7/14/05

Cold In July

Where ignorant armies clash by afternoon.
And we are here as on a darkling plain 
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight 
Where ignorant armies clash by night

Matthew Arnold


You cut up the clothes 
In the closet of my life

Aretha Franklin

Hey

Not sure how this one is going to come out, I feel like home made shit, as we used to say back in the day. Got a skull cracker of a headache going on right now, I fucked my shoulder up (more) today lifting, I can hardly raise my right arm, my knees are both on fire again, as per usual of late, and I just have that overall sense of "Fuck this shitting world to the back teeth" malaise that leads to bad times- especially when you have the penchant for trouble and bad decisions your boy Bill here does.

However, I can't sleep, I'm burned out on reading, and writing real stuff, and a bunch of people who know what's going on with my mom want to know what's up there, so I can answer all of them in one stroke, Danny gave me a disc of Africa photos the other night, so I may start TSOA tonight, just up to the safari, I need to get those photos from Mike . . .

And anyway, when did these things ever need justification? They exist because they exist, period. Just like their fucking creator.

Well, Rachel's already gone, her summer here over, if you blinked you missed her. She heads off to Australia Monday the 18th. Think good thoughts about my baby, all the way over on the other side of the world, I'm quite happy and excited about her opportunity, but I admit, I'll feel a lot better when she's back home safe in the U.S.

What kind of cell?And a brief comment, while walking through the room the past few weeks while Rachel was watching what passes for teen entertainment on television- and she's a bright kid with advanced tastes, I don't want to give the impression that's what she exclusively watches- it's amazing to me that kids in America have even one fucking bran cell in their heads. The programming, and especially the ads, directed at them are done by morons, for morons. Pathetic.

Loretta and Paul were in week before last clearing out the house on Carriage Way, painting and pulling up carpet, preparatory to selling it this fall- or at least putting it on the market, when and if it'll sell is anyone's guess. Every time I think I'm not the biggest wimp in the damn world, something happens to rub it in my face that, indeed, I am. What the fuck, at least it's a title.

Don't know why their selling the house is bugging me as much as it is, I really didn't think at this point I'd give a shit, but when we stopped out there to pick up a bunch of my old stuff Loretta "found" while cleaning out the closets, and they were there industriously painting away, I flashed back really hard to Doug and I industriously painting away at those same walls 20 years ago, when Loretta and I'd just bought the place with all of our high hopes and young dreams, my heart fucking cracked and for about the millionth time I asked that pointless damn question, "How the FUCK did we come to this?"

(DOESN'T MATTER HOW. YOU DID. LIVE WITH IT).

Exactly. But sometimes how I live with things isn't the wisest way.

(NO SHIT. WHICH PROBABLY HAS A LOT TO DO WITH HOW YOU CAME TO THIS).

In addition, the things Loretta "found" were all these personal things, for the most part small gifts she'd given me during the early years of our marriage- contrary to popular opinion, it wasn't always fire and brimstone between us- we used to do that a lot then, be out and see something we thought the other would like, and get it for them, small things, just to say, "I love you and I'm thinking about you", some of this shit even goes back to when we were dating, there's no way it all just randomly ended up in one place, I figure she went through and collected it all at sometime around the time she decided to divorce me, just like she took and hid all the still photos of us. Don't know why she decided to give it back to me now, I guess cos we're nominally getting along, but I truly wish she hadn't, it brought back tons of really painful memories, plus given me the quandary of what to fucking do with it. I don't want it, but I don't really feel right about throwing it away. I tried going through it all the other day, to maybe sort out what to keep and what not, that was a dire fucking mistake, I ended up sticking it all in the closet, I'll go through it some other time. Like 2025. Maybe.

Good thing you're a little fucker, cause it's hotter than the hinges of hell out here.So, enough of that shit, I hope everyone had a good holiday weekend for the 4th. The DF, along with Talent and Ace Prime, worked the tag champs, the Lynch Brothers, and Shane Storm, at Riverfest, Saturday the 2nd, easy match, hotter than the hinges of hell, though, working outdoor summer shows in that DF get up and mask. The girls were there- Jesus, just try and keep Rachel away- along with Chris and Deb, and Doug and Rosa, went over to D & R's afterward to drink beer and toss around heavy pieces of sharpened metal. Fun.

DF attempts to tear off Shane's arm and hit his own partner with it.We're still on for the pool party this Saturday, also the cook out/sleep over out here later this summer, and the canoeing/camping trip as well.

Sunday we won't talk about, went up to Lori's for a swim and a cook out on Monday the 4th, not all that successful, no big blow ups, but someone was pretty damn surly, there's not a holiday going anymore that I wouldn't rather piss on than participate in, no fucking apologies, either. To quote a certain dog faced gremlin, "You don't like me? Bite me."

Out at the house one day last week, I was in the kitchen with my head in the refrigerator seeing what kind of bizarre shit might be in there to eat, I over heard my Dad in the living room telling my Mom. "One of Bill's crazy friends that came to the wrestling in Martinsburg was a morphodyke."

I stuck my head around the corner.

B: You did not just say morphodyke.

He juts his chin out at me.

D: Yes I did. 
B: MORPHODYKE? 
D: That's right. 
B: What the fuck is a- 
D: That's a woman who thinks she's a man. 
B: Oh. 
D: Wanna fight about it? 
B: Not really . . .

He seemed disappointed.

Danny and I worked The Bunkhouse Boys- Bandit and Big Willie Blackheart, both 300+ pounders- in Mt. Hope last Thursday, pretty much a train wreck. These guys have been around 16 years and won tons of belts throughout the South, but talking to them in the back before the match, they didn't seem like they had much on the ball. This was confirmed when, as Danny and I are climbing up onto the ring apron to start the match, Ward, the referee, comes over and goes, "Watch yourself with these guys, Bill, they really suck. Don't let 'em hurt you." Oh great. He meant through incompetence, not intent, but still.

"Hope y'all got a wide angle lens on 'at there camry."Bandit and Danny start- I would've started if Ward had said something a bit sooner- 30 seconds in they're both lost, it was HORRIBLE, I started calling shit from the corner, I didn't care if the crowd- all 50 of 'em- heard me or not, somebody WAS going to get hurt the way they were thrashing around, and the odds were good it was gonna be Danny. I finally just yelled at Danny, "Get out of the fucking ring!" and he ran over and tagged me in, and I started stiffing Bandit hard, he gets all upset, "What's your problem?" "You are", it got almost shoot for a minute, he wouldn't sell a clothesline, so I hit another one, this time hooking my leg behind his, and threw him down right on his big fat head.

We managed to get out of there without any injuries, Danny rolling up big sack of shit Blackheart after he missed a big splash in the corner, to get the win for the Grapes, again the DF's call, and a damn good one if I say so, the guys in the back were all, "shitty match, but great finish". I agree. We're back in Mt. Hope again this Thursday (the 14th), in Beaver (oh, how tempting . . . ) the 23rd, doing a HoPWF show in Hagerstown the 30th.

"Gypsy Joe" Jean Madrid, who was a staple, along with his brother Jan, on Big Time Wrestling from Oak Hill in the late 60's/early 70's is working for MSW. Jesus. He's in his mid 70's, all brown and shrunken and withered, with this great big wild eyed head and two toned mane of frizzed out hair- he looks like a fucking voodoo doll come to life, honest to God, and I wouldn't wrestle him for $500. He's meaner than shit, punches and slaps the fuck out of everyone he works, hollering, "come on, fight back", which of course they don’t do, since he's 70 FUCKING YEARS OLD and looks like he's about to drop dead at any second. Actually, he looks like he's already dropped dead. God, wrestling's a mess.

Five fifty and that's my final offer.I was talking to this other septuagenarian before the show Thursday night, used to be a worker as well, he told me who he was but I'd never heard of him, according to him he used to tag with "Chef Dizzy Wiggle". I think he means Chief Crazy Eagle, but I wouldn't swear to it. This guy was telling me how it was in the old days, "Man, me and the Chef (sic) used to travel everwhar. Kentucky, Ohio, Parkersburg, I mean EVERWHAR". Indeed.

DFZ in PWI. Once again the DF is mentioned (in bold faced red print) in the Independent Roundup section of this month's PWI, THE biggest wrestling magazine, by circulation, in the world. And I may have already mentioned this- in fact, I'm sure I have- if so it's worth mentioning again, the DF is in this year's Lord Of The Rings tournament (knees and shoulder and God willing) in September, open to what's considered the top 40 independent wrestlers in the country. Pretty fucking cool, no shit. And if the DF can endure the embarrassment of getting beaten up by fairy boys the Lynch Brothers and Shane Storm- at least it's in front of the tiny summer crowds in that sweat box gym there in Nitro- he and Talent should be picking up the XMCW tag straps in a couple months. Since last NL the DF has also gotten offers from promotions in Virginia and Indiana to come work for them- the Indiana guy wants him for a DM tournament- but again, it's too far and I'm getting too tore down.

Chef Dizzy WiggleAll you locals, Danny's going to have a DVD signing at Taylor Books next Wednesday, the 20th, starting at 7 pm, DFZ is going to be there as well, in suit, tie and mask, just like he was fucking El Santo in Mexico City, circa '68 or so. Stop by, should be a hoot, and I figure the fucking drink is going to flow afterward.

And in DFZ movie news, got another e-mail from Jynx yesterday wanting to know when I was coming up to take her photo cos "I SOOOOOOOOO want to be in your movie." Oh, darling. You so can.

What's Bill been watching? Been to the theater twice since last issue, saw "War Of the Worlds", I really liked it a lot, you could pick nits, like you can with any movie, but I enjoyed it. I'm not an effects geek, but some of this shit will just take your breath, this is the realest looking movie of it's type I've ever seen, when the Martians- who are every bit as dead evil as they were in the original film- are blowing up the world, it truly looks like they're blowing up the world.

Rachel and Anita and I also got a private showing of "Land Of The Dead" last week at the new theater up by the Cross Lanes- excuse me, Nitro- Wal-Mart, again, I liked it, although I have a few more nits to pick with it, I don't like thinking and communicating zombies any more than I like running zombies, and that whole "the poor zombies are only trying to make their way, just like me and you" subtext is about as fucked up inane and stupid as it can be, they're fucking cannibalistic corpses, not thalidomide babies or whatever. They want to eat us alive, for fuck's sake, and we're supposed to be sympathetic toward them? Idiotic. Blow their goddamn heads off and wipe your ass.

Went to BMW afterward, if you haven’t been there you should check it out, decent food, and they have those really big, really cold draft beers that taste so good in the summer time. Or anytime, really.

Watched "Hard Times" the other day on TV, Charles Bronson as this bare knucks Depression era fighter, also with James Coburn and the always great Strother Martin, seen it a bunch, it still holds up, CB plays the terse, grizzled tough guy as well as it can be played. Also watched "Team America, World Police" on borrowed DVD, I was disappointed as hell, since I'd heard it was supposed to be funny. It sucks ass, desperately, it starts out mildly amusing, mostly cos it's funny seeing marionettes try to kung fu fight and stuff, but it rapidly goes in the shitter, as usual those South Park guys just try too fucking hard.

Someone asked recently why I don't preview upcoming movies on TV like I used to do, mostly it's cos I've already previewed most of the great old stuff that I have personal knowledge of, also the DirecTV guide, which was already a useless piece of shit, is even more useless since it now stops at 1 am, and doesn't pick up again until 9 am. I sent them two different letters about it, one nice and sensible telling them to quit sending it to me, cos it was sure as fuck not worth the six bucks or whatever they charge me for it, then another over the top ranting one telling them what assholes they were, and they could all line up and suck donkey dicks as far as I was concerned. I got the same form letter response to both. Also, they're still sending me the damn thing, but no longer charging me for it.

What's Bill been reading? Went to the library last week and got a ton of stuff, already read a couple books about how to draw comics- no, I have no interest in drawing them, but there were interviews in them with guys whose work I like- got another one strictly about the old time greats- Kirby, et al, but I haven't gotten to it yet.

Read the latest mystery by Bill Pronzini, not flashy, but competent as always, and the latest Elric- yeah, he's still writing them, 35 years after he originally killed him off- novel by the wonderfully named Michael Moorcock, it wasn't too good. Also got bios of Ray Bradbury and Steve Earle, a book about blues guitarists, and a half dozen other SF and mystery novels, but I haven't gotten to them yet.

Sarah and I stopped in Flatwoods Sunday after dropping off Rachel, ate at the Chinese buffet there, then went in this little discount book place, it didn’t have a whole lot, we still got five books between us, (buy four, get one free), I'm pretty much broke but it came in under $25, and I mean fuck, it's BOOKS, I got ones about Elvis Costello and Frank Herbert and the Jefferson Airplane, Sarah got a couple new agey ones, something like How To Be A Crazy Pagan Witch And Drive Your Mother Out Of Her Mind, and How To Turn Your Dad Into An Asshole (Oh Wait, He Already Is One).

Went to a going away party for Joe Ng at Danny's last Friday, Joe leaves for induction into the United States Army later this month, and all who know him are quite concerned. Not about any possible assignment to Iraq or Afghanistan, that worry will come later, we're just concerned about him surviving basic. Joe is a lovely, lovely guy, as nice a fella as you’re ever going to find, but he's this pudgy little thing who by his own admission is about as physically soft as all that damn ice cream he loves to eat. Basic at Fort Benning, Georgia in July and August is a brutal fucking ordeal, think good thoughts about our friend Joe if you can spare 'em, cos I'm sure he can use them.

Had a good time at the party, a lot of the Prague crowd was there- no morphodyke, though, she had to work- Anita brought the girls by after they'd all been to see "Fantastic Four"- Chris and I are going to try and catch it, I guess sometime next week now, since this one has gotten away from me, like so much shit seems to do, so you'll have to wait for my review- and stayed for a while, the folks across the street- Bill Rainey and his wife, I forget her name, they're big, big time in local theater- brought over their possum, and some impossible to blow up balloons.

I only drank a few Pilsner Urquell's, I had to drive the girls home- I started to make a well pissy remark here, think I'll refrain- and I also had to work the next night, it's WAY too fucking hot in Nitro to try and work hung over. I was talking to Doug C, I'd read in a recent Giant Robot about this Japanese movie that sounded pretty good, "Versus", yakuza against zombies, tailor made for Movie Club, he goes "I got it". How neat is that, so, next MC we really need to do our Japanese night again, drink whatever that liquor is that Chris brought back from Okinawa and some Sapporo and watch some Kurosawa and anime and "Versus". Sounds good to me.

What's Bill drinking? Green tea tonight, had a wet day yesterday (Tuesday), David came over, first time I've seen him in ages. He brought over some Harp lager. we drank that, I had some PBR in the refrigerator, we drank that, then after he left I had a case of Bud also in the refrigerator, don't know how many of them went down the old throat pipe, haven't bothered to count the cans (or clean it up) but there's a big ass beer castle in the windowsill of my room that wasn't there before yesterday. I'm sure that's partly- partly- why I have this execrable headache.

Took Al out to eat Monday night, met Robby and some of his obnoxious friends, they were talking about their high school days, Robby said something about this guy getting sick after drinking 20 cans of beer, his friend, "Shawn The Artist"- fucking please- was adamant that no one could actually drink 20 cans of beer. For an artist, our boy Shawn has obviously lived a very sheltered life.

Let's go crazy ...What's Bill been listening to? Prince. Sarah brought her Prince CDs in with her- I have none, I always found him tedious over the course of an entire album (or two), but I really liked his early singles- "1999", "Little Red Corvette", "Delirious", "Let's Go Crazy", which is just a marvelous dance song (Oh no, let's go), and "When Doves Cry", with poignant, and pointed, lyrics like "How can you just leave me standing/Alone in a world that's so cold?". Excellent question. It's a fucking loser's question, but an excellent question nonetheless.

One obit to mention this time around, Shinya Hashimoto, out of shape appearing Japanese wrestler, didn't look like much, then the match'd start and he'd be throwing all these high, hard kicks and you'd go, "damn". Or I'd go "damn", anyway. He was IWGP champ many times, and they don't just hand you that thing, he died earlier this week of a brain aneurysm, age 40. RIP, Shinya.

I'm not sure if that's the best lead in to talking about my Mom, but we've reached that point in the NL, so here goes. She's been having abdominal pain for a while, not severe, but chronic, she mentioned it to her GP about a month ago, he sent her to have an MRI, they found out she has this big ass- cantaloupe size, yuck- tumor on or around her ovary.

Her GP sent her to a gynecological oncologist- dear God, you should hear my Dad try to say THAT- who ran some more tests, and says, the tumor has got to come out. He's not saying it's cancer- not saying it isn’t- but he's saying where it is, to biopsy it, he may as well take the whole thing out while he's there.

The problem is my Mom can't have surgery. Or rather, she can't have general anesthesia, her heart is way too damaged from the heart attack that killed her back in '91- for those of you who hadn't heard that one, she was flat lined and gone, they decided to hit her one last time with the paddles, and her heart re-started. In fact, a nurse had already come out and told my sister my Mom was gone. Which was true, she just came back.

Not sure what's going to happen. She's scheduled for surgery August 22nd, cos the G.O. is adamant, the tumor's got to be surgically removed, says that's the only way to deal with it. My Mom got a second opinion from another G.O., he said the same thing, it's got to come out. However, her cardiologist is just as adamant that she not have the surgery- he wouldn't let her have some oral surgery she needed done a few years ago- cos he says there's no way she'll make it through. So who knows. Sure as fuck not me.

The monkey who hung around our rooms.Think I'll start TSOA. Here we go, boys and girls. Even though there aren't that many with this edition, enjoy the photos. There'll be TONS more once we get to safari, and the filming of the DFZ epic.

Monday, May 16th.

I fucking hate flying. Hate the waiting in line, hate the waiting in terminals, hate the claustrophobic feeling I get being jammed in a big metal tube with hundreds of other people for fucking hours on end while we're miles high, and hundreds of miles out over the ocean- I fucking HATE flying.

From here to Dulles uneventful. 227 air miles, 50 minutes.

Depart for Amsterdam at 5:00 pm, no pre-flight drinking like before Prague, no cute seat mate to snuggle up with either. I do end up with a pretty seatmate, this progressive (she wore jeans, tight ones) young Iranian girl, we chat a little off and on, I drink my six Heineken and read my Wizard and Giant Robot. Can't sleep. We fly a little over 8 hours (3867 air miles), due to the time differential we get into Amsterdam around 6:30 am, which makes this-

Tuesday, May 17th.

It takes one to know one there, Sunny Jim.We're taking Royal Dutch to Tanzania as well, so we don't have to worry about our luggage, thank God. Get some breakfast at McDonald's, due to the Euro kicking the dollar's ass (fuck you George W, sincerely, you goddamned ill natured, immoral retard) it costs nine bucks for an Egg McMuffin, a croissant, and two milks (or drink of your choice, the only breakfast option they offered). Fortunately we don't have to hang out here too long, we fly back out around 10:30.

We leave on time for Dar Es Salaam, I again get lucky in seatmates, she's this British anthropologist, neat lady, we talk for a while at the start of the trip. We're gonna be on this motherfucking plane for over ten hours (4552 air miles), I need to sleep, so Danny gives me a Valium, and a couple Soma, a muscle relaxant, tells me "Either take one or the other, but not both, and don't drink any beer." I drink four Heineken, taking the Valium and both Somas with the last one. I put my pillow against the window, my head against the pillow, and sleep like a fucking baby till we land in Dar Es Salaam. The only way to fly.

We get into Dar Es Salaam- which, if you want to pronounce like a native you'll drop a syllable and say it as one word, Dareslaam- about ten that night. I'm feeling pretty refreshed- where's the fucking beer? We get into the terminal, and the fucking heat just slams you- brothers and sisters, we're talking HOT, steam bath hot, everyone is soaked in sweat in seconds. A thermometer on the wall says 93 degrees- at TEN O'CLOCK AT NIGHT. Oh fuck, I'm not gonna survive this. Mike kept going, "It's hot here, boys. Africa hot", which was funny the first nine hundred times. But he's right. It's fucking HOT.

Research Flats sign.Fortunately, once we get outside it's not nearly as hot as that un-air conditioned terminal jam packed with people. Hot, but bearable. We're met by Hamza, real name Abdullah Mohammed, devout Muslim and one of Danny's former students at the University of Dar Es Salaam, who's going to drive us to our rooms at the Research Flats there on campus. Hamza is an instructor/student at the school, he's going to be producing the DF scenes we'll be shooting while here (and immediately gets on my very good side by complimenting me on the script), my first impression of him is that he's one hell of a nice guy, and, indeed, he is, we got pretty tight while I was over there, hopefully you guys will get to meet him, he's coming over to study at State- taking Ritchie's place, who'll be going back to Dar- this fall.

As we're driving through the city I'm struck by the smell, not bad, but very strong, and green. Africa smells like . . . spinach. Seriously. At least the part of Dar around campus does.

Drinking at the Udassa club.We drop our luggage off at our rooms there on campus- nice by any standards, but top of the line plush for over here- then, since I'm not the only one thirsty, we walk down to this little beer garden there on campus, the Udassa Club, which I came to dislike intensely before the end of out stay, to sample some native brews. They're wanting to close, but we flash some money, and that's that. Unfortunately, the waitresses cum (ahem) prostitutes are quite excited by our relative wealth, and bug the fuck out of us ("Hey, I like you JUST FINE" "Get OFFA me.").

The beer, however, IS just fine, Danny says he thinks it’s the second best in the world, he's full of shit, but it is pretty damn good. With the former Brit influence I was hoping the beer'd be more like IPA's, they weren't. I sampled a Safari, and a Kilimanjaro, and a Tusker (from Kenya), all in those lovely half liter bottles, the absolute best serving size for a beer, bar none, they were all good but I settled on Safari as my brand, drank several more of those, then we got some to go and went back to the Flats to hang out for a while.

Turned on the TV and what the fuck is on? Mountain Stage. Swear to God, we almost fell out of our chairs. Drank some more beer, remembered to all take our Malarone (anti-malaria med), drape the mosquito netting over our beds, and go to sleep.

Lizard in our room.  (Not the big one from the bathroom, though.)Wednesday, May 18

Happy Anniversary to me. Twenty six years ago today, Loretta and I got married. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

Woke up after sleeping only a couple hours. The sun's up, so I get up as well, go in the bathroom to take a leak. I hear something above me, look up to see this big lizard walking on the ceiling above my head. It's a gecko, and a fucking big one, maybe 18 inches long. "I didn't think you guys got that big" I tell him. He goggles back at me with his big, gecko eyes. Whatever, live and let live, I say. Sometimes.

I run into Mike coming in, as I'm going out, he couldn't sleep either, "Check out the lizard" I tell him, "In the BATHROOM?", "Yeah, big one, on the ceiling", Mike decides to piss outside.

Breakfast areaWe get free breakfast with our free rooms- we came over on the coattails of Danny's Fullbright scholarship, which saved all of us tons of money, thank you, sincerely, Mr. Boyd- I don't have lots of cash in my pocket so I'm all about free food, so Mike, Doug and I go get some free grub.

There's hot water and milk to make your tea- I do, but pass on the milk, a tray of fly covered fruit I also pass on, a jug of juice, I pour a glass, the juice is full of black specks, gnats, I'm not real squeamish about that kind of thing so I drink it anyway. There's a steam tray sitting there, we open it up to find it filled with that traditional Tanzanian breakfast food, hot dogs. Seriously, and these big square rolls.

I get four hot dogs, break them in half and stuff them in the roll, put hot sauce on it- normally I wouldn't, but that roll was really hard and dry- just finishing hot dog thing when this girl comes around asking if we'd like omelets. Yes, please, many. Good omelets, I had two, everyone else just ate one, but for some reason I was starving.

The grounds at Research Flats.Get back to the room in time for our delivery of bottled water (essential) and beer (doubly essential), we got this big milk crate with 20 half liter beers- 4 each Safari, Kilimanjaro, Tusker, Serengeti, and Nduve- for six bucks. God help me, for that price I'll put up with bugs in my juice any day. Doug and I figure it's already night time by our internal clocks so we start in on the beer, Mike (wisely) declines.

That (hot, hot, hot) afternoon we walk over to the theater section of campus, dubbed "Hollywood" and hang out for a while, meet the people who're going to crew the movie, starting to flag a bit, so Doug and I go to the Udassa beer garden for some more beers, then meet the rest of them for dinner at this restaurant on campus, to be followed by some play they're putting on at Hollywood tonight.

The meal is buffet style, again they've got this nice looking produce, a couple really good looking salads, and all this great fresh fruit, laid out all going to goo in this wretched heat, and covered in flies. Crazy. I get some kind of gristle over rice, toughest meat I've ever tried to chew in my life, and that includes that burnt/raw rattlesnake, but I got it all down, it was a point of fucking honor- I was the only one who did, hey, where's the lemon wedges?- twice I bit down on crunchy things, once it tasted like bug crunch, and once like dirt, both times I figured it was already in my mouth so I swallowed it. Kept throwing down the Safari's at dinner as well, the only way I could keep going.

Chicken and chips.We were met by Danny's friend Heather, cute, but married, she was telling us about this friend of hers whose sister had just been killed by a crocodile right outside the city, that sucks hard, they need to wipe those damn things out, seriously. Moments later I was introduced to an even worse horror, that of the Tanzanian public toilet.

They're squatters, not sitters, which means that all you've got is this vaguely oval hole, with a couple treads on either side where you're supposed to place your feet. I'm not trying to be overly vulgar here, but you'd think if these guys have been using shitters like this all their lives, their aim would be a little better. Doesn't seem to phase them, though, they just walk all through it to deposit their own, wherever it might fucking fall. You've NEVER smelled a stench like these fucking things, and the flies are so thick at the doors, this first time my buzzed up thought was that they were a fucking curtain, went to part it with my arm and it came apart into a million shit sated flies. In addition, there's no paper, just this communal water jug sitting by the hole that you can dip in before you wipe your ass with your fucking bare hand. Call me an ugly American if you want, but that's FUCKED UP.

Don't know what this was.  Robin couldn't eat it.I never did use a public toilet the whole time I was in Africa, I'd walk around the back of 'em and piss against the wall, like I did this time- to see a guy out behind the kitchen, washing dishes in this muddy little creek that ran back behind there. It looked like he was scrubbing the dishes with his shoe. I decide I need some more fucking beer. Lots more.

Went, beer in hand, to the play that evening, some loud and raucous thing with these insanely bright costumes and all kinds of crazed carrying on, I don't know if it was jet lag or drinking beer off and on all day in that evil heat, but I passed out in my seat about 30 seconds in, and stayed passed out the entire play, offending/impressing our friend Hamza. Danny woke me up when it was over and I went back to the room and went to sleep, which was good, cos Doug, Mike and I are to depart in the morning for Arusha, and from there to our safari. Which is where we'll pick up next issue.

You're gonna miss me.

Later

Bill

P.S. Do you know the cure for acne, a friend of mine has it.

Me face looks like a baby's bottom.