Stand tall, or sit the fuck down

Hey

I'm going to try this, even though I know I'm just setting myself up for an explosive episode before it's all over (pretty much the same thing I say to myself every morning before I get out of bed). The "Save draft" function on this piece of shit Hotmail- so named, no doubt, because it PISSES ME OFF- is essentially non functional at this point, and the "Send" function is iffy . . . so.

However, our hero is nothing if not hard headed stubborn, so we're going to attempt a NL anyway.

First off, why haven't I/don't I have Joe come out and fix this damn computer Hotmail shit like I have him do everything else? Well, cos first, I never see Joe anymore, I'm swamped paralytic, I have zero fucking time, he's apparently been busy as fuck as well, you know how many times this year I've actually laid eyes on Joe, and here it's already fucking May? A grand total of four, once at his house, twice at Doug and Rosa's for MC, and then when we went to Morgantown in February (which trip was recounted in the Great Lost NL, sorry you missed it, Joe took pictures and everything), I often used to see him four times in the same week.

Also, if we somehow could coordinate schedules and get him out here when I'm free, one of two things would happen. Either the computer wouldn't act up in front of him- machines and electronic devices often pull this trick with me- and he could do nothing, or else it would fuck up, and he'd go, "Shit. you're right, got no idea in hell why it's doing that" and he could do nothing. Either way, the computer, and by extension Bill, would still be fucked. So I'm going to save any free time Joe and I have together for something productive, like drinking and cigar smoking.

(DON'T FORGET TO SCRATCH YOUR CROTCH, AND SWEAR)

I never forget to scratch my crotch and swear.

And while I'm not going to beat it to death this issue, just like last, I'm tired as FUCK. In fact, that's why you're getting an afternoon edition. Tried to start one last Sunday, literally passed out/fell asleep at the computer sometime around 9 pm after a paltry and puny dozen beers. Okay, I started drinking at around 3 pm (would've started sooner but I had to run my Mom's wrinkled ass to the store) cos I only have one day a week to drink now, and I want to make the most of it, but still . . . pitiful.

Then I was going to do one last night, but decided to spend some time with my Mom instead, since between not being here much, and avoiding her when I am, I hardly ever do spend any time with her, unless it's hauling her ass somewhere and bitching mightily about it (it's not the transport I mind so much, as her out of the blue, "You have to take me here, and you have to do it RIGHT NOW" Driving Miss Dorothy attitude), and I'm getting ready to leave for a week- more later- but after we watched the Cubs play from 8 pm to midnight and lose in extra innings I was - you got it- too tired. Fuck, out on Harmon's Creek I started many a NL well after midnight. However, as is often said, that was then, and this is now.

Not a lot in the mail bag, last issue's not up yet on the site which is normally where a good bit of the mail comes from, I did get one letter from a guy who tried last issue's workout and went at it the same way I did, "This doesn't sound hard at all" and also found out as I did, the fucker sneaks up on you by the end of it, told ya (200 push ups are no joke, I don't care who you are).

I also got a letter . . . I'm not sure when, exactly, maybe since last issue, maybe before. I'm not deliberately tryng to be vague, but my time sense is skewed as fuck anymore, even for Time Traveler Bill (I've seen the past and it is now)- from some goof who said they "knew me" (not hardly, motherfucker) and that he'd met me at a party nigh on twenty years ago and found me "snotty".

While I applaud his choice of words, "snotty" being a straight up funny (to me, anyway) old school put down, I categorically deny it. I mean, if I WAS snotty to you, you totally fucking deserved and asked for it, but whoever you are, I honestly don't think I was (if you're even a real person and not a computer gremlin- in NL context though, I have to admit most gremlins have turned out to be real), cos dammit, I'm personable as fuck. Truly. I did then, and still do now, go miles out of my way in situations like that to smile and nod at people I'd sooner kick in the fucking eyeball, or head butt their skulls to fucking flinders-

(IN FLINDERS FIELDS THE POPPIES GROW)

-close, in more back in the day speak funny stuff, in an internet review of one of last weeks AWA-MWA shows, some guy wrote "After his match DFZ knocked out the ring announcer"- actually I just knocked him down, he pretended to be knocked out- "and then grabbed the mike and spouted off about Wildfat". "Spouted off"- again, to me, at least, funny, funny old school term. And "Wildfat" isn't a typo.

What else . . .

As for Al he's still a far too much of a Bill's time consuming mess, in addition to his brain turning to Koogle, his kidneys are shutting down and he's got an untreatable, due to his condition, AAA that's already at 7 centimeters (5 cm is when you need to worry), that Doc says is 40% likely to rupture in the next twelve months, with "100% chance of mortality", Doc speak for it's gonna kill him when it busts. Which will be a merciful thing for both Al and I when it happens.

He still spends a lot of his time just blankly staring- watching TV is for the most part beyond him now, he just can't seem to grasp what's going on- and conversations with him are decidedly one sided- he'll answer you, but that's about it, as long as the question is something along the lines of "You want a Coke, Al?"

However, he did rouse himself at Starbucks the other evening- yes, paying four bucks for a cup of coffee is reprehensible, but the pretty girls are starting to come back to Pullman Square, also Al wasn't eating too well week before last, and I can always get him to put away a cup of hot chocolate and a pastry- I've mentioned this before, but Starbuck's cream cheese filled chocolate cupcakes are fucking ace- asshole Robby had to join us, no one had spoken for a couple minutes, amazing with that motor mouth Robby there, I was just chilling, drinking in the scenery along with my plain old black coffee, whan Al looks at Robby and pronounces-

Al: You have a low intellect.

No shit, Sherlock. Robby says something inane in reply, Al looks at me-

Al: You know what he's talking about? 
Bill: No. 
Al: (to Rob) See, he can't understand you either- AND HE SPEAKS THREE LANGUAGES!

This last came both from out of nowhere and at the top of his lungs, and was pretty damn funny, especially since a few minutes later Robby goes-

R: You really speak three languages?

My Mom's about the same as well. She'll never be as funny as my Dad but . . . this crazy ass bird has built a nest in our mailbox. He (or she) can do so cos our mailbox doesn't have a door to it. It hasn't had one for as long as I can remember, the last one being torn off I think during a siege by a horde of Visigoths- or maybe they were Ostragoths, I can never keep my Goths straight- and being Bitners we said "fuck it" and never got it repaired or replaced. So, this damn bird has decided this Spring that our mailbox looks like just a lovely place to build a nest and by God, no matter how many times you scrape the twigs and leaves out of it, he's gonna put them back in, and more. Again, the Bitner in me says "fuck it".

So, there's a bird nest in the back of our mailbox (and yes, I know, that sums this place up perfectly). The thing is, my Mom and I both know this. When I go out to get the mail- which is almost never, since my Mom obsesses over it and starts watching for the mailman pretty much from the moment she gets up each day, so she can rush out and get all the totally worthless CRAP that she's always ordering from Publisher's Clearing House and the Danbury Mint and all these other places that prey on crazy old women, and also, anymore, its a lot more fun to let her go to the mailbox and just watch- I tap the side of the mailbox, and the bird flies out, then I reach in and get the mail.

Exactly. No matter how many times it has happened to her, my Mom still goes out to the mailbox, blithely sticks her hand in- and this bird flies out in her face. She then does this Moe Howard "NYAAH!" and staggers backward a dozen feet, and I laugh myself senseless. And as long as she doesn't have a heart attack or fall and break a hip, I'll continue doing so.

As for my girls, I'm leaving St. Marys (about 20 miles north of Parkersburg on Rt. 2) as soon as my match is done tonght- gonna break a lot of RR hearts, but I can't help that- and driving across to Baltimore to spend what is left of the night there. Gonna get up in the morning and visit some with Rachie, and I suppose Loretta and Paul as well- no matter how unreal that sounds to you, its twice as unreal for me- then drive to NJ that afternoon to visit with Sarah.

Gonna stay there till Wednesday morning, Sarah seems to have a lot of stuff scheduled for us to do, I'm looking forward to it immensely, then I'll drive back to Baltimore that afternoon to meet Rachel when she gets home from school- assuming she's gone to school that day- where I will then meet her new boyfriend Neil, and we'll all go out for beef and noodles. I'll stick around that evening, maybe spout off, then get up at 4 am with Loretta and Paul- I only have to do it once, they do it evey day, dear Lord- and drive back to Huntington to stay with Al, I'll leave there Friday afternoon to drive to Parkersburg for a Texas Bullrope Match at the Eagles Club, definitely spending the night up there after that. to make it back here sometime on Saturday.

(BUSY WEEK)

Yeah, but this one should be worth it. And Rachie certainly knows how to work her father. I'm givng her hell on the phone the other night about not going to school, when she informs me she picked me up four more of those 500 page comics collections I'm all about, Aquaman, Avengers, Batgirl, and Spiderman, from the library where she works. Oh . . . okay. Skipping, schmipping, you got me some comics? Good girl. Along wth the stuff I picked up myself last issue, that gives me 4,000 pages of old comics to look forward to. Life is good.

In more girls news of a different sort, for all you future paleontologists there's a new descendant of Jean (the Living Fossil), Sophia Grace Vickers was born healthy and smilling on 4/22, I'm happy to report she and Mom Tiffanie and Dad Joe are all doing well. Jean sent me a photo but it was on MySpace and you have to log in to view it and since I'm not on MySpace I couldn't. I'm going to forward it to Joe so maybe he can, and put Sophia on the site. Congratulations to all of you Vickers.

What's Bill been doing? Went and watched Johnny Boy on the big screen two weeks ago, and loved it. Loved me (who gets second fucking billing right after the star, check the poster out) but the movie is really well done as well, I like it, I'm thinking MC will as well. Check this site out- http://johnnyboymovie.googlepages.com you can see the poster, view the trailer, production stills, and order a copy- yeah, it's already out. Very cool.

Also met my movie girlfriend for the first time at the Keith Albee showing, she was very sweet, and quite friendly, looking forward to hanging out with her at the cast party sometime later this month, but I don't know if I'm gonna bother with anything beyond that. Beside the ever present no time for romance isuue, there's this thing about female names, like, all DFZ groupies names seem to end in "I", like Staci, and Nikki and Staci II, and women whom Bill is seriously attracted to but will end up being sorry for it, end in "A", Loretta being the most prominent, but hardly the only, example. This girl's name is Jenna.

(BEWARE).

That's what I'm thinking.

(THINKING, HUH? WHAT'S THAT LIKE?)

You wouldn't like it.

What else has Bill been doing? Not a lot, went over to Doug and Rosa's Thursday ngiht, visited with Richard and Neil, who were in to see Doug and whom I haven't seen in probably twenty years (there goes that fucking tme thing in my head again) although it certainly doesn't seem like it. Wish I'd had the time and energy to stay longer and get pounded.

What's Bill drinknig right now? Green tea. As mentioned, gotta leave here in a little bit and go wrestle, then drive most of the night to Baltimore. I'm still keeping STATS (218.5 pounds as of 5/1), and I only got drunk five times in April, had a good 19 beer drunk Sunday before last- or maybe the one before that, not sure- started at noon and paced myself, stayed up till midnight, read some old comics and music magazines and listened to a bunch of old records on the turntable, very relaxing.

"Pieface? Quitting? But WHY?" Hal Jordan, aka Green Lantern.

Well, it's just a guess . . . but maybe because you fucking call him Pieface. It's bad enough he's alerady your (GL's) Eskimo greasemonkey Tonto/Stepin Fetchit, but looking at his big round Eskimo head and calling him "Pieface" . . . that's too fucking funny. I love old comics (and Pieface was quitting cos- I forget, but it wasn't over "Pieface").

Also read a biography of the complex and troubled Alice Sheldon, who, writing as James Tiptree Jr. became a critics darling in the early 70's for her/his excellent SF short stories. At the time Tiptree was a mysterious, reclusive figure (no kidding), feted for both his manliness and sensitivity-

(SORT OF LIKE US)

-sort of, I remember reading those early stories very well when they came out, in mags like Analog and F&SF (had subscriptions to both magazines all through high school, and NO, it certainly doesn't seem like thirty plus years ago), some I liked a lot, some were a little too arty farty for me and my 15 year old "where's the fucking ray gun battle?" taste, (alarmingly similar to my 51 year old "where's the fucking ray gun battle" taste) but the good ones, like "Beam Us Home" and "Houston, Houston, Do You Read?" were very damn good indeed, and the later "The Screwfly Solution" written under the ridiculous nom de plume of Racoonna Sheldon, is flat out excellent SF horror of the first degree.

I can also remember the furor in the SF community when it was discoverd in 1977 that this manly man of the world, James Tiptree Jr. was in fact a little old lady in her mid-sixties. A lot of people pissed their pants, and I thought it was funny as fuck.

No happy ending here, though. One night in 1987 Alice shot her ailing husband in the head while he slept, then turned the gun on her self. Ouch.

Instead of what has Bill been watching, which is not much, cos have I mentioned I don't have the time (Al's DVD player is bust so I can't watch 'em down there), what does Bill still have to watch? Well, I'm up to the last Samurai Jack DVD, the last 6 episodes of Season 4, that Brit series Thriller, which isn't, very, the Aztec Mummy collection (Attack Of The Aztec Mummy, Curse Of The Azrec Mummy, and The Robot Vs. The Aztec Mummy) and an Ed Wood collection (Glen Or Glenda, Jailbait, Bride of The Monster, The Violent Years, Plan 9 From Outer Space, Night Of The Ghouls). Plenty of good viewing ahead when I can get the time.

Which we're out of now, as well. No time for DFZ news-

(WHAT?!)

-this issue, I'll do a whole issue devoted to his zany and entertaining antics next time. Till then.

Later

Bill

wrestling weekend

terri ,hot girls, say i love not many for my advacned age all said thaks but nothanks so i guess i tend to cosole mysle by going, yeah, bu tlook at teh tits on tha one i fucked