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8/20/02 Butterfly Men Are Free When I'm with you I can't control myself . . . Hey Not sure if I'm going to send this fucker out tonight or not- I guess time will tell. I've been trying to space these things out some, nobody needs too much of even a good thing like this, but I'm once again having one of those nights . . . What's Bill drinking? Ah, well, dammit . . . beer. I know it's only what, Tuesday? Oh fucking hell, it IS only Tuesday, I'm not making it through this week. No fucking way. And by the way, some have asked (I love how people show interest in this shit, I really do) how many 40 oz. I got through last newsletter, since I forgot to say, once it was done. Four. Had the fifth one in the refrigerator, would've drunk it if it'd been a weekend, knew I had to get up for work, so I didn't. Not that it did me that much good, still got up sick as hell, only could hang for half a day before I had to come home, too hung over to go to Geri and Steve's like I'd planned. You guys aren't off the hook, I'm still coming. Girls have been gone longer than usual because of that vacation thing with their ma, we kind of went into it some last issue, and I am not sleeping well, in fact, there's nights I'm not sleeping at all. Still. Started to take off on a tangent here, decided not to. Maybe another time.
The Troggs were an incredibly goofy and pliable bunch, they didn't write, so they were at the mercy of their stereotypical sleaze bag managers- bubblegum's cool this afternoon, so do this bubblegum shit, then next week, faux psychedelia's good now, you'll do that- whatever, mate, we'll be down the pub when you need us. Consequently, they've got some of the dumbest lyrics of all time (and sung so HEARTFELT, cos they didn't know any fucking better, God, if you could hear this, there's not a stick of irony in any of this stuff). All lyrics this issue are Troggs. If you knew me like I know you girl I'm not just doing this newsletter stuff, however, I'm also doing the serious writing, back banging away at Drains earlier tonight, moving right along- Doug is dead, Debbie is dead, Jason is dead- sorry this new guy made it where some of you oldies didn't, but he fit with this guy who was already in it- Chris and I are building up to our first confrontation (and it's going to be ugly), and we're about at the end of our first third of the story, the 3 breakdowns being, Just Another Day In The Drains/The Shit Hits the Fan/A Military Solution- You Fucking Wish. This is GREAT stuff. And Laura, my dear. You asked me a while back if you could read this as I go- actually, you didn't ask me anything like that, Joe interpreted for you- here's the deal. Get your old man to help me finally, and definitively, finish the Gorch Brothers- 20 months, and counting, that's crazy- and it's in your box, babe- figuratively, and definitively. She changed her name to Pat Of The Flowers Actually, kind of catchy, that. Haven't done a lot in the, what, five days since the last one? My landlord invited me up for a drink (hot Coke and rot gut PX government discard rum, holy fuck, just put a cigarette lighter on your tongue), I normally avoid him like the plague whenever he invites me up - "Nah, thanks, Jack, but I've got to . . . go shit myself" "Okay, another time", but I went ahead up there the other night I was so - lonely? bored? I don't know. I actually like Jack, he's a nice guy, but he can turn Hi, how you doing? into a 30 minute discourse on who knows the fuck what. He was in the midst of telling me about this serious personal problem he's got, when he all of a sudden looks at me straight faced- or as straight faced as he ever gets, Jack's always got this glazed, half smiling expression on his mug, like he just took some way heavy electroshock treatment, and really liked it- and goes, "You know, Bill, the steam engine is hell." Swear. After we left steam engines (and I left my senses, cos I couldn't take this shit without a hearty dose of free, cheap rum) we went into the various boat hulls and their strengths and weaknesses, why there's no longer any B-12 in our soil, and why if you're going hunting for polar bears it's best to take along an Eskimo. (Bait? No fucking idea, I was snoring by that point). Joe knows him (he's his brother in law), he'll tell you this is exactly how Jack talks. And talks and talks. If you interrupt him and say, "But Jack, what the fuck does this have to DO with anything?", he gives you this totally blank "Do with anything . . . ?" look. You're the girl that I love best, you're the one that hugs my chest Damn. I think I've been discarded by my Beckley girls, all of them (which would make them different from all your other girls HOW, you fucking loser- goddamn, sometimes I hate that fucking Death Falcon), and no, this is NOT some whining plea for attention, just a fucking observation. You all might want to lock your doors, however, I talked to the guy from Appalachian Pro (that would be Beckley rasslin' league), Sunday night- we've had our differences, and goddammit, I DON'T know why I have such trouble getting along with these dicks, I'm fucking EASY to get along with, I just don't wanna get fucked over, I'm a nice guy, do you hear me, I'm a fucking NICE GUY- I'm not gonna say we've kissed and made up, but we're talking- and you just may find my bloody self upon your doorstep some night this fall, after a triple barbed wire double bypass match. Weight's at 217, and I'm feeling good, upped my fucking lift ticket and it's working good for me. As the Brits say, I'm feeling in rude health. Love the Brits, they are a lovely bunch, funny and friendly. Just wish they'd brush their fucking teeth, and bathe more than twice a week. Bamboo butterflies, twice their normal size No party out at Joe's, as advertised earlier, for many reasons. All I'm gonna say. Looking forward to Jason's party- and I'm not gonna crack on your 80's theme, dude, I swear, but holy shit, anyone wanting to make a case for the 80's, I got 2 words for ya- Twisted. Sister. The 80's really did suck hard. I know it sounds condescending, but I don't mean it that way- ah, yeah, fuck, I do- but at the same time I realize it's all you know, and it's as real and valid to your and you generation as other folks 70's and 60's, and realistically, who's to say that shit was any better? Me. I say it was better. Gonna throw some photos onto this one- MOTHERFUCK, I love this scanner- the first 2- well, actually, they're two versions of the same photo- are of when Joe and I toured Saturn a while back, thought we'd do our best to fit in. Butterfly headpiece by my hilariously talented sprat, Rachel. One of these 2 versions could be a CD cover, VOTE, please, tell me which you prefer, psych or blue. Joe, I have to tell you, dude, you're starting to pick up your own little following through this thing- swear to God, and I'm rolling, how fucking funny, and cool, Chris and little Ronnie G have also been enquired about, I'm not kidding. This is KILLING me, I just started this back the first of the year to occupy my drunken time.
Saved this one for last. Went back and played it again, to make sure I got it right Oh me, oh my, blueberry pie Help me. Later. Bill
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What's Bill Listening to? The Troggs, The Vintage Years. You may as
well just hang it up if you're wanting my take on the latest shit out
there, cos I don't listen to it. Everyone knows the Troggs from 
So,
the third photo- think I'm just going to keep throwing these out in series
of three- is of the Sabres, circa 1990- this is your chance to see Joe. He
doesn't look much like that today- double the weight, halve the hair- but
he's still Joe. As far as the background, we're out in my old garage- god
fucking dammit, don't get me started, that was MY FUCKING GARAGE- where
else are you gong to find Abdullah the Butcher (eating toilet paper), Adam
Warlock, a Flying V, Allosaurus, Roberta Vasquez, Dr. Strange, Maniac Mark
Lewin, a White Falcon, the Fantastic Four, a knife, future cyborg hell
world, Dorian Hawkmoon, Joe's big punkin head (twice), the UNGODLY fine
Karen Velez- that shit CANNOT be real- Mark Farner, The Justice Machine,
Buzz Sawyer, Pete Townshend- yo.