Those bastards on the ground just don't give a damn 
If we come back home alive, or in a can

Hey

Bill's back in just a week, an embarrassment of riches, I know. After tonight I think I'm going to try, at least for the summer, to get back to the every other Sunday night (Monday morning to you) schedule that worked so well there for a while. I make no promises, however.

Which is just as well, since pretty much everything I said last issue turned out to be bullshit (go figure). I realize it's just been a week, but I've worked out exactly once since then, while getting drunk every night but one. So much for not laying besotted this summer, and working on getting my health back. Still, this past week has been good for my mental health, it's felt good to just kick back and pound beers hang out with my friends, and read and listen to music and not have to worry about some demented old fuck blowing shit down the back of his trousers, the break from working out can only be doing my shot to hell knees and shoulder good . . . see how I rationalize?

Still, I'll get on the Good Boy Train starting Sunday. Or maybe Monday. But no promises . . .

The mail bag is hopping active again, numerous congrats to Rachel on escaping high school, which I'll pass along (she'll be here on Monday, Sarah's been here since the first of the month and is working two jobs, which balances nicely with my none), fellow word lover Jean gave me props for "apocryphal"- it is a great word, I agree- also got mucho agreement on my assessments of JLH and Ms. Osmond ("Don't feel ashamed, Marie is smokin'"), Joe included both commercials with last issue on the site and I'm telling you, after watching it about two hundred times in a row, even though I understand how TV magic can make folks look a lot better than they really do, I still think Jen, in her commercial, anyway, is flat fucking gorgeous- and yeah, Marie is smokin'.

(THIRTY DAYS IN THE HOLE?)

Not that Smokin'.

Also got a comment from someone saying that there is no way that the person (Loretta) in the on site photo with me and Rachie is the same person that's in the bikini shot from a few years ago. 'Fraid so. You have to figure, those two photographs were taken twenty three years apart, and while I feel I've certainly aged better than my ex-wife, look at the photo at the top of the 2002 issues archive, which is also from 1985, I can see someone looking at that photo and, if they hadn't known me then, saying "There's no way that's Bill." Even though when I'm not actually looking in the mirror, that's still how I see myself. Baby faced, head full of hair-

(HUMPING A DOG)

Exactly.

Meant to put this in last issue, but I- well, I forgot is what I did, Ron went to Yankee Stadium a few weeks ago and got buzzed up on $9.50 beers. Jesus Christ, I know Alex Rodriguez salary has to come from somewhere, but $9.50 a beer, that's horse shit. Yankee horse shit, total anathema to a good southern boy like me. Check out Ron and his seperated at birth twin enjoying the oh so pricey ambiance of Yankee Stadium on the site.

What's Bill been doing this past week beside drinking and not exercising? Shit's sake, isn't that enough? Went down to Joe's Saturday night for only the second time this year, spent a lovely evening sitting out on his dock till about 1 am, drinking Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and Mountaineer Brewing Co. Nut Brown Ale, and smoking Petri cigars, of course I couldn't resist the too obvious joke, "Mine's Laura Petrie".

(YOU WISH).

No kidding.

DFZ wrestled in Levisay (ugh) Tuesday, again got DQ'd for tossing his opponent over the top rope, but this time it was booked that way, I'm starting to think this whole Affiliates thing is a house of cards, not sure how long I'm gonna stay on board. Probably till the money runs out, which I don't think will be long. DFZ was booked to wrestle tomorrow afternoon in St. Albans but I declined, one so I could once again drink beer tonight, and two, I got other stuff I'd rather do tomorrow.

Like watch Johnny Boy at the Capitol Theater tomorrow (Saturday) afternoon, 5 pm starting time. I'm telling you, if you're anywhere else tomorrow at five besides there (with me), you're fucking crazy. And on my list.

What's Bill been reading? Well, I managed to work through most of the big stack of magazines beside my desk this week, Asian Cult Cinema, Filmfax, Mojo, (plus a Mojo Special, both bought when I was in NJ seeing Sarah, that's how far behind I've gotten in my reading) Ugly Things, Videoscope, Weird Tales. All good stuff, good for the mind, reading.

Sarah and I walked out to the library on Wednesday, stopped in along the way to visit with my ex-sister in law, and still Sarah's aunt, Carolyn, at her beauty shop, had a nice visit there, got a passel of books at the library including a bunch of Graphics Classics, been reading these for the past few years whenever I can find them, in fact I took the H.P. Lovecraft one with me to Africa, reading HPL in Tanzania is kind of esoteric, I guess, I've also read the Twain, Poe, Wells, Stevenson, London, and Stoker ones and they've been uniformly good, reading the Horror Classics right now, check the series out if you get the chance.

Went over to Doug's Thursday night and at the risk of repeating myself, spent another lovely evening smoking cigars and drinking Harpoon IPA out on his deck, he and Rosa left on this morning's train to visit Richard and Neal in Virginia, have a good time, guys, tell Richard and Neal I said "Hey", and bring back some beer and cigars.

What's Bill drinking? Rolling Rock, not tons- I think this one is number ten- but enough hair of the dog to stave off the inevitable payoff for at least tonight.

Well every word I say to you is true 
And I don't want to tell you what to do 
But if I were you, I'd trust in me . . .

(TELL ME YOU DID NOT JUST QUOTE STEVIE NICKS)

It was either her or Toto.

(THE DOG?)

No, the . . . yeah, the dog.

(THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER. HE'D PROBABLY SAY SOMETHING LIKE "DOROTHY HAS A NICE ASS. I WISH I WAS HUMAN").

Sounds more like something you would say.

(NOT HARDLY. I HAVE NO DESIRE WHATSOEVER TO BE HUMAN).

I imagine being a Death Falcon is a lot better.

(IT HAS ITS PERKS).

So I've heard. Okay, boys and girls, it's story time. Bill Vs. The WV State Fair.

The summer of 1976, Torch decides he wants to go to the WV State Fair in Lewisburg, the reason being, this hot girl, Terri, that worked that summer with Torch's mom up at the State house, was from Lewisburg, and Torch was hoping to run into her at the Fair, and ask her out. Now, he's had all fucking summer while she was in Charleston to ask her out and hasn't opened his yap not once, but now that she's moved back home, he has to run to Lewisburg to see if she'll go out with him. If that's not vintage Torch in a nutshell . . . nutshell being the operative word . . .

I have not even the slightest interest in the State Fair, I honestly don't care how big your damn pumpkin, excuse me, punkin, is, and prize winner or not, that cow still fucking stinks, but being the layabout I was, and am, I also have nothing better to do (this was right before I started doing Loretta), so I tell Torch if he'll buy me beer, I'll ride down there with him.

We're not making this trip in Torch's infamous Dodge Colt, the one I broke the gear shift off of the following summer (77) and tried to beat Torch's brains out with (I would have, too, but they were too small a target), this was the car he had before that, the one we took to Florida that previous spring when I spontaneously decided to drop out of college, some small Chevy something, (not a Nova), black, that he totaled later that fall with me in the car (naturally) when he missed a turn on that old road that use to parallell Rt. 35 there between St. Albans and the Interstate bridge, cos he was groping his girl friend Paula in the front seat.

Loretta and I were in the back seat, and we came through the crash unscathed, although if I hadn't noticed we'd gone airborne and detached when I did, we'd have most certainly bitten one another's tongues off. Torch also escaped uninjured, but Paula, in one of those cruel ironies Fate seems so fond of, did not.

Paula had worn braces for as long as I'd know her, a good four or five years (she was two years behind Torch and I in school), and had finally gotten them off not a month before the accident. So what happens? When the car leaves the road and hits the ditch, going from whatever we were doing, probably 40-45 to zero when we impact that mud wall, her face hits the dashboard and three of her bottom teeth rip through her lower lip- and remain imbedded in the dashboard. Fuckng hell.

We all crawl out of the wreck, Paula's crying and screaming "My teeth!", actually it was more like "Muh teev!", Torch, saint that he was (RIP), was completely ignoring her, screaming "My car!" Paula was juicing like Dusty Rhodes from that huge rip in her lip, so I took my shirt off- my short sleeve old blue soccer jersey (I hated soccer, but I got kicked out of football, and my Dad insisted I get out of the house and do SOMETHING, but that was okay, I ended up getting kicked out of soccer as well) with the white arm rings just like the BALTIMORE Colts home jerseys, I loved that damn shirt, which was why I was still wearing it seven years after we left Maryland, and held it to Paula's face to staunch the bleeding.

Some people came by and gave us all a ride to the E.R, once we got there Loretta gave me her jacket to wear so I wouldn't go inside bare chested, and it looked very fetching on me, this little suede bolero type deal with fur collar and sleeve trim. We walk in and some hillbilly retard in the waiting room, probably there to get paternity tested to determine if indeed he was his own grandpa, looks at me and goes "You some kind of queer?". Amazingly, for once, I wasn't really in the mood for trouble, so instead of responding with, "Yeah, the kind that's about to kick your fat fucking ass", I said "Yep, and that's my girlfriend" and pointed to Loretta in her then 5' 7", 120 pound 34D- 24- 35 splendor, which shut Festus up as effectively as any punch to the mouth would have.

What's this have to do with Bill and the State Fair? Not much, I guess. Anyway, that morning we're to leave, I stagger my hung over way- believe it or not, I used to sometimes drink to excess- down to Torch's house about 9 am, he's got a twelve pack of Stroh's (still in the classic gold and black can, those cans weren't colored like hornets for no reason) waiting on me, so off we go. Back in those days, children, pretty much the only way from here to Lewisburg was down Rt. 60, and it used to take all of three hours- and that's if the Injuns hadn't torn up the rail lines.

(DAMN PESKY REDSKINS)

Yeah, you'd think they had a grudge against us or something. Anyway, three hours is more than enough time for Bill to drink his 12 pack of Stroh's, so I'm feeling pretty good when we hit the Fair around noon- which bubble is soon to burst when I find out they don't sell beer- "YOU DON'T SELL BEER? Jesus Christ Almighty, WHAT KIND OF A FAIR IS THIS?". Torch sets off in search of Terri, yeah, good luck with that (he never did find her- that day, anyway, maybe I'll go into the trip we made to her house, farm, actually, if I'm not too drunk and tired by the end of this story) and Bill tries to find a way to amuse himself at a dry State Fair. Let me tell ya, it ain't easy.

I did eventually buy a fried turkey leg, cos it was the first time I'd seen one (that was also the last time I bought one), and walked around the fair grounds gnawing on it and singing "I'm Henry the Eighth, I Am" for a while, once the meat was gone I entertained myself briefly by poking total strangers with the remains and going, "Look at my big bone," but this cop saw me and made me stop, "Throw that away," he said, "The bone?" "Yes," "Okay," and then instead of calling the fucking SWAT team like they'd do now, told my obviously inebriated ass, "Behave, or go home," and went on about his business. Have I mentioned in here before how much more enlightened those days were?

My entire expereince at the Fair didn't last much more than an hour, cos it was hot and smelly and boring and I was in desperate need of more alcohol, so when I next ran across Torch, "Do you know Terri?" he was asking everyone he passed, "Is she here?"- pathetic- I told him we needed to leave cos I was ready to go, and after a bit of persuading- "Don't make me break the gear shift out on your ass, motherfucker"- he agreed. And I made him buy me another twelve pack of Stroh's for the ride back.

Hmm. Other than the car crash, I have to admit that Fair story was a little anti-climactic. Bill gets drunk, gets bored, gets more drunk. I'm still rolling, (tonight) so lets continue Torch's pursuit of Terri, cos it gets better, at least for Bill, if not for poor Torch.

Torch was obsessed with this girl (you remember how he'd get, Joe, used to absolutely drive me bug fucking nuts) so that very next week we're driving around, late, like 3 am late, piss drunk, when Torch decides he's just GOT to see Terri, right now, so he's going to her house- again, right now. It's fine by me, we still got a shitload of beer in the car- I had Torch stop and buy (hey, he was working that summer, I wasn't) a bunch more beer once I saw we were going to be out past 2 am.

So, drunk as lords and with no idea of a destination other than "Lewisburg", we set off.

This was the trip we accidentally destroyed through sheer buzzed up numbskullery what was, from the lady's attitude who let us use it- "Now be very, VERY careful with this, and bring it right back"-apparently the only phone book in the county. That tale's been told in here before so here's the condensed version. In some little burg there not far from Lewisburg- may have been Rainelle, may well not have been, I was cross eyed by this point- Torch decides to stop and see if he can find Terri's address in a phone book, actually not a bad idea. He also was going to call her and let her know we were coming, a bad idea I put the kibosh on- no sense in warning people, I say.

Only pay phone we could find was around back of this old diner, and it didn't have a phone book with it. Even though the place was closed- I'm guessing this was around 5 am, still dark- it looked like folks also lived there, so Torch- give the boy points for persistance- banged on the door till this little old lady opened it up, and after much cajoling on our part- you'd have thought we were asking her for both the Crown Jewels and her virtue- she let us borrow her phone book.

Well, it was too dark at the pay phone to read the damn phone book, so we took it in the bathroom back there- which had no working light. It did have a working gas space heater there on the floor, not as crazy as it sounds for that time of year, cos wherever we were, it was fucking cold at five o'clock in the morning. Torch bends over and holds the phone book up to the space heater so he can read it, and a few seconds later I hear him mutter, "Oh, shit." Yeah, the dumb fuck has stuck the phone book IN the space heater, and now it's on fire.

He tries blowing on it, but with his alcohol saturated breath, it's like pouring gasoline on the flames. The book is really on fire now, so he starts beating it on the sink trying to put it out, but all that does is ruffle the pages, and fan the fire further. Obviously all out of ideas, he looks at me with this "What do I do NOW?" expression, so I snatched the phone book away from him by the one corner not engulfed in flames, and dunked it in the toilet. Fire out, and problem solved. Sort of.

I left it to Torch to return the phone book, and the look on that poor old soul's face was priceless. She hands us this precious, to her at least, document, with our assurances that we'll treat it like baby Jesus, and not two minutes later Torch hands her back this battered, piss soaked cinder. I'd love to hear the story SHE told about this incident. "These two crazy boys come to my door in the middle of the night wantin' a phone book . . . "

Afraid to try the phone book idea again- and who wouldn't be?-we drove on into Lewisburg and just started stopping and asking folks if they knew where Terri lived. Turns out her Dad was well known in them parts, and, surprisingly to me, at least, we ended up actually getting directions to Terri's house- which turned out to be a farm. It's maybe eight am by now and I'm getting a little winded, but there's no stopping Torch, he marches up to the farmhouse door and rings the bell.

Now, all I'm hoping is that the shotgun we're greeted with is loaded with rock salt, not buckshot, but this very pleasant looking lady in an apron answers the door. "Hi, I'm Torch, and this is Bill. We're friends of Terri's." (I'd never seen Terri in my life at this point, but okay). I'm expecting to get the bum rush our drunken disheveled selves deserve, but this sweet country lady just smiles and says, "Come on in and have some breakfast with us." Say what?

And we do. Just like they'd been expecting us all along, we sit down to surreal breakfast with Terri- and I can understand Torch's attraction cos Terri is quite a looker, short dark hair in a cut sort of like how Loretta wore hers in the mid 90's, very pretty face, built great, she reminded me a lot of Loretta, for real, and she wasn't just hot, she was bright and funny, and I realized long before breakfast was over that Torch didn't stand a chance in hell with this girl (Bill, on the other hand)- and her brother, maybe twelve, nice kid, and her Dad, who was just this wonderfully personable, good old country boy type, I felt immediately comfortable with these people, which is quite rare for me.

I wasn't quite the no beer/food in combination fanatic that I am now, and I still remember that breakfast as one of the best ever, scrambled eggs, pancakes, homemade sausage, tons of much needed black coffee, I ate like a starving man and the food just kept coming, "Are you sure that's all you can eat?" "Yes Ma'am, and thanks." I was looking for a disaster and it was instead a great moment.

After the eatin' was finally done, Torch and Terri went for a walk, and her Dad asked me, "You want to work off that breakfast?" Well, he used the word "work" so I told him no, but I went ahead and followed him and Terri's brother down to the barn anyway, where I ended up helping them castrate a bunch of piglets, two litters worth, and by help I mean I ran down and caught the little fuckers so brother could hold them while Dad cut their testicles off. Yikes- but better them than me.

I noticed Dad would put the cut off balls in this plastic bucket he had there, when I asked him what he did with all them cut off balls (I'm thinking fish bait, their farm backed on the Greenbrier River) he told me, "You know that sausage you just ate?" If he was trying to gross me out he had the wrong motherfucker, "Yum," I said, and he laughed like it was funny. Hey, it was damn good sausage.

About the time we got done brutalizing baby farm animals, Torch and Terri returned from their walk, Torch looking frustrated, Terri, bored. Torch immediately wanted to leave, so I knew things hadn't gone as he'd hoped. I wasn't surprised, as Torch was fine as a drinking buddy, especially since he almost always bought, but he wasn't good looking, or bright, or funny . . . Bill, on the other hand . . .

So, we said our goodbyes. Terri really did have a nice family and I'd taken to them almost at once, and they apparently to me, we got the "Come back anytime," and it sounded sincere, as Torch trudged back to the car Terri pulled me back and whispered, "Come back soon. Alone this time."

Well . . . Jeez. I've discussed enough strikeouts over the years in here that I don't feel I'm boasting talking about the hits-

(IT'S NOT BRAGGING IF YOU CAN BACK IT UP)

- there is that, and Terri and I hit if off from the start, really connected on an intellectual level at breakfast, and I could carry my weight with her in the looks department as well, as in those days Bill was no damn slouch in that area, himself. So I asked her if tomorrow was too soon- strike while the iron, and girl, is hot, boys- and she said not at all.

Great. Now how to get there. The Montego was between crashes, the one into the side of that house that had disabled it, and the later one, once I'd gotten it repaired, into the telephone pole that totaled it- and I didn't have a friend alive so foolish as to let me borrow their car. So, once I got back home, before I went downstairs and crashed (old school slang for going to sleep), I told my Dad I had a job interview in the morning and could I borrow his car, and once my Mom had revived him he said yes.

Next morning I got up and out of there early, one cos I was really looking forward to my day with Terri, and two cos I didn't want to answer too many questions about my "interview". My Mom tried to get up my ass about it, imagine that, but I managed to blow her off, I did say as I was going out the door, "I may be a while" and my Dad yelling, "Not in my car!", well, too late for that, Old Man, I got the keys in my hand.

I get to Lewisburg and Terri's family welcome me like it truly was the second coming- no, I can't explain it either- I sit and visit with the folks for a while, which wasn't a chore at all, again, they were just great people, then Terri says let's take a walk down by the river and Bill says okay.

We hold hands walking to the river- which was quite nice, as much as I like things like fucking blindfolded and handcuffed while swinging upside down from the chandelier, I also really like simple shit like just holding hands, powder puff that I am. We get to the Greenbrier and sit the on the bank in this shaded, secluded area, lovely spot, we talk some, and make out some and I'm being a perfect gentleman, because that's exactly what I am, when Terri asks me if I want to go swimming.

"I didn't bring anything to swim in," I tell her. "Neither did I," she tells me back. Oh . . . OH. So we both stripped off- Lord love a duck, she was built- and jumped in the river, and swim we did, indeed, you might even say we froliced, and then when we'd had enough of that, we went to the bank and made love. Ever the gentleman, I offered to get on the bottom, but she said no, it's soft here, and it was, and after we were done (the first time), she got up and I could see the double rounded impression our lovemaking had caused her fine, fine ass to make in the soft riverbank mud . . . wow. That image will give me a hard on till the day I die.

I talked her into a second go around- wasn't too hard, excuse me, I mean it wasn't too difficult, cos it was hard as hell- but she resisted round three cos she said we couldn't stay gone too long. Fair enough, so we walked back to the house and had lunch, and then she and I sat out on the front porch swing for the rest of the afternoon- my Dad was already going to kill me, no sense in rushing back. It was simply a wonderful day.

I never saw Terri again. What happened? Well, we talked a couple times after that, "When are you coming back?" "Soon, I hope" (my Mom bitching her brains out about the long distance calls cost), but the combination of Lewisburg just being too far away for Bill's broke, unemployed, no working car ass to get back down there regular, coupled with Loretta (we'd gone out a time or two before I met Terri, but it hadn't taken off like it was going to) starting to do that voodoo that she do so well . . . I sometimes wonder what might have happened if Terri and I had hooked up that fall, instead of Loretta and I.

(NO SENSE CRYING OVER SPILT . . . YOU KNOW)

No, there's not.

I think I'm done. Got a big day tomorrow, Billy on the big screen, in a good damn movie. I literally cannot fucking wait. Anything else you want to say?

(THIS ROOM IS NOT FOR VIEW 
THIS ROOM IS NOT FOR YOU)

Stevie Nicks?

(NO).

Later

Bill