6/15/02

Dumb Ass Manifesto

Hey

It's a subdued and chastened Death Falcon coming to you tonight, boys and girls. I did something today that I'm embarrassed and sort of ashamed of (and if you're wondering what could embarrass that fucking Bitner, shame on you, beneath this assholish exterior beats a sensitive and tender heart- say "Awww", or retch, as you choose, it's still true).

Today I let some guy cut up my fucking head with barbed wire. Yow, that sucks even to say it. The fact that I turned around and ripped a divot in his head doesn't make it any better. How'd it happen? Well . . .

Months ago I sent out a generic resume to a bunch of the local (within a few state radius) wrestling leagues, telling them who I was, and my stats, (and when they meet me they always go, damn, you don't LOOK 6' 5", 280, and are you SURE you're 25), and offering my services, such as they are. That's how I ended up going to Hagerstown a couple months back.

I get home last night and there's this e-mail from Combat Zone out of Pittsburgh wanting to know if I want to come up today for a try-out at 4 pm, they're doing some sort of outdoor show thing. At first I was pissed about the short notice, but when I called to let them know I was coming, I found out they've been trying to get me by phone for a while and leaving messages on my unreachable answering machine- damn you, Verizon. Also found out they wanted me there at 9 fucking am.

As an aside and while I'm thinking about it, any and all talk last night about going to Heaven, while totally sincere, was also meant to be taken in that sort of over the top wrestle speak thing, which I thought was obvious when I did it, but upon reflection, I remembered that what's obvious to me isn't always so to the rest of humanity. Don't want to piss anyone off. Well, actually, I sort of like pissing people off, but I don't want to piss YOU off. And for anyone wondering how I can be serious and over the top at the same time, I just can.

I left here about 4 am, since I wasn't too sure where I was headed (no shit, that still applies) so I ended up going alone, since I figured that was too early to ask anyone else, even Joe, or GBHF Tom, to get up on a Saturday, and waste all day with me, when I know they have their own shit to do. Also, and I'm not crying, just stating, I'm starting to get used to doing things alone.

Find the place with no problem, they've got the ring set up outside for the show later in the day (the seating area was HUGE, the promoter- who's also named John, and also wrestles, and is usually the champ, funny how that works, just like in HoP- said they were expecting a THOUSAND people, which for this kind of league is fucking Woodstock) and there must've been 50 guys there trying out. Most of them were taller than me, which sort of surprised me, some lard asses, some beefed up muscle boys, even a few scrawny kids looking maybe 16.

Since there were so many, I'm thinking they'll probably just have us get in the ring for a few minutes, show our stuff (I'm thinking I'm finally going to get to try the Falcon Arrow on somebody, GBHF Tommy won't let me try it on him, the little pussy), show how we can sell the other guys stuff, maybe have us do a rant into the mike . . . then they start bringing out the goods.

Try-outs consisted of picking two things out of this pile of shit to get whacked with. I kid you not, no checking of your athletic ability, not even a check of your mike skills. Just, can you handle getting hit with this shit. I should've just walked away then, a couple, tougher guys did . . . and trust me, the tough guys were the ones who walked, only chickenshits stayed.

Anyway, they paired us off, I got a guy about my size, young, (hell, they were all young), actually seemed like a nice guy (you would not believe some of the raging assholes who were there- well, maybe you would), I think he said his name was Steve, but he wrestles as Commando D (whatever, who am I to criticize).

A lot of the guys chose chair shots, they're fucking crazy, that shit'll give you brain damage. I convinced the old Commando to follow my lead (probably seemed like a father figure to him) and we chose florescent light tubes, and barbed wire. So first, we whacked each other over the head with these light tubes (believe me, I know how fucked up and ridiculous that sounds), not a big deal, didn't hurt, didn't cut, you just have to remember to keep your eyes closed, you DO NOT want that glass mist shit getting in your eyes.

Then we go to the barbed wire. Since we were the first guys to do any cutting, we got instructions. When you jab the barbed wire into the other guy's head, approved technique is to dig it in, not rake. Raking causes shallow cuts, which don't bleed all that much, or for that long. Digging produces smaller, but much deeper wounds, which'll bleed like a son of a bitch. You also don't want to dig, then rake, because while that will produce a spectacular blood flow, the guy then also has every right to try and kill you, because you've just cut the hell out of him.

What's left to say? I let the Commando go first, he took the barbed wire (it was wrapped around a 2 X 4) and put a gash on my head, then I did the same to him. Can anyone say dumbshits? Jesus, I feel like a fucking idiot just typing this. How'd it feel? It fucking HURT. Guys (well, girls too, I assume most of you shave your legs), you know how when you nick yourself shaving, how that razor cut burns? It felt like that, only more so. It's not that bad a cut, maybe an inch long, no bigger than Joe's . . . well, never mind. They put a butterfly bandage on it up there, I came home and took a shower and it came off, I can cover it with two regular Band-Aids, so like I said, it's hardly this massive laceration, in the world of wrestling wounds this is barely a scratch. How those guys who cut one another to shreds on a regular basis do it is absolutely beyond me, this damn thing still hurts (watch, it'll get infected and they'll have to amputate).

They said they'd pay me, and they did, all of $10 (what the hell, it bought the beer I'm drinking right now) and offered free admission to the matches later, but I was too dog tired to stick around, in fact I started to get a room up there and just sleep for about 19 hours, but I didn't really want to try and check in somewhere wearing this blood soaked t-shirt, and like the dumbass I am, I didn't think to bring a change of clothes- well, actually, I thought about it, I just forgot them at the house. They also said they'd call me, but really, don't fucking bother, cos I ain't doing that shit. And I STILL haven't gotten the chance to try the Falcon Arrow on anyone. Tom, watch your back, son, cos it's building up.

One cool thing, I ran into a couple Japanese wrestlers who were on the card later, Kintaro Kanemura, and some guy I didn't recognize (I DID NOT say they all look the same). Kanemura is the guy in Smokey Mountain who got his arm sliced by Kevin Sullivan to the tune of 50 stitches. That's not a mis-type- I said 50. He's got this horrific scar on his arm, to go along with all his other horrific scars, he has so much scar tissue on him he crackles when he walks. They were both personable as all hell, spoke English but with VERY thick accents, so they could understand me, but I had a hard time with them, they made some kind of joke about the little cut (to them, maybe) on my head that I didn't get, thought about trying to find someone with a camera and get my picture taken with them, but that seemed kind of fanboyish, so I didn't. Anyway, I'm sure pictures wouldn't do these guys justice. Up close, they looked like fucking road kill. Any fool wanting to pursue the hardcore profession should stand next to these two first.

Tired as I was, and am, I went on out to Joe's for a while this evening after I got back cos he was expecting me, drank some beer (duh), ate some sushi his wife and sister in law brought home. Got to working with my chop sticks (I think it shows suavity and sophistication in a man when he can handle the sticks) cos I was out of practice, started using them on everything, including later when I went to the bathroom (handled everything just fine in there, thank you). Later still I was digging around in the M&M bowl with them, popping them into my mouth- if you can eat M&Ms with chop sticks, you've got it down- when I remembered what they'd last handled. Did I say something earlier about suavity and sophistication? The best part is that right after that, Laura started eating the M&Ms- I wasn't about to say anything. I just hope she doesn't develop a taste for them.

What else has been going on? Got this hilarious e-mail earlier this week from some girl (it must've been a girl) I don't know, telling me to stop being so mean (I assume she means in print) to Joe. It was killer, she was so EARNEST, I showed it to Sarah, she howled, but then she said, all serious, "You really should stop being so mean to Joe." What?! Okay, first off, none of you people see all the good things I do for Joe, in fact, Joe doesn't even see all the good things I do for him, that's how subtle I am. Secondly, I'm The Skipper and he's Gilligan, so being mean to him is part of my job (and by the way, since I'm the Skipper, I want you to go find Mary Ann and bring her here RIGHT NOW).

The Beckley era is over. Four and a half months, 23,000 miles on the Saturn, 12 pounds off Bill (I went from 222 to 210 for those interested, weight I really wasn't looking to lose, but I figure this summer with proper exercise and nutrition I can put it back on), I won't tell you how much in the bank in expenses . . . for all the bitching I've done about the drive, I'm going to miss working in that office, a lot. I want to thank everyone for my going away lunch in Beckley yesterday, you're all very sweet people, and I'm going to miss you, but I plan to stay in touch, so I hope you do as well. Amy, you and I still have a date to see Sarah perform.

Got into a fight with a water snake and a buzzard this week (thankfully, not at the same time), but after relating the barbed wire deal, I'm all burned out on conflict, I may pass them along at a later time, or just include them in my Bill VS. Nature essay. Also saved a calf, I'll pass that along later as well, maybe (I really do live in the fucking sticks).

I've decided to come up with a plan for the rest of my life, sort of a Dumb Ass Manifesto (hence this issue's title), since today's little adventure has convinced me I need some type of direction, but since I haven't actually COME UP with it, I'll have to lay it out for you all at a future date.

Hey, anybody out there who's into comics (this can be any of you, not just the In-Crowd), what's up with Hal Jordan (the first and by far the baddest/coolest Earth 1 Green Lantern)? Last I heard, which has been a while, he was still crazy and a bad guy, but I bought Rachel a Wizard (about comics) magazine yesterday that had something about Hal resurrecting Oliver Queen (once again, the baddest/coolest Earth 1 Green Arrow) after he was killed in a plane crash. Someone help me out here.

Some obituaries to pass along. I imagine everyone has heard about the passing of Dee Dee Ramone. I wasn't terribly surprised, junkies aren't known for their longevity, but it still makes me sad, two of my beloved Ramones gone, my two favorites at that. Also gone is Ratt rhythm guitarist Robbin Crosby, of AIDS, he was in a suck ass 80's hair band that probably only Jason really remembers, surprised more of his ilk haven't bought it from the big A, considering their lifestyle. I saw an interview with him on something, I think it might have been one of the Declines of Western Civilization, where he came across as a total dogshit moron. Not to speak ill of the dead, but it's true.

From the wrestling world, legend Lou Thesz just died recently at the age of something like 112. Lou could flat fucking wrestle you now, had a tremendous amateur background on him as long as- yeah, that- and had quite a wit on him as well. Also gone is Ed "Wahoo" McDaniel, a fucking icon in my eyes, there's not a person in the Mid-Atlantic and southern regions who wouldn't recognize the man, wrestling fan or not. From everything I ever read or heard about him he was a genuine good guy, and a genuine tough guy, he was no goddamn sports entertainer, he was a fucking rassler, and if you tried to get cute with him in the ring, make fun of him or his sport, he'd jack your fucking shit for real (ask Tully Blanchard, who as a young hotshot thought he'd showboat on Wahoo, and who woke up the next morning in the hospital with his jaw wired shut). Wahoo lost both kidneys about 4 years ago, and the dialysis and shit just wore him down, and he died. He was only 63, gone too soon.

Also gone too soon, and this one really breaks my heart, is Hypatia Lee, well known to anyone who attended Doug's bachelor party. She's one of my Top 3 porn stars, ever (I'm going to go ahead and say this, she's the one that always reminded me most of Loretta, in looks and, uhm, technique), she was Irish/Cherokee and I always thought she was gorgeous, beautiful face, that exotic look I've gone on about in the past, fantastic, real body, she didn't look like she just walked out of Jugs R' Us, and she just did it like she meant it, she kissed these guys, and not that fucked up, gape mouth tongue swirly for the camera thing you see in so much porn shit, she laid those lucky bastards with real passion, and if not, she was a hell of an actress. Richard may have gone on and on about Traci Lords (and what the hell ever happened to him? I know you told me, Doug, but I forget, tell me again) but it was Hypatia that sent him scurrying to the fucking bathroom. Apparently she died in 2000, of asthma complications at 36. Hate it.

I'm going to close with a scary story.

I dread the thought of returning to work at the Dunbar office on Monday. No offense to anyone still there, but I fucking loathe that place, I really do. Not the personnel- the place. I'm not going all Jean V. goofball, but that building gives me very bad vibrations, and I'm being totally serious here. I think there's been an inordinately high incident of death and destruction and just plain ill fortune among the people working there, and a lot of others have said the same thing.

I'm going to tell you what happened to me there once. I may have told Jason about it at the time, since he was working there, but I want you to know that everything I'm about to relate is 100% true as I experienced it, and it still gives me the flaming creeps to talk about it.

One night in the summer of '98 Loretta and I had had just a real shit burner of a fight, over truth and fidelity and the lack thereof, and later as I lay in bed beside her, as she lay sleeping peacefully- I always hated how she could just go to sleep after all the shit, while I'd lay there fucking seething, but I guess that was the difference between still giving a damn, and not- I just had to get the hell away.

It was only about midnight, so at first I was heading for a bar, but then I thought, no, that's part of the fucking problem, and I was way behind at work- not an unusual occurrence, I hate documenting, and log notes, like I hate very few things- so I decided instead to go into the office and do some catching up.

We had the whole upper floor at that time, and Jason and I had the big, back office with the window (those were the days). I'd been there for hours, working away and getting quite a bit done, no problems whatsoever, when I suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that something was coming through my office door. I actually looked up, and was surprised not to see anything. I hadn't heard a sound- it was just a feeling, no, it wasn't even a feeling- it was a CERTAINTY, that something- I'm not trying to be overly dramatic here, but I was sure it wasn't a person- was coming in.

As I sit there, waiting, I get the feeling that now it's not coming in, that it's still there, right outside the door- that by looking up, I somehow spoiled it's entrance, and that it was pissed, that it was waiting for me to look away, because somehow it couldn't come in the room as long as I was watching.

Whenever I get scared, my eyes water. I'm not talking, "Look out, Joe, we're going over the falls!" scared, I mean creeped out, spooked scared. Right about this time my eyes are gushing, so I take my glasses off to wipe them, still looking at the door- and I swear, I see what looks like a head pop in, then back out. I'm getting chills as I type this today, and I was chilling then, badly. I jam my glasses back on, and see nothing.

I've got this tremendously strong feeling that I'm in trouble. I haven't actually seen or heard anything, but I feel- I don't know, menaced. Something also seems to be telling me, if you let on, you're done.

So, I get up, balls in my fucking throat, and go to the door. Nothing there. I walk out into the hallway and look down the hall to my right, toward what was then the conference room- and in the conference room I see like this speck of red light. Doesn't sound that scary, but it was scary then- because I couldn't account for it. It was at about waist height, and seemed to be moving around, sometimes going over towards the windows, sometimes coming back toward the door- and me. I moved around a little bit, thinking it was maybe the reflection of car tail lights or something, but I couldn't get that to work, because no matter how I moved, it didn't seem to have any influence on how the light moved.

I started to be a man and walk down to the conference room to see exactly what the hell was causing that weird red light, when that ubiquitous something said "You'd better not. In fact, get the fuck out of here, right now."

So I said, out loud, like I was talking to myself, "Think I'll go to the bathroom, then get back to work" (the men's bathroom was at the bottom of the stairs, right beside the door).

So I turn to go down there, and the instant I turn my back on the conference room, I have this feeling like there's something right at my fucking shoulder. A sickeningly frightening sensation, and just as real as a kick in the crotch. The voice in my head is going "Whatever you do, don't run. And DON'T LOOK BACK."

My nerve held till I hit the bottom of the stairs- then I blasted out of the double doors and into the parking lot, even then afraid to look back, until I got to my car. Looking back then, I saw- nothing. But I still got in my car, shaking like hell, and went home.

Next morning I come in, say something to Diana, who was always first in, it was a point of pitiful pride to her, about leaving the light on in my office last night, thanked her for turning it off when she came in (cos it was off when I came in).

The light wasn't on in your office, she said.

I know this is all subjective, and next to nothing actually happened, but I'm telling you, in this strange and eventful life of mine, I have never felt ANYTHING like the feeling in that building that night, that there was something very real, very dangerous and malicious, out to get me, and that if I fucked up, it would. It was so damn scary because there was no build up, no warning. One minute I'm sitting there, head down, deep in the mundane world of phone monitors, the next . . . hell awaits. I have no explanation, or theories, but it was a genuinely frightening experience. And you haven't caught my ass alone in that building after dark since then, and I promise you, you never will.

You will, however, catch my ass in bed in about 30 seconds, I'm beat (pun not intended).

I only have eyes for you

Bill