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6/15/07 Sometimes A Great Notion: GBHG Issue #200
"To thine own self be true". "Is he crazy, Skipper?" "I'd rather look in the mirror than look at you" Bill Bitner Hey Four score and one thousand, nine hundred and thirteen (that comes to 1,993) days ago, Sarah and Rachel's father brought forth on this continent a great news letter, conceived in drunkeness, and dedicated to the proposition that no man is created equal to Bill Bitner. Jesus, and it seems like only yesterday . . . For you statistics fans, it took me only 874 days to crank out the first 100 issues (no, I didn't know it off the top of my head, I went back and checked), 1119 the second 100. What does it all mean? Beats the corn loaf outta me, punkin. Since this is an anniversary issue- seriously, almost 2000 days ain't no joke, neither is 200 issues of this spew, I bet it comes to a million words total easy- 765 words if you take out all the "fucks" and "fucking" and "motherfuckers". A million words may be an afternoon's work if your last name is King or Koontz, but it's a hell of lot of writing if you're not a fucking HACK. To pick up my original thought, since this is an anniversay issue, I'm going to try and hit all the various columns we've had through the years- I'll bitch about my insomnia and aching joints, talk bad- maybe- about Loretta, we'll hit the mail bag, recipes, jokes, (sadly) obits, comics corner, a new summertime poll (I'm gonna raise a fuss, I'm gonna raise a holler), DFZ news, a Bill's Dad story, something about Al, a sex story (have to be an old one), tough guy corner, and Bill's crazy ass dreams. That's the goal, anyway, but I got a bitch of a hangover, so we'll see. So- my insomnia's not that bad right now, certainly not like it has been at times over the past 1.993 days. I still have the occasional night where I can't sleep, but it's nothing like the weeks long, Jesus, why can't I just drop dead, bouts you've all suffered through with me in past. I'm almost afraid to say it, cos the surest way to scew anything up is by talking about it, but, mentally, I feel pretty good right now. Scary, I know. "And he'd been acting so normal, officer . . . " As for my aching joints, my knees are still a constant pain, but it's pretty low level. Them I know how to protect- no running (which I still miss terribly every summer, last time I ran regularly was summer 2002), no doing squats with heavy weights, if I avoid those two things and rememeber to ice them after I work out, they don't flare up, and the pain is certainly managable. My shoulder is another story, since I can't seem to find a cause and effect as to what hurts it and what doesn't. Sometimes I work out hard and wrestle a lot and it feels fine- and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes I rest it and it hurts like fuck- and sometimes it doesn't. It's also more extreme than my knees- sometimes, for days at a time it won't hurt at all, while my knees are doing their constant throbbing (I got something else throbs all the time, but it doesn't hurt- me, anyway) but then when my shoulder pain does kick in- Jesus Christ, it fucking HURTS. For something new this issue, I hyperextended my right elbow the other day lifting and it's killing me. Hopefully this elbow pain is just short term. As for the mail bag, got a lot of commentary on last issue, you guys seem to like the essays about my youth, a representitive comment being Jean's, "Yep. I can see it like I was there,". Also got a letter a while back (been a month since a regular one of these) from yet ANOTHER amateur analyst, this guy calling our Bill a "dashing man-boy, overpassionate, cynical, often mocking" well, I like the dashing part, Errol Flynn was dashing, and concludes with saying I'm "more suited for cathartic artistry than the chaos of reality." Okay, that's cool . . . uhm, what the fuck does it MEAN? And while I'm thinking about it, nobody called me on it, but I mispelled "hemorrhage" issue before last, it's one "m" and two "r's" and I know that but I was drunk and it got by me. Sorry. Moving on . . . something bad about Loretta? Don't really have anything bad to say about her . . . and yes it is too me, writing this. Fuck. See? Part of it is just that I'm worn out on that hating Loretta shit, at this point, what's the point, it's not going to change a damn thing and it just wears me out, and part of it is that our last few conversations have been more than civil from her end, I think she may be worn out on the hating Bill thng as well, and may actually be sincerely trying to get along. We may be at one another's throats again by next newsletter, but if so, it won't be cos I started it. Or want it. How about a recipe for peach crumble. You know how to make a peach crumble? Kick it in the groin. Ha. How about some drink recipes, here's how you make a King Kong cocktail, courtesy of Jim Beam, and circa '76 when Giada's Grandad's abomination of a Kong film came out- pour 1.5 ounces Jim Beam amd 4 ounces orange juice over ice, add a dash of grenadine, and a slice of lime. Yuck. Hey, I never said it was a good recipe, and a tequila sunrise with JB instead of tequila doesn't sound too good to me. I took Al to the VFW the other night, he drank Coke, I had ginger ale, we don't go for the buzz, obviously, no more drinking for Bill while on duty, and beer loosens Al's bowels, and they're already too damn loose to begin with, but it gets him out of the house and he enjoys it, and it's beats sitting in that house in front of the TV. Anyway, they got a new kid (age 22) bartender, Tony, while Sarge is at Myrtle Beach for two weeks, he and I were talking, he gave me another drink recipe, called a Four Horseman. It's, in this order, a shot of Jaegermeister, a shot of Johnny Walker, a shot of Jim Beam, and a shot of Jack Daniels in a glass, then you drink that mess in one gulp. Tony said he's only made a couple of them, no one's kept one down yet. Go figure. (SOUNDS LIKE A CHALLENGE TO ME). Unfortunately, it does. I can hear it now, "Who's the baddest motherfucker in this VFW?!" as blue haired grandmas- quite a few of them hang at the VFW- duck for cover. Although where I'm going to find some Royal Marines to grind lemon wedges into my eyes afterward is anyone's guess. Not much funny going on with Al lately as he continues his pitiful descent into brain deadery. He ran off yet another weekend worker with one of his painting the walls with his own shit fests, he's starting to do that being pissy in public thing again, Robby said he got them thrown out of Granny K's last Sunday when he went off on the waitress and wouldn't settle down, he hasn't been too bad with me yet, worst he's done is, we were in Bob Evans the other morning and I hear him go, "Just cos you're a queer doesn't mean I am," I thought he was talking to me (Robby, thankfully, wasn't with us) but I look up from my spongy and overcooked omelet- I like me eggs like I do my women- (TIGHT?) - no, loose, they're all tight if you do it right. And I do it right. Anyway, Al's glaring at some guy sitting across the way from us, I don't know if he looked at Al wrong or Al went off spontaneously, the guy looks at me and goes "What'd he say?" so I told him, "He said, just cos you're a queer doesn't mean that he is." Guy just goes, "Oh," and went back to his meal, and thankfully, so did Al. Robby's gotten his ass into some legal trouble, imagine that, he asked me to go to court with him about a month ago, as a character witness, I told his lawyer, who I know from when I was with Abraxas and he was a Prosecuting Attorney for Cabell County, "Charlie, the best thing I can say about your client is that he's a fucking retard", Charlie goes, "Yeah, me too", but I went down anyway, mother FUCK do I hate the "legal system", every time I go to court I just want to fucking kill, Robby got continued but while we were waiting this guy comes in front of the magistrate for indecent exposure, and it goes something like this- Pervert: Well, Judge, I was just minding my own busniess, you know,
jerkalatin', and they come around and arrested me. Amazingly, he was found guilty, and fined a hundred bucks. (THAT'S SOME EXPENSIVE JERKALATIN'). Indeed it is. My Mom's back from the South Carolina. I don't want to talk about it. And, The Internet Killed The Outlet Mall. Or something did, anyway, I've mentioned before that outlet mall just past Wytheville where I sometimes meet the Bell's to trade off one or the other of our Mom's, structurally, its a nice, nice place, has room for maybe 70-80 stores, twenty years ago it was full, had a couple good places to eat, a couple nice bars, and a really good book store. Now, it's got five stores in it, total. Sad. Sarah's in for the summer, makes my fucking day you better believe it, she did great again last semester, got two computer jobs for the summer (one translating some government documents into Spanish for Paul, and one doing I'm not sure what for FDU) so she doesn't have to push fast food here in Cross Lanes, she's also Miss Social Butterfly, more power to her, beats sitting on her ass all summer in Baltimore. As for my younger dauighter, she's drifted away again on that Rachel cloud, haven't heard from her in a while. She was supposed to send me some prom photos way back, but I still haven't gotten them. Masters of the English language, Part One. The other day Lou Piniella (Cub's manager) used "Scotland Yard" as a verb. Dear Lord. I've always liked Lou, though, even when he was playing or managing for teams that I hated (like the Yankees- Chris and I talked about this last MC, when we were kids we all loved the Yankees, now I wouldn't piss on 'em- thanks for nothing Mr. S, you fucking shit) and the Reds (sorry all you locals, can't stand them either, it's that Bill oppositional thing, when I moved here I hated pretty much everyone I met, child and adult, any thing they were for, I was against, and since they were all Reds fans . . .) mostly cos he's (we're talking about Lou again) got the temper from hell, very entertaining, but also cos he flat fucking hates to lose, and I can appreciate that, if you're okay with losing you can stay the fuck off Lou's team, brother, and you can stay the fuck off of mine as well. That "oh, we'll get 'em next time" attituide makes me want to puke, dammit, get 'em THIS TiME. Or get mad and kick dirt and throw things.
Speaking of giant breasted, even though she's quite the jugged up young thing, and cute as a bug to boot, I have to say I've gone sour on my girl Tiffany Lakosky. I figure I've watched every episode over the past couple months, and there's only the one bikini show, the rest of them she's all bundled up in these camo jumpsuits and shit (yawn). And while bow hunting is not at all my thing, I don't care if you do it as long as you're not a asshole about it. Case in point . . . There was this show they filmed somewhere up in Canada where the guys who run the hunting camp bait the bears, they set out a big metal drum full of bear bait (not sure what's in it, wasn't paying that close attention at that point), the "hunters" sit in a tree blind right above the bait and when a bear shows up they plug him with an arrow. Big deal. Doesn't seem very sporting to me, in fact, it doesn't even seem legal. So, this hick (and I mean that wholly as an insult) she's married to shoots a bear, wow, great white hunter, then while they're still in the tree this wolf comes up to the bait, he was just a beautiful fucking animal, truly, so what does fucking hillbilly nimrod do? Exactly, sticks an arrow in it. Why? Just to kill its ass as far as I can tell, cos they sure as fuck couldn't eat it, and the way they talked they weren't going to skin or mount it either. And then Tiffany goes all crotch wet and squealy telling dickhead what a stud he is. It is to fuckng cry over, on many levels.
(YEAH, HOW'D SHE LIKE IT IF I CAME ALONG AND IMPALED HER ON SOMETHING BIG AND SHARP JUST FOR THE DAMN HELL OF IT?). It's sharp? (WELL, NO. BUT IT MAKES UP FOR IT BY BENG BIG). So I've heard. So, while I'd still be happy to screw our misguided girl Tiff uintil her big brown eyes rolled back up in her head, I'm not in love with her anymore. (WHO ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH?) Strictly me, myself and I. And you, of course. (DAMN FAIRY). Seriously, I've come to the enlightening and very liberating conclusion that any woman smart enough to interest me in pursung a serious relationshsip with her, is going to be too damn smart to want one with me, be too smart to see me as anything other than a fling, a dalliance, if you will. So if it ain't gonna happen, ever, no need to sweat it. Takes a lot of pressure off these shoulders, believe it. Talking about Tiff reminds me, I got a letter quite a while back from someone saying a friend of his met Sandra Lee at a book signing, and Sandra was a stone bitch. I don't doubt that for a minute. But, did you ever think, Sandra probably, nay, almost certainly, had a ripping headache, and probably a queasy stomach as well, being hiungover from all the cocktails she'd consumed at cocktail time the day before? Did your friend offer to help, by bringing her nice huge flask of vodka and pretty much anything? No? Then don't be cracking on my Sandra, okay? I got your back, baby (like to have your backside, damn).
Damn. That's got me depressed. How about a funny story about Bill's Dad to cheer us up? Had a guy complaining a while back, how come you don't write about your conversations with your Dad anymore, uhm, let's see, cos HE'S DEAD? Our conversations are sort of one sided these days. Still, let's go back, way back, for a little tale I like to call- SNEAKY Anyone who's read the newsletter for any length of time should be familiar with my paternal grandfather, my namesake, Raleigh William Bitner, Senior. Check out "They're All Dutch To Me" for backgroud info, I'm jumping into this one right now.
My Grandad decided to accompany us. He didn't give one half of a flying fuck about fishng, but it got him out of the house so he could smoke and drink in the great outdoors instead of down in the basement. On the way to the old fishin' hole, Grandad fires up a cigar. Then he hauls a bottle of Old Grandad (what he drank, seriously, how funny) out of his pocket and takes a big pull. Billy: What is that? Hearing this talk about Indians made me decide to talk like one. Why? Cos I was one weird ass little kid, that's why. B: Ugh. Tonto (only Indian name I could think of) want try firewater. So before rmy Dad could stop him, my Granddad laughingly hands me his bottle of Sneaky. It looked like tea, hell, I liiked tea, so I took a big swallow . . . My Dad had to pull the car off the road and haul me out of the back seat where I was flopping around like the fish we weren't destined to catch that day, and coughing and wheezing and trying to catch my breath. Didn't spill a drop of Sneaky, though. We get back on the road, my Dad and Grandad yell at one another for a while (it's in the fucking blood) while I sit in the back seat woozy as fuck, stomach on fire, eyes watering, and my head all foggy- I loved it. Tonto: Ugh. Give Tonto more firewater, paleface. We get to the Opequon River, I guess not at the spot where my Grandad drowned that fucker cos no ghost showed up to fuck with us, Tonto still slurrily demanding more firewater- Dad: No, God dammit! I thought you wanted to fish? We sit on the river bank for a while, I got a rod in my hands but I can't honestly tell you if my line was in the water or not. Then my Dad goes off to take a piss. My Grandad hands me a stogie, and his lighter. Grandad: Don't set yourself on fire, kid. Then he goes off to distract my Dad so Tonto can enjoy a smokeum. It may have been a good cigar, though knowing my Grandad I suspect it was more like rope. I've puffed it about halfway down and am absolutely cross eyed- somewhere along the way I droppped my rod in the river- when my Dad returns- Dad: Oh, for FUCK'S SAKE! DAD! I don't remember much after that, I know my Mom got all pissed at my Dad when we got home, while my Grandad went down to the basement to enjoy his Sneaky and cigars in peace, which was totally unfair, I didn't help things by threatening to "scalp 'em" my Mom, who I renamed Big Mouth Woman "Go do chore woman, and stop bother Tonto", still, as far as I'm concerned it was a good day. No. A great day.
I can see why you think you belonged to me What's Bill listening to? A SSSLB CD I'm a bit embarrassed to admit to, a 99 center of the Best Of The Pure Prarie League, don't know if it's any good or not cos I only listen to the first song, "Amie", then take it off, it has this cornpone pickin' and grinnin' intro I don't particularly care for, but then after that it's a pretty good song, about a guy who's realizing too late he's fucked things up with his (former) girl Amie, mostly I like the song cos it's really reminds me of the Sunday nights- Sundays have always been sad nights for Bill as long as I can remember, I have no idea why- at Marshall when I'd go to JJ's Sub Shop there on 16th Street, JJ's was not at all a college hangout, which is why I went there on Sad Sundays, just a quiet place where I could be alone and drink $1.75 pitchers, and dump the resulting quarters in the jukebox, and "Amie" was one of the songs I used to play a lot. Always liked the plaintive sound in the guy's voice- he's sorry, but he, and we, also know it's too damn late, Amie's history. I hear ya, brother. Sometimes, better never than late. Also listening to Cycledelic Sounds by Davie Allen and the Arrows, we all know Bill's a fan of the fuzz guitar instrumental and this is prime stuff, in one song they wanted a sax solo but none of them knew how to play the saxophone so one of them just blows a solo on a sax mouth piece, like on a kazoo, I LOVE shit like that. Also Preflyte by the Byrds, we also all know what a sucker Bill is for that chimey 12 string, close harmony sound these boys do so well, Gene Clark's great songs of love (mostly) lost, this CD doesn't have the incredible Barry Smith drawn cover the reissue I bought on vinyl in '74 had, but the music is still fantastic. This is so deja vu I can hardly stand it. I woud swear I've already writen these three reviews in a previous newsletter. If so, forgive me, I'm fucked up. Also fickedup, as I first typed. Listening to other stuff as well- been at this issue a while- but time to move on, I'm flagging- hell, I'm fickedup- I can see now we're not going to get to every column promsied at the beginning, but what the fuck, how you like the price? What's Bill been reading? Lots of stuff, as always, too tired to go into it in depth right now, went to Empire Books the other day in Huntington and these are the magazines I bought- Asian Cult Cinema, The Big Takeover, Carbon 14 (Art, Film, Music, Smut, Wrestling, that covers about 90% of my interests) Drop Dead Magazine, Filmfax, Screem, and Shock Cinema. Whoa. I'm pretty buzzed, this is the first time I've gotten drunk two nights in a row in fucking AGES, it's been months, easily- what's Bill drinkng, Rolling Rock, still haven't switched, though I'm still looking to. Lady in crowd: Get off of him! You goddamn son of a bitch!
Masters of the English Language Part Two. Extreme Wrestling Entertainment may well be going belly up, as I predicted issue before last, and it's all down to the stupid, STUPID promoters. How stupid? They sent out a bulk e-mail a few weeks ago detailng their problems- mostly just a bunch of paranoid crybaby blues- finally concluding that the main problem with their Fed was- brace yourselves now- "We have a trader in are mist." Jesus H. Christ. No, your problem is that your Fed is being run by somene who could actually say, "We have a trader in are mist." Be a shame if they do shut down though, me and Mark S., as tag champs (we won them last month in that Three Stage Of Hell Match, yee haw) are scheduled to defend our, excuse me, are belts next month in a Latter Match. Yeah . . . a latter match. AAAARGH. DFZ's been working his ass off lately (eight matches so far this month, six more scheduled, and he's working on top, haven't been under main event, anywhere, since April), got three belts (beside the EWE Hardcore and Tag belts, he choked out Gorgeous J. C. with the Oxygen Destroyer to win the XMCW Heavyweight title last weekend in Rand, mucho thanks to those of you who came out to support the cheating bastard), he's defending the XMCW belt next weekend in Rand, also June 29 and 30 at Riverfest in St. Albans, 4 pm bell time each day, it's free, if you're in the area- and you know what? Be in the area- come out and see him fuck some loser up. Got another one of those damnable staple gun matches this coming Friday in Ohio (and another one next month at some big July 4th show- hey, it only stings for a little while), DFZ's also back working for Eagles Club Mike, he's got that going again, and an AWA affiliation as well (la plus ca change . . . ), went up for his show last weekend (looked for Traci, she wasn't there, c'est la vie), ended up working three times (but got paid VERY well, my second best payday ever), did a battle royal (hate 'em) then a six man tag against Mike and his two co-promotor/marks/wannabe wrestlers, about two minutes in I told my tag partner not in the ring, Jerry Bsihop, half of ROT (Random Ohio Talent, I love that name) a good kid and a decent worker, "If I stay out here I'm gonna end up hurting someone", he goes "Ditto", so we just hopped down off the apron and went to the back. I figured Mike and his buddies were gonna come back in PISSED, go figure, they were happy as clams we bailed out- they thought it was a work, no, dudes, that was real disgust you were seeing- they all got to beat up on this wank no better than they were, which I assume they thnk made them look tough. I barely stayed for my last match, but damn, am I glad I did. It was main event- (WHAT ELSE?) -against Johnny Lightning, for the NBW Heavyweight title. Johnny's a nice kid, I'd already taken a shine to him while working some EWE shows with him, he reminds me of Kris King, in attitude and ability, and I couldn't praise him higher, cos I think the world of Kris King. First thng he does is ask me to call the match- both smart and respectful of him, cos as heel I should call, but some of these asshole ego'ed up kids are neither smart or respectful. I know he can go cos I've watched him work, we're supposed to go fifteen so I tell him, for the first ten we're gonna do nothing but fucking WRESTLE, no P & K, no high spots or chair shots, we're gonna fucking work, everthing I do you counter, then I'll do somethng else, and so on. Man, it was so SWEET. I like hitting people in the head with a folding
metal chair as much as the next guy- (IF NOT MORE) -but it was so damn fun to get out there and WORK. It was easily one of the best matches I've ever had, eveything I called, that kid was RIGHT THERE, the crowd was eating it up, after all the goofy flying around shit they sat on their hands for all evening, they really got into this match cos we told a story and made them believe it, it got to the point where the boys watching on the monitor in the back came out front to watch, afterward Jerry was like "that was AWESOME", Billy the Kid, who I had a little trouble with last show, also was very complimentary, said, "Boy, I wish our match could have been like that", instead of telling him "You can't work like that" I was gracious and said, "Maybe next time." I think my favorite comment came from Cole Cash, who wasn't booked and was sitting drunk in the front row, who hollered out, "Holy shit, who's that wrestler in the DFZ mask?!" Funny. Way too soon the ref is telling us to take it home- that's the difference between a good match and a shitty one, I've been two minutes into a piss poor match and going "Will this never end?", and blown up to boot, fifteen minutes into this fast paced match and I'm fresh as a fucking daisy, and thinking "fuck, we're just getting started". Johnny goes for a head butt off the top rope, DFZ moves, starts to roll JL up for the win-nah,that's no good, first let's take him over and let Prof pop him with Chris's kendo stick, it's still doing yeoman duty, of course dear Johnny ducks and Prof clocks DFZ (hard, but I told him to swng hard) with the kendo, DFZ drops like a groin kicked peach and Johnny gets the quick pin, the crowd loves it, far and away the biggest pop of the night. We're gonna work a couple more times before DFZ takes the belt, I am really looking forward to it (beats the FUCK out of getting staples driven into your crotch and the nape of your neck), matches like this are why I wrestle. That, and the free beer and pussy. So, that's it for GBHG issue #200. I'll hit the things I missed this time, next time. The record shows, I took the blows And did it my way. (IF ONLY YOUR WAY WASN'T SO DAMNED FUCKED UP). If only. Later Bill
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Yes, I did all that, and may I say 
Doug, Alex, Chris and Mark are all now certified scuba divers, so if
you've lost something on the bottom of the ocean, call them. I saw some
photos of their certification dive, guys, where were the giant three
headed fire breathing sea horses, and giant breasted topless mermaids?
Okay, if you shoot something that needs to be shot, like a crocodile,
or a man eating tiger, or a Frenchman, I'll be the first one to shake your
damn hand, but to shoot something just for the sake of shooting it, I
don't know, call me soft, but I'm not good with that. Another show, out on
the prarie after antelope, Mister Big Shot- I REALLY cannot stand this
guy, he's everything I hate in a redneck, if we ever meet he's going to
have a very bad day, and no, I'm not just jealous cos he's got a hot big
titted wife, hot big titted wives are a dime a damn dozen, and I should
fucking know- shoots this prarie dog, that was just minding his own
business- couldn't tell if he was jerkalatin' or not- just to see if he
could hit it with a arrow, runs an arrow right through the poor little son
of a bitch, and again, Tiff just goes off on how cool he is, dammit girl-
It's now obit time, and it's my extremely sad duty to inform you that
yet another of the Class of '74 has left us, this time none other than
Torch, Randy Spencer, who's been mentioned in here dozens of times, and
who died suddenly at home, to quote what the paper said, Sunday before
last. Don't know what happened. I hate that cliche talk of saying someone
"has demons" (especially since I've heard it so often said about
me, I've got your demons right fucking HERE) but if anyone had them, Torch
did, along with a serious drink and drug problem for many years, and
unfortunately he wasn't an indestuctable freak of fuckng nature like some
guy we know. Last time I'd seen him- started to say a couple years ago, it
was longer than that cos I was still married, more like eight or nine-
he'd put that shit behind him and was clean and happy. I saw Bob
Massengill yesterday, he told me he heard up at Bobby's that Torch had
indeed gotten back into "that shit", and died of a drug
overdose. I hope that's just bar talk, and not true. Either way, resit in
peace, Torch, my friend. Rest in peace.
Around the age of six I got the fishing bug. I was going to say I'm not
sure where, but actually I am, from all the outdoor magazines in the
barber shop (I used to love going to the barber shop Saturday mornings
with my Dad when I was young), which made fishing, to me at least, look
like a damn fine way to spend a day, so I talked my Dad into taking me for
the first time one summer day when we were spending the week at my
grandparents (they had all kinds of fishing gear in the attic, no idea
whose it was).
Gonna hit DFZ news and out, I'll get to all the things I missed- comics
corner, tough guy corner, whatever else, I don't know, next time.
