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5/9/02 Take Up Arms Against The Crown I've got just the thing for you, a real cop beater I love it. Take up arms against the crown, everyone say it with me, TAKE UP ARMS AGAINST THE CROWN. Been feeling that way myself, lately. I was never much in love with the politico-business world even as a kid, I guess from where my dad worked for AT&T and would come home frothing mouth mad about the screw jobs that regularly went down there, and since losing my love to corporate whoredom, it seems like it's only gotten worse. I'm serious, I'll be walking down the street, see some guy or group of guys in suits, and I go all edgy, they could be nice guys, I know some nice guys who wear suits to work, they could be wonderful guys, I've no idea, but all I want to do is grab one of them by the lapels and head butt his nose into a bloody pulp mash, and pitch his ass out into the traffic-except I've never mastered the head butt. The Brits, and their demented spawn the Australians, are ungodly with them, Loretta and I were at this dance club in Inverness, Scotland one time where they shamelessly watered the beer just to keep the fighting down, but these two rough boys ended up going at it anyway, and one butted the other- they call it an Irish kiss over there, they crack me up-and just opened the guy right up, with no apparent damage to himself. It wasn't this bighorn ram charge across the room or anything, just a quick flick of the head, reminds me a lot of the way Bushisima strikes, actually, and instant carnage, the other guy drops bloody and half unconscious. HOW DO THEY DO THAT? How can you bang your head into someone else's hard enough to do that kind of damage, and not hurt yourself? There are some things I'm sure Bill is not meant to know, and I'll bet that's on the list. What's been up? Just work and more work. Got up this morning, got turned back by high water in two places, I figured that was enough and took it for a sign, went back home and called in and said see you tomorrow and went back to bed. Woke up a little while later, or so it felt, looked at the clock, it said 8:10, I'm going, how the hell can it be 8:10, it was 8:20 when I lay back down. Well, that's because it was 8:10 pm. Twelve hours of sleeping like the dead, I don't even remember dreaming. I'm lucky I didn't wet the bed. So much for my day off, but that's why you're being gifted with a second issue in a week, after two weeks without, cos I'm feeling sort of antsy after my day of sleep and I don't have a lot of outlets out here in the sticks (yeah, I did that already), but you know what, I'm already getting sleepy again, probably go back to bed after I finish this. Been going to Hinton a lot lately for work, I think there may be all of 17 people still living in that town, and they're all over 3000 years old. I'm not kidding, it was no great shakes 10-12 years ago when Dave and I were through there fairly regularly fishing the New and Greenbrier (and Dave, I saw some really good places to fish the Greenbrier going across to Alderson last week, if we can ever coordinate our schedules) but what little there was there then is gone. There is one place, The Corner Gym, can't tell if it's still open or not, but it's got a big sign in the window, "IF YOU'RE DRUNK OR HAVE BEEN DRINKING DON'T EVEN COME IN HERE", (Loretta used to hang that exact same sign on our bedroom door). Nothing like some sobriety spoilsport to mess up a good workout. I know there's nothing I like better to do than to get a good buzz on and throw the old weights around. Actually, I have lifted drunk, more than once, but then I never said I was a fucking role model, did I? Got a nice chair massage last week at the office. It's not like the real deal naked getting grease rubbed all over you experience, but it still felt really good, loosened my neck and back up just fine, thank you. Chrissie, who some of you know (and who's lost 40 pounds since I last saw her, and probably since you have as well, and who's looking great) was in giving the free ones she has to give to get certified, and seemed to be very happy as well, she's going to make a lot more money doing something she truly likes doing as opposed to shilling for CCIL, so more power to her, a sincere Bill Bitner thumbs up to our girl Chrissie, and you should give her one too. And if you're in the Beckley area, get your ass over to her school and get yourself one of her free real massages before it's too late. I'm there, trust me. Cool guy Steve Salerno has a copy of "Kiss Me Deadly" (why does that not surprise me), and big boy, I'm gonna take you up on your offer to stop by and watch it, it'll be next month before I can get over, and I'll certainly call first, but it's going to happen. As far as Sarah's performances, they're May 9-11, 16-18 at 8pm, there's a matinee Sunday the 12th at 2 pm, I'll probably attend the one Thursday, May 16 with Rachel (and anyone else who might like to meet me there). And after the blow-up out at her mom's, other that that night, Sarah spent the week out there, which is good, because I needed the break. Roky Erikson Bitner has gone south. Literally, he's on his way to North Carolina, if he's not there already. He was the most damned difficult animal I've ever encountered in my life, (and you're talking to a man who's wrestled bears, alligators, and a giant snake that almost took my thumb off, and that possum on my front porch that time, he kicked my ass, but he was a HUGE possum, and I was potted, it started out "nice doggie" and went to hell from there, fucking possums), but I'm still going to miss him. He's going to a better place, he'll be with people all day instead of in a crate, and there'll be another Weimerarner there to make friends with or kill as he chooses- I wish him the best. All the many dogs I've had in my life, I've never given one away- actually, Loretta gave him away, but with my blessing, the situation being what it is neither one of us could keep him, if he came out here he'd go through this fucking rat pack in about 30 seconds, which wouldn't hurt my feelings, but would surely get me evicted- and it feels weird, puts a lump in my throat, to be honest with you. And for all his meanness, he was the most affectionate dog I've ever known. Good bye, Roky, live long and prosper. What's Bill listening to? I'll tell you what I wish I was listening to. Got a mail order book the other day, Incredibly Strange Music Vol. II. (anybody ever sees Vol. I anywhere get it for me, I'll pay you back, I swear, if you're willing to part with it after starting it), this thing is fucking hilarious. I laughed so damn hard reading it the other night I almost choked. It's about all these insane bands and musicians, and the whole point is, they're all deadly serious, they're not trying to be funny. How can you not love bands like The Galloping Coroners, The Braillettes (3 blind sisters, man, what was in their water), the Hillbilly Werewolves, The Spotnicks (check the spelling), Oh No, It's The Crazy Irresponsibles (Japanese, naturally), and my personal favorite, The Mopsie Beans. For song titles (remember, these are not comedy records) how about "I Crept Into The Crypt And Cried", "You're An Abominable Snow Creature", "I Call This One The Martian Song" "Fun In The Fundus With You", "Danger Is My Beer", (!), "I Talk To My Haircut", "The Man With The Fold-back Ears" "Your Mouth Is A House", there's one by Charlie Manson, "People Say I'm No Good" (YA THINK?!), "Cat Skinnin' Gyppo", "Too High On The Stump," (a guy singing about his messed up leg amputation, sweet Jesus Christ, make 'em stop, they're killing me), "When They Repossessed My Used Log Truck", "The Yogi In The Dog Costume Is A Bastard", "Thing, Do The Creep", "Mama Love Tequila" by these 4 foster kids, ages 10 through 6, whose mom sold them for a bottle, and whose witless social worker decided music could be their redemption, so they write a song about how their mom gave them away for a fucking fifth (why did I never think of this?) and finally, "Those Brand New Hooters Of Yours", some guy got his wife a boob job, then wrote a song about it, with unbelievable lines like, "So round, so firm, and yet so high/Even The Big Dipper is breathing a jealous sigh". When constellations are jealous of your tits, I'd have to say you've got something going. There's more lyrics, and liner notes, but I think you get the idea, I've just been busting a gut, got the book as a $4 cut out too, what a steal. I know I said I was done, but just one more, this shit is addictive. There's a Hank Williams, Sr. song called "Roly Poly" that goes "Roly poly/Daddy's little fatty/Gnawin' on a biscuit". Being from the Depression South, Hank's bragging about what a good dad he is cos his kid is fat! (and gnawin' on a biscuit). Later, he even gives him some advice on religion, "Don't be so holy, poly/About your soul-y". I know we all get hard up for rhymes sometime, Hank, but godamighty. The Wild Bunch- my favorite Western. Yeah, I like The Outlaw Josey Wales, my favorite Eastwood Western (which surprises a lot of people for some reason), I don't know what my favorite John Wayne Western is, there's a solid half dozen that are flat out excellent, and lots that aren't classic but still very, very watchable, along with the rest of Clint's stuff, Hank Fonda and Jimmy Stewart both were in some real killers, "Once Upon A Time In The West," with Hank and Charles Bronson (and who was that Italian hottie, Claudia Cardinale?- she was sharp), I even like those late 60's early 70's Spanish/Italian revengers with Lee Van Cleef (who's very underrated, in my book) and John Phillip Law, "Tombstone" with Kurt Russell was pretty damn good, it ate the fucking lunch of Kevin Costner's Wyatt Earp flick. But The Wild Bunch is the best. Besides a good story, and a fantastic cast, it's got two of the best, if not the two best, choreographed, and filmed, extended gun battles in Western movie history. I actually like the first one better, where they get ambushed by the bounty hunters while robbing the bank, than the more famous climactic fight with the 600 Mexicans. In the first gunfight The Wild Bunch are dressed in 1913 Army outfits (except for their townfolk blending in plants), Tector carries an '03 Springfield, they're firing 1911 Colt automatics instead of six-guns- I find it a very neat visual, soldiers fighting cowboys. I think we need to recast and redo it with Billheads, I think we could pull it off. I'd be William Holden (of course), Joe, you could be Ernie Borgnine, I don't know WHO we'd get to be the Gorch Brothers, we'd have to work on that, Jason Spurlock could be Angel, my dad could be the infuriating, piss crazy old coot (no stretch there), Tommy could play C.L., Chris Schultz is flat made for the Robert Ryan part, Doug and Mark Moore could play the nasty, squabbling Strother Martin and L. Q. Jones roles, we'll get Dave all drunk and greased up and let him be Mapache, I'd even be willing to bury the hatchet and give Loretta a part, she could be the wife who fucks around on her husband with me in the flashback section (sweet irony), before he catches us and blows her ass away. And in the final sequence, instead of a big gunfight, we could all put on our masks and have a giant Mexican Death Match. Sounds doable, sounds great, someone find me some funding. I'm serious. Joe's coming over tomorrow night (if you're not, dude, let me know), hopefully I'll have some El Falcone Muerte (Morte is French, so sue me) and Hermanos Sangre pictures out in the next few days (and I don't care if I'm kissing my own ass, I've been buffing up quite nicely lately), also should get "For The Gone" mixed and on the MP.3 site, and drink some different beers to review for next issue. Joe's a funny guy, as I've mentioned before, he's recommending I combine the Chinese/Mexican thing, as how could I be more loathsome? (The obvious answer is none . . . none more loathsome), and I could come out with one eye slanted, and the other drunken and lazy. Hey, wait a minute, that's how they look already, Mr. Smarty Pants. Also, damn, I'm glad I remembered this, bring your headphones, Joe, mine are bust, somehow they got thrown against the wall and stomped on, I think it was Indians. Can't get too hammered, though, cos I've got big plans for Saturday night. What are they? Well, you all know, I don't kiss and tell. Fucking like a wild animal and telling is something else entirely, so if it works out . . . read about it in the next exciting issue. Lay me like you hate me. Bill
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