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6/3/04 I Am The Cosmos
This issue's title courtesy of poor dead Chris Bell (car wreck '78). I hear ya, though, Chris. If that don't get her back again . What's Bill been up to? Just back today from spending 52 straight hours with my crazy ass guy that I stay with in Huntington. His day time keeper was out of town, and he's started that damn wandering off thing those poor Alzheimer's fucks are prone to, so I agreed to some daytime duty as well. God fucking bless it, never again. Woke up sometime the early am of Tuesday morning absolutely covered in sweat, the bed is sodden, thinking, "Holy shit, my malaria's back, God DAMN that ill advised trip to Borneo anyway, headhunting my sweet ASS" when I realized it wasn't a recurrence of my malaria at all, the ambient temperature in my room was like 115 degrees. I could hardly fucking breathe. I get out of bed, to be met in the hall by Al (which is really his name, not a contraction of Alzheimer guy) who's one of those insecure, UP YOUR ASS kind of people, I'll roll over in bed at night, he'll hear the springs squeak all the way in his room and holler, "Don't leave, don't leave", and come running into my room to make sure I don't, "I just ROLLED OVER for fuck's sake", I got no time for him right now cos I quite literally feel like I'm suffocating, "Get outta my WAY ya goddamn coot" I yell, and yes, I really did say that to him, but I believe that if you only just talk nice to a person, you'll make 'em soft. I run outside into the cold wind and rain, it felt glorious (though I've got the sore throat from hell right now because of it), body just steaming. Come back inside to find that Al had gotten up sometime earlier in the night and turned the AC off, the heater up as far as it will go, and the fan on auto, which in his ancient older heating system means it bypasses the thermostat entirely and just runs constantly, no matter how hot the house gets. It must've been 95-100 degrees in that house, and I exaggerate not the slightest, I mean the fucking walls were dripping. We've gone around about the heater before, he and I, I understand he thinks he's cold, but he's not, or his body isn't, anyway, I'll stop by, he's got that heater flaming and his face'll be red as a fucking cherry, face slick with sweat, and he'll go, "Is it cold in here?" "FUCK NO!" There's no point in lecturing him cos 15 seconds later he won't remember it, so I wrote a note- DO NOT TOUCH THIS THERMOSTAT. DON'T TOUCH IT! IF YOU DO, I'M LEAVING AND I WON'T EVER COME BACK. I FUCKING MEAN IT. BILL- and taped it to the thermostat. So far it seems to be working, he's left the thermostat alone since I put it up (although he does ask me repeatedly, "Who left this note on the wall?") Last night he had one of his frequent middle of the night "woe is me" episodes, comes flying out of his room and into mine at about 3:20 am, I wasn't even trying to sleep cos I knew there was no point, reading Crutchfield's "History Of The Zulu Wars", he rolls in all wild eyed and yells- A: Help. I'm going shitty straight crazy dead. I'll be damned if he didn't say it again. A: Shitty straight crazy dead. And just like that the wild look goes out of his eyes. "No, I don't guess you can," he mutters, and goes on back to bed. Briefly. Enough of that, came home this afternoon just worn the fuck out, laid down for a few hours but couldn't really sleep, not soundly, anyway, when I go to bed after finishing this thing I should sleep like the dead. And you guys sweating that "coot" thing, fuck it. I'm damn good to Al, (and he IS a fucking coot, dammit), he was talking to his brother the other day on the phone and I heard him tell bro that I was his best friend, which is one of the most pitiful things I've ever heard. What else has Bill been up to? The girls were in Memorial Day Weekend, I don't want to get all whiney myself, but seeing them for a few days like that, and then having them leave again for a month or more is almost worse than not seeing them at all. I don't want to talk about it. Although I do want to note that even with all the shit she's gone through with the move and all, and the tougher curriculum there in the big city, Sarah has a 3.6 average for the year and was just inducted into the NHS. God love her little heart. Saw Lisa "Left Eye" Teachman in the Huntington Mall last week, hey, in real life she's actually pretty hot. Tall, too. Had a very sobering- no pun intended- phone conversation earlier this evening. Called Death Falcon Sean- he came between DF Xioa and DF Sergei- we had a pretty good run together, Sean and I, All Asian Tag Team Champs for 8 months in '96, never lost them in the ring, had 'em stripped from us there in Jakarta for being too drunk to even leave the dressing room and defend them, I still remember the AA official's inscrutable words of wisdom as I slackly handed him my vomit covered belt, and he pulled the other one from under Sean's passed out mug- "You drunk Yankee no good, phooey!" Poetry. I thought I'd spoken with Sean since he moved 3/03, would've sworn to it, in fact, but apparently not, cos I wasn't aware of any of the following. He's spent the past 15 months working his way ever further down the road to hell, got himself up to drinking a case of beer a day, and a mind boggling 335 pounds- his fighting weight was about 230, he weighed a pretty soft 250 last I saw him, THREE THIRTY FIVE, Jesus Christ!- his wife left him and took their kid, he was about to lose his $22.75 an hour job at the Post Office- your tax dollars at work- got booted from Shaolin, where he and I originally met, for drunken bad stuff, a real mess. The good news is he recently went through detox and rehab, got himself on meds- he's been diagnosed as bipolar and alcoholic and something else, and no, he doesn't mind me sharing this stuff with you all cos I already asked him- managed to retain his job, Mary and Torrie are back home with him, he's working real hard to straighten himself out- 55 days sober today- and I'm very proud of him, let's all give Sean a big thumbs up. BIG THUMBS UP TO SEAN! Exactly. I was trying to get him involved in CAPW, he may come back in as a ref as he tries to get himself back into shape- he's at about 300 pounds now, he told me, I can't fucking IMAGINE, in fact he may stop by here tomorrow afternoon for the first session of Bill Bitner Wrestling School, got a couple students coming out, should be fun- although I have to say my best student by far is Rachel, she's a natural, we were working out again last weekend when she was in, she just picks the moves up very well and quickly, gave me a clothesline off the second turnbuckle I'd give a B+ easy. Asked Sean if he'd have any problems starting to hang out again with a drinking machine like myself, penchant for the suds I think someone once said, I wouldn't put it in his face or anything, but still, I am what I am, he said no, but tried to do that convert thing, "We're just the same, you and I, just the same," I had to tell him, kindly, but firmly, no, you're a bipolar alcoholic, I'm a moody guy who likes to drink, and I'll defend that distinction to my fucking death. Or yours. You don't see my ass at 335, and you never fucking will. Of course, he's still living with his wife and kids, so fucking touche, Bill. For those of you who remember the old Rock head, Roky (Bitner, not Erikson), my Mom talked to the guy at Tyler Mountain Kennel last week, he's the guy who brokered Roky's move South, he said he talks to Roky's new owners weekly, and Roky is still alive, and still doing well. That gives me a warm feeling inside, truly. Roky turned 9 last month, hard to fucking believe, having some problems with arthritis- I'm with you there, little buddy- but otherwise is hale and happy. Good for him.
Watched a bunch of war movies with Al on Memorial Day, but I think I've reviewed 'em all before in here. Used to drive Loretta crazy how I could watch the same movie, or read the same book, over and over again. Oh well. Driving her crazy is someone else's job now. I'm really glad they made them add that "adult oriented" tag to all that porn spam I get, God forbid I click on "Shove your fist up my ass" and unexpectedly find out it's something dirty, thanks for the warning, guys. What's Bill drinking? Well, I'm all out of applesauce and vodka, and besides, last issue was one of those that went out so pounded I didn't remember what was in it till I read it myself the next day- by the way, for those of you who read "Brave Words . . . " right after it went up, check it again, Joe put some stills from the Death Falcon/Vega match up, as well as finding a picture of those college girls who went on the boat ride. Worth checking out. Anyway, I'm just drinking green tea. My throat is SORE, that's legit, hot tea feels good on it. Listening to? REM. Not a huge fan, I think they're sort of overrated, but I like 'em better than I don't. They were on the DirecTV freeview last month, and pretty decent. Sometimes when they try to "rock out" they can be a little embarrassing, but then again, sometimes when they try to rock out, they rock out, so there you go. "Burning Hell" is a pretty heavy song, well done, and they do a cover of the VASTLY overrated Generosmith's "Toys In The Attic" that's easily as good as the original.
For those of you who know our friend in blue, Jason, he's getting married this fall, and has insanely asked me (no take backs) to be in the wedding party. That's wedding PARTY. Look out. Seriously. Haven't gotten into the dream thing lately, had one the other night, started out wonderful, I was in the Justice League, I thought I was The Flash cos I was all in red, and it was my turn to be the team leader. I'm monitoring the Justice League-a-phone, or whatever it was, and this call comes in that Green Lantern has gone bad and the world needs our help. I go running in to get the rest of the League to help me go get him- and they won't. Turns out, in this dream's back story, Green Lantern and me have had a big falling out cos he just stole my girlfriend, and none of my Justice buddies will believe me, "Nah, ya manipulative fuck (ME!?), you're just pissed cos he stole your girl, you want us to help you beat his ass cos you can't do it by yourself". This was the Hal Jordan Green Lantern, so I probably couldn't, although I guarantee I could take any of the others- John Stewart from the animated series, or that little punk ass Kyle what's his face who's the one in the comics now, or worst haircut in the world Guy Gardner, or any of those goofy ass alien ones- I don't count Earth 2's Alan Scott, cos come on, it's EARTH 2- and I always thought it was funny how this total badass was named Hal, short, I presume, for Harold. In fact, if you think about it, none of the original JLA had what I would consider to be tough guy names- Bruce, Clark, Diana, Barry, Hal, Arthur, John (J'onn)- nor did the next 3 to join- Oliver (OLIVER?), Ray, and Carter (or Katar, like they say on his home planet of Thanagar). These 10 being the only true JLA, everyone who came after being naught but Johnny come lately's and wannabe's in my book. Anyway, I'm striking out right and left, "Come ON, goddammit, I heard it on the JLA-a phone, he's gone BAD I tell ya", Batman just sort of fades away while I'm talking to him, Wonder Woman's going, "Quit staring at my tits, you pervert", there was this sort of purple alien looking guy that I think was this dream's version of Martian Manhunter, he ain't buying either, the only one on my side was Aquaman, I'm like, "Uh, yeah, thanks" I go up to Superman, "Come on, just me and you, big guy" Aquaman in the background hollering -And me!-, "Just me and you, we can take his fucking ass, we don't need these other guys" and Superman goes, "No, Jet Falcon" and this was FAR AND AWAY the best part of the dream, except for maybe Wonder Woman's tits, cos I realize I'm not the Flash, I'm Jet Falcon, who's sort of like this cross between The Flash and Death Falcon Zero, and I look at myself in the mirror and I've wearing this totally awesome blend of both costumes, and I've got that fantastic comic book hero build, and I'm feeling GOOD, too good maybe, I realize I don't just have super speed, I can fly, and I'm strong, not as strong as Superman, but you know, lots stronger than you. Superman goes, "No, Jet Falcon, I won't fight a friend" meaning Green Lantern, and enough is fucking enough, I get right up in his damn Kryptonian jut jawed face, screaming "Well you're GONNA fight a friend, you son of a bitch, you'll either fight him or you're gonna have to fight me" and Superman, the prick, goes, "Okay, I'll fight you," and he punches me out, and I wake up. Still a good dream though, God bless did the Jet Falcon look fantastic. Some of you guys gotta read these things more carefully, to reiterate, CAPW SHOW IN DUNBAR JUNE 26TH (jeez Louise). There also seems to be some question among Falconettes both current and potential about their need to be at this show, darlings, being a Falconette is like being a Crip or something, it's 4 LIFE (making goofy hand gesture which you can't see), to put it in white folks terms, when you're a Falconette you're a Falconette all the way, from your first garter belt till your last bustier (and yes, my knowledge of show tunes does shame me, but I had to watch "West Side Story" in music class at school for like ten years running). So. June 26th, Dunbar Armory, Falconettes assemble on ME. Also gonna start doing Saturday night outdoor shows in this parking lot in Huntington- class act all the way- starting July 10, which means not only will I fucking miss the party at Joe and Laura's house, but I won't have Joe there at the matches to help me with all the technical shit, which is basically everything except the actual wrestling of my match. I'm not even one tiny bit happy about either aspect of this well botched affair, but there's nothing I can do about it, so fuck me. The 7/10 show will be sort of a feeling out deal to see if there's any interest in the hardcore stuff, couple guys are gonna do a light tubes match, which is weenieville in my book- see "Dumbass Manifesto" from a couple years ago- I'm probably gonna defend the CAPW Hardcore title against Atrocity, this 300+ pound fuck who thinks he's 'core, said he'd "defiantly be interested" (sic- maybe) in working a match with me, gonna juice his ass up big time, if we get a decent crowd, and don't get shut down by the cops, me and Juggulator are gonna work a barbed wire baseball bat match the following show, he says he's game for a top rope, bat across the throat, Russian leg sweep, you do NOT want to miss that. The past few days are catching up with me, it's back to bed, to dream of sex with Wonder Woman, I hope, and beating the tar outta both Superman AND Green Lantern (who ain't got nothin' on me).
"You sons of bitches. Give my love to Mother." Last words of Francis "Two Gun" Crowley, executed in Oklahoma's electric chair, 1931 Later Bill
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Every
night I tell myself 
The
girls and I watched some DVDs while they were in, "Underworld",
I didn't like it at all, but the girls were both into it, so I actually
enjoyed watching it, if that makes any sense. Also, "The Nightmare
Before Christmas" which I've somehow managed to miss seeing all these
years, I respect like hell the amount of work that went into it, but
didn't think too much of the movie. Best of the bunch was "Once Upon
A Time In Mexico", over the top and silly, but still enjoyable, some
wit in the script, some decent acting, Salma Hayek looking pretty good in
her flashback scenes but not a pimple on the ass of how she looked in the
otherwise execrable "Dusk To Dawn", she was hotter than fuck in
that, Eva Mendez looks good as well, Rueben Blades has gotten so damn old
I didn't recognize him. "Are you a Mexi-can? Or a Mexi-can't?"
Beats the corn loaf outta me, senor.
Looking
forward to Spurgie's (who my Dad had been calling Spongie, but recently
has changed to Skurvie) party at Coonskin this Saturday, me and Joe are
going, hide your fucking guitars and cover your ears.
The
more I see 