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5/8/06 Hit The Lights To live outside the law you must be honest Hey I'm back, feels like its been a long time since last issue, hasn't really been, I suppose, I think that feeling comes from being off fucking line from the day after last issue, till today (Sunday). How'd that happen, you ask? Well, for once technical problems weren't due to Bill, and you'll be even more surprised at the shocking conclusion to our tale. As you should recall from last issue, there were some problems with the phones out here, and my Dad's morbidly obese old acquaintance- not friend, he can't stand Ron any more than I can, Ron being one of those know it all tub of guts jack offs who can never shut the fuck up, but Ron's wife and my Mom are best friends- hotwired some shit up so a couple of the jacks here were working. Next morning here come Ron and Thelma again at the door, Thelma already apologetic- T: Billy, I hate to ask you, but do you have time to help Ronald some more today? I think she wants me to help him with some other shit in return for him helping with the phones here, so I reluctantly say okay, cos you know, fair's fair. Then I realize he wants to fuck with the stuff here at the house that we did the day before Ron; I don't like the way we ran those wires. Ron is just bored and wants something to do. I got no problem with that, just leave me and my shit alone. However, as Ron and I are arguing, my Dad overhears and makes it clear that the phone lines here are not, and have never been, my shit. Dad: Those are my damn phone lines. If he says he needs to work on them some more, you let him. Bill: Fine, but number one, I'm not helping him, and number two, both of y'all can go to hell. Unlike my Dad, Ron's not used to being told to go to hell, he almost gets pissed enough to leave- "Good, get the fuck outta here!", "I'm only doing this for Raleigh" he tells me, all in a huff. Lick my balls, old man. And all my Dad's FRIENDS call him Bit. Well, Ron goes to work rewiring and splicing, and I know, I just fucking KNOW that this is a terrible idea. When shit works, especially complicated technological shit like a phone, or computer, or a fucking crowbar for that matter, LEAVE IT ALONE. Although I steadfastly refuse to help, I do stand there and watch, mostly just to irritate Ron (I truly cannot stand this guy, and couldn't long before this sorry episode) and I'm really glad I did for a second reason. Ron gets to the end, out of breath and streaming sweat like he just went ten rounds with a young Smokin' Joe- the guy weighs 400 pounds, is on oxygen and has serious heart problems- and even Mister No Tech here can see that he fudges that last splice- the one to the downstairs jack where I plug in my computer. And sure enough- SURE FUCKING ENOUGH- when he goes to check, the jack now has no dial tone. Had dial tone before he starts fucking with the wiring, now it doesn't, you make the fucking connection, cos Ron sure couldn't. R: Must be the jack. Nothing I can do about that. And with that he starts to put his tools away. I'm about to stand on my head I'm so fucking pissed. B: No, the jack was working fine till you fucked with the wires. Ron gives me what I assume he thought was a hardass look. Yeah, maybe if I could see your eyes through the fat rolls on your cheeks, grandpa. R: I SAID, it must be the jack. Well, THAT wasn't happening, Ron went (even more) red faced livid, he can't take being cussed like the old man can, out the damn door he went, hollering for Thelma to follow, "You're a sensitive bastard, aren't you?" I hollered at him as he left. So, I've been doing without the Internet for the past couple weeks, went down to Joe's once to check my mail, could I have called someone to come out and fix the wiring, probably, but what I really wanted was Ron to come back and just redo that one fucking splice, cos I know damn well that that's the problem. Then this past Friday my Mom just comes up to me holding out the phone like the goofy damn shit she is- B: What? Without saying a word, she again just shoves the phone at me. B: Goddammit, WHAT? Some noise starts coming out of the phone. My Mom puts it to her ear. M: Ron says he heard you. Well, okay, that bridge is burned, what the fuck are we gonna do now? How about fight with my parents some first. My Mom hangs up the phone- Ron already has- and she and my Dad both start in on me with all four feet about what a hard headed, impossible to get along with son of a bitch I am, why do I always make things difficult for me and everyone else, blah fucking blah . . . B: God DAMMIT. You guys have never liked Ron, either one of you, EVER,
but you still take his side. I swear to Christ, you'd take ANYONE'S side
before you'd take mine. You guys would take HITLER against me. "That you need bombed". The man will never cease to put me on the fucking floor with what comes out of his mouth when he's not in the least trying to be funny.
Still, this is the ONLY time I'll ever attempt to fix anything, Joe, its all back on you now buddy. So, lots of letters in the mail bag since last issue, naturally, since I haven't been able to access them, not a lot to comment on, though, mostly just fan mail of the, "this is great shit", variety, thanks, and yeah, I know, quite a few folks glad to see the belated return of TSOA, you're quite welcome, for the few obvious newcomers upset about my conversation with my Dad regarding the trolling motor, don't fret, harsh words between us mean nothing, when I was a kid my Dad would give me the (well deserved) spanking from hell, I'd be screaming- B: You're the worst Dad EVER! When I grow up I'm gonna push you off a
cliff! Then five minutes later he'd be like "You wanna play catch?" and I'd be "sure" and everything was fine, he'll always be my Dad and I'll always love him, and words were, and are, just a way of blowing off the steam that we both had, and have, in abundance.
I was saddened to hear from Jean that they had to put Zena down, even though I knew it was coming. Zena was a Good Dog, and I swear, I don’t think there's a finer creation in this universe than a good dog- (HOW ABOUT A GOOD PUSSY?) - I'm trying to be serious here, you insensitive lout. I'm not a religious person, but the purely selfless, cheerful, loving soul that lives inside a Good Dog has got to come from a better place than here. And Jean, I'm sure Zena's back there right now, with Scout and all the others (although probably not Rocky, I figure when I get to Hell he'll be right there ready to bite me in the crotch, no doubt with flaming hot teefers). I use bar soap, not body wash. Body wash is for gays or trendies. Not that there's a damn thing wrong with being gay, I'm just not. There's a shit load wrong with being trendy. Bill's Helpful Household Hint #3. If you happen to have a bunch of Vaseline on your hand- I'm not saying how that could happen, I'm just saying if you do- and you also happen to be looking at a magazine- again, I'm not saying why you might be looking at a magazine with Vaseline all over your hand, I'm just saying if the situation should occur- be very careful, cos Vaseline will take ink off a page like nobody's fucking business, and with very little effort on your part you can end up an inky, oily mess. Especially if you're half lit. What's Bill drinking seems an appropriate question at this point. Well, I've had to go to Rolling Rock since they quit carrying Pabst Blue Ribbon in bottles at the Kroger in Huntington where I always shop for Al. Since I got used to the stronger flavor of PBR I just can't do the Bud anymore (unless you're buying), unfortunately the 12 RR I had set back for tonight went like water- it happens like that sometimes- and I don't feel like going out to get any more, even though it's a lot closer than it used to be when I lived on Ultima Thule- so I'm drinking Wild Turkey, as sparingly as I'm able- "I'll just go back to whiskey, it's always been good to me"- a buck to who can tell me who said that, and in what movie- I don't really want to get way hammered, but I see it coming anyway. What's Bill been reading? I normally do a lot of on-line reading, but since I haven't been able to the past few weeks, I went to the library and got a huge pile of books- I know I'm such a geek, but it gives me a genuine sense of peace and relaxation when I have a large stack of unread books by the side of my bed- read a couple ghost story anthologies just to keep the old blood flowing- as noted many times before, I don’t sweat monsters of any stripe even a little bit, ghosts scare the fuck out of me, to keep my nature boy cred I read a shark book, as well as one about lions versus hyenas, a bunch, as in four, graphic novels, I again have to say I'm not at all fan of the revisionist take on the Marvel Universe being done in the Ultimate universe, but I do like how The Avengers are called The Ultimates, cool name, as well as the continued bad ass take on Captain "Kill 'Em All' America. Also a Steve Ditko collection, and Astro City, good, with art by Brent Anderson, who WAY back in the day drew the cover for Space And Time #25 (July '74), which contained the William Bitner short story "A Drop of Water", about Larry Kendricks, the greatest hunter in the galaxy, who'd killed "dinosaurs on Venus and mantids on Titan, hellhounds on Folsom and dragons on Fairei", as well as being the only human to ever survive a hunt for the dreaded Miran jungle witch, but who finally gets his ass handed to him (after willingly being shrunk down to one centimeter) by a teensy little fresh water hydra, oh the irony. Still, I just reread it, I mean like right now, and sixteen year old author or no, it holds up very well, in a pulp fiction kind of way (which is how it was written). And still also, read a couple so so mysteries, and a "thriller", Monster, which sounded good on the quite deceitful jacket flap, but turned out to be this deal where a couple are camping and the wife is abducted by a big hairy monster, I thought we might be headed for a sordid, Enquirer style "I Was Buttfucked By Bigfoot" read, instead it went off into this weird "assault on the Fortress of Darwinism" as the author- Michael Peretti, avoid like the fucking plague, not for his religious views, but cos he can't write worth a shit- states in his afterward, and this can’t we all just get along plea. Actually, no. No we can't.
What's Bill listening to? Coming back from Al's with Kathy this evening I heard "Sweet Leaf" by the mighty Black Sabbath- no one, let me repeat, NO ONE could churn out a heavy ass riff like those four numbskulls- so I'm listening to Sabbath now, Vol. 4 at the moment, I have the first five BS albums, all anyone needs by them, but you definitely need all five. Let me also say, while I'm not one for the sweets, every Sunday Kat buys us a couple mocha cappuccino blasts at the Baskin Robbins there by Al's house, and those fuckers are great. Got a bunch of movie books, only read one of them so far, The Unseen Force, about the movies of Sam Raimi, I liked the Evil Dead movies, they were a hoot at Movie Club, again back in the day, always been interested in the DIY way they were filmed. Which leads very neatly into, What's Bill been doing? How about trying out for parts in real movies? DFZ to Zombie Sluglord. "Do you think you can take me? Cos I think I can take you . . . " Danny calls me week before last, says they're holding movie auditions there at State, he can get me in, do I want to audition? Do I fucking WHAT? "You'll be going up against a bunch of professional actors" he cautions me "so don't be upset if you don't get cast". Like I'm supposed to sweat going up against "pros"? I feel like giving him the old Batman line when the Batster got tossed into Arkham Asylum- "I'm not trapped in here with all of them. They're all trapped in here with me". God, I fucking love Batman, (who's obviously had an enormous influence on DFZ- not to mention Bill Bitner). Auditioned for two movies, I'll talk about them one at at time, even though I auditioned for them back to back. The first movie is like (to me) this Lifetime movie type thing. It's a real movie, by a real company out of NYC, I had to fill out all the SAG shit, they filmed everything like a real screen test, it was pretty neat, this will be a direct to DVD release but they think they might be able to get it on TV, they've gotten other movies of theirs on before. One of the persons involved- Chi, this Oriental girl- is a former student of Danny's, she wanted to come back to WV to do a film, which is why they were here (filming to be done in Huntington). They were only casting one- count it, one- adult male role here. So, I show up, along with maybe a dozen pretentious fucking "actors", pros, don't you know, who I guess have some local renown, although I didn't recognize a damn one of them, for what's known as a cold reading, where you just walk in, they hand you the script, and you go. So, Bill is in auditioning against a dozen pros for a single part in a movie. How'd I do? I BLEW THEIR FUCKING DOORS OFF, that's how I did. I got your mother fucking pros right here. Does that mean I got the part? You're goddamn right it does. Am I really full of myself right now? You're goddamn right I am. The movie is called Sixteen to Life, some coming of age deal about a couple of teenage girls, the part I auditioned for was "Tim", the single dad of a 16 year old girl who's frustrated with him cos he wont grow up, he wants to play guitar and get buzzed instead of working in a bank, holy fuck, THAT'S gonna be a stretch. I checked my copy of the script, this is a big fucking part, I quit counting at two hundred lines and I wasn't 2/3 of the way through, I gotta learn all this shit by early June, when filming starts. And it gets even better. When Chi calls me last week to tell me I'm cast and that I can pick up my copy of the script from Danny (he got a small part earlier, without reading, as some other kid's Dad, cos of who he is, the character I'm playing is supposed to be 37, his?- 51. HA), she also goes on about how much they loved my screen test, how- don’t choke, now- "sensitive" I came across, and would I mind if they showed it to some other people up there who might want to cast me? Are you fucking kidding me? And THEN she says (since she'd asked me at the audition if I could play guitar) "You wouldn't have a problem playing guitar and singing in the movie, would you?" Baby, the only problem there'll be is getting me to stop. Although when I get the script, other than some free form strumming shit I can do whatever I like with, you know what they want me to play (and even worse, sing?) "Bette Davis Eyes". Ouch, Jesus. Although Danny says he doesn't see how a small company like this could afford the rights, which are quite expensive, so here's hoping it gets changed once we go to shoot. If not, don’t be surprised if "She's got Bette Davis eyes" comes out sounding a whole lot like "Purple haze all in my brain" once the cameras start rolling. So- is that insanely neat, or what? Audition two. These guys are up from North Carolina, a father and son duo formerly from WV, the Dad is an old sort of friend of Danny's, and they're also wanting to do a film in WV (this will only be their second one). This one's called Brothers Of The Badge, a cop movie obviously, I read for a couple parts, Danny had originally pitched me to them- and for all the various cracking I do on him in here, Danny has been very, VERY good to me- for the part of the corrupt Chief Of Police, but I'm just too young looking and fit. Ain't it a bitch. Ashley (the son): Damn. You read it great, but we're really looking for
someone older. We want someone late forties.
B: "In the Heat of the Night"? Dear God. THAT was not encouraging. Still, they wanted to cast me as well, so I got a part as a smart ass, hot tempered bartender. Oh fuck, ANOTHER great stretch. If that wasn't enough, there's also this guy in Williamson who's ALL about casting me and Danny in this Appalachian serial killer movie he's wanting to make, me as the brooding psychotic killer, nice guy till he goes OFF, Danny as my slimy little henchman, he pitched it to us the other night over LOTS of his bought beer, but there's not enough beer out there to make me touch this thing, Danny either for that matter, beside the fact that the serial killer thing has been done to death (and I hate the genre anyway), this guy's describing the opening scene to us, where I slowly eviscerate this naked woman I've nailed to a door . . . I don't think so. Really. But thanks for asking. Now if I was slowly fucking this (willing) woman I'd tied to a door . . . Lastly, all this shit has finally gotten the DFZ movie jump started, Danny has promised that once we finish this wrestling documentary , In the Ringer 2 September 8th, we'll go right into production on DFZ versus The Zombie Sluglords, I'm telling you, pretty soon you'll all be calling me Cecil B.- (AND ME JOHNNY W.) Right. Anyway, right now it's all roses. Hold your breath. All right, DFZ news, and then to bed. Been lifting like a wild thing of late, which means my shoulder and knees are again just fucking killing me, but the weight's back up to 219, Laura said I was looking good again last time I was down there, danke, and so noted. DFZ got an offer to go spend the summer working the Grand Prix territory (Nova Scotia) in Canada, Memorial Day to Labor Day, with the Cuban Assassin, quite flattering but an obvious no go even before this movie stuff came up. Depending on what's happening later this summer Danny and I have discussed trying to fly up and work a week just for the experience, but I don’t realistically see that happening. Haven't worked much since last issue, DFZ did work a show in Mullens with the legendary Gypsy Joe/Jean Madrid, last seen in "Cold in July". He was in a tag against the Cuban Commandos, Ritchie (Assassin) and the hapless Ernie, aka Gunny Simms. GJ is legendary for being stiff as a goddamn brick- before the matches he spends half a fucking hour smacking his hand as hard as he can against the cinder block wall in the locker room, he's ancient, but he's no joke- and having no patience at all in the ring- fuck, if you were seventy whatever and still wrestling, would you have any patience with someone who couldn't do something you've done ten thousand times? Gunny's green as baby shit, and fucks up constantly, even a genuine nice guy like me stiffed him one for sandbagging me on TV, I see trouble coming, as does pretty much everyone else in the building. The match starts and Jesus God it's ugly, Gunny's in with Joe- Danny and I both think it was a set up, a brutal "smarten up", wrestling is a cruel fucking business, straight up- and Gunny blows THE VERY FIRST SPOT. Gypsy Joe my ass, he's Crazy Wild Possessed By Demons Joe. He takes Gunny to the ropes and winds up. Yaaaah. Smack. YAAAAAAH! SMACK! Dear lord, these wicked open hand chops to Gunny's chest, that cracked like rifle shots, I swear, and left these white outlined palm prints that were still there hours later, and I'm sure would have burned you to touch them. And Cuban in the corner egging Joe on, hollering "You better not do that again!" SMACK. Then later in the match clumsy ass Gunny knocks down the 10 foot metal pole in the corner, that I wouldn't touch you know who with, which is there for the main event Check On A Pole Battle Royal, and Joe again goes CRAZY, he's like the fucking Warner Brothers cartoon Tasmanian Devil come to life, he picks the pole up and starts whacking Gunny with it, hard, then sticks it between his legs and nut shots him for real, at this point all the other wrestlers are laughing our asses of, me included, it shouldn’t be funny, some maniacal old man beating the fuck out of some clueless git with a metal pole but God help me, it is, it's fucking hysterical, Gunny finally decides he's had enough and, match or no match, heads back for the heels locker room (a sheet hanging up there at the back of the gym), Joe follows him, Gunny staggers behind the sheet, "goddamn crazy old bastard", I see Joe coming up behind him- Bill: You better watch out, he's not- About that point Joe brings the pole down on the back of Gunny's head and knocks him to the floor- Bill: -done yet. Jesus. Gunny retired from wrestling the next week. I think it's for the best. After intermission, next up is the Battle Royal, with all twelve guys on the card in the ring at the same time, trying to climb this pole and snag a $5000 check- yeah, right- over the top rope elimination. I've already determined that whatever side of the ring Joe is on, I'm gonna be on the other, I don't want anything to do with that madman. The match starts, I grab little Bret and start working him over, everything's going fine when I see Bret's eyes go wide at something behind me, then this leathery palm slaps down on my shoulder and, in this dead evil Eastern European accent- Gypsy Joe- Who have we here?
GJ: Jesus Christy! I'm encouraged, thinking, damn, he's selling for me, how cool- so I throw another hard knee into his ancient gut box. GJ; GOD BE DAMN! About then Phil- Mr. Black- clocks me in the back of the head with a forearm. Phil: Goddamn Falcon, ease up, he's an old man Phil sees Joe looming so he backs away- I'm serious, everyone is scared to death of this guy, it really is like he's the devil or something. Joe puts his hands on my chest. Oh, fuck me running, I cringe, waiting for one of those wicked ass chops. GJ; You gonna sell or not, you bastard? At that point I realize he's not gonna chop me, in fact he's supposed to be choking me. It's hard to recognize, much less sell, a choke hold when the choker's hands are on your collarbones. I grab his wrists and subtly pull his hands up to my neck, while making outrageous strangling noises for the marks. "That's it, kill 'im Joe!" some fuck yells from the crowd. A smile spreads across Joe's face. GJ: You good boy. I poke you eye now. And he tries to, I think legit, I saw that gnarled old finger coming right for my eye and turned my head, but he still got his finger inside the eyehole of my mask. I go to get away, with his hand still snagged in my mask. GJ: Stop, I stuck. Stop, you. Again I take him to the corner, resolving to knee his liver into the cheap seats simply as a matter of self preservation, when Danny comes over. Better timing the man has never had. B: Hey man, you wanna wrestle a legend? And I throw him into Joe, whose evil eyes again light up as he grabs Danny around the throat for real. GJ: Yaaaaaah! I ran to Phil and immediately had him toss me out of the ring. Doug, you HAVE to tell John next time you see him that DFZ mixed it up with Jean Madrid. With, as always, more to come. He was at Mountaineer Mayhem last (Saturday) night in Sabine, man event this time being the 16 man Gauntlet For The Gold, Joe was working heel this time and he and I sat next to one another outside the ring before our numbers were called, Jesus, the guy is a fucking RIOT, he told me, "I like you, you hit me hard," anytime, man, probably saved my life, at one point he's baiting the crowd, he goes to me, "Watch this, I do The Rock", then he yells at the crowd, "DO YOU KNOW WHAT I EAT?" Actually, The Rock used to say, "Do you know what the Rock is cooking?", but close enough, I guess. Then later when we were in the ring he takes Flex to the ropes and tells him, "Here comes Santa Claus", then cracks him on the chest so hard it hurt me watching it. But FUCK, it was funny. And this all sort of leads up to Blue Ridge Resurrection in Fayetteville, July 1st. Big card, main event will have The Midnight Express with Jim Cornette, but a big match on the undercard is going to be a Texas Tornado Barbed Wire Ropes Hardcore Street Fight between The Grapes of Wrath and Awesome Allen Lynch (aka Mister X) and a mystery partner. And while I'm not supposed to reveal who the mystery partner is going to be, if you want to bet some marks that it’s gonna be Gypsy Joe, you can make yourself some money. Should be entertaining as FUCK, hands down, I'd honestly pay to see this match in a heartbeat, as well as a guaranteed bloodbath, I've figured out how to gig under the mask, so in addition to the arm juice, look for blood to be spurting out of DFZ's eyeholes on July one.
I'm gonna be in two fucking movies this summer. YAAAAAAAAH! Later Bill
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So,
as asked previously, what's a poor boy to do ('cept to play in a rock and
roll band)? Take matters into his own hands, just like a good American.
Earlier today I decided to throw what little caution I have to the wind,
and go into action. First I drank a couple beers, then I pulled the
plastic cap off of that final splice Ron made while on his last wheezy
legs, and sure enough, one pair of wires are barely touching, the other
has maybe half a wrap. So I take the two pair- white to blue, blue-white
to white-blue, this shit is dirt simple when you’re the electronic
genius I am- and with a pair of needle nose pliers wrap the fuckers up
TIGHT. Then I plug the computer into the jack and- yeah, I know, this is
certainly one of the signs of the Apocalypse, "Lo, and the inept
shall become proficient, and the drunk, sober", never mind, we're all
still safe- I HAVE DIAL TONE, and am back on line.
Debbie
(through Chris) sent me this ad for what looks to be the perfect job for
me. You think it's too late to apply?
Nobody
will ever let you know 
He
just looks at me.
Now,
I'd already been told, by Ritchie, among others, that the only way to deal
with Joe was to be just rough as fuck, if he thought you were taking it
easy on him cos he was old you'd offend him, and then he'd try to kill
you. Well, I certainly believed that, so, when I felt his mummified hand
on me I spun around and grabbed him by his lank, greasy hair and threw him
into the corner. I drive a knee into his midsection, not murder hard, but
still damn hard.
Be
there or BE FUCKING SQUARE.