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4/6/06 What Kind Of Fool Am I?
Hey Hope this issue finds everyone well, I'm feeling much better, thanks. As some of you know, I was sick as a bitch for a few days week before last (or maybe week before that, it's been a while), bad, BAD stomach shit, once again with the throwing up blood- an ulcer I think I'm having- but also had a serious fever as well, spiked at 104* (again, no degree thing on here)- before, as always, getting better, like I am right now. Better, that is. You know what's going to kill me? When the sun explodes 10 billion years from now. Till then, everything else is just going to hurt me a little. Or a lot . . . Pretty quiet mail bag since last issue, there was one letter I remember I was going to address, but I'll be damned if I can recall what it was about now, plus one asking about how can they get a copy of the Tang Spoons CD. Well, bless your heart for asking, but as of right now, you cant. I don't have any more, not even one of my own, I don't think Joe does either, getting together with Joe and making more TS CD's is on my to do list, along with more Sabres Heavy Planet Man CDs, which I'm also out of, as well as finally getting out the Gorch Brothers long- did I say long?- I meant LOOOONG- delayed Proud Flesh CD (with such in a better world hit songs as "Hand Me Them Snakes" and "I Said I'd Take It Bad (And I Did)", not to mention the oft quoted in here "Jesus Says I'm Giving Up", great shit, trust me- no really, goddammit, TRUST ME) but while the intentions are good (aren't they always?), its finding the time, then finding the time when Joe also has the time- how does getting you a copy about 2212 strike you? That's the year 2212, not 10:12 pm military time, by the way. Still no more Ms. Doe since last time, so I think that's run it's course, fine, like I said earlier that whole correspondence just had an off smell to it, same with Photography Girl, (running her course, not smelling funny, although, you know . . . ), unbeknownst to Mister Innocent here, Danny refused to let her ride with us this Saturday past down to Oak Hill for TV, apparently just jumped all over her shit when she called him Friday to ask for a ride, telling her he was tired of her chasing after my blatantly uninterested ass, and constantly putting him in the middle with her junior high set up requests, she could just fuck the fuck off, etc., etc. Which on the one hand is perfectly fine with me, kept me from having to do it, although he could have maybe been a bit nicer about it, not really sure why he wasn't, other than that he can be like that (although not with me, cos he knows I'll knock him ass over teacups). Except on the other hand, who the fuck do you think PG is furious at now, to the point of hating, there being a thin line there and all? Yeah, exactly. I was never, EVER anything but nice to that girl, even when she was stomping up and down on my last nerve with her great big giant bad grammar ass feet, I didn't tell Danny to give her the big blow off, had no idea he was going to do it, he certainly wasn't acting as my agent there in any capacity, that was HIM getting tired of her obsessive shit, but now I'M this horrible prick who . . . ah, man, fuck it. But it's not fair, really. I don't give a good goddamn whether you hate me or not, I really don't, but at least let me earn it. Cos I will. Saw a photo of Joe and Laura's youngest, Gordon, in the paper one night last week, he and some of his other science type buds there at the Tech Center had built a robot that would drop a golf ball down a hole in the center of a table. Now, that's a damn handy thing to build, I'm sure, and I can easily think of oh, shit, about a million uses for it, most of them, you know, involving dropping a golf ball down a hole in the center of a table. But dammit, son, if you're gonna use your genius to be building robots, why don’t you build one that'll BUILD A FUCKING TIME MACHINE?! Jeez fucking Louise, somebody HELP ME here . . .
My Dad has had two surgeries scheduled since last issue, he was supposed to get his cataracts taken off this past Tuesday- maybe if he can see better he won’t be seeing so much crazy shit is the hope, a futile one, probably- but his inability to follow simple direction, like BE STILL, made it impossible to do under local, so he's gotta go back later this month and have them taken off under general anesthesia. He still comes and goes mentally, but I'm noticing more and more that when he goes, he really goes, especially his ability to comprehend dirt simple directions, like "Left foot, dammit, LEFT FOOT", or "Be still or I'm gonna burn your eyes out with this laser" and he'll give you this total space case look worthy of my Mom at her most Neptunian, and pay not the least bit of attention to what you said. Next Monday he goes over to Thomas outpatient to have taken what they think is some basal cell skin cancer off of his forearm. It never fucking stops. He still has moments of, for him, lucidity, he's been calling me Eskimo Joe lately, I finally asked him why, "Cos no one but a damn Eskimo would eat salmon everyday for brekfass", okay, then the other day my Mom was sorting through a bunch of old sheets, stuff Loretta gave me last fall as she was cleaning out the Carriage Way house, seeing what would fit the beds out here and what wouldn't, I noticed and, doing that talking out loud thing I do when I really mean to just be thinking, said- Bill: Man, if those sheets could only talk. Funny. And perceptive. Physically, amazingly, he still just gets stronger, his OP therapists are all like "DAMN", and go figure this one, instead of putting her off, my Mom's stupid comments about me liking Debbie the receptionist for her big tits seem to have actually gotten me more on her good side, cos she's been noticeably friendlier since then- and she was already pretty friendly- she came out in the waiting room and sat next to me shooting the shit for close to an hour one day- and I'm willing to admit a good part of it could be simple boredom on her part, she doesn't exactly seem overworked- but still, Tina, who's been helping out lately by taking my Dad to his outpatient therapy some, came in last Friday asking- Tina: You got something going with Debbie? It never does at the start. But they learn. They all learn. This recent bad stomach got me back eating right again, drifted there a bit cos I got lazy, still living on mostly brown rice and fish (tuna or salmon) and raw carrots, steamed cauliflower and broccoli, bland, but by God it's bland, I mean healthy, drinking more green tea than any two Chinamen, even big ones, also back to the yogurt with fruit each night, it seems to be helping, I just get the plain, fat free stuff, tangy, you fucking bet, but as I've said in here before, if you want to eat ice cream then FUCKING EAT ICE CREAM. I add the fruit myself, I'll mash up a banana in it, or throw in some frozen berries, it's all good. Blindingly sour as shit, but good.
Now Rachel's not coming in for her spring break, either. Excuse me while I fucking break something. However, her mother's making the ENORMOUS concession of taking the Friday before Easter off, so Rachel will be coming in Friday evening, staying Saturday, and then going back to Baltimore early Sunday (no Easter dinner here in WV). Somebody remind me again, why did I try to make up with Loretta? I'd like to make up to her with a fucking chain saw, I'm sorry, but that bitch AIN'T NO GOOD, no matter how you treat her. Sarah says she's doing well at school, went to NYC for the day a few Saturday's ago. She also has a new boyfriend named Evan (which rhymes with Heaven, which is where he could easily go if he's not good to my baby). I just put that in there cos I understand he reads this mess. How you doing, Evan? By the way, did you all hear about the guy with five dicks? His pants fit like a glove. Al's getting better, made what you might call a miraculous recovery, cos I'm telling you, there was a point where he was knock knock knocking on Heaven's, or more likely, Hell's door (with the seat of his drawers full of shit, hollering, "Where AM I?"). He felt so well last week the sneaky fuck found his car keys when he was left unattended- not on MY watch, by God- I show up and neither Al nor his car are there, oh fuck, THIS isn’t good, but soon I hear a bunch of horns honking, I look out front and here comes Al driving down the wrong side of the street, no lights on- this is after dark- at least he remembers where he lives cos he drives up into his yard, almost into the side of the fucking house. He sees me standing on the front porch, gets out of the car and asks "Can you park this for me, buddy?" Uh, yeah, I think I'd better. I get in and the radio is on full blast, same with the heater, the windshield wipers are going as fast as they will go . . . I'm guessing Al cranked everything he could get his hands on all the way up, hoping one of them would be the lights, although who knows, maybe he just likes everything on full, being the crazy old fuck that he is. While extremely tempted to just take his car keys and flush them down the toilet, after parking his car around back, I gave them to Tom to keep at his house.
Yes, by God, it does, it mother fucking hurts like hell to be in love. It also hurts when people we care about die, and its that sad part of the NL time, obituaries. First up (or down) is Gene Pitney, who sang the above lines, among many others, great singer, great guy, RIP Gene. Also a couple of local obits. Kat told me the other week that Ed Nugent, who she and I both used to work with at DHS, and who also worked at Abraxas with me, (and who she had just run into at some SW convention not a week before) died a few weeks ago of a heart attack, age 54, that really sucks. Ed had his faults, but he was also a bright, funny guy, hate to see him go so young, RIP, man. It's them goddamn cigarettes, I'm telling you, Ed was a serious smoker, and, like Johnny Grunge, not svelte- like I said a million times, I'll take drink and drugs over smoking and fat any day, and I'll be in Scotland before ya.
So- what's Bill been up to? I was actually able to get out of the house a few weekends ago, we had a Movie Club to see V For Vendetta, I liked it, nice literate script, some good action scenes, although it did bog down a bit there for a while, then we went up to Chris' for more MC, watched Rob Roy, very good movie but I've seen it a hundred times, they were drinking that skanky Scotch, I was sticking to beer, Smithwick Ale, not that good, and some Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, also not that good, but they were both nectar from Barbara Eden's honey hole compared to this Hawk something brew Chris got down in Atlanta, had this red hawk head on the label and it was fucking vile. Then me and Chris and Doug and Joe and Ron went outside and pounded beers and smoked cigars, some Cusanos provided by Chris, hey, he's working again the fucking traitor, so I didn't feel even one tiny bit guilty, not that I should have anyway cos he bought them for us to be a nice guy, which he is, I'm telling you, standing out there in the weather drinking and smoking and shooting the shit, I love my boys, swear to God. I flat fucking LOVE them, I couldn't have better friends if I were actually a decent person and deserved them. Mother FUCK though, if those Movie Clubs don’t make me miss Loretta. And yeah, I know I said that last time. It is what it is. Oh yeah, we also watched some more Fireball XL-5's. GOTTA learn that song (I wanna be a fireball). Spent the next night down at Joe and Laura's, borrowed some movies to bring back here and watch when I was able. History Of Violence, I liked it, graphic violence, I'd heard the story was complicated but it seemed straight forward to me, one of those ambiguous, okay we'll just stop now, endings, though, but like I said, I liked it. Good actors, Viggo (where'd you get that NAME, dude?) Mortenson, the always good Ed Harris, and William Hurt, very amusing in a small role, didn't catch the name of Viggo's wife but I thought she was very sexy in a real world kind of way (loved the cheerleader outfit). Also borrowed The Island, didn't much care for it, your stereotypical future dystopia chase movie, lots of clichés, I did like the flying motorcycle things until I realized they were just another version of the flying in the wood things from the third Star Wars movie- the real third one, with those little black eyed tampon looking things, I can't remember what they're called right now, I keep wanting to say Chewbops but I know that's not right- not the new third one which was really the sixth one. Although I will go out on a limb and note that Scarlet Johansson is an extremely beautiful young woman. Jesus. What's Bill been reading? A mystery- the name again escapes me at the moment, lots of things are right now, I'm 16 beers into a case of PBR- by Patrick McManus, best known for his outdoor humor books, with highly amusing titles like Never Cry "Arp" and The Night the Bear Ate Goombaw, Pat's a pretty funny guy- not as funny as me, but funny- and the mystery's good too, wish I could remember the name of it. Also read Spiderman Confidential, thought it was going to be okay but it sucked, went all into this "deep" psychoanalysis of Spiderman (the character and the comic), I've gone off on this kind of shit before and here I go again, I think psychology is a fucking chancre sore on the scrotum of society, a pseudo "science" at best, I'd trust astrology first, swear to God, I think the human mind, and human behavior, is far, FAR too complex, varied and complicated to be pigeonholed the way psychology wants to do it, oh, well, he's doing this, it must be because of that. Hey, well you know what, I'm doing this because of FUCK YOU, and why don’t you kiss my mother fucking ass while you're at it. The more cynical among you might be saying about this point that Bill just hates psychology and it's ilk cos those are the bastard fucks who shot lightning bolts through my head when I was a kid (and I didn't even turn into the fucking Flash or Electro or ANYTHING) and you might be right, partially, anyway, cos God knows I'm a grudge full mother fucker and I like it that way, but also I spent a lot of time ferrying kids to see the useless shitters for over twenty years and I have never, EVER known anyone to see a psychologist where they didn't find something wrong with them. You're trying to tell me EVERYONE'S crazy? That's HORSESHIT, but your psych fucks would be out of work if the public realized what a scam it all fucking was. Take your psychology and ram it up your fucking ass. Sideways, with goddamn nails sticking out of it, and jellyfish stuck to the nails. Other that that, I got no problem with it. Used to feel so fucking optimistic What's Bill been listening to? Used some of my SSSLB points that I used to have with CRC before they sold out to BMG and got a bunch of "Free" CDs, free other than the exorbitant Shipping and "Handling" charges these places put on anything they send you, for that price they should be handling my throbbing dick, still, got 4 Bowie CD's- "Diamond Dogs", "Station To Station" (Loretta's Mom gave me the LP for my 23rd birthday, 1979, although I'm sure Loretta was actually the one to purchase it, along with a pair of royal blue athletic socks with red and gold bands around the tops, which I have TO THIS VERY DAY- never wore 'em much), "Low" and "Heroes", which both make me think of the summer of '80, when I borrowed the albums from Jeff Morrison, nee Martin and taped them (I put a bunch of Jeff's Marc Bolan import stuff on the other side).
I also got a Raspberries Best Of, I think the last thing they recorded was in '74 so I don't know how many of you reading this are familiar with them, they were actually an excellent singles band, a good band, period. As always, events in my life are inextricably entwined with the music I was listening to at the time, and a couple of these songs are very evocative of the time when Loretta and I were falling in love- and no, I don’t know why she's been on my mind so much lately, you people who have control over your own minds are so fucking lucky you don’t know, cos mine just goes wherever the hell it wants to- but the Raspberries also make me think of Torch, who was a huge fan of theirs, we used to listen to the 8-tracks in his car all the time, so . . Nah. No promises. I was going to say I'd try to include a funny Torch story, but I'm faltering badly- I just got NO fucking stamina at ALL anymore. Need to do a DFZ update, I promised him. You there? (I HAVE A RIDDLE). Oh dear. (NO, NOT THAT ONE. THIS ONE GOES, WHAT HAPPENS WHEN AN ULTRA DRAGON MEETS A DEATH FALCON?) Uhm . . . the Ultra Dragon loses? (WELL, YEAH, IF YOU WANT THE SHORT AND BORING VERSION. THE ULTRA DRAGON LOSES). Want me to recount the long and exciting version? (SURE). Well, I'm not up for it. I'm crashing. However, I'll do my best to give them , . . something. As I think I mentioned, DFZ is only working TV right now, every other Saturday morning, let his contract go to shit which I genuinely feel guilty about, runs out this Sunday and I'm not re-upping, simply do not have the time, mores the pity- although I am working this Friday- Danny's strictly managing again so it's all the DF between the ropes. Last Saturday Brian brought up a bunch of talent from CWF Mid-Atlantic for TV, DFZ worked this other masked guy from down that way first show, supposed to be this hot shot martial artist shoot fight type guy, also supposed to be this big guy, ha, he went a buck eighty, tops. He wasn't too cooperative in the back, didn't really want to work with me, so DFZ dismantled his ass in under five and choked him out with the OD. Welcome to WV, tough guy. Second show DFZ was working J-Pain, formerly J-Synn, big tough looking kid, only about 5'9' but solid as shit, looked like a gangsta, all tatted up, with the bandannas and shit. He's worked the past three WWE Smackdown's, two as security and then last week in a dark match, so he can go. Everyone's apologizing to me for the booking, Black, and even Brian, telling me what a crowbar this guy is- crowbar being wrestle talk for an ultra stiff worker, and not a compliment, at all- but there's just nobody else to work him. He and his tag partner, Nick Pleasure- Pleasure and Pain, get it- another big kid, were supposed to work GAY, but they worked them the previous Tuesday there in Oak Hill and just beat hell out of JC and Shane, and they were refusing to work them again, legit. I'm thinking this is some kind of set up. I've been bailing on some shows and I know people aren’t happy, no matter what kind of face they put on it, so they're bringing this bastard in from out of state to fuck me up We go in the back to get the finish from Brian- DFZ over in six with the Falcon buster- then me and J-Pain take a seat to go over the match, and I'm telling you, this kid couldn’t be nicer. He looks like a pumped up crack dealing thug- that's his gimmick, I understand that, but still, that's how he looks- but he's all "yes, sir, no sir, please call the match, sir-" I was going to anyway, but it was nice of him to ask, unlike, "I call all my own matches" Ultra Dragon- oh do you really? Call THIS, then motherfucker, and how's the air down there? I'm sorry but THAT kid was a punk- Anyway, I'm liking this J-Pain kid- the thought crosses my mind that he may be just me sucking me in, and then he'll try to fuck me when we're in the ring, but I don't really think so, and I'm right. I'm inclined to give him quite a bit, so I ask him what his big move is. He tells me its some double backward flying reverse duck under spinning something- DFZ: Whoa, stop, shit, that's way too complicated. Yeah, well, being a nice guy is it's own punishment, that double spinning whatever the fuck hurt like SHIT, drove ALL the fucking air right out of me, I told him we'd have Danny jump up on the apron and break up the pin, so I wouldn't kick out of his finisher, just as well, cos I'm not sure if I could have kicked out, as I too busy trying to re-inflate my collapsed lungs. It was a fun match though, snug, but not harsh at all, I'd work this kid again in a minute, and it all ended up with him looking at the lights, see ya, wouldn't wanna be ya.
Anything you want to add? (NEMO ME IMPUNE LACESSIT). Okay . . . we've been reading our Poe again, I see. (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MONTRESOR!) Yes . . . for the love of God. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all. (IT IS THE BEATING OF HIS HIDEOUS HEART!) Enough already. Good night. (GOOD NIGHT). Later Bill
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As they pulled you out of the oxygen tent 
My parents are still crazy- oh yeah- THAT'S the letter I was going to
talk about, someone I don’t know wrote me a very sweet letter telling me
what a good boy I am to be doing what I'm doing, and to hang in there,
whoever you were, thank you, it was a very nice letter, truly, sort of on
the religious side, but I know you didn’t mean anything by it- they're
still driving me bug fuck nuts 24/7, don't really want to talk about it
that much, my Mom AGAIN since last issue did the overflowing toilet trick,
besides damn near setting the house on fire burning up a pot of water for
no damn reason I can figure, she said she was trying to poach an egg but I
never saw the egg, just the white hot burner and boiled empty egg poacher,
you ever smell metal burning? God, she's KILLING me.
Also back to working out hard again after a few month lay off, Mr.
Obsessive Weight Watch has the needle at- hold on, let me run upstairs-
212, still going in the right direction, good for me. Am I tired, GOD YES,
I'm exhausted before I even start, and those mother fucking weights get
heavier daily, just like that hour on the step keeps getting longer and
longer, but by God, summer's coming and it's time to get these arms back
to looking like the bumpers on a '56 Buick. And for those of you too young
to be familiar with a '56 Buick, the bumpers were solid steel. That's
solid- fucking- steel. Just like on a '56 Bitner.
Day and night 
Also Griff, one of the Shaolin black belt student/instructors when the
Bitner family were students (fuck, when there was a Bitner family), also
died a few weeks ago, cause of death not listed in his obit in the paper,
in Columbus, OH where he was attending classes at Ohio State, Griff was
only 35. He got really weird a few years ago, to the point where he was
invited to leave class until he could start acting better, I ran into him
in Wal-mart of all places not too long after that and he was talking some
crazy ass jibba jabba, I hope he wasn't driving that night. Don't want to
speculate in here why he died, but I'm pretty sure I know.
I remember playing the tape at this cook out we had at the trailer that
summer (1980, Jesus, it was fucking YESTERDAY, someone please, PLEASE make
this time dilation thing go away cos I swear to God and Jesus and
everything holy it is breaking me- it truly is, I wake up at night and I
don’t know where fuck I am, I don’t know what year it is, I HATE IT,
and it just keeps getting worse, not better), it was SOME fun, Loretta and
I spent all morning scooping out a watermelon and some cantaloupe and
honeydew with melon ballers and making this big- melon thing- also Loretta
made a couple huge pitchers of sangria, even back then I couldn’t drink
that stuff, wine and citrus, are you fucking kidding me, that's a case of
the shits on the hoof on my gut's very best day, we had a keg of beer for
the men folk, there are photos of that party somewhere in Loretta's
possession and I can see them in me head right now, Joe and I with these
goofy moustaches, Joe skinny as a rail, you wouldn't believe, I was
wearing this white t-shirt with maroon bands at the neck and sleeves, Joe
this beige and brown floral print shirt, and both of us with hair, hair
and more hair. On our HEADS.
Wow. I'm sorry, really, but I don’t have anything left. Some funny
stories next time, swear. In fact, nothing but funny stories next time,
fuck this "What's Bill been doing?' shit, I'll tell you about the
night the bear ate Goombaw, and why you should never cry "arp" .
. . or better yet, I’ll tell you the story of Granddad Vs. the Angel.
You'll laugh. Promise.