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8/17/06 Dell Must Die, Slowly
"Fuck technology, fuck magic, and fuck Arthur C. fucking Clarke." Bill D.F.Z. Bitner Hey Son of a fucking bitch, am I in a mood. Been hard at work for hours, HOURS, I say, on an essay- yeah, the first one in years, entitled "Why Social Work's Not For Sissies", and a worthy damn successor to "Why Bill Hates The Fucking French" and "The Day Bill And His Dad Scalded Themselves Purple" it was, too, lots of KB of funny, witty shit, even if we do say so ourselves (this being the royal "we", of course). So why aren't I laughing? And why aren't you, while reading that funny, witty shit instead this pissy rant? Cos this goddamn shitbag computer just ate it, that's why. I was DONE, checking it for grammar, when that damn thing that's been popping up recently popped up, "Something (a bunch of numbers) has caused an error in Something (a bunch more numbers), the computer is shutting down now, anything since your last save may be lost". My last save? Mother fucking FUCK. Yeah, I KNOW I should save, but it just doesn't occur to me. I am now, oh yeah, every paragraph, now that the fucking DISH HAS RUN AWAY WITH THE SPOON, but . . . Shit. Besides losing all that good writing- I can and will write it again, since it's all true and indelibly imprinted on this warped mind, but not tonight, I don't have it in me to start over again this late- I was also writing it to occupy my restless mind (and hands) and keep both away from the beer. Well, fuck that, I'm pounding the beer now, so there. I'll show this fucking world. So, since I'm going to get wrecked, may as well do a NL as well. Yeah, you're welcome. All the responses to last issue were to the on-line version, everyone's happy Joe's putting up more photos again, also, not one, not two- wait, it was two- people wrote in regarding that clip of SAHB playing "Vambo" on the late, great In Concert, and how cool Joe was to include it in the NL, well, I do concur, but give me a little credit as well, I could've written about how wonderful Bo Donaldson and The Heywoods were. That clip was the first time I ever saw SAHB, it was love at first sight, and I'd love to be able to watch it again now, but on this computer it will play for a second and then stop for five, and with this boy's attention span . . . that's okay though, this computer has a date with the hangman, and it's gonna be soon. Things are pretty much the same here in Shadow Land, my Mom much more the mess, I keep expecting to look at her at any time and see what's left of her brains just dripping waxily out of her ears. Yesterday afternoon (I'd been up all night with Al the night before), I told her I was going to try and take a nap for an hour or so once I'd gotten my Dad back from therapy, NO CALLS, I'm not even asleep good when she's poking my shoulder and waking me up, phone in hand - Bill: WHAT, god dammit, I said no calls! I take the phone. Bill; WHAT?! Tina: What are you yelling at ME for? My Mom has already wandered off downstairs. B; Jesus fucking . . . stay on the line, tell me what this sounded like, later. I took the phone and threw it as hard as I could, from the bedroom, down the stairs and into the kitchen where it hit the cabinets and busted all to pieces. My Mom runs into the kitchen, then runs back up the stairs. M: What was THAT? I've been edgy as fuck for a while now, not to mention a surly son of a bitch, I guess it shows even when I'm not throwing phones across the house, when Tina got back from Lion's Club last night she was laughing, she said "Yeah, everyone there was thanking me for bringing Dad tonight instead of you, she said they're all getting to where they're afraid of you". B: For fucks sake, why? Yeah, well . . . I got on my Mom again this morning for her lackadaisical handling of the urinal, I walk in the bedroom and my Dad's pissing all over himself, and the bed, my Mom's got the urinal dangling a good foot away from his piss stream while she's got her head jammed in the fucking idiot box- in her case, a perfect term- engrossed in Bob Barker's moronic jabbering (another great source for hot daytime women is The Price Is Right, that show never fails to have just stunning- whatever they are, the models who show the marks what they're trying to win, Barker calls them "my beauties", which gives me cold chills, but he may be right, he was getting some from the mouth watering Dian Parkinson for years, Joe, if you can find something from her Playboy, ahem, spread, put it in the NL, we'll all thank you)- B: For Christ's sake Mom, pay attention to what you're doing! I was going to say, if she was the one getting piss all over herself, or the one who had to strip the beds and do the laundry and give my Dad a shower every time she dumped piss all over, she might pay more attention, but probably not. Not an hour later (cos The Price Is Right was still on) I hear my Dad hollering- D: Hey . . HEY! HEEEEEEEEY! I go back in their room- Bill: What the problem? My Dad's had to piss again- lasix- I look and this time my Mom's got that damn urinal jammed up into his colon. B: Jesus, Mom, its not a fucking catheter. Lord help us, I need to go out and invest in a muzzle, seriously, cos I'm really getting mean, so far I'm just barking, but that's bad enough, my Dad and I got into it last night and I said some evil shit, stuff I could tell by the shocked expression on his face hurt his feelings, it was an ugly/sad moment cos I flashed back on some of the many fights Loretta and I had where I'd see that exact same expression on her face, "How could you say that to me?" and back then I wouldn't stop- as I've said multiple times, I'm far, FAR from blameless in the 10,000 Day War that was, and is, Bill Vs. Loretta. At least this time I stopped. I was still pissed, in that cruel, destructive, "I will say ANYTHING" way that I get pissed, that's gotten me to where I am today- but at least last night when I realized I was hurting someone who loved me, I stopped, and walked away. And, an hour later, I apologized for being such a hateful son of a bitch. I wish I'd done a lot more of that back in the day. Or not been so hateful to start with, but that, I do believe, is a forlorn hope. That reminds me, I also got some compliments on last issue's closing limerick, cos as one person said, "they're hard to do", another asked if it really came to me in a dream, yes, for the thousandth time, if I say it, it's so, you think I make this shit UP? It also makes me think, if you know a dog is already mean, and you also know that this dog doesn't like you in particular, and yet you persist in teasing and baiting this dog, you really have no room for complaint if this dog bites you, or at least tries to. As for Al . . . jeez, what can I say. He was pretty good Monday night, best he's been in months, till he went off his nut around midnight, and that was that. Sometimes he's as docile as a . . . this is your cue, here. (SORRY. SOMETIMES HE'S AS DOCILE AS A WOMBAT.) Then out of the blue he turns as mean as a . . . (GIANT SQUID. YOU EVER TANGLE WITH ONE OF THOSE FUCKERS?) Not really. Although I'm sure tangle is the operative word. (UNHOLY FUCKING BITCH IS THE OPERATIVE WORD. THOSE BASTARDS ARE MURDER ON A STICK). Do they shit and piss all over themselves, then track it all through the house, revoltingly naked, while cursing you? (NO). Then I'll trade you Al for a giant squid. (NO, THANKS). And while we're on bizarre bestiaries, Al and I were at breakfast with Robby Monday before last- last time I've seen Robby by the way, when Al gets bad, Robby gets scarce- Robby was telling some story about some guy he was trying to buy something from, or maybe the guy was trying to buy something from Robby, I really don't pay very close attention when Robby's talking, when he concludes- Robby: - but I decided not to do business with him cos he's gay as a coon. He decided not to do business with him cos he was GAY AS A COON? That's so fucked up on so many levels I don't even know where to start. I got a baby's brain, and an old man's heart Didn't expect to get another issue out before the big party, didn't expect this crack whore computer to fuck me over either, although I'm sure I should have- SAVE, ha, fuck me now, bitch- so, again, if you're invited, please come and have a good time, I'll be wearing my muzzle, swear. What's Bill drinking? Ice cold Pabst, in fact it's more ice than beer, good, no, GOOD. Some reader a few issues back asked how I was still buying Pabst at the Huntington Kroger, when a while back I'd written that I'd had to buy Rolling Rock cos they'd quit carrying it. Well, yet again, number one, it's truly touching how closely some of you follow this thing, and number two, Jesus, don't you have anything better to do? The answer is, the week there was no Pabst I'd complained to the kid who's been checking me out for the past six months or so- pleasantly, I thought, I may have threatened violence but it was very broadly tongue in cheek- and the next week I come back and they've got Pabst- in fact, not just one line of six packs, but two. And when I checked out that night the kid made sure I knew it was cos of him, he said "I told them there's this big bald guy"- I could've done without the bald part- "comes in here every week, said if we didn't keep selling Pabst he was going to hurt someone". So there you go. He also went on to tell me his granddad used to drink Pabst (ha), he'd tried it but it was too "harsh" for him. Whatever, youngster. Just the day after I watched the Andy Griffith show with Julie Adams as Mary the County Health Nurse, they showed the one with Sue Ann Langdon playing Mary (love her tits, hate her horrible fake Southern accent, Sue was later in a show in the late 60's, early 70's called "Arnie" that I'm sure no one remembers but me, I remember it chiefly cos her wardrobe seemed to consist of nothing but sweaters a size too small, had a hot daughter in the show too, no idea who played her, too busy looking at Sue Ann, also, I was like thirteen and the daughter may have been as well), both these episodes are of the "horndog Andy" variety, which, I don’t know about you, but make me extremely uncomfortable. There was a third actress who also played Mary, also hot, don’t know who she was. Sheriff Taylor also had shot at, among others, the phenomenal Barbara Eden, and Eleanor Donahue (skinny, but cute). And he ended up with that train wreck, Helen Crump? What a mort. Watched an Andy Griffith movie I'd never seen, or even heard of, with my Dad Sunday morning, Onionhead, ('58) wasn't particularly funny, or dramatic either, for that matter, but we kept watching it for some reason anyway, had a million character actors in it who went on to careers in TV, and a weird ass theme song that consisted entirely of "Do do do do do, onionhead", fuck, I wrote a song almost exactly like it that never went anywhere. (MAYBE COS YOU CALLED YOURS "DICKHEAD"). Maybe. I see where the original Ultra Man is coming out on DVD, gotta get that, I'm a total sucker for giant monsters fighting giant robot guys. And I absolutely love the names of the monsters, Pester, that's a word you never hear anymore that I used to hear all the time- Grandma: Gracious Jesus, child, do you have to pester me so? -also Woo (you could give him a toss and say you were "pitching Woo") and Jirass (again, he shows up, you tell him, "I'm gonna kick Jirass!"). I know, I fucking kill me, too. What's Bill been reading? Went to the library last Wednesday (after having lunch with- and on, thanks guys - Joe and Laura, a nice lamb curry, would have invited Anita to join us but I couldn't find her, she must've seen me first) walking back to my car overladen with books, I pass some guy who says- smiling, he was trying to be friendly- "Looks like you need a backpack", and I immediately flash "Who the fuck ASKED you, motherfucker", I swear to God it was all I could do to keep it from coming out of my mouth, there was no reason in this world for that innocent comment to elicit that kind of response, but there you go. Crazy. Wouldn't matter if I did have one, I wouldn't use it. For some reason I find backpacks . . .unmanly. Don't ask me why, cos I cant tell you, I just do. I don't think they're gay as a coon or anything, but they're just not for me. We didn’t have them back in the day, so not using one was never an issue, I can remember walking to and from class at Fairmont- Loretta and I lived a mile and a half from campus both years, and followed the same schedule each year, she'd drive to school early, I'd walk over later, we'd meet and drive home for lunch, drive back over together for afternoon classes, then she'd drive back and I'd walk back, since she started and finished earlier than me- and carrying a lot of text books for a mile and half would sometimes get wearisome, I'd get that damn bent wrist with weight on it paralysis thing you can get from carrying too many books too far, it'd be scary, sometimes I couldn't get my right hand to close up for . . . important stuff.
Like shaking hands with the President. (IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL IT?) Actually, yes. So, anyway, what has Bill been reading that he got from the library? A New X-Men that I can't even remember what it was about now, and three Tom Strong comps (issues 1-15), Alan Moore's most recent take off on old school comics, good, with some great art, especially from Art Adams Also read a biography of Jack Parsons, rocket scientist (he was one of the founders of the seminal Jet Propulsion Laboratory) and practicing black magician, (paging Arthur C. Clarke) who gruesomely (half his face was ripped off, one arm apparently vaporized, cos they never found a trace of it, shoulder to fingertips, even though his shirt sleeve remained intact) blew/burned himself up in his garage laboratory in 1952 either hurrying while trying to mix some explosives for some movie special effects he'd contracted to do, or who was trying to summon a benign love spirit and called up a fire elemental as well (or instead). Them's the breaks, although I have to say I'm inclined to go with what his buddy Ed Forman said, "Jack used to sweat a lot and the damn thing just slipped out of his hand and blew him up". Which could apply to either scenario. I was really drawn again in this book, like I was in the Ross Macdonald Biography last issue, and as I've been to other books and articles over the years, to the depiction of the Southern California of the post war years, God, I think I would have loved it, say from the late 40's to the early 60's before the place went so fucking commercial and the living was still pretty damn easy, I can see myself spending my days surfing and lifting weights and drinking beer and screwing athletic, suntanned blond beach bunnies, who love me for my physical prowess, and then spending my nights writing and playing music and drinking whiskey and screwing pale, cerebral, dark haired beat chicks who love me for my deep, brooding mind. What's so weird is that I was reading that book last Friday, and really getting into the whole atmosphere of it, right before I go to Sam's Uptown Café for Tracy's 30th birthday party (Jesus, I knew her when). I wasn't in much of a mood to go, but I knew it would mean something to Tracy, and I'd promised Kat I'd show up, and I had coverage here and it was a night away. so I went, expecting to say hey, drink a beer or two (I had to wrestle the next night) and then leave. And that's how it would have gone, but as I'm getting ready to leave, these three people come up the steps, where the party was, and where the band was playing as well, two guys and a girl, the girl caught my eye, I smiled, she smiled, we start talking, and I decided to stay for a while. The weird- or sort of weird, or so I found it- thing is that this girl, Tammy, is from Southern California, Orange County- I've met two girls from Orange County now and that's where both of them said they were from, not the town where they actually live- as is one of the guys, Gary. The other guy is from Idaho and he's a big goofy bearded fuck, never did catch his name (it was loud in there with the band ripping), mountain man in the big city. They're all three here in Charleston for some kind of music convention- Gary and Idaho are both bassists, Gary with the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra, Idaho, I don't know, he plays for the trees or something, Tammy, has some kind of administrative job I didn't quite comprehend- and why'd they fly these people all the way across the country to Charleston WV for this thing? Cos this is America and we can is all I can figure. Tammy and I hit it off immediately, which will happen sometimes, she's 40, married, has two kids, a girl, 9 (her age, not her name) and a boy, 4 (ditto), so I was not hitting on her even a tiny bit, swear to God. But I was having a very good time standing there and talking to her- when I wasn't grabbing mister goofy drunk on two beers Idaho by the collar to keep him from tumbling giddily down the stairs- she was good looking, and bright, and interesting, you know the drill by now. It hits midnight- I'd meant to leave hours ago, those three hours I'd stood there talking to Tammy just flew by- they decide they need to get back to their hotel- the Holiday Inn on the Boulevard I'd already ascertained, just asking, you know?- they had early flights to catch, not to mention all that new security nightmare they were going to have to go through since that Brit shit had just been the day before. So Tammy gives me a hug bye and as she does, whispers in my ear, "I'm in room 307, wait a little bit, then come over, okay?" Damn. After they left I ran it by Kat and Tracy, they're both, "We love you whatever you do, but it was obvious you guys connected, she asked you, you didn't ask her, and man, you really seem like you could use a good lay, dude". As well I could, so over to the Holiday Inn I go. Actually, Tracy said "Tap that ass." I was afraid I'd have trouble getting in the front door without a room key- or whatever futuristic device passes for a room key now at Holiday Inn-but no, I walked right in the lobby and got on the elevator. Going up I'm still not sure, but I'm thinking, well, she's had half an hour to cool off, I'll get to her room and it'll be a little awkward but she'll say, maybe I was a bit hasty, I hope you understand and I'll say, sure, no problem and I'll be off the hook, cos this deal is reeking of "she could be Loretta, back in the day" and the whole situation is just not working for me like I'm wanting it to. Well, I get to her room and she's not having second thoughts, I think she must have spent the past half hour going over all the ways we're going to fuck one another's brains out, cos she is ready to GO. Oh dear. She clamps a lip lock on me before I can even get the door shut behind me- and she was a good kisser too, I've always found a direct correlation to how good a woman kisses and how good they are in bed. She takes me by the hand and starts pulling me into the room, and I want to ask her, "Have you done this before?", she didn't strike me as someone who had while we were talking in the bar, but then again, considering the ease with which she invited some guy back to her room she's only met three hours before, who knows, but then I thought, like it would make any difference, do I think the tenth guy who slept with Loretta behind my back was any better than the first? No, I do not, at all, so I stopped and said, "I don't think we should do this." And then, basically, I turned and ran. Well, writing all this down has depressed me, terribly. I'm not looking for anyone to pin a rose on me for this mess, trust me. I'm still not at all sure I did the right thing. I could have had a HELL of time Friday night- okay, at someone else's expense, but why should that be my problem? It's not like it doesn't happen every goddamn day, and I'm telling you what, guys, if you have a good looking wife who regularly goes out of town on business, I'd be concerned as hell, seriously. But when it came down to it, when I got to that hotel room, instead of seeing this hot woman who wanted to do me, I was seeing some poor schmuck out in California, putting his kids to bed and telling them, "Mommy will be home in the morning" and the three of them being all excited about it, while at the same time some care not fucker's bending Mommy over and putting it to her- and that stupid, gullible, trusting California schmuck had my face. I'm an idiot, I know. I should've let the past go and just gone with what was there. So- DFZ did his XMCW barbed wire match last Saturday, AGAIN a Nitro cluster fuck, supposed to be a triple threat match (barbed wire, tacks, glass), ended up just the wire, shitty, shitty match, Danny decided not to work it, as did a couple of the other guys who were supposed to, ended up with only five guys instead of six, and only two of them- Allen, DFZ- juicing. I know- in a barbed wire match. Pathetic. DFZ was in a horrible mood, worked just stiff as fuck, even with himself, got some serious self inflicted cuts on my left upper arm, when I was taking the blade to it, it made this "zzzzzzzzt, zzzzzzzzt" noise, first time I've ever heard that, sort of made me sick to my stomach, and I'm not squeamish. Also, I'm still sore all over, that barbed wire is dirty stuff, you get all these cuts and scratches you can't even see or much feel that night, you think you're okay, then the next day you got all these swollen red stripes and blotches all over your damn self.
I guess I'm gonna go, it wasn't "Why Social Work's Not For Sissies", but it wasn't nothing either. A lot of trouble is brewing out there Later Bill
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"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from
magic". Arthur C. Clarke
(LIKE WHAT?)
SAVE. Ha.