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8/13/07 The Book of Galoshes
Baby, cheer me up Hey Other than being about half barbed wired to death, and having the hangover from whatever's beneath hell- (I'D SAY IT'S PROBABLY THIS HOUSE) -I'm feeling pretty good tonight for a miserable fuck. I'm tired of trying to fix some other guy's weak ass writing (four pages fixed today in three hours of hard damn work, that's not gonna get it done by the end of the month, I know, already, I know) and watching the Great Muta (Vs. Power Warrioir, Super Striong Machine, the Great Kabuki, Hakushi {bloody}, Hiro Hase {super bloody} Shinya Hashimoto (RIP), great, great stuff) on youtube, head hurts too bad to read, so how about a fucking newsletter? How about one, indeed . . . Still not much mail, maybe everyone's too busy out getting heat stroke to write, so we'll go straight to- what? Al, I guess. Al's mind continues to get worse, if that's possible. He tried to get out of the car with Robby the other day, which I agree on the surface shows good sense- except they were going down Rt. 60 at about fifty miles an hour. Al starts to open the door, Robby yells at him, Al goes, "Aren't we getting out here?" "Fuck no, Al, can't you tell we're still moving? Fast?" Apparently not. Scared the piss out of Robby, understandably. Add to that Al's unfailing motherfucking penchant for shitting all over himself in public- he went to the bathroom at the Ponderosa in Chesapeake (OH) we're about to get banned from, I go in with Al, but not in the stall, he comes out it reeking, with his pants around his ankles, shit all down the back of them- on the outside, Jesus Christ, how do you shit yourself on the OUTSIDE of your pants- I looked in the stall, Al's covered himself in shit but there's not the least little turd in the toilet. How does he DO that?. I get him cleaned up as best I can, tell him to stay put, I'll be right back, I go tell Robby to bring the car around, and the lady to take the alarm off the back door emergency exit so we can go out that way- they don't want us parading Al's shit stinking ass through the dining room for obvious reasons- I'm gone maybe two minutes, tops, I come back, Al's got his pants BACK down, and has got his hands down in the shit in hs Depends smearing it around. "Look what I've done," he says. Yeah, Al, look what you've done. Times like this are why I don't carry a gun. Anyway, times like this are why Robby is again fading on Al, he doesn't come by anything like he used to, shame, cos then I won't get to hear him say things like he said earlier at lunch that day, about some Huntington politcian, who's "a starch Republican" but who won't get re-elected cos "he doesn't have a leg to stamp on." Also, when he found out I had another barbed wire match coming up, Robby advised me to get a techniss shot, so I don't get techniss, also known as a locked jaw. I swear, at any time I expect Robby's head to pop off and cuckoo birds to come flying out the neck hole. However, it's not all shit with Al, we had an adventure the other week, a little story I like to call "Al's in the fucking cheese." I had to go shopping for Al and took him along, which I hate doing cos it's an unpleasant experience for both of us, but I coudn't get Robby to take him for awhile, and I wasn't comfortable leaving Al alone at the house while I went. The main problem for Al with shopping is that his knee huirts, so every time we stop he leans on whatever's next to him, whether its an appropriate leaning station or not, all through Kroger I'm telling him, "Al, don't lean on that shit, man, it won't support you, stop," which is a total waste of my fucking time, we get back to the dairy aisle, I'm getting some milk and orange jiuce, Al's over by the cheese, I hear a snap and a grunt and then Al go "Hey!" I look over, Al's leaned his weight on one of those metal hangers that they put the shredded cheese on, of course it couldn't support him and it's snapped off, and Al's tumbled into the cheese counter. He's lying there in the cheese looking even more bemused than usual. Al: Where the hell am I? He looks around. A: If i didn't know better, I'd say I was lying in some cheese. It's the "If I didn't know better" that cracks me the fuck up. Bill: You are in the cheese, Al. Get out. We'd probably still be there, Al alternately going "How the hell did I get here?" and "Where the hell am I?" times infinity, if I hadn't gone over and hauled him out of the cheese. Two seconds after I'd gotten him out he'd forgotten it completely- "Careful, don't fall back in the cheese, Al" "What kind of idiot would fall in the cheese?" And Bill ain't taking Al shopping no damn more. Things here at the house, and with my Mom, are about the same. That's all I have to say about it. That new Accelerade, sort of like a combination Gatorade and a protein drink, not too good, got a murky taste I don't care for. And I ddin't notice any increased performance from drinking it. What's Bill been up to? Well, I went to an organ concert weekend before this one and a wedding broke out. Doug and Rosa's son Alex got married, best wishes to he and his cutie pie bride, but that guy on the organ- for fuck's sake. Doug says the guy's an asshole, no fucking shit, he starts out the proceedings jamming out for like fifteen minuites on some truly creepy ass tune wholly inappropriate for a wedding, I kept waiting for the Phantom of the Opera to jump out, and not that mincing butt buddy from the ALW abomination, I mean the Lon Chaney skull faced motherfucker, even my Mom noticed, she said afterward "It sounded like a monster movie was about to start", then the preacher or reverend or whatever he was came out and reminded all of us how many marriages end in divorce, yeah, thanks motherfucker, like I need your sorry suited ass to remind me what a miserable fuck up I am, but Al and Jes are gonna be okay cos they've got Jesus in their pocket, well praise the Lord there, Rev, then he reads us a passage from the Book of Galoshes- may not have been what he meant, but it is what he said. I'll admit I'm no biblical scholar, but that's a new one on me. The important thing is, Al and Jessica are now united in holy matrimony, and me and the Death Falcon wish them nothing but eternal happiness. That and two bucks will get them a double deuce at Go-Mart. (WE SHOULD HAVE GIVEN THEM TWO BUCKS). There you go. We then retired to Chiris's house to toast the newlyweds by downing numerous vodka collins (again, I have to say, just a wonderfully refreshing summer drink, well mixed by Chris and then later, by bar mad Sarah, although all that lemon juice plays hell with my gut the next day) and puffing on good cigars. I drank my first couple VC out of my new Lithuanian drinkng horn, till I tipped the damn thing over (never set it down is the secret) and spilled one, and so went to a more conventional cup for the rest of the evening. Then we watched Faster Pussycat, iconic though it is, still a godawful movie, but with six of the biggest natural tits you could ever want to drool upon. We were talking about manly stuff there on the deck, working out, and how real men should eat, and shooting big guns, which led to Sarah and I meeting Chris and Debbie at the F.O.P firing range yesterday (Saturday) to fire off a bunch of rounds from a couple of Chris's pistols, a .38 revolver and a .45 automatic, as well as busting up the targets at the end with his 12 gauge combat shotgun and some double ought buck. Good fun, truly, and it doesn't get much more manly than to be out shooting in the morning sun, while clouds of gnats are getting stuck and drowning in the serum running from your barbed wire wounds, let me tell you. I get the whole gun as dick thing totally, as well, holding a bucking .45 in your hand while you blow holes in something is, for me, anyway, satisfying in a way extremely similar to having my throbbing, engorged phallus in my fist, that feeling of power, of feeling like I can . . . well, anyway, shooting guns is fun, although I know better than to own one, myself. I get into enough trouble with my dick in my hand. Sarah enjoyed it, and has expressed an interest in learning to shoot and actually owning a firearm of her own, which I support completely, in this day and age I would have no problem whatsoever with both of my girls being comfortable and familiar with guns and carrying one at all times. Shoot first, ask questions later, girls. They'll just have to find someone to purchase the guns for them, cos I know it's on the books in every state in the Union, "No guns shall be sold to Indians, drunkards, crazy persons, or anyone possessing the last names Hitler, Khan, or most especially, Bitner". Seriously. What's Bill been watching? Borrowed some movies from Joe and Laura, Primeval, which the commercials when it was released actually made look pretty good, I even considered going to the theater and seeing it cos at that time I thought it was a monster movie, man, I'd have torn that damn movie house down if I'd paid to see this piece of fuck, it ain't no monster, just a damn crocodile, not as horrible an effect as you'd see on the embarassingly piss poor Sci-Fi channel, but still a CGI mess and NFG as far as Bill's concerned, also not enough crocodile fighting and too much about the shittty African politics. Purportedly "based on true events", yeah, like there really is a place called Africa (I know, cos I've been there, and got blue balled by a damn super hot Russian). Avoid. Sarah and I watched Children Of Men, which was pretty good, another future dystopia pic, but well done, well cast and acted, decent script although the evil government shit was a bit heavy handed, very well shot, this movie had a good look to it, worth your time, check it out. Then we tried to watch Blood And Chocolate, which despite it's wonky title Sarah assured me was about werewolves, but what was on the disc was Blood Diamond, which we also borrowed but which I have no interest in seeing (don't like Leo, haven't felt right about Jen- even though she's still gorgeous- since I heard about her breast reduction surgery, serious, I mean God gave you those massive breasts for a reason, darling), so I thought maybe B&C was on it, but no go, it was BD also. So fuck me. And the geezer who put Blood Diamond on the Blood And Chocolate DVD. Speaking of movies, I'll be filming the rest of my part in Johnny Boy this Thursday, looking forward to it, they've already rough cut the stuff we shot in the warehouse- these boys aren't sitting on their asses, great, maybe this thing will be out fairly soon- and Ian sent me an e-mail saying "your performance was excellent". Hey, tell me something I don't know. What's Bill been reading? Another good mystery, City Of Tiny Lights, named for a song by the useless Frank Zappa, about bad doings in London, written by a Brit, apparently for Brits with it's sometimes damn near impenetrable Brit slang (took me 100 pages to figure out Genius meant Guiness) and way too many cricket references, but still, a good read.
What's DFZ been up to? Defended the XMCW belt last week against, again, Wes Lynch, I like him okay but he couldn't wrestle his way off a bus. Still, the crowd has no clue that he can't work a lick, and as far as fan response went, we had a great match, I guess I just got spoiled wrestling Brandion, and now I want all the matches to be that fun and that good. Allen didn't want Nikki to be a Falconette cos "you already got the belt and Danny, Wes doesn't have anything" which makes a sort of twisted sense, although I'd happily trade both for Nikki, she and I went out for a drink after the show, and a little slap and tickle in the car afterward, I did get an e-mail just- Friday? I think it was Friday, from someone who'd checked her out on the site, sayng "Isn't she awful young?", I don't know, it depends on how young you feel twenty four is, but trust me, after spending time with her the other night, Nikki is no babe in the woods being taken advantage of by the evil Death Falcon. Far, FAR from it. I may be in love. Also worked Juggs in that big hardcore Ohio match last Friday, although I was unable to take advantage of the free hotel room offer, got paid great and had a great time, although I'm not sure Juggs would say the same. The match got changed to a tag, me and Viper (not the brightest spark, but a truly nice guy) against The Hatchet Crew, Juggs and Damian, this big guy wears an old school black and white convict suit, again, not a bright spark but a nice fellow. Since I knew they were filming for a DVD, I wanted to make sure I got good color, so I mixed a DF special- twelve ounces Red Bull (sugar free, it all tastes like shit so I go for the low calorie stuff), four ounces vodka, wash down six aspirin with it about half an hour before the match= good color. It was a good, rough match from the start, I took a big bump through a barbed wire board and got all cut up, hard way and gig, later Juggs and I are working outside the ring, there's this pizza cutter lying there- why? fuck if I know, but I know Juggs is gigging- I'd just posted him- so I figure I'll run over it with the pizza cutter, and make it look like that's what opened him up. So I pull him up by the chin and start running that pizza cutter across his forehead pretty damn vigorously- hey,they're not really sharp, right?- I hear Juggs going "Holy shit. Stop. STOP!" but I figure he's just selling for the crowd till I feel this warm, wet shit jetting onto my hand, I look down, and holy shit indeed, I've practically trepanned poor Juggs, that crazy ass pizza cutter has sliced him from ear to ear. I immedately throw the damn thing down- bad, BAD pizza cutter- and Juggs and I have the following conversation- Juggs: What the hell were you DOING? Instead of trying to kill me, Juggs, like the trooper he is, calls a spot which I don't hear quite right, so I punch him in the stomach. J: Oooooof. No, Bill, no . . . I said work the CUT. The man has the patience of Job. Later, we were doing the spot we did in Lubeck, only this time I'm reversing HIM and suplexing him onto the metal folding chair, outside the ring no less, which I guess Juggs didn't take into consideration when he called the spot, cos when I reverse him some little front row mark kid jumps up and tries to puill the chair away so face Juggs won't land on it, unfortunately, all he manages to do is tip the chair over, so it lands on its back, with the seat sticking straight up. I hear Juggs holler, "Move kid, no WAIT!", I, reasonably enough I believe, think the "no wait" is for the kid as well, sadly no, it was for me, and I suplex Juggs so he comes down with the base of his spine right across the edge of the seat. Juggz: Nnnnnggh. Oh, Lordy . . . Anyway, we tear down the house, truly, with this match, after it's over we go to the back, Juggs just SOAKED in blood, with a bandanna around his head trying to hold his brains in, still dragging a numbed leg, he looks like a fucking zombie, for real. First person we run into is this guy called Blade. Blade: How'd the match g -oh my GOD, what happened? Still later, after I'd availed myself of some of the free worker beer (I forgot, I drank this night too, just didn't get hammered), I told Viper, "Fuck this Hatchet Crew shit, we're the Pizza Cutter Crew". Juggs wasn't amused, although I got an e-mail from him the next day saying he hoped I wasn't mad at him, cos he wasn't mad at me. Mad at him for WHAT? I was the one who damn near killed him. I sent him an e-mail back saying I wasn't mad at him, but watch it next time. And I got a call not just a few hours ago (midnight) from Heath, this other Ohio promotor who was at the show, basically wanting to book the same match we worked the other night on a show for him in September, and if I told you what he's offering to pay me you'd never believe it. Gonna go, another relatively short one tonight, maybe next time I'll tell a funny story from the past, like I haven't done in a while. Or maybe not. Till then, mes braves . . . I feel the ice in my head Later Bill
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One fled 
What's Bill drinking? Rolling Rock, but more of a hair of the dog
thing, got rocked last night on, again, sixteen beers, that seems to be
the new buzz number, still, that and the vodka collins last weekend are
the only drinking I've done since last issue, just too fucking busy
anymore, it's not that I don't have the time to drink, I don't have the
time to be hung over.