Feeling more than a bit shitty tonight, body and soul, what better time to crank out another NL? I may actually have misnamed this issue as I may not make it back to Mexico tonight- I'll try, but no promises- but even if I don't I'm not going back to change the title. I'm not very accomodating at the best of times. And these aren't the best of times.

Physically, just getting over a nasty infection (more later) now I've picked up some respiratory thing, been hacking up clots of yellow shit from deep in my lungs since Friday, my throat is absolutely raw, been dosing liberally with hot tea, lemon and whiskey- regular black tea, green tea doesn't go well with bourbon- but my throat is still very sore. And my ears hurt and have been popping all day. Hate it, but hating it doesn't seem to make it go away.

Rachel is now back in Maryland. Loretta and Paul went to Princeton yesterday (Saturday) rented a truck and hired some guys to help them load it (heard from Sarah, who called me today after talking to her Mom, and who is doing well- Rob is now employed- that these guys were apparently assholes- so it goes). I'd originally been requested to come down and help load but if they wanted to pay people to do it, fine by me. More than fine. Rachel called yesterday morning, early- daft child- wanting to know if I was still coming down. First time I've heard from her in the month plus since she was last in- yeah, she never answered or returned any of my calls, never called herself (and quit trying to sell me that "phone trouble" horse shit cos I'm not buying), never came back for another visit like she said she would. Nothing and nada.

I still would have gone down to help load cos I promised I would, even feeling bad like I do, but when I found out my assistance there was no longer needed I passed on a trip to Princeton simply to see Rachel before she moved. They were spending last night in Princeton, heading back to MD this morning so I assume they're back there by now, haven't heard anything, don't expect to.

Lots of mail in the mail bag, folks seem to enjoy "the Scourge Of" issues, boys and girls, trust me, I enjoy taking these trips and bringing them to you. Well, not so much the Virginia one this issue, but most of them. And I haven't heard so many jokes involving fish tacos since never.

What's Bill been up to?

Jury duty has come and gone, I ended up on two jurys, I learned from the first trial- too much babble "deliberating" in the jury room with a foreman who had no control- so second trial I appointed myself foreman- "I'm foreman, any objections, no, good"- kept my boot on the two big mouths I'd already pegged, Ramblin' Rose and PawPaw Pissgums- "that's irrelevant, shut up"- and we were out of there in under three hours. I ruffled a few feathers-

(FUCK 'EM)

-well, yeah, but as were going out to give our verdict the bailiff- hell of a nice guy- who'd been standing outside the jury room door the whole time, told me, "That's the way a jury room should be run," I hear you. You want to preach find a fucking soap box, I want to get the fuck out of here, we're not getting paid by the hour.

Saw a bunch of old friends while in the courthouse, Jeff from Abraxas, he's still looking fit, we're going to hook up soon for some beers, also Angie Visconti from Juvenile Probation, very nice to see her again, and Keith Stewart who's looking a lot better than the last time I saw him. He still looks old- fuck, he is, he's as old as Joe and Chris- but he doesn't look as ravaged as he did. Had a real nice visit with Keith, told me his oldest son, who's like a week older than Sarah, is in Iraq, so think good thoughts for him, if you're the praying type a prayer would be nice cos Keith is a good guy and I'm sure his kid is a good kid. Keith also confirmed that John Thorne did indeed die a few years back, I'd heard John was sick again, never got the word he had passed. I was sorry to hear that, I always liked John.

Havne't been at the Yard all that much lately since most of my jury duty fell on "work" days, it's about the same there, my Mom remains about the same as well. Tina took her to Huntington for some award thing for Tommy (who after 8 years is graduating with a degree in journalism from Marshall so I guess congrats are in order) Friday before last, when they got back to the house Tina's first words were "How do you fucking STAND IT?"

Bill: It ain't easy.
Tina: All she did- ALL SHE DID- the whole ride down and the whole ride back was bitch about shit.
B: Wow. Shocking.
T: The ride down it was about you-
B: What's she got to bitch about me?
T: Mostly your attitude.
B: There is that.
T: On the way back I told her she needed to stop, she should appreciate all you do for her. So then she started in on ME.
B: That'll teach ya.
T: Seriously. How do you do it?
B: I have to. Because you and Lori won't.

That ended THAT conversation. Still, my point is, it's not just me she drives crazy with her non-stop bitching. Until you've been exposed to it you have NO IDEA. I'm taking my Mom to Lori's next Saturday where she'll be staying at least through Memorial Day. I'm looking forward to it like I used to Christmas.

Been a couple MCs since last issue, both at Rosa's, drank some Pacificos and some black and tans at the first, Ron and I both ended up spending the night (on seperate couches) the second one was for what I assume will become a traditional Walpurgis Night drink up, I was butt sore infected at that one and not doing well, just drank a single Leviathan and a Sierra Nevada pale ale, still a good time, cigars at both, also another trip to CL Cold Spot (Yuengling pitchers) with Rosa and Mark.

Couple-three Sundays ago went up to La Roca here in Cross Lanes for the Hard Rain- that's the name of Balsa's photo novello project- cast party, drank three big Yuengling drafts (on Balsa as it turned out, again, had I known I'd have thrown them down much faster and got in at least six, he still would have gotten off cheap cos everyone else- crazy fools- were eating instead of drinking) hung around after with Joe Ng, some guy named Ashley and some girl named Emily, drank another two big Yuenglng and two shots of Wild Turkey, didn't even have to say anything to Joe this time-

Joe Ng: I assume I'm paying for your drinks?
Bill: You assume correcty, sir.

Emily was cute, Ashley was hitting on her with a distinct lack of success, she and I had a nice conversation because unlike Ash I wasn't hitting on her. Apparently she's an extremely good singer- Joe says she is anyway- does a lot of open mike stuff at this place in South Charleston on Tuesday nights, she invited me to stop by, I may sometime.

Had dinner at Africa Mike's last Saturday night, Mister Bulky too busy picking it up and putting it down to join us, we drank some Yuengling and smoked cigars out on his deck, then watched It Might Get Loud with Jack White, The Edge and Jimmy Page. Even though I don't despise Edge a fraction as much as I do that pompous ass Bono- Kill Bono indeed- I'm not a fan of his, but he was tolerable in this and White and Page (who now looks like Chief Dan George, swear) were good. I've kind of changed my tune about Jimmy Page, yeah, he did some depraved shit when he was in Led Zeppelin but how could you NOT, like I said to Mike, if I'd been in Led Zeppelin Satan would have been worshippng me.

That reminds me of a joke. I made it up myself. What's the difference between Death Falcon Zero and Barack Obama?

(I DON'T WANT TO BE BARACK OBAMA)

Exactly. See, it's funny cos it's TRUE.

There was some really good guitar all through (we're back to IMGL), it made me miss playng a lot, as Mike's son Jessie (age 6) said, "I could listen to this all day long." Me too little buddy. Me too.

My infection.

Got talked into doing a barbed wire boards match not long after last issue for this new bunch. I was going to throw off on Viper but I really can't, he's the one who hooked me up (so to speak) with this crew but it was my decision to work the match (cos I really needed the money and I held 'em up, I admit, but if the promotor thought it was too much all he had to do was say so, not agree to it then bitch about it later). The fed was shit, the draw was poor, had to almost literally fight to get my pay, but I did, every fucking penny, then almost got into a fight after the show with some numbfuck worker cos the promotor told him he couldn't afford to pay him cos he'd overpaid me. WHOA. If I'd found that promotor, cos I went looking, I'd have shown him overpaid. Mother fucker.

The match was shit, kid I was working was green as hell, nice enough but clueless, at one point I hit one of the boards, busted through and got all tangled in the wire, I'm trying to get myself untangled and this kid comes over and starts HELPING ME.

DFZ: Kick me.
Kid: What?
DFZ: Don't help me. KICK me.

Jeez. Already frustrated as hell, I have a strand of barbed wire across my ass, I thought it was just stuck in my BDUs but it was imbedded in the meat as well- I jerk it hard, too hard really, and straight across instead of out- temper I know, it'll fuck you every time- and ripped a big, really deep gash in my right butt cheek. All kinds of blood ran down my cheek and back of my leg, once I got to the back my right sock was soaked and my boot was full of blood. From a cut on my ass.

I took care of it as best I could both there and once I got home, but the fucker was DEEP and it ended up scabbing over on top and getting all pussy- that's full of pus, not, you know, the other thing- and infected underneath, so I had to get in the shower with an X-acto knife blade- never shower without one- and scrape the scab off and clean it all out and pack it full of neosporin. No, it wasn't any picnic but you gotta do what you gotta do. I was getting all feverish and sick from it and it wasn't going to get better by itself.

It's healed now, have a nice purpley-pink scar bisecting my right ass cheek now for any of you that might want to see it. Depending on who you are, I might let you.

Drove Bob M on a truly horrible trip to Virginia this week. The trip itself wasn't that bad but spendng three days and two nights with Bob- dear lord, I truly do hate that guy.

Woluldn't have done it but again, I could use the money, the insurance is due on the Crown Vic next month so I charged Bob that plus $100- way more than he wanted to pay, again I honestly could not care less, pay me what I want or find someone else. He bitched but agreed. Also told him he was covering my meals and hotel. More grumbling but again he agreed. So the car insurance is now paid up through December-check's already in the mail- and I splurged and spent $93 of the remaining $100 on 13 mail order books and the other $7 on beer. A good deal for Bill but I still should have charged him more. I'd rather spend a week with my Mom than an hour with this idiot.

Seriously- he's a fucking RETARD. He reminds me so much of Robby it's not funny. He's a much more successful business man than that piece of shit Robby, but how much brains does it take to say "Buy this shirt. Buy this shirt. Buy this shirt . . . "

Calls himself Big Bob-

(YOU CALL YOURSELF DEATH FALCON ZERO)

No, I call YOU Death Falcon Zero. There's a world of difference. He- let's just get to the trip.

Leave out a 5 am Tuesday morning, to immediately hit Tudor's in Cross Lanes for breakfast. Lovely. I get a Western omelette, no biscuit. Crazy I know, go to a place called Biscuit World and turn down a biscuit, but I don't eat 'em. Get a big coffee to go, and we're out of there.

We're due in Charlottesville around 11 am. No, it normally doesn't take six hours to get to Charlottesville- which is where Miss Impetuous moved to, haven't spoken to her in years so I don't know if she's still there or not, she may have moved on being, you know, impetuous- but you have to factor in Big Bob- or Bog as I first typed- having to stuff his gut every couple hours, plus wanting to stop every 45 minutes or so to empty his colostomy bag. Serious. Torch used to go all evening and late into the night without dumping his once but OCD Bob obsesses about his like you can't believe until you see it. We stopped FIVE TIMES between here and Charlottesville (after that I quit counting). We had the SAME conversaton every time.

Bob: We need to make what they call a pit stop.
Bill: Already?
Bob: I don't want that bag to bust!

Either he's nuts, which he is, or that colostomy bag is no bigger than his brain.

(OR HIS DICK)

Really.

I'm feeling mean- go figure- so at one point on a straight stretch of I-64 where Bob's asleep, I jerk the wheel hard to wake him up, then put my chin on my chest and my hands down in my lap and close my eyes to slits so it looks like they're closed all the way. Bob wakes up, looks at me-

Bob: Bill . . . BILL . . . oh lordy, he's fast asleep . . . HELP!

I love that. Help. There's just me and him in the car, WHO THE FUCK'S GONNA HELP? I lift my head up, put my hands back on the wheel.

Bill: You talking to me, Bob?
Bob: You were asleep.
Bill: No I wasn't.
Bob: Your head was down and your hands-
Bill: I like to drive like that sometimes.

Bob just stares at me. It must have preyed on his mind though cos a little later he says-

Bob: If you feel like you're falling asleep tell yourself not to.
Bill: Well that'll work.

Bob doesn't know the name of any of the roads we need to take once we hit town he just has to tell me where to go as we go, his directions to Charlottesville were like "Take East 64 East going east", we hit an intersection and I ask which way to go, his response "You kindly (how his moron ass says kind of) veer a little this way and then go the other way." I'm already miserable and regretting like hell signing on for this trip. Fuck that insurance money anyway. And someone will always buy me a beer.

I pull off to the side of the road.

Bill: When you're giving me directions I only want to hear one of three words. Straight, right or left. You say shit like "veer" and "this way" and I'm pulling off the road cos I can't follow directions like that.

He gets kind of pissy but I stick to my guns. Fuck we can turn around and go back to Cross Lanes for all I care.

We get to the store, which is run by this guy looks and sounds like Strother Martin. As soon as we walk in he jams his hands into his pockets and goes-

Strother: They ain't no business, Bob. GODAMMIT, THEY AIN'T NO BUSINESS.
Bill: He says there ain't no business, Bob.
Bob: I heard him.

I take my book and go sit out front where they have the street bricked off for blocks, on the off chance MI might stroll by, but it was cold and then it started to rain and that's not MI weather so I went back inside the store and talked to this black lady about soap operas and wrestling- she was pretty knowledgable about both- till it was time to go. Stop at Burger King for lunch (Bob ate chips and guzzled Diet Rite the whole ride down)- I can tell this trip is going to be a trial in the eats division as well, Bill gets a large unsweetened tea and two plain grilled chcken sandwiches, I eat the chicken and throw the buns out on the parking lot for the birds. Then it's on to Colonial Heights (where Bob tries to tell me to take the wrong exit but I refuse).

Wander around that shopping center for a while, nothing really of interest there, sit in the van and read till Bob's done, then it to Applebee's for dinner where he immediately gets on their good side by wanting to change tables not once but twice, explaining it by saying "That what they call the human nature of the beast". He really is the stupidest fucker that ever drew breath.

He gives the waitress a hard time as well cos that's his nature, didn't like his salad dressing, too runny, his wings were too spicy hot, I asked for mild, those are mild sir, they're still too hot, bla bla bla, I tune his sorry ass out and enjoy my steak, rare, baked potato, plain, and steamed vegetables along with more tea. I need the caffeine, I'm pretty damn tired and we're still hours away from our motel in Virginia Beach.

We get to the motel where- I'm not making this up- he doesn't like our room (cheap bastard only booked one for the both of us). It's too far from the front desk. Why that matters- whatever. He makes them give us another room- the one right next to it- on the side FURTHER from the front desk. I have no explanation for it either other than that he's a mental defective asshole. I go to bed and sleep, I'm tired.

Up next morning where Bob says we need to take the Bay Street Bridge to the East Side Shore Tide which translates to the Chespeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel (the big one 18 miles long) to the Eastern shore. Going to get on the bridge we see a bunch of TSA guys who are running a security check there for the first time ever and as we pull up in a big van with a bunch of shit in the back they pull us over to inspect us. The TSA guys are all cool and everything is fine until Bob starts talking.

Part of Bob's problem is that he speaks this very fast jibba jabba in this high pitched nasal voice with a real thick Tennessee hick accent so even if what he was saying was brilliant he would still SOUND like a fucking retard. And what he says in not brilliant. He's trying to explain our mission going back to the invention of clothing to the TSA guy who simply asked where we were going. The TSA guy finally cuts him off-

TSA: Where are you going again sir?
Bob: Parkisee.
TSA: WHERE?
Bob: Parkisee.
TSA: Spell it.
Bob: P-A-R . . . S-I.

TSA guy looks at me.

Bill: Parksley. It's just south of the Maryland border.
TSA: That I've heard of. (Looks at Bob) Is he on medication?
Bill: Yeah.
TSA: Okay. You make sure you're the only one driving.
Bill: Absolutely.

If Bob had been by himself he'd probably still be there. On in a federal prison.

Once on the Eastern shore we stop at McDonald's, Bob gets into it with the old lady at the counter cos this one doesn't serve gravy- if they don't they don't, arguing about it is still going to get you exactly no gravy- but this lady is up to the challenge, she tells Bob if he doesn't like it to hit the damn road she has people waiting in line. Good for you, grandma. It's 2 Egg McMuffins for Bill, I load up one muffin- excuse me, McMuffin- with the innards from both and throw the other one, yep, to the birds, another large coffee and a carton of milk and again we're off.

This trip is bugging me in that way when I see something or go somewhere that reminds me of when I was happy- cos despite all my recent wonderful adventures and achievements happy is not a word we can accurately use when describing Bill- this while trip down here was the route we used to take to the Outer Banks where I spent MANY a happy hour, now this drive up the shore is rekindling many childhood memories of trips to Ocean City. Nothing to be done for it, but it's making my heart hurt. Worse.

Get to Parksley, I tour the downtown which is all of one block long, then again read till it's time for lunch, we go in Annie's, this new (in a very old building) surprsingly upscale place down the street from the clothing store for lunch. Doing good business but I can't see it lasting in that little empty town. Get an EXCELLENT crab cake sandwich- even Bob liked his- trade my cole slaw and beach fries for a salad, more tea, really good lunch. Place had a nice looking little bar attached as well, got me fantasizing after I got back in the van- Bob wasn't done huckstering the locals- about Bill's life (of leisure of course) in Parksley, get up in the morning and go down to the beach, or maybe fishing, come back and collect my honey for lunch- won't tell you who she was in this one- and go over to Annie's, eat well, come back to the homestead and fuck like crazy, take a nap, or at least Bill would, get up and go back over to Annie's for dinner- yes, my honey would be with me- then hit the bar for a while, stay late or leave early depending, back to the homestead for more crazy loving, shower off and then a restful night's sleep. To do it all again the next day.

Back to the hotel with Bob talking more of his mush mouth idiocy, has macular degeneration in his eyes which he calls "mass generation", complained one of the jillion bathrooms he stopped in stank, needed some 'odorderiser", he sent some papers to some guy who he was talking to on his cell, guy couldn't find the one he needed (go figure), Bob told him, "just sifle (rhymes with stifle) through 'em till you find it- sifle through 'em- sifle" (guy obviously couldn't understand Bob either), then when we got back to the hotel, he asks me to hand him the bag that's in the back. There are two bags back there side by side.

Bill: Which one do you want, Bob?
Bob: The black one.
Bill: They're both black.
Bob: It's on the top bottom.

That's what he said. IT'S ON THE TOP BOTTOM. If you've EVER heard anyone say something stupider than that in your entire life I'd love to know what it was.

Bill: Get it yourself.

Almost done. Almost, I said.

Eat at Denny's across from the motel that night, waitress comes to our table-

Bob: Your grilled chicken here, is that grilled chicken?
Waitress: Yes . . .
Bob: Is it grilled?

Again, he really said that. The girl just looks at him.

Bob: Never mind honey, I'll just have an omelette.
Bill: Better make sure there's eggs in that.

She laughs, Bob gives me a dirty look, but FUCK HIM. Bill got the grilled chicken which was indeed both grilled and chicken, rice pilaf and a plate of raw carrots, celery and cucumbers. Back to the room where Bill doesn't sleep so well this night as Bob snores like a fucking dinosaur cow. I keep waking him up, but as soon as he falls back asleep he starts right in again. I hate this guy.

Up the next day to Urbanna, on the way stop at McDonald's again, Bob's really is a cheap bastard- this one has gravy, Bob wants to bitch to this crew about yesterday's gravy-less McDonald's, they don't want to hear it and tell him so. Funny. Bill repeats the two innards on one McMuffin, coffee milk menu from yesterday.

Urbanna's another old, small town, this one on the Rappahanock river, got out and looked around a little bit but it was again cold and raining and there was even less chance of running into MI here, so I mostly sat in the van and read. Had lunch at this very old time lunch counter in the ancient drug store there, wasn't very hungry even with Bob paying, got a tuna salad sandwich on wheat toast- good- and a tea. Then back to Cross Lanes, long ass haul back, I'm so sick of Bob I could pinch his fucking head off, getting off the CL exit he goes-

Bob: I need to stop at Shop A Minit.
Bill: Where the hell's there a Shop a Minit?
Bob: You know. Go Mart.

Ugh. Probably won't get asked to drive Bob anymore which is fine with me, he already complained to Pat that "Bill's gotten mean" who passed that along to my Mom, yesterday-

Mom: Why were you so mean to Bob on your trip?
Bill: Cos I hate his fucking guts.
M: Oh.

But my insurance is paid up and I got some really good reading on the way and at least seven bucks of all the beer I drank last night was on Bob.

What else?

Thing is finally done (save a couple intros) and to Joe, seven SF/horror stories including a couple novellettes, plus six old lyrics with an SF slant to them (I figure what the fuck). Probably won't be available by the time I do the WV Writer's thing, not going to sweat it.

What's Bill been reading?

Well, a lot, too much to list here cos I'm fadng, let me count- 21 books since last issue and 5 graphic novels, out of all that I would like to recommend the Destroyermen SF series by Taylor Anderson and the mysteries by Stuart M. Kaminsky, Russian police procedurals, sort of like the 87th Precinct set in Moscow, very good.

What's Bill been listening to? Just so the list won't be twice this long next time-

Meat Puppets (1), Metallica (2) Lee Michaels (1) Mighty Caesars (1) Mission Of Burma (1) Montrose (1) Motorhead (5) Mott The Hoople (4) Mountain (3) Naked Raygun (1) Nazareth (4) Nazz (2) Nebula (1) Neighborhoods (1) Bill Nelson (1) New York Dolls (2) Nirvana (4) Nova Mob (2) Ted Nugent/Amboy Dukes (1) Roy Orbison (1) Ozric Tentacles (2) Graham Parker/Rumour (2) Pavement (1) Tom Petty (1) Pink Floyd (7) Plasticland (1) Pretenders (4).

What's Bill been watching?

Right now it's going to be the inside of my eyelids cos I'm super tired. This beng deathly ill takes it out of you. No Scourge of Mexico this time around- sorry, I know- but I'll get back to it soon. I sent Joe some photos he can put with this issue on the site so you can at least look at Mexico this time around. Best I can do.

Later

Bill