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5/3/04 Tequila Mockingbird
Hey Another early Monday AM edition for you, I may be getting back to sort of a weekly schedule like I was (dear Lord) two years ago. Then again, maybe not. Still, isn't it nice to come into work on another gray Monday knowing that you've got another newsletter to look forward to? I hear someone saying, "What's that self absorbed idiot talking about, unlike him, we have WORK to do on Monday mornings, we don't have time to read this shit". Yeah, well that would be your hard cheese, wouldn't it, and besides, like I said a long time ago, these things, like their creator, come in spurts, so all you guys who were complaining a few months back about the two week and more wait between issues, that'll teach ya. To get into the mail bag, which has been inordinately full of late, I've got problems with the damn JDL again. No, not THAT JDL, although I've gone around with them in the past as well, this is the Joe Defense League, although as far as I can tell, of the half dozen or so of you who've come to Joe's defense over his allegedly shabby treatment in these pages, only one of you actually know him, and that complaint I got second hand. So, to address your issues one by one. "Fat old man" I called him. Joe is old. I know this because he's older than me, and I'm old. Although fat may be a little more subjective, by my standards (and I'm sure, the AMA's) Joe is fat. Goddamn, I'm sorry, but he's fat. It's not like I went any farther with it than that, its not like I said he couldn't fit through the bathroom door or anything, I was just calling a spade a spade. I'm also sure if you asked Joe are you fat, he'd say, "Yeah, so what? Get me a beer."
As for those of you who asked the question, and there was more than one who did, "What the hell does Joe see in you?/Why the hell does Joe hang around with you?" personally, I think it's my fucking charm, but if you want the real answer, you'll have to ask Joe. And if he's not being ANNOYINGLY NON RESPONSIVE, he might tell you. Joe obviously has a better sense of humor than you do, and as a very wise man (I think it was Handsome Dick Manitoba) once said, "fuck 'em if they can't take a joke". There were also some people who didn't agree with my comments on McDonald's and Sprite. Well, you know what, this is America, you have that right. However, I also have the right to dislike whatever I want, and if you don't like my not liking it, you can kiss my fucking ass. I mean, ass-izzle. You goddamn morons. Lastly, not really a complaint, but I've been getting e-mail from some guy since This Heathen Earth saying he's concerned for my soul (this has happened before, actually). Pretty over the top stuff, but it has a ring of verisimilitude about it as well, so I'm not sure if this is just a wind up, or if he's for real. Anyway, he says he's come to the conclusion that I'm possessed. Maybe by demon alcohol, but that's about it- I'm afraid there's just me in here (HEY, AND ME GODDAMMIT). Says he wants to pray for me, you know what, in all sincerity, knock yourself out big guy, I genuinely appreciate the thought. That is, as long as you're praying good things for me. If you're praying for bad things, I feel it's only fair to warn you that I'm rubber and you're glue. One last thing to clear up from last issue, someone took the comment (I truly love how you people scrutinize this thing, but holy cow) I made that over the years I'd gotten to know some of my cousin Joyce's friends biblically, to mean I'd screwed around on Loretta. Au contraire (ouch, that hurt). I meant, no way, dude. I've only known Joyce MY ENTIRE LIFE, and went out with a couple of her friends the summers of '74 and '75, long before I met Loretta, and worked that inimitable Bitner magic on them- I think I called one fat and old, the other annoyingly . . . and they decided they wanted to get biblical with my ass, which was fine with me, in fact, better than fine, this one, Susie, was a hell of a lay. A HELL of a lay. So there, again. To get off last issue and onto this one, had the Welldigger Blues most of last week. Actually, it was the Wellfixer Blues, but I've never heard of a song with that title. If one of them old bluesmen had ever tried to fix a well with Jack though, I can fucking guarantee you there would've been. The problem with Jack and any sort of project is that as a fairly bright man- unfortunately, he's not nearly as bright as his conceited ass sees himself to be- and an extremely well educated one- he has close to 300 credit hours over at State, it's ungodly, I don't think it was so much a thirst for knowledge as an attempt to delay his entrance into the working world, and trust me, I'm not knocking him for it, he's my fucking hero in that respect- Jack can't really accept the fact that there are still many things he doesn't have a clue about. Such as installing, or fixing, wells. Not that I'm any better, but I admit my ignorance up front. Jack said we had to pull the pump, well, he'd been fucking around under the house trying to fix things for days, so I figured that's where the pump was. I about shit when he told me, no Bill, it's at the bottom of the well.
I'm not going into tons of detail, we could be here till next week, lets just say we had a lot of trouble with something called the "pitless adapter"- trust me, you don't want to know, the damn thing should be called the "pitiless adapter" if truth be told- as well as, again, Jack's inability to simply admit he didn't have a clue in fucking hell what he was doing. At one point on Thursday- this job started on Wednesday, remember- we spent two hours fucking up doing something Jason- you remember him from the Buttercup story- and I both told Jack we shouldn't do, then another two hours trying to fix what we'd fucked up. I was DAMN mad, and didn't really try to hide it (not that I'm much good at that, anyway). At one point, I guess trying to relieve the tension, Jack says- J: The only difference between me and a chimpanzee is that all a chimp
does is throw rocks. Finally, Friday morning, I got water- sort of. There's more fixing needs done, but I really don't want to get into it. And if any of you other, OTHER JDL- the Jack Defense League- have anything to say, how 'bout let's just KEEP IT TO OURSELVES, cos I am really not in the mood. In more homestead news, the rat pack is now down to one, Humpy, who I thought was history last summer, has disappeared again, been gone a couple weeks now, I can only hope he's feeding the flowers somewhere, and won't reappear like he did last time. Now if something would just happen to that shitbag little beagle . . . LOTS of you have been asking after my Dad's health, I'm touched, truly, he's fine now, or as fine as he ever gets. Even though we missed our trip to Martinsburg, we'll be spending plenty of time together this month, taking my Mom to South Carolina the weekend of the 14th, going back for her the next. He's wanting me to come out to the house that week my Mom is gone and help him get rid of just tons of junk that's piled up there over the years, I'm talking literal junk, that my Mom will never miss in a hundred years if she doesn't actually see it go out the door, but which she'd bitch like a damn wild woman over getting rid of if she saw you do it. Sounds like fun. Not. He was talking to my Mom the other day when I was out there, said something, I'm not sure what- I was only half listening- had been around "since Jesus was a caveman", which almost made me fall out of my chair. Where does he GET this stuff? I don't normally discuss the news, and you may have seen this already, but there was this guy last week, I think down around Logan, who tried to rid his house of vermin by fumigating it with NATURAL GAS. Did it work, you ask? Like a fucking charm, all that's left of both house and vermin is a smoking crater. Mr. Genius was on the porch when she blew, flinging his flaming ass across the street and, fortuitously, into a creek, but he's still burned up pretty good. They interviewed his brother, who had this poleaxed by genetics AND environment look that I'm sure runs in the family, who commented, "It squinged all his har' off." I damn near blew out a kidney laughing so hard- I know I laugh a lot, but what the fuck, it's supposed to be good for you- even my Mom cracked up. Later in the program some lady at the animal shelter was talking about this neglected dog they'd gotten, she said, "It was so emancipated you could see every rib." I know I shouldn't let stuff like that bother me, BUT IT DOES. What's Bill been up to? Well I was getting ready to drink a nightcap beer or three Saturday about noon- it had been a long previous night in Huntington, when Al is good, he's good as gold, I feel like a fucking thief getting paid to be there- I don't feel the slightest bit guilty, I just feel like a thief- but on the nights he's bad, he's bad as- not gold, a suitably horrific simile won't come to mind right now- and I feel like they could be paying me five times what I'm getting and it wouldn't be worth it- so I guess it balances out, and balance, supposedly, it what it's all about- and go to bed. Got an e-mail invitation from Chris just before I was ready to punch out (that means go to bed) to come up that evening for movies and vodka Collins(es), so that's what I did, instead. Deb was there, and the elusive Mr. Montgomery (the whitest man in show business), so it was sort of like an impromptu mini-movie Club (although we need to do the full fledged thing soon, guys). I often mock Chris for an elitist bastard- and before you start, yes I DO call all my friends names, don't I, but by God, they stay my fucking friends, so what does that tell you?- but he makes the best mixed drinks you will ever have the pleasure of getting buzzed up on, and it's all about quality ingredients. The vodka Collins(es) were FANTASTIC, just delicious and refreshing as hell, no bottled Collins mix for our boy Chris, simple syrup made with superfine sugar, lemon juice, club soda and Grey Goose- I know it's French, but it's smooth- vodka, I liked them so well I had five, in those whacking huge Collins glasses of Chris's, plus a Key Lime vodka gimlet, another excellent summer drink, and this was the best gimlet I've had since the ones we were drinking down in Florida in '78. If you're asking how I could drink that much and get home safely, not to worry, first there's tolerance, then there's pacing, and lastly there's the fact that these things always go on way into the AM, which provides ample recovery time. And that car in the river is NOT mine, nor am I in it. Watched "Kill Bill Vol. 1", not a good movie by any stretch of the imagination, but a good Movie Club movie, I still hate QT as both writer and director, his dialog sucks donkey dicks, and it's not so much that I mind what he does as that he's gotta be so goddamn OBVIOUS with what he does- "Did you catch that reference? Did ya? Huh? How about if I do it 50 more times?"- I don't care if he is rich and famous, I think he's a fucking loser, and he's another guy who if we ever meet face to face I'm gonna dropkick his goddamn jawbone through a streetlight- but he does have decent taste in music, and I did enjoy some of the style, I thought how the yakuza guys all wore Kato masks was pretty neat.
We're now up to three wet, very wet, consecutive weekends (more on that later, cos I'm not sitting here right now drinking green tea, loves), and next weekend Mr. Pussy Man- and I use that appellation to define temperment, not sexual prowess, not anymore, anyway, set aside the days of my priapic youth, I can remember when I used to pepper these things with my then current sexual exploits, in such fondly remembered issues as "Hammered" and "Alternative Sex Bombs And Slap Dick Idiots", been a while since I've done that, and it's not because I've become, God fucking forbid, more discreet. In fact, in the three years since Satan and I split up- officially split up, the relationship had died quite a bit before that, we just hadn't gotten around to shotgunning it's rotten walking corpse in the head the way it needed to be done- the number of women I've, ahem, been with, has decreased by half each year- 4 to 2 to 1. By that math, I assume 1/2 is next, so I guess this coming year I can look forward to having sex with either a midget or an amputee, yee ha. What the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah, next week is Sarah's prom and she'd like me out at the house while she gets her pretty little self ready for it, and I'm sure Mr. Weak Sister here will get all weepy and nostalgic- I remember Loretta, and she was Loretta then, and I going to prom like it was maybe last year, and all the dreams we had at the time, that turned into one big fucking nightmare, and being back in the house there on Carriage Way is never fun, especially for something that should've been a genuine family thing, not this bastardization that's the best we can do now- fuck. Honestly- fuck. I was gonna say, Mr. Simple Mind (WILL YOU CUT IT OUT WITH THE FUCKING NAMES, ALREADY?) could easily use those heart spiked feelings to justify yet another weekend of tear down, but as I sit here now, I don't think I'm gonna. Time to draw that line in the sand with myself like I have to do every so often, besides, I need to be in good loading and hauling condition next Sunday cos it's RING DAY, that's when me and Joe are going down to Ashland to get Bobby's ring. Time, as it always does, will tell. Unfortunately, the snitchy bastard often tells on me. Something I failed to mention last issue was that I met Miss ImpetuousB at Anita's party, I left it out because of her wish to remain incognito, before it occurred to me, "You're the one she was staying incognito from, dumbass", and since I already know that I met her, I guess it's okay to disclose it here. Anyway, I found her to be very charming and lovely, just like her correspondence, she reminds me a whole lot of Anita, actually, I can see why they're best friends, and she can flatter your boy Billy's ass ("prolific hunk of man meat"- yes, I'm THERE) like nobody's business. The amazing part is, she seems sincere. She and Anita both make me do that, "Holy fuck, that bastard is wearing my coat- he'd WEARING my coat. He may have it on, but it would FIT ME SO MUCH BETTER." And it would. But he's wearing it, so . . .
Rachel got a milk snake going on three weeks ago- no read that again, a milk SNAKE- I've held off mentioning him cos she keeps saying she's gong to send me a picture of him, but she hasn't so far, and he's going on being old news, so I mention him now. She wanted to name him Lucifer, but Satan said no- I guess she didn't want the in house name competition- so Rachel named him Carl instead, cos Carl was the name of the guy who sold him to her, and Rachie said he was a nice guy. Since the surprise is lost, I don't think just a simple picture of Carl will suffice now, Rach, I think we need a nice gross out photo of Carl ingesting a pinkie (not the finger, to those of you not in the know, the hairless newborn mice he eats). What's Bill drinking? Well, here we go. Real tired from being up all night Friday, only slept a couple hours last night- don't know why, its just like sometimes my fucking switch just seems to get stuck on "ON", just like my normal body temperature and the salt content in my blood are both considerably higher than a "normal" persons, and the electrical field that surrounds my body is nothing like what surrounds yours- all documented scientific fact, just like Bigfoot Elvis- so I thought I'd go for that elusive exhaustion/alcohol overkill buzz we've talked about before. I've always believed in excess in all things- (WAIT A MINUTE. I THOUGHT YOU SAID BALANCE IS WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT?) You misquote me. I said that balance is what its "supposed" to be all about. I never said I believed that. (I STAND CORRECTED). Anyway, I tried- batting my groggy eyes, I downed 12 Labatts this afternoon, then dove head first into the the Oaxaca (WAA-KAA!) mezcal, scored a second bottle of the stuff, don't ask me how and I won't have to tell you- to no avail (although I am buzzing like a mother fucker). I mean a MOTHER FUCKER. But at least it explains this issue's title, which I thought was goddamn clever. I've never been able to reproduce them since, so I think those wonderful ex/alk buzzes were a product of their times (aren't we all), which were '95, when I was absolutely setting the roads on fire for Abraxas- you're talking to a man who was bringing in $1200-$1500 a MONTH in expenses, at .32 a mile that’s some fucking happy motoring, although admittedly there was a lot of meal and hotel expenses included in those checks. I set my own schedule in those days (HELL, YOU SET IT NOW), so whenever I could cluster an off day or two together, I'd spend them binge drinking for 48 or more hours straight- I TRIED to fucking sleep, goddammit, but I just COULDN'T, my subconscious obviously knew more than I did at that time, "Goodbye (You Asshole)"- Greg's favorite Tang Spoon song EVER, and he has a point- just sprang full blown from said sub/unconscious state one morning. Anyway, these buzzes were fantastic, being just totally depleted physically, not to mention spiritually, I'd almost attain a state of grace. I still remember, and long for, this almost transcendent feeling of peace and well being that would come over me, just totally calm and relaxed, which is not my normal state, at all. God, it was wonderful. (THAT WAS PROBABLY YOUR FUCKING HEART STOPPING). May well have been. Felt damn nice, though. But I didn't get there tonight. What's Bill listening to? Drug all my Bowie records- yeah, records- out, been listening to them. From "The Man Who Sold The World" through "Station To Station", six really great albums, seven if you count "Hunky Dory", which I damn don't, even though I've got it, arty cabaret Bowie is to me, farty, something that rhymes with cabaret, Bowie, and to HELL with that shitbomb "Young Americans", I refuse to even acknowledge it. Not much use for him musically after "STS"- some good instros on "Low", I like the song, (but not the album) "Heroes" quite a bit, but that's about it. Bowie seems like a very bright and articulate guy, though, I'd love to hang out and have a couple drinks with him.
Almost two months after I ordered them, my black BDU's arrived, so Dark Death Falcon lives- almost. Still need to find some footgear, I somehow lost my combat boots in the kickout from Carriage Way- Loretta's probably wearing them even as we speak- and I'm not really sure they'd be the answer, anyway. I think I could probably work in them, but the guys I'd be kicking in the head with them would probably not be too thrilled. Lance "The Canadian Lion" Erikson let me borrow a pair of his black wrestling boots for the WVTTI- reluctantly, personally, I see myself as a humble and self effacing guy- no, honestly, I do- but other folks, like Kat, who apparently see me more like the world sees me, are like, no, hell no, you've got this goddamn swagger about you that you just can't shake, and it seems to piss the FUCK out of macho guys like Lance, I went over to get the boots- an exchange set up by Brian Douglas- and Lance just doesn't like my attitude I guess (and I'm trying to be COOL here, I swear), cos he goes- L: You act like you got the biggest dick in the world. Lance bugs his fucking eyes, and I'm thinking, ah shit, assume attack position #3, when Brian starts laughing his ass off, and the rest of the locker room joins in, and then Lance starts laughing (praise Jesus, cos I did NOT want to go around with him- not that I wouldn’t, though, if push came to fucking shove) and hands me the boots. They were great, if a bit big at size 13, but then Lance is on the big side himself, still, I loved 'em, but real wrestling boots start at $125, and those are not made all that well, you're looking $300- I know, it's crazy- for a decent pair, so I don't know, I mean after buying that Strat . . . Which I haven't done yet, but it's looming. In more wrestling news, got an e-mail this week from Joey "By God" Morton, met him at the WVTTI- to say again, that was cool to be invited to, they really did have the top of the line in WV wrestling there, with your boy the Death Falcon right in the middle of it- we spoke briefly that night in Smithers, he was this twangy, bangy Hillbilly Rex, about as damn redneck as they come, then I get this e-mail and its this intelligent, articulate thing- who'd a thunk it? He wants to work the next CAPW show, absolutely, also wanting to co-promote a show or two "down South" is what he said, I assume he means southern WV, I think we can do that, if he already has the venue, I know we can do it. Said he liked my tope at the WVTTI (he and I were the only two guys who went through the ropes at it). He said he's also impressed that the highly respected Brian D called me "a class act", which I find very cool, in my life I've been a called a class act exactly one time now. He also endeared himself by addressing his e-mail to me, Hey Champ. It upsets me very much to let you know that Freddy Bevins, who we did that Vanceburg show for April 9, has taken a turn for the worse, back in the hospital and struggling. If you're a praying type person, please pray for my bud Freddy, okay? Seriously. It's getting late, at least for me, I think I'll close with an adventure of Bill and his Dad on the high seas, called "Bill Catches A Sea Robin". In August of '72, after I got home from my European Summer Offensive, my parents immediately threw my exhausted and emaciated (NOT emancipated) ass- I lost 30 pounds in six weeks Over There, it's hard work being me sometimes, swear to God- in the car and we all headed out for Ocean City, which is where we still went to the beach even though we no longer lived in Maryland, to this day I've never set foot on Myrtle Beach, and really cannot imagine the circumstances that could get me there. My Dad and I get up too damn early one morning and go out into the Atlantic on this party boat. We'd taken charter trips out into the Bay numerous times- and unless it's been caught in the past few years and I didn't hear about it, the largest bull shark ever landed came out of the Chesapeake Bay, not far from Port Tobacco where I used to swim and water ski as a tad, gives me goosebumps the size of lemons every time I think about it- which were better (the Bay trips)- usually not out of sight of land, lot less time getting to the fishing grounds, more time fishing, also in the Bay we were catching stripers and bluefish- a toothy damn fish, and ill tempered as well, watch yourself when landing one cos you don't have to stick your fingers in their mouths to get bitten, they'll go for you if you're not paying attention- and sometimes spot (another fish, if you're confused), in the Atlantic we were after black sea bass, not nearly as fun to catch or good to eat, but still . . We anchor and start fishing and I hook up immediately, and I'm quite the happy lad until I get it to the surface and see what I've caught. It was a fucking sea robin, and a damn big one at that.
Well, I'm not having anything to do with anything like THAT, so I swing it on over in front of my Dad's face. D: YAAAAAH! JESUS! My Dad was starting to get a little wild eyed, so I backed off. A bunch of sharks, four and five footers mostly, had already surrounded the boat looking to cut off any hooked fish that wasn't immediately boated. I dunked the sea robin back in the water and started swirling him around, trying to get him bit off my line. Those sharks practically broke their damn backs trying to keep from coming within twenty feet of that sea robin. Eventually I gave up on that and just let him sink back down to the bottom hoping he'd, I don't know, magically unhook himself or something. That's the way I deal with a lot of things, actually. A little while later along comes one of the mates. M: Looks like you got something on there, little buddy. The seas weren't all that rough, but they eventually took their toll on this kid to my right (my Dad was on my left), who did a manly job of getting most of his vomit overboard, but who still dropped a few splats into his styrofoam bait tray there on the rail in front of him. I don't know what the kid had for breakfast, but it looked just like the cut squid we were using for bait. He goes off into the cabin, leaving his rod and bait tray behind. A little while later my Dad says- D: I'm all out of bait. I slide him sea sick kid's bait tray. He tries to bait up. D: This bait is warm. He started chasing me around the deck ("You little, I'm gonna- "), and we almost got thrown off the boat ("What's WRONG with you two?"), right there in the middle of the ocean. But we didn't, and survived to fish, and fight, another day. What fucking day is it? Jesus Christ, I'm going to bed. It squinged all his har' off. YAAAAAH! We could be heroes Later Bill
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Battle
cries and champagne 
Annoyingly
non responsive. Anyone who's ever been around Joe for longer than 15
minutes knows exactly what I'm talking about. Laura, who easily loves Joe
as much or more than the rest of the world combined, admitted that the
comment was totally accurate. So there. It's not like I'm saying he's a
bad person or anything like that, so get over it. I just called him a fat
old annoyingly non responsive man, jeez.
Let
me tell you what, pulling a pump is no damn picnic. It maybe only weighs
30 pounds or so, but dangling at the end of 200 feet of water filled pipe,
that's some fucking weight, and Jack ain't exactly no damn Atlas (Charles,
Tony, OR Greek god) when it comes to the physical stuff. In fact, to test
how hard he was pulling, I let go of the pipe at one point and all of a
sudden it starts going back down in the well, Jack going along for the
ride, I could almost see him going down that little opening just like Gert
Frobe being sucked out the airplane window in "Goldfinger", it
would've been fun to watch, and in my head I was already plotting out
"I Saw Jack Swallowed By The Well Of Doom", but I needed my
water back on, so I clamped back down and started pulling again.
Also
watched "Swimming Pool", another good Movie Club movie cos no
one could understand it, and it had this hot looking young woman spending
a lot of time swimming or sunbathing au natural (OUCH, goddamn, what's
gotten into me), I mean, nekkid.
Young
miss- her name was Lividine something- looked sort of real young,
facially, anyway, in those few clothed scenes when I was looking at her
face, to the point where I was feeling a bit creepy about it, but Chris
got on the computer and discovered she was born in '79, so all was cool.
Nice built girl, man, I'd have- well, never mind.
Something
ELSE I meant to mention last newsletter, but forgot- that's what happens
when I crank these out shit faced, but never fear, the wheels of the
newsletter grind slow, but they grind fine- is an article I saw in the
Howard P. Hall Herald (Official Newsletter of VFW Post 1064)- I picked one
up while I was waiting my life away at the VA week before last. Just so
you know, "The Grand Military Order of the Cooties and Women's
Auxiliary Order to the Cootie met at Post 1064 Saturday March 27th."
Also, "The MOCA has two Moma Clowns and two clowns in training."
WHAT? There's more, about spaghetti sauce and visiting the maimed in
hospital but- "
First
season Jonny Quest (spell it right) and Samurai Jack (and I am DOWN with
the Jack) DVDs out this month. If you're not a total goddamn idiot (and
your recalcitrant DVD player isn't at the bottom of a creek like mine is,
my philosophy with electronics is, screw me once, shame on you, screw me
twice, hope you can swim), BUY 'EM.
What's
Bill been reading? Best written book I've read in some time, "Two
O'Clock Eastern Wartime" by John Dunning- he can even write a decent
sex scene, good for ya, Johnny- a mystery set in 1942, and steeped in the
radio station reality of that time. Very well done, I recommend it.
