PULL THAT STICK OUT OF HIS HEAD, AND THEN HE'LL JUST POKE YOUR "OH, WHY DIDN'T I STAY ON SHORE WATCHING STAR TREK AND RUBBING MY DICK" ASS TO DEATH WITH IT. TAKES FOREVER, BUT HE'LL DO IT- WHAT'S TIME TO A FUCKING MARLIN? AND THEN HE'LL EAT YOU. So, I'm guessing you once got marlin spores on you? (SWEET MARY CHRISTMAS, NO. ONLY A FUCKING IDIOT WOULD LET A MARLIN SPORE 'EM) So how . . .? (I WAS OUT FISHING ONE TIME, AND I GOT PIXILATED DRUNK-) Imagine. (-AND I STARTED THINKNG ABOUT SOMEONE I SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT, AND THE NEXT THING YOU KNOW, I WANTED TO FIGHT. I MEAN, I REALLY WANTED TO FIGHT. AS IN, IF I DON'T PUNCH SOMETHING IN THE FACE REALLY HARD RIGHT NOW, I'M GONNA FUCKING EXPLODE-) Been there. (I KNOW- BEEN THERE WITH YOU. WELL, I COULDN'T FIGHT THE CREW COS THEN HOW WOULD I GET BACK TO SHORE? I CANT NAVIGATE ONE OF THEM FUCKERS, I'D END UP SOMEPLACE LIKE ATLANTIS-) Way down below the ocean. (EXACTLY. FORTUNATELY, RIGHT ABOUT THEN I HAPPENED TO SEE THIS MARLN SWIMMING BY. BIG SON OF A BITCH, HE WAS, HAD A STICK AS LONG AS MINE, ALMOST, BEFORE HE COULD LEAP UP AND SHOOT HIS SPORES I JUST JUMPED IN THE FUCKING WATER. I THINK IT SORT OF SURPRISED HIM- AS MUCH AS YOU CAN TELL WITH A DAMN FISH, IT'S NOT LIKE THEY GOT THE MOST EXPRESSIVE FACES. THEY'RE NOT LIKE A PUPPY DOG OR SOMETHING, OR A YETI, NOW THERE'S AN EXPERESSIVE- You were in the water with the marlin . . . (YEAH, SO ANYWAY, HE SEES ME, AND I SEE HIM BACK, I TRY TO STARE HIM DOWN BUT THAT'S SHITTIN' HARD TO DO, FUCKERS DON'T HAVE EYELIDS, CHEATIN' ASS BASTARDS, AND THEN HE REACHES UP WITH HIS LITTLE MARLINNY HANDS, AND PULLS OUT HS STICK, AND COMES AFTER ME, MURDER IN HIS BIG, STARING MARLIN EYES . . . ) And? (WHAT DO YOU MEAN, AND?) What happened? (I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU HAVE TO ASK. I TOOK THAT STICK AWAY FROM THE SON OF A BITCH AND BEAT THE FISH PISS OUT OF HIM WITH IT. YOU THINK I'M GONNA LET SOME GODDAMN SLIMY, COLD BLOODED MARLIN POKE ME?!?) Heaven forfend. (FORFEND, EXACTLY. I STILL GOT THAT STICK- THEY DON'T GROW BACK, BY THE WAY-AROUND SOMEWHERE. I THINK YOUR MOM MAY HAVE HIDDEN IT OR SOMETHING. SHE'S FUCKING NUTS, YOU KNOW.) Yeah, her too. I have to say, that was the damnedest story I ever heard. (THANK YOU). Moving on, in the "Bill as Renaissance man" column- (YOU MEAN YOU MARK THE DECLINE OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE, THE REVIVAL OF CLASSICAL CULTURE, AND THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN SCIENCE AND GEOGRAPHICAL EXPLORATION?) No, I don't, but I still got your geographical exploration right here. I mean that I can do a lot of disparate things and do them well- in a single day's e-mail I got offers to wrestle (that guy at Texas Exteme Wrestling is ALL about DFZ, he's made me offers of room, board, beer and pussy to try and get me to come down there, but there's no point in going for a week or so, which is as long as I could stay right now, if that, if I could somehow work it to where I could do a run of a couple months I'd love to get Texas Extreme- maybe do some cacti corner and rattlesnake on a pole matches or something), appear in another local movie that will probably never get made (16 to Life is still beng held up by sound problems, dammit to hell), play music at a whitewater rafting event later this summer (I have to say prep for that is not going well), and write for hire. I can't say much about the writing gig, although I'm absolutely busting to, but I can say this- I'm gettng paid GOOD money for it, and I've already gotten a decent chunk of it (four figures) up front. " . . . meanwhile, Hapless Boobus here is losing the match for us . . ." Freebird Micheal Hayes. I think Hapless Boobus may well be the funniest thing I've ever heard a person called in my life. And on televsion, no less. That leads us into the wrestling column, so- I'm Mister Bad Example That could well be DFZ's theme song. Had a rough weekend the one before this one, five matches in two days (big reason why my joints are screaming), a couple uncharacteristically bruising matches down in Rand for XMCW, uncharacteristically good as well, took quite a few chair shots, one unfortunately to the fucking kidneys- why is it the misplaced chair shots are always the ones they lay in the hardest?- which are still hurting me as I sit here typing, but at least I'm not still pissing blood. I didn't retaliate for the errant shot as it was from Max Rock, a genuinely sweet kid who I like a lot, and it wasn't that he was a goof who didn't know better, he just missed, it happens, also he was truly, terribly upset over it, so, fuck it, if you're gonna let people pound on you with folding metal chairs then you really can't go, "Whaa, that hurt". Unless you're a total fucking candy ass. Danny and I, my lower back sore as a fucking boil, went up to Parkersburg (switched from somewhere in Ohio) the next day for the inaugural New Breed Wrestling show at the Eagles Club. Of all the well over 200 shows I've worked since beginning this NL, this was easily the poorest run, biggest cluster fuck ever. I'm not sorry that I worked it, oh, not at ALL, but still, the show itself was a goddamn mess form start to finish. It was so bad, I turned down a belt, John and I (as the Blood Brothers) were supposed to take the belts off Heavy Artillery, I said no thanks, the fed was really that bad- WAY too many back yarders, and marks thinkng they were workers- so then they tried to get GAY to take the belts, and without knowing we'd already turned them down, THEY turned them down as well, so Heavy Artillery are still the NBW tag champs. More power to ya, boys. My singles match (also worked a tag, and a battle royal, more about it later) was with some punk working as Billy The Kid, young guy from Morgantown, bigger than DFZ , by which I mean he was taller and bulkier, maybe 6'2" and 250- 260 legit, but also much softer and lacking my enormous penis. Billy was getting all caught up in the chaos, as was Danny, the two of them kept winding one another up, I gave Billy the finish and told him I'd call the rest in the ring, and then divorced myself from the crazy ass proceedings around me, just sat quietly in a corner of the dressing room with Wes Lynch and drank some beer- no, I don't normally, but it was that kind of show- B the K seemd okay at that point, but then he and Danny got into over I don't know what, overtalking the match is what I'd say- I told Danny to sit down and let it go, for all the good it did- so that Danny eventually comes to me and says, "You need to stiff this guy, he's a prick." Now, I'm not stiffing this guy on Danny's say so, I figure we'll just go out and work an easy match- I'm not killing myself for this asshole fed- collect our money and then get drunk on it. But I guess Danny got this goof ball's blood up, cos once we got out there, we go for the intial lock up- and he kicks me the stomach. Not all that hard, it was a worked kick, but still a mistake for any number of reasons- a face doesn't kick on a lock up, that's a heel move, also heel is calling the match and I certainly didn't call that, also also if he just had to do it, then he should have at least called it before doing it. But his biggest mistake was that it pissed me off. I go ahead and sell the kick, then tell him to grab a head lock which he, all unsuspecting, does. Before he has even an inking that there's something rotten in Parkersburg, I hook him and suplex him right on the back of his fuckng head. Sorry, dude- did I not call that? I figure he can either come up swinging or crying, and my money's on crying. It was a sucker's bet. He comes up cryng like a baby. We locked back up, I asked him "you want to work or shoot," he wisely said work so we did, we went on to have a still not very good match- Danny blew the fucking finish, among other things- but at least Billy didn't try to get cute again, although at one pont he did have balls enough to try and call a suplex on me, I told him "you're out of your goddamn mind" and he at least had sense enough to laugh. Then there was the battle royal, grand finale to this fucking mess (I've left out TONS of horseshit, just trust me, this show was a shit bomb). Some drunken fans- always a hazard when you're working a bar- had already jumped in the ring in the previous match and gotten away with it, cos the guys working it were too green to know that Wrestling 101 says you legitimately beat the flying dog shit out of anyone who jumps in the ring during a match. So battle royal comes around, I get myself eliminated first (if DFZ isn't schedueld to win, I always bail out as soon as I can, cos I truly hate the fuckers, WAY too easy to get hurt with that many people in the ring, especially your knees) and go over and start drinking beer with Flash Fury (we helped save his brain, me and the Falconettes, back in the day), who was just there to watch, I see some guys in the crowd taking off their shirts and jumping in the ring, but I thought it was all a work (and would have fit in perfectly with this ill conceived fiasco) cos a couple of them were workers, and I was unaware of the earlier run in, turns out it wasn't a work at all, and a big ass legit fist fight broke out, it was a damn disgrace, truly (Danny was like, "You want to get involved?", my take was "Unless someone takes a poke at me, or spills my beer, I'm just gonna sit here and keep drinking").
I've been up to my neck in pleasure Later Bill  |
I'll blame it on bad luck 
I know my Mom resents all the time I spend at Al's (I'm sure she'd
resent buying my beer even more) just like she resents my wrestling (this,
"you're gonna get hurt " shit is all a blind, she knows I'm not
gonna get hurt, I'm Death Falcon Zero for fuck's sake, it's the other guy
who's gonna get hurt, if anyone), and resents my going anywhere socially-
it's getting to be like living with Howard Sprague's Mom. I'm getting up
early tomorrow and taking her to breakfast (my Mom, not Howard's) at Ihop
cos she wants to tuck into that stuffed French toast special before it
disappears- what IS it with the geezers and their sweet teeth?- then to
Books a Million and a couple other places she wants to go to, before I
have to go down to Al's, just like I try to do other things with her as
time allows, but no matter what I do it's never enough for her, she still
complains that I'm never home and I never do anything for her.
And that's where we'll close tonight. Remind me to finish this
wrestling story next issue, cos it involves, among other things, me
getting my d*** s*****, one of my favorite thngs to write about, but it's
well past 3 am, getting closer to 4, and the vodka, as it will do, is
really starting to catch up with me, not to mention I got to get up soon
and take some old lady for her stuffed french toast. Good night, dear
friends. Till next time.