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5/24/02
Love comes in spurts And so, apparently, do these things. Holy damn shit, ain't nothing like a little sex talk to get 'em all hot and bothered. Didn't get on the computer yesterday, for reasons I'll explain later, came home tonight, and had a jaw-dropping 21 e-mails waiting for me, 17 of which were in reference to Hammered. I'll get to them later, first more about me. Got up yesterday morning to go to work (I made a vow in the dark, damned, alcohol fogged days of the late 80's not to call off sick for hangovers as I was convinced that that would be that last step to send me over the edge into drunken deadbeat hell, and I've tried to hold to it ever since), got about 200 yards from the house driving with my eyes closed, noticed the road seemed kind of bumpy, opened my eyes to discover I was driving down the middle of the creek. The creek turned right about the time I woke up, I didn't turn, and drove up the far bank, where I hung the car up. What a maroon. Didn't hurt the car, or me, but I did have to have it towed out. The tow truck driver was pretty impressed, "How the hell'd you get her all the way up in there?" "I'm still buzzing like a motherfucker from all the beer I drank last night, plus my head hurts, so I was driving with my eyes closed." "That'll do 'er." That'll do 'er, indeed. Got back here with the car about 10:30, had a 20+ beer headache and a shitty attitude, got the 3 beers I had left out, plus the Wild Turkey (and I was just bragging last weekend when Dave was out, showed him the fifth of WT I bought in October when I moved out here, still had most of it left) did shots and beers until the WT and beer was gone, then got out the Beefeater and my biggest glass and made a 24 oz. gin and tonic, made a second one but didn't finish it, woke up- sometime- yesterday evening, face down on my desk in a big puddle of drool, just like in the good old days, went to go to bed, I thought I did, but I then woke up- sometime- face down on my weight bench in a big puddle of drool, don't know what that was about, so then I did go to bed. Got up this morning and went to work. What's Bill drinking right now? Ice water. Lots and lots of ice water. Haven't had a spell like that in a long time. What's Bill listening to? Nothing, my head's flat fucking killing me. As for Hammered, and the nigh apocalyptic response it received, I stand by it. I'll be the first to admit that if being full of shit paid well I'd be Bill fucking Gates, but if I was gonna make up stories about getting laid I'd sure as shit started sooner than issue 15, and 20 whatever beers is a lot, but hardly a personal fucking record, trust me, you should've seen me in the days when I'd go from the time everyone left the house in the morning, till 2 or 3 the next morning. Then again, it's better that you didn't. Again, I'm staggered by the response, particularly since so much of it came from people I DON'T EVEN FUCKING KNOW. Still, I'm going to respond to the response, if you're not interested in my sex life skip the next few paragraphs, and since some of those responding know more than others, and have taken this occasion to sort of bust me for it . . . well, whatever, to address some questions raised . . . Am I a slut? Jesus, I don't fucking think so. I don't think that being with 4 women, for one night a piece (pun unintentional) since October when I moved out here, is exactly burning up the old bed sheets, and as for why I'm having these one-nighters with women I've just met, it's because WOMEN WHO KNOW ME WON'T LAY ME. I'm serious, I know maybe 10-12 women that I would very happily take to bed, (I was about to go on here about what a great man in the sack I am, but fucking hell, if you gotta beat your own goddamn chest about it, you probably don't have it) but they're all already in relationships, or aren't interested in getting together with me (I know, it baffles the fuck out of me too, but it's true), the same with wouldn't I like a meaningful relationship, I was gonna be a smart ass, say something like, ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY? but no, actually I would like something more than "yeah, that was good for me too, see ya," but see the answer to the previous question, out of the 10-12, there are two that I think I could have a serious relationship with, one of them I'm really damn taken with, they're both the type of woman that I dream about being with again someday, looks, brains, personality, but again, one's married and the other's not interested, so fuck me, you know? As for how young they've all been (the combined ages of all 4 don't add up to 3 figures, and yeah, maybe I am bragging, I don't know), that's just how it's worked out, I personally don't feel like some creepy old bastard chasing after these young chicks, and in all fairness to me there's only one of them I hit on, the others came to me, for whatever sick reasons they might have. If an attractive 45 year old comes along and wants to get laid (by me) I'm right there, it just hasn't happened yet. And lastly, cos I don't want to wear this subject out, for the many of you who expressed concern, yes, of course I practice safe sex, as I stated last issue, I'm not a fucking retard. In fact, I practice super safe sex (and let me tell ya, that Clorox fucking stings). That's enough of that, but to some of you folk who have responded to the letter lately who I have no idea who you are, to the person who said I'm the funniest guy in the world, thanks, but you've never met my dad, and he's not even trying, to the person who said this is the best thing on the Internet, your flair for hyperbole surpasses even mine, but thanks to you as well, for the person who said I swear too much, fuck you, for the person who wants to know why I always use such violent imagery, well Mr. (or Ms.) English major, that's just how I talk/write, blame my dad, one of my earliest memories is of pissing him off and him telling me he was going to tear my head out by the roots, (by the ROOTS?) which made me laugh then, and makes me laugh now, for the 3 of you who want to wear my wrestling mask (ahem), we'll talk privately, but the one of you who's sending pictures is on the right track. As for the originals (and as far as I'm concerned, I'm still just writing to you guys, I'm not playing to the fucking crowd, and if you get the sense that I'm doing so, call me on it), Doug got back and told me he was all down and hurt because some guy named Nosmo King had kicked his ass. I know I'm slow, but I started getting all worked up, damn, somebody fuck with my boy Doug, I'm right there, put the goddamn Oxygen Destroyer on his shit (or this new move I just saw on my latest Japan tape, the Burning Hammer, the Japanese are CRAZY, it's like an inverted Death Valley Driver, and how you don't kill the guy you do it to is beyond me). Anyhow, I figured it out. Six weeks? Hang in there, Doug, you're a stud. As for being depressed all the time, I'm with you, partner. As for what doesn't help, that would be beer (and whiskey, and gin). As for what does . . . if you and Rosa want to borrow my Death Falcon mask, you're welcome to it. I'm being totally serious here, just be careful and don't get it all, you know . . . messy. Little Daddy Pain turns one today. Holy cow. Keep an eye on him, though, next thing you know he'll be 18 and turning into Great Big Hairy Faggot Pain. (Great Big Hairy Faggot Tommy has taken to calling himself Great Big Hairy Faggot Tommy, so, boy, I really got to him, didn't I?). Won't be able to make the party Sunday, but I appreciate you asking. Martha, some smoked salmon from Alaska would be very nice, thank you. If you come across any strange Alaskan beers- that's BEERS, not bears, the one time I wrestled a bear I got slaughtered, (as will be related in the forthcoming essay, I Fought Nature [And Nature Won]), my mistake was clocking him with that beer bottle and pissing him off -and want to bring a couple back for me, that would be nice, too. As far as coming out here, Madame Vickers seems to be the hold-up. Straighten her ass out, or (more likely) ditch her and come without her. Going to the wrestling matches in Clendenin next Saturday (yeah, I know you're graduating that night, GBHFT, but this is rasslin', I'll mail you a check), gonna see what it takes to get in that little league, so maybe some of you locals can come see me soon. Working on my Super Kick, the Falcon Arrow still has a few bugs in it as well. They actually have some names showing up, Ricky Morton- yeah, THAT Ricky Morton, vs. Frank The Tank in the main event, the Urban Death Squad are gonna be there, I think a UDS vs. Hermanos Sangre match is very doable (as long as they know their fucking role), I'm gonna try to pitch it to them if I get the chance. Some fools rave of happiness Bill
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