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5/17/08 Panic In Year Zero
"My philosophy of life is that the meek shall inherit nothing but debasement," (plus something else, I can't read my own writing here, it looks like "fistulas", or maybe "fish heads", I wrote this down drunk- not that my handwriting is much better sober) "and ignoble deaths; that there is security in personal strength; that any action is better than no action, even if it's the wrong action . . . " Harlan Elliison Hornbook August 9, 1973 Hey Back again with a second issue in the same month for the first time this year (that 52 issue 2002- man, those were good drugs- I mean, days). I'm tired as fuck (more later), as usual, but since the last two issues hit the site the mail bag dam has done burst (and if you want to talk mangled metaphors, and who doesn't, how about Bob Brenley's- Cubs announcer for you non fans- the other day, "He came to the plate with ducks on the pond, and cashed 'em in" . . . WHAT?) and all that "We miss the NL, don't be so long between issues!" has got me fired the fuck up, so . . . Both Chris K, and Mark M, told me that the problem I'm having with the Save and Send functions may well be because I'm going so long before and between using them that Hotmail "Times Out". I've got Hotmail's fucking Time Out right here, but I'm going to take their suggestions this issue and see if they work (and thanks to you both). Got a ton of mail wanting to know, what was that obscene gibberish at the end of last issue? Well, there are some folks who will tell you the entire NL is nothing but obscene gibberish top to bottom- (YEAH, AND I'M ONE OF 'EM) -you should talk, but that mangled sentence below the sign off was what was left of the drunkenly aborted previous Sunday night's attempt at a NL, that I thought I'd erased before starting the new one, but apparently not. Good stuff, though, wasn't it?
(WHAT THE FUCK COULD POSSIBLY BE MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE NEWSLETTER?) - well, I can't think of anything off the top of my head, but I'm sure there are some things. And you get more flies with sugar, which means get off my back. As for this being tired thing, there's not a doubt in my mind this Bill/DFZ both ends burning life style has got me clinically exhausted- got home from Al's yesterday around 3 pm (been there since 8:30 am Monday), by 5 pm I literally couldn't stand up, went to bed, got up around 9 pm for a piss and a beer (and another piss), went back to bed arond 9:30 and slept straight through till noon today. And could have easily slept longer, but I had to run my Mom around (today's mission, bank, Rite Aide, accountant's office, library), got home around 2 pm and slept till 4, could have again slept longer- boys and girls, I'm fucking BEAT- but like a good little fanatic, got up to work out, with an assist (and you who were concerned about my going back to Falcon's Little Helper, I'm all out, and don't intend on renewing my non-prescription- and yeah, I know I've said that before, so if you don't believe me this time, no hard feelings on my part), weak though it be, from a big can of sugar free Red Bull (overrated) and a handfull of castrated Xenadrine (and again, DAMN you stupid mother fuckers who got ephedra banned, if it was still legal I'd have never needed to go the illegal route)- (THEY MADE US A CRIMINAL) -indeed they did. But there's light at the end of this particular tunnel. Al, who's turned into something of my own personal Viet Nam, is going into a nursing home around the first of June, with not only my blessing, but at my insistence. He's so gorked now, he'll never know the fucking difference, and for both of us, its time. It's time. See ya in the next world, Al, and don't be late. As for my Mom, who would I guess be my own personal Afghanistan/Iraq, she continues to live each day for the express purpose of driving me out of my mind, all the while acting like the injured party. She went for hours without speaking to me on Mother's Day, cos- here we go, she comes up to me that Saturday and starts going "I need milk and bread and blah blah, woof woof"- she can't just say, "Can you take me to the store" she has to come up to me and start rattling off a goddamn grocery list, so I'll say "Oh please, Misruss, can I take you to the store?" which I absolutely fucking refuse to do. So when she finally breaks down- cos I'm not, fuck going to the store, anyway- and asks if I'll take her, and I say yes, she AGAIN starts rattling off this list. Bill: I don't care what you need from the store. She gives me her patented, and wildly infuriating, blank look (that's how people are going to look at me in Hell, I'm sure) . . . then starts her list again. B: I said NO. Write it down. So then she gives me her "You're the worst son who ever lived" look. Guilty as charged. M: I can remember. Let's go. Well, the big deal was that Bill wasn't doing what she wanted him to do, which was remember her list for her, so we ain't having it. B: Fine, whatever. But I'm telling you right now, if you forget
something, don't ask me to go after it tomorrow. Suuuure you wouldn't. Sunday morning- M: I forgot to get hot dogs for Eric. He doesn't like Barbeque. She sulked all damn day, and when Tina got there made the mistake of going to her for sympathy- Tina: Look, Bill's been telling you for two and a half years he's only going to take you to the store once a week. Personally, I think you're lucky to get that. Why can't you just get everything you need on that one trip, and quit trying to get him to take you every day? Cos he's NOT going to do it, Mom . . .
(GOOD LORD- YOU WERE FUCKING WITH YOUR MOM ON MOTHER'S DAY?!) That's not how I see it. Since we're discussing conflict, one of my favorite subjects, we still got the bird nest in our mailbox (and to you who wrote "That's the funniest thing ever", keep reading), and it's about to precipitate a showdown between Bill and the United States Post Office. Let me tell you right now, smart money's backing Bill. There are eggs in the nest now, and I'm telling you, you're taking your life in your hands just getting the mail anymore, those crazy ass birds- there are two on duty now- at the slightest provocation come flying out of that box like bats out of hell, then start dive bombng your ass like Stukas with old time NL tough guy Hans Ulrich Rudel at the stick, it's so bad that when I'm home my Mom actually sends me for the mail now, I think it's a total fucking hoot, for real. However, I'm not there every day, and one day when I was at Al's the punk ass mailman came to the door and complained to my Mom about the birds flying all up in his face when he tries to deliver the mail (this is some new bastard, our old mailman was cool as fuck, and good buds with my sadly departed Dad). He apparently threatened to stop delivering the mail unless we did something about it, so the next day I was home, my Mom watched for him, and then sent me out to take the mail from him by hand, so he wouldn't have to face those killer Bitner mailbox birds. Well, that was a mistake. I went to the mailbox without any attitude- okay, not much, but I was certainly prepared to be civil- when this fucking numbnuts starts bitching at me about the bird nest in the mailbox. Jesus Christ, if that's all you got to worry about on your job, your a lucky man, and shut the fuck up, which is pretty much what I told him, along with calling him a goddamn pussy- they're a couple little BIRDS, come ON. So . . . there was a thing in the mailbox today saying we'll get no more home mail delivery till the mailbox is "unobstructed", and till then we can pick up our mail at the Post Office. Oh, I'll pick our mail up at the Post Office, all right. Will I fucking ever . . . What's Bill been doing since last issue? Well, on a night by night basis, spent a night in Baltimore, three in New Jersey, another in Baltimore, one in Huntington with Al, one in Parkersburg, two back here, then three more in Huntington, then last night here . . .
Got up around noon, hung out with Rachie, Loretta and Paul- no worries- for about an hour, then took off for NJ. What a SHITTY fucking drive. The only thing worse than I-95/I-295 is that godawful New Jersey Turnpike. TOO many motherfuckers on the road, and they all drive like dicks. I got into Death Falcon mode toot fucking sweet, and drove that big Crown Vic like a legit cop car, get the FUCK outta my way, asshole, comin' through, and got there just fine, but I don't at all enjoy those kind of conditions, or having to drive like that. (DIDN'T BOTHER ME NONE). Got into Madison, NJ, which is where Fairleigh Dickinson is located, met Sarah coming off the train from NYC (yes, she's quite the little metropole), nice little town, nice campus as well. Got a bite to eat, bought Sarah a shaker full of Presidente margaritas cos I'm a good Dad (we need to try adding brandy to ours next time, Chris), she got to keep the shaker, then went to see Iron Man. Get ready for a rain of frogs and newts- Bill liked it. Quite a bit, in fact. Very true to the comic, updating the Middle East for Viet Nam, I know I bitched about it way back when it was announced, well fuck me, I was wrong, again, Robert Downey Jr. is absolutely excellent, he IS fucking Tony Stark (in real life as well, pretty much, at least the party guy angle), all the casting is spot on, even though I'm not a big fan of Obidiah Stane/Iron Monger in the comcs, bald Jeff Bridges- I didn't know who he was till he spoke- was an inspired choice, and the character not a bad choice for first movie villain- but next time around I want to see the Mandarin. Script is good as well, humorous in spots without being stupid or silly . . . you should see it, old school comic crank fuck Bill says it's easily one of the three best comics movies ever. And for all you folks who checked out the Johnny Boy link and said it looks good, it IS good, I'm chuffed as fuck (that's a good thing) about being in it. And for those of you who haven't, do so. Next day (we're back to my NJ trip), which was Monday, after she got out of class, Sarah and I went to a history department cook out (passed on the food, but I drank four Rolling Rock), then we went with some of her friends to a Greek place (I got lamb kebabs, hadn't eaten all day, they were good) and two Stella Artois draft, then went to this bar for some more beer, I got a Ballantine from their "retro" menu, came in a green can, not near as cool as the old three ring logo'd bottle the Dad's (like Bit and Scotty) used to let me sip out of while they were listening to Senator's games on the radio in the back yards on 78th street, I let Sarah have a sip (the tradition continues), she pronounced it "awful". That's my childhood you're dissin' there, kid.
It was an extremely nice visit, and I was so proud, everyone I ran into was so very complimentary of Sarah, all of her professors that I met at the cook outs went out of their way to tell me what a good student Sarah was, and what a fine young woman. (SHE REALLY IS). She really is. Left NJ Wednesday about noon, got back to Baltimore (Lord, I hate that fucking drive) about the same time Rachel got home from school, hung out for a while, went for a very pleasant walk in some park near there, then Rachel and I and her new boyfriend Neil- nice kid, polite and well spoken, which as we all know carries a LOT of weight with me- went and got HUGE bowls of macaroni and cheese with shredded beef at Noodles and Co., guess who was the only one to finish theirs, and I was still hungry, its that python thing I do, so we went and got double scoop ice creams cones at Baskin Robbins (I got peach and raspberry/vanilla). Went back to the house (and again, nothing but smooth sailing between Bill and Loretta- I've already told you to watch out for falling frogs and newts, right?) and Rachie and I watched Alien Vs. Predator: Requiem, another damn AVP disapointment, just like the last AVP movie, at least for my tastes, too fucking much Aliens and Predators dispatching hapless (and interchangeable)humans, too little actual Alien Vs. Predator kick ass death matches, which is what I signed on to see. And this Predator, to be a such big damn bad ass sent to clean up this alien infestation all by his bad self, is pretty fuckig incompetent, although I realize if he wasn't there'd be no movie. And Rachie thought the scene of the alien larvae bursting out of the pregnant woman's stomach went "too far". Don't know about that, but was certainly telegraphed, not at all frightening or moving, and gratuitous as fuck. I think I'm going to pass on this issue's "What's Bill been reading/watching/etc." section cos I'm starting to flag a bit (what's Bill drinking? Rolling Rock, and plenty of it) and I promised DFZ his space this issue, after being left out of the last one. I will say I've still got a great weekend ahead of me- dinner tomorrow night at Martha's, what's on the menu, you ask? "Tenderloin, twice baked potatos, roasted vegetables, chopped salad, something chocolate for dessert. Beer, wine, plenty of gin and tonic". Fuck me running- MY FAVORITE MEAL. Then I'm going to try to meet MC for Iron Man on Sunday- yeah, I know I've already seen it- if I get back from Huntington in time, if not I'm still going to hook up with the MC at Chris's that evening to watch Justice League: The New Frontier, which from all I've read and heard about it, sounds flat fucking fantastic. Time to give the devil his due . . . Actual conversation between DFZ and DFZ groupie- DFZ: Let's go dump a load of semen up your colon. Uh oh, indeed. This whole DFZ gig has really taken a turn straight toward Sodom and Gommorah lately- more Sodom than Gommorah if truth be told- and you know what? (WE DON'T CARE?) We sure as fuck don't. As last reported in here, DFZ was gearing up for the weekend from hell, and it went thusly- wrestled in Fayetteville that Friday night, where Brian Logan beat Larry Zybysko for the American Wrestling ASSOCIATION- this will be relevant soon- World title. Bizarre turn of events, to say the least, and as soon as it happened, I knew something was up. Still, at that point, my take was, whatever. I had a free motel room there in Fayetteville, courtesy of the AWA, so right after the matches I retired there with DFZ fan Staci II for a dual shower (she's the one who joined me there in Parkersburg) and some post match mattress bouncing, it helps to work the, uhm, kinks out. All the workers had a pass for free drinks at this bar in Oak Hill so I went there next, but . . . it wasn't my kind of bar, nuff said. I sucked down a quick six flat and lukewarm Bud Light drafts- I know, fucking yuck, even for free, but it was the only fucking beer they had- then went back to the motel and found S II- she was sharing a room with a bunch of other female "wrestling fans", and took her back up to my room for a while, she made her bowlegged way back downstairs around 4 am, but I STILL couldn't get to sleep- and I was tired as fuck too- so I went down the hall where I could hear a bunch of the boys were still partying- youngsters- and drank a bunch of Jack Daniels straight from the bottle, it wasn't Wild Turkey, but it wasn't bad, and the price was certainly right, again went back to my room about 6 am- it was already light- and was finally passed out real good around 8 am when stupid drunk Deacon Knight had to come pounding on my door to tell me how much he loved me. Seriously. In its way it was sweet, cos the fucker really does love me with all his heart, as a father figure- he told me so later, stone sober, even wants me to be the godfather of the child his girlfriend is about to bear- I've mentioned before how truly flattering I find it that so many of these younger workers honestly, and utterly insanely, look up to me, as I've sure as fuck purposely done nothing to encourage it- but I wasn't in the mood, even a little bit. Seriously, don't wake sleeping Death Falcons. So I answered the door and knocked him out in pretty much the same motion.
Fairmont . . . just the name brings genuine tears to my eyes. Two of the very, VERY best years of my life- August '77 to May '79- were spent there, and- fuck, we've been here many times before, you know the drill as well as I do. When I got there I tortured myself by driving around town- it was a little run down 'burg 30 years ago, and it's a little run down 'burg now- past the house on View Avenue where Loretta and I lived- it looks so small, now- and the house on Walnut Avenue where we lived the next year, and past Jeff Martin's Mom's house where we all spent many a fun fulled drunken evening, and where she no longer lives- I think she's passed- and, get this, Joe- past CV News, which is fucking STILL THERE. I digress to tell you a story about the night of October 8, 1977- and once again, no, goddammit, Mr. Memory Man is NOT just pulling this date out of his ass, and in this partucular case, here's how I remember it. Before we got married, Loretta and I considered our "anniversary" to be October 7 (1976), that night (long time readers will remember) when she and I finally declared for one another, for real and for true (and I thought, forever). Our first anniversay was 10/7/77, a Thursday, we went out to eat at Pizza Hut, we both had cavitini, this pasta dish they used to serve, it was pretty good, too, then we went to the Middletown Mall where I bought her an anniversary bracelet with money I'd made the previous summer shoving shit down a hole with a stick. What did she give me? Well, after the mall we went back to the house on View and fucked tlll both of our pubic hair caught on fire. Beats a damn bracelet ANY day, as far as I'm concerned. (IN THAT FUCKING, DID SHE GET OFF AS HARD AS YOU?) Absolutely. (THEN BROTHER, YOU GOT WORKED. YOU SHOULD'VE GOTTEN A PRESENT, TOO. DON'T EVER LET 'EM PAY YOU WITH SEX IF THEY'RE GETTING OFF AS MUCH AS YOU ARE). You make an excellent point- if 31 years too late. Anyway, the next day Joe came up to visit, and that's how I know it was 10.8.77. Joe and I drove around that evening after he got there, talking our insane (though we had no clue it was insane at the time, we were totally fucking serous, or at least I was, and I figure Joe was too) "We're gonna conquer the music world" talk, drinking like the absolute never get full beer sponges that we were, while listening to Elvis Costello- my first time, I wanted to hate the son of a bitch's music cos of all the bad shit I'd read about him in CREEM (Boy Howdy, I miss that magazine, and them days), but holy shit, My Aim Is True and This Year's Model- it was GOOD. Some time early that AM we ran out of beer, but not out of thirst. Now, this may be hard for you to believe, children, but in those oh so primitive days, when fifty cent a gallon gasoline still stalked the earth, and cops actually acted, and were treated, like human beings, there were no open all night convenience stores, especailly not in little old Fairmont, WV. Findng beer late was not easy. There was this crazy ass newstand/bar- quite the combination, I agree- at the bottom of View, and as Joe and I drove by we noticed the lights were still on. What the fuck, can't hurt to try. We're in luck- sort of. There's one six pack of Weideman- a truly great, cheap beer, as opposed to just being cheap, that I wish was still available- sitting all alone on a shelf behind the bar. How many years, nay, probably decades, that six pack had sat there, who the fuck knows, maybe since Pharoah was last in for a tipple. This six pack was OLD. There were cobwebs all over it, the white cans had turned yellow, and when Grandpa CVS took it off the shelf to show it to us, there was a deposit of congealed dust like volcanic ash on top of the cans, so thick that later determined spit and shirt tail scrubbing barely made a dent. Grandpa CVS: You boys want this beer, or not? Bill and Joe: Hell yes!@*#! And we drank the fuck out of that vile and ancient beer, to no noticeable ill effect (unless you count my ruined life).
Things continue to go awry as I take a healthy nasal dose of FLH right before my match with Wildcat. The place was popping, packed out with 310 paid (I got 40 bucks over my guarantee) and the match was going well, when for no reason I can recall, I ended it by deliberately throwng all of Wildcat's 300 plus pounds over the top rope- not the booked finish. He didn't know it was coming- hell, I didn't know it was coming- and took a bad bump, you can really see it on the tape. He was okay, and to make matters worse, in the locker room afterward, instead of being mad, he's all concerned for me- "You okay, man?" No, but thanks for asking. That show was a 3 pm bell time, we got out of there about 6 pm- they were gonna feed us free, no thanks, I took a six pack of PBR instead- they didn't give it to me, I took it- me and Jock and Team GAY headed on up to Kingwood for the PCW show, I had to stop and let Jock drive cos apparently I was scaring them-what, 100 mph is too fast for you? It's the fucking INTERSTATE, boys- so I sat in the passenger's seat and chain drank my PBR. When I drink beer on speed I always imagine myself to be like an enormous furnace, and the beer just burns up, evaporates, as soon as it hit my mouth, and that's pretty much the way it goes in real life as well. I finished the six pack before we got to Kingwood. Don't remember much about the Kingwood show, much to my shame. I go on and on in here about how one should never wrestle impaired . . . well, do as I say, not as I do, although this weekend was a true aberration. I do know DFZ and Superstar Jock Samson- The Death Stars- have the dubious distinction of winning the Primetime Championshp Wrestling tag team titles in a three way match with Bloodline and- I don't know, some fucking yarder bastards- and then being stripped of the belts and legit banned from the Fed in the same night. (WAS IT SOMETHING I SAID?) I think it was someone you hit. Went back to Parkersburg after the Kingwood debacle to spend what was left of the night, got up literally at the crack of dawn to go to Indiana (riding, not driving, I slept some in the car) for a couple of TV squashes, I can't even remember the names of the two guys DFZ beat, refusing to snort anymore FLH I was absolutely running on fumes at this point, I do know the locker room wasn't very friendly to me and Brian coming in, didn't want to put us over I guess, dude, don't take it out on me, I didn't book this shit. I tried being nice in the ring to the first guy, hoping it would make things in the locker room better, but everyone was still being shitty to us, so I stiffed the fucking piss out of the second guy. Fuck 'em, and it was all for nothing anyway, as that was an American Wrestlng ASSOCIATION Fed, and DFZ now works for American Wrestling AFFILIATES (and which is why I'm not working this weekend). What's the difference? Many, but the main one is that Affiliates now has the hook up with the Jappos, and I'm positive if I hang tough with these fuckers DFZ is in line for a Japan tour, by way of Hawaii. There's tons more to tell, but I'm in dire need of sleep. Hang tough with me, and there'll be more next issue. Anything you want to say? (I WANT TO BITE THE HAND THAT FEEDS ME An admirable goal. Later Bil l  |
Counting
the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike 
Also
got a shitload of mail requesting Joe include graphics with amusing
captions in the on site NLs again, including one from Sarah crying cos her
NYC Roky Erikson photos weren't included (don't bitch at me about it baby,
please). As I've said in here repeatedly, Joe posts the NL out of the
goodness of his heart, and what and when he does, is what and when he does
(its not like I compensate him in any way, other than with my boundless
and much valued friendship). If he hasn't had a lot of time lately to
devote to the NL, then he's obviously been busy with more important stuff-
Which
netted Tina a "How can you possibly take your evil brother's side
against your poor withered mother- on MOTHER'S DAY?" look, which
fazed Tina not a whit.
To
elaborate, after DFZ destroyed the Pink Panther in St. Mary's (16th
consecutive AWA-MWA Unified title defense since winning the belt in
December), I drove across, late, to Baltimore- not the best idea, I-68
gets foggy as FUCK at night, there were times I quite literally couldn't
see fifty feet in front of the car. Got there about 3 am, had to wake
Rachel up to let me in, after a brief visit with my sweetie (who,
wonderful fucking news, will be attending Concord next fall, a mere hour
and half from here-again, assuming she makes it out of high school- I
honestly couldn't be happier about her college plans) I went to bed- or
more accurately, couch, though it's a foldout, and quite comfortable.
Next
day we had lunch at an Indian buffet, very good, then after class we went
to an English department cook out (there but for the grace of a lazy God .
. . ), drank a couple Sierra Nevada Pale Ales, then went out to eat with
Sarah's next year room mate and her Dad, nice folks, that Indian shit I
had for lunch was still cooking away in my bowels, so I had some nice safe
Kobe beef sliders, and a trio of draft Bass ales.
Even
though no one saw it, I figured I'd go ahead and vacate, so I threw my bag
in the car and headed out for our next stop, Fairmont, leaving poor young
Deacon sprawled there in front of my room. Godfather this, little buddy.
To
get back to our wrestling weekend from hell, I started feeling rough, and
mean, there in Fairmont, hung over and ultra tired, and cry baby nostalgic
sad- Mother FUCK, I whined for the millionth time, how'd I get from there
to HERE? The thing is, I know, I just don't like the answer. I went to the
venue after my ill advised tour of town, a sports bar there at Middletown
Mall, went in and bullied the bartender into giving me a couple free draft
beers, (they weren't officially open, this guy had come by to let the ring
crew in so they could start setting up, "I'm not really a
bartender" "GIVE ME A FUCKING BEER") then went out to my
car- it was all of 11:30 AM by this point, slept fitfully there for about
an hour, some of the boys came out and woke me up thinking I might like to
go get some lunch with them- nice thought, but I was in gut lock down, I'd
last eaten Friday morning, and would not eat again till Sunday night.
Actually that's not true, I'd eaten some pussy Friday night, but it didn't
stick with me. Never does.