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5/16/10 Maybe By Summer
Hey Don't fret, boys and girls, we haven't give up on The Scourge Of Mexico- though once more I make no promises for its inclusion in this issue as yet again Bill's feeling pretty crapalicious- but if I keep naming all the issues TSOM till I finish that particular odyssey we'll be up to like TSOM Infinity. And that would get boring. Kicked that respiritory shit that was plaguing me last issue a few days after it came on- I appreciate the concern of those of you who wrote in but trust me, something's going to kill me one day but it sure as fuck isn't going to be any goddamn germ. They have not invented the germ that can take my ass. (AND THEY NEVER WILL) They never will. I am however cross eyed, brain damaged hungover right now and there's only so much a fresh infusion of life giving alcohol can accomplish, though I'm giving it my best. STATS tells me May 2010 was the wettest month since we resumed STATS four years ago. Why? Beats the corn loaf outta me, punkin. But it does explain why Bill's been somewhat run down of late, same old too much drink, not enough sleep/solid food we normally run taken a bit farther than normal. Sorry for the rampant negativity of last issue. Even though some of you still found it amusing, the general consensus was that it contained "all of the hate with none of the laughs" to quote- someone. Try to do better this time. Or not. Oh yeah, someone did refer in their letter to the obvious "scorn" I had for Bob, great word, scorn. And wholly appropriate. Also got a surprising number of requests for me to run a photo of the scar on my ass. You nasty, nasty people. Okay. But if you go back and look at the color corrected shot of DFZ after last 4th of July's cage match, it looks a lot like that- except my butt doesn't have eyes. In this dimension, anyway. Day after last issue would have been my 31st wedding anniversary. I thought about commemorating the day by watching some vintage tapes of me and the ex but decided not to. Every time I watch those old sex tapes I feel like a jerk. Sad but true. Forgot to mention this last issue, you probably know by now but I was quite sad to hear of the passing of Frank Frazetta, simply the greatest artist who ever lived. Beside being the GAWEL Frank was by all accounts a very cool guy, would have enjoyed hanging with him and sinking a few before he lost his health. And I would have loved to have seen him draw the Death Falcon. Sarah saw Roky Erikson again last week which makes me jealous as hell. No wonder we can't get her back to WV. As for Rachel, still no word. What's Bill been doing? Took my Mom to Ohio Saturday before last, was going to stay over at Lori's- I know, what the fuck could I have been thinking- cos I was going to work another barbed wire match, this one actually for Viper the next afternoon just up the road in Rutland- and again, what the fuck could I have been thinking. But you do what you do for a living I do what I do which reminds me I got a couple letters in the latest mail bag busting on me for the barbed wire shit (you'd think by now- seriously, how long you fuckers been reading this thing?) one calling me crazy and one masochistic, well maybe YOU'RE crazy and YOU'RE masochistic, do you two not understand I CAN'T WORK A REAL JOB. I hate getting up before noon (mostly cos I normally can't get to sleep before daylight), I hate going to the same place every day, I hate being told what to do, I hate sitting at a desk, I hate "paperwork", I hate computers, I hate talking on the phone, I HATE PEOPLE, I'd rather roll around in razor wire with all 350 no-bathing no-selling pounds of Hojo the legit crazy fat ass fucking Hillbilly than have a fucking real job. So. And that being said, pain hurts, missy. I do not court it. We weren't at Lori's twenty minutes- and it was still just my Mom and I there at that point- when I realized I had to get the fuck outta there. Got the typical "I don't know why you're so antisocial" whine, "Cos I can't stand the motherfucking sight of you for one more second" was my response but I waited till I was back in the car to give it. Yes, I know how that sounds. I don't care. You live with her. I pretty much talked myself out of working the next day on the ride back to Cross Lanes- don't feel like driving all the way right back to where I just was, not real thrilled about getting back in the wire, and mostly I could see a shitload of beer in my immediate future and I DO NOT like wrestling hungover. Get back to CL and spend the afternoon and evening pounding beers and reading some graphic novels including a couple really good ones, Ultimate Power cos it has two of my favorite Marvel superteams, The Ultimates and The Squadron Supreme busting one another's heads, and The Rise and Fall Of The Shi'ar Empire, best X-Men shit I've read in AGES, it was like old school-79-80 X-Men with ANOTHER of my favorite Marvel superteams, The Imperial Guard. Good stuff. And if you don't have a favorite superteam you're the nerd, not me. Really good solitary time, drink to excess, never do call Viper to cancel cos I can't come up with a lie that doesn't stick in my throat. Wake up next morning feeling rough and dry- (A LOT LIKE-) - no you don't, still not too late to call off but again I can't come up with a lie I can live with and the truth- "I'm too hungover"- nah, the mighty Death Falcon doesn't call off cos of a little drink-or a lot of drink for that matter. So I get in the car and drive to Rutland. Hotter than FUCK. No AC in the Community Center, place is PACKED, he drew over 300 on a Sunday afternoon, it's ninety damn degrees in the shade, there's barbed wire waiting with my name on it- I've walked into hell. Two steps inside the door and I bust out into both hot and cold sweats and my empty but still alcohol ravaged gut rolls over twice. Dear God. No one's seen me yet, maybe I can sneak back out- "DFZ! MY BROTHER!!" Ah fuck. Good to see you too, Jock. Actually it was, we worked out that little bit of heat between us, Jock really is my bud, lot of guys in the locker room I hadn't seen for a while, Cole Cash and Ricky Lee Stonerock both of whom I like tons, also TJ who's now running Clarksburg and is going to start booking Gay Death at prime- PRIME- rates, that was all nice, then Viper comes up and asks do I mind if he puts another kid in the barbed wire match. I've already seen there are only two barbed wire boards, it didn't take long for that light bulb to go off over Bill's head. "No problem," I say. So I collect my match mates, Terry Ring and Tiny Tim Patteson The Rockstar Underdog- no I'm not making that up and yes I did give him a good shot in the ring for that stupid, stupid name- DFZ: Terry Ring, you see that board there? Which left exactly- you got it- NO barbed wire boards for DFZ to go through. I got in the barbed wire exactly NONE, didn't get a scratch, didn't even leave my fucking feet till the end of the match when I pinned poor barbed wired to pieces Tiny Tim who needs a few lessons in barbed wire-ery. When I shot him to the board the first time he took it standing straight up. Bad form, and also ouch. So I pulled him out, told him "take it horizontally" and shot him in again. Apparently horizontal is not in the Rockstar Underdog's vocabulary cos he took it exactly the same way. Ouch again plus I'm starting to lose my well known patience. Once again I pry him loose- he's starting to look a little the worse for wear- and tell him "take it sideways" and this time he does and breaks the board. I now have him and Terry Ring trapped between the broken boards sort of like hot dogs in barbed wire buns- so I pull them into the middle of the ring and start stomping on the buns- I mean boards. TT apparently thinks I'm pissed- I'm not in the very slightest, in fact I'm having just the most unexpectedly wonderful time- he starts squeaking "What did I do? What did I do?", before I could answer him TR who was facing him from just a few feet away says "He's just like this". I could hardly stomp them boys I was laughing so hard. Icing on the cake, after the show I'm getting ready to leave, Viper walks up to me with a wad of cash in his hand. "You already paid me" I told him. Viper always pays you when you walk in the door, total class. "I know," he says, "but I did so well at the door" and he pays me AGAIN. Did I say something about class? Any other promotor I've ever worked for, even nice guys like Allen, would have stuck that extra gate money in their pocket in a heartbeat. So it ends up an EASY fucking match at double pay, I get to hang with some old buds I haven't seen for a while, pick up a new high paying booking in a town I've never worked . . . sometimes doing the right thing and being a man of your word pays off. (DON'T GET FUCKING USED TO IT) I won't. What else has Bill been doing? Had a couple-three beers and a cigar at Chris's last week for Ron's birthday- little Ronnie G is now double nickels on the dime whatever the fuck that means- then met Danny for a good news/bad news kind of deal, good news is he's gotten us- translation, me- a comic writing gig. Troma or some branch of them, is going to put out a Chillers comic, I got a commision to adapt "The Hunters" from Monster plus they want one original for the first issue which is very cool news indeed. Bad news is they want this shit by day afer tomorrow (which is why I had to bow out of fishing Sunday). No sweat, it's all done, plus they agreed to look at a DFZ comic- how incredibly sweet would THAT be. They were just wanting a sample issue but in a (sorry kids) speed and alcohol fueled 26 hour straight spurt after I finished the Chillers stuff I wrote five- hell, a 22 page comic only runs around 3500 words and I can write DFZ comics in my fucking sleep- DFZ Vs. King Dinosaur (DFZ in Jurassic Park), DFZ Vs. Spikus Demonicus (DFZ in Japan) DFZ Vs. Ariel Formaldehyde (a Bowie-esque vampire rock star), DFZ Vs. The Humboldt Giants (a couple were-whales- I never heard of were-whales before but what the hell) and DFZ Vs. Traci Lords (self explanatory). Also wrote a bunch of fake ads, mostly of DFZ shilling for stuff like Old Hood bourbon- "Remember kids, if you want to grow up to be big and strong like the Death Falcon, drink Old Hood bourbon!" and DFZ condoms- "No room to spare? You need to FALCON SIZE IT" and various "Win a date with the Death Falcon" contests. This stuff was funny as shit when I was buzzed out of my mind. Going to meet with the art guys in Ohio Thursday, we'll see what they think. "Never have I been paid so little to do nothing." Phil's take on working the yard and I could not have put it better myself. Danny stopped by last week, took a couple photos that you should be able to see once this hits the site, he was suitably unimpressed with Ronny who came in to the office while Danny was there, sweating profusely and moaning, "I'm sweating like a coon on election day" which is both racist and makes no fucking sense. Went down to Al's last Sunday with Kat and her friend Steph- nice girl, very bright, very personable, used to live in Austin (TX) back in the day, and then again recently, says Austin's been ruined, it's a mere shadow of what it used to be when it was a vey cool place to live. Hate to hear that but it doesn't surprise me. It's the way this whole fucking world is going. We went down to try and clean up some of the horrible mess Tommy left behind- again, I was on record two years ago (hard to believe its been two fucking years since I quit taking care of Al, who is STILL alive, don't ask me how, fucking voodoo is all I can figure) as being against him staying there cos I KNOW his sorry ass, I've had to clean up behind it here- but we got the place presentable at least. Gonna skip over the what's Bill been reading/watching/drinking etc cos I'm feeling much better than I expected to be at this point- don't ever let anyone discourage you from mainlining WT White Label boys and girls and fuck that clean needle shit. So- The Scourge of Mexico, Chapter Quatro. It is now Sunday morning. Once more I wake up feeling pretty damn good considering the excess I've put myself through the night (and day) before. At the same time realize this is all relative- you may well think you were on your death bed if you felt the same way. You also may have felt a little funny with your first waking memory being French kissing your bud's Mom the night before with a slurry of Modello, Jack Daniels and half digested fish taco in your mouth. Me? Not so much. I've felt MUCH funnier. Since I sincerely want to look good for my Mexican wrestling debut I again try to get a little work in before another who knows what the fuck may happen day begins in San Carlos. Don't think my head could take any squats or- dear God- jumps- so I start with some push ups. I hit #36 and am sweating torrents of pure alcohol and my heart is pounding so hard it's throwing me sideways. Fuck this shit. Get a quick shower and then over to OXXO. Yesterday's breakfast of a large black coffee, two bananas and a chocolate/chocolate chip muffin thing set well so I get the same again. Danny is again sitting on the porch smoking when I get back from OXXO. He's all worked up about the WVU game today. What-fucking-ever, princess. I go down to the beach to sun and swim for a while, while Danny does whatever, we're to meet back at the room at 12:45 local time to walk over to Spacey's bar to watch the WVU game at 1 pm. I care not but somehow wind up back at the room right on time. If it had been something I'd given a shit about I'd have been late as hell. A quick jump in the shower for Bill and we walk over to Spacey's bar. Which is closed. Somehow this is my fault. Danny: She told us we could watch the game here! Danny reins himself in- good thing, too- and we walk down the steet to Bananas which is the only other bar around with big screen US broadcast TV's. On the way, coming toward us down the median are these two crazy ass Indians in these big furry hat/helmet things, we'd seen some earlier with Cesar and he told us they're some kind of bizarro cult where they have to wear these helmet things constantly for four months out of the year and- something, if the helmet comes off they go to crazy ass Mexican Indian hell or some such. Danny sees me going for them and he's like "No, NO, LEAVE THEM ALONE", Mister Protector of the Indigenes, jeez, like I'd fuck with crazy ass Mexican Indians, we're practically soul brothers. In fact when we meet in the median I go into the Death Falcon bob and weave and they pick it right up, good times, but I figure between us we're about to make it start raining two headed horned toads or resurrect a bunch of Aztec mummies or something so I quit. Got a photo with them which I'll have Joe put with this issue- yes, I know Joe's woefully behind getting things up on the site, he's been busy- then have Danny give them some money- D: Why don't you give them some money? On we go to Banana's. No customers, just two cute Mexican bar maids behind the bar. Can't get the WVU game here. Quelle domage. I order a double shot of tequila. Danny orders a big margarita and menus for both of us (you know he's hurting when he'll take a drink while the sun's up). Somehow the bar maids get this order confused and I get TWO double shots of tequila and a big margarita (on Danny), strong and limey, and he gets a big margarita and two menus. I can see the kitchen in this place, it looks and smells wonderful so I actually order some food, a ham, chicken and cheese quesadilla, it was FANTASTIC, ham that tasted like meat not salt, chicken that tasted like chicken, not nothing, that wondrful queso fresco cheese, covered with this delicious red sauce, fresh guacomole- I watched the guy make it- and sour cream. I was going to go on a tirade here but I won't. Yes I will. A small one. The food I ate in Mexico was uniformly delicious. Is it because their food is intrinsically better that ours? I doubt it. I'm sure American farms produce some of the best food in the fucking world. Then we process the shit out of it until it's not even food anymore. Hate it. We should be eating every day like I ate in Mexico. (DRUNK?) That too. We hang in Bananas for a while, I get another double shot, it was some local brand, smooth and strong both, an excellent combination- (THAT'S WHAT THEY TELL ME) -then its back to the room to again wait for Cesar to call/come by. It's only like three in the afternoon and we have TONS more adventures awaiting us this very day. Which we'll get to next issue. Everyone sleep tight. I'm going to. Later Bill This train I ride goes God knows where
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Maybe she's lonely, needs me somewhere
