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8/26/03 Rulebreakers Rule
Hey When Life hands you lemons, make trouble. Challenge Life to a fight. When Life doesn't show up, punch your own self in the face. Go outside and jump up and down and stomp your feet. Bang your head on the ground. Pull up great big hands full of grass and throw them up in the air. Challenge Fate to a fight. When Fate doesn't show up, punch your own self in the face some more. Scream every cuss word you know as loud as you can. Bite down on a broom handle and growl like a dog. Challenge Death to a fight. When Death shows up, run away like a son of a bitch. Kick something that's really hard, so you hurt your foot. Kick it again. Spit at your own reflection in the mirror. Challenge it to a fight. Punch your own self in the face several more times. Let the guy in the mirror punch himself some. Lay down on the floor. Challenge the floor to a fight. Go to sleep. Repeat. Who says I don't know how to deal with heartache? So what's been up with Bill in the longest gap in this rag's going on two years history? Not much . . . This insomnia shit is just crushing me. There's a night, actually, more often it's a day, here and there where I get some decent rest, but if I told you how little sleep I was getting on a weekly basis, I genuinely doubt that you'd believe me, you'd say no one could function with that little sleep, they'd just fall over. I fucking wish. I have no energy at all, my infrequent attempts at working out are an absolute joke, my brain's fucking mush, I'll literally sit for an hour just staring at the wall, had a couple wicked, wicked headaches, scared me they were so bad and I honestly think they were just due to lack of sleep, also been throwing up which is something I simply don't do, doesn't matter what I put in there, it stays, got the stomach of a hyena, something's gotta break soon, cos as some country singer once put it, ain't living long like this. Still, I try to be optimistic and take a ruler with me every time I go to bed. Know why? To see how long I sleep. Can't use my Xenedrine to power my way through this shit, cos I'm out, and they don't make it anymore. They make an ephedra free kind, well, what's the fucking point, that's like Micheloeb Ultra of speed, got a couple free samples of some other stuff from the girl at the GNC, Charge! and something else, checked their contents against the old Xenedrine and they're like a fraction as strong. Dammit, I want my ephedrine.
Where was I? Son of a bitch . . . The girls start their new school- today, this after midnight stuff gets confusing. Called yesterday, Monday, which is when I thought they started, to see how they liked their first day and they were at the mall, shopping. Haven't heard from the girls as much as I would like, they're damn hard to get a hold of, as am I, damn Verizon, they're doing okay so far, I guess. And I'm not going to wear it out, but the shit has already started. Before they left, Loretta promised the girls she'd be bringing them back for Labor Day. Well, she's not. She's been out of town on business the past two weekends- two of the first three weeks the girls have been there, she's been out of town, she doesn't want them there so she can be with them cos SHE'S never fucking there, they're fucking trophies to her- and now she's saying she'll be too tired to bring them in. Whatever. Did she not know about these trips when she made her promise? Of course she did. Lies flow out of that dog's mouth as easily as she exhales. This isn't something she lied to me about, it's a lie she told to the girls. They better get fucking used to it is all I can say. And Loretta really needs to avoid my Dad at all costs. I think he actually despises her more than I do, if that's possible- he once told me I needed to put shit behind me and trust Loretta again, and when that turned out to be very bad advice (not that I took it, necessarily), he took it real personal, cos he'd stood up for her, and she was still out fucking around, and I think it truly hurt him cos he didn't want to think that of her (join the fucking club)- and when I told my parents the girls weren't coming back for Labor Day, and why- they both took the girls moving away really hard- my Dad wasn't real happy. In my near 47 years on earth I've heard my dad use two extremely vulgar terms for a woman exactly one time each, and each time it was about Loretta. He don't like her.
Speaking of my mom, she had a seizure a couple months back, not sure if I mentioned that in here or not, had an MRI done, she apparently has had a minor stroke sometime in the past six months. I noticed she'd been walking a little funny, but I thought it was just her. She's going to PT now twice a week for the next six weeks and that's a good thing, get her ass up off of that damn couch and out doing something. Maybe I should have a stroke. As for Labor Day weekend, since the girls will be in Maryland, I guess I'll see you on Saturday, Chris. I have about as much interest in WVU football as I do in pulling up my fingernails to see what's underneath, but hanging out with you guys is always a good day, and it's probably my only chance to hook up with the elusive Mr. Montgomery. I forgot to put in my order for an Okinawan geisha (do they have them?), hope you remembered to bring me one anyway, with a bottle of sake smuggled up her, no wait, shit, I don't want to have to compete with a bottle of sake, well, anyway, hope you and Deb had a good time over there, you can tell me about it when I see you Saturday, hopefully drinking sake with a geisha on my lap. Vito e-mailed and said he could get me on a card on Sunday, somewhere in Ohio, I declined with thanks, don't have the stamina right now, and anyway, Sunday is Mothra/Godzilla day on Sci-Fi, don't y'all forget.
The Doom Patrol was a typically wacko comic in the 60's, I remember Bouncing Boy and Lard Lass and I howling our way through a bunch of them I'd picked up cheap at Comic World, on our beach trip '85, then turned sort of grim in the 70's, to the point where EG and NM were actually killed by the DC version of the Brotherhood Of Evil, which NEVER used to happen back then. Robot Man went crazy and tried to kill the BOE so they locked HIM up, which makes perfect comic sense, later during George Perez' (fantastic artist) run on Teen Titans in the early 80's RM and Beast Boy and the New TT got revenge on the BOE and even killed their chief, General Somebody. Good comic, great name. What's Bill listening to? Stopped in Border's coming back from Huntington week before last looking for Psychotronic Video, haven't found one in there in a long time, in fact their magazine section is starting to resemble BAM, 5000 magazines and all shit (although Daisy Fuentes, who is doing an infomercial for Winsor Pilates which I've watched about a zillion times these many late nights and is looking FINE from it, is on the cover of some men's magazine this month looking EXTRA FINE), I wanted SOMETHING, so I looked around, picked up a biography of Neil Young, "Shakey", in softcover for $17 as opposed to $30 hardcover, smart shoppers etc., looked around some more, picked up a couple Ramones CDs, Pleasant Dreams and Psychedelic Jungle for only $11, a steal, also an Ozric Tentacles twofer, There Is Nothing/Live Ethereal Cereal, also for $11, it's this instrumental space rock stuff, lots of synth, not much guitar, it's listenable, but doesn't really stick in your head. Thanks to Dave's Tele and effects chain (I mean my Tele, sorry about that alien thing, Dave), Beasts, and Brain Dragons are pretty much finished (yeah, I know, we heard that one before). Joe was listening to them the other night and really liked a couple songs a lot, "(I'm) Incarnate" in particular, which made me feel pretty good, Joe won't say he likes something just to please me (although he might just to get me to shut the hell up). Get 'em done and off to AI, I need to set up a Goliath website so people who want this Kira Majin stuff, along with the Sabres, Tang Spoons, Gamma Girl, etc., can get it. Don't go grocery shopping in the middle of the night drunk out of your head. I'm not going into detail here, just trust me on this one. Rum and coke isn't the worst drink ever. It's spiced rum and vanilla coke. Saw where Idi Amin died. Rot in hell, you evil fuck, you thought eating people was funny, how about down there you got demonic cannibals biting chunks out of your never dying ass forever. Been watching that anime stuff that Cartoon Network shows on Adult Swim from midnight to 2 am, bizarre, bizarre stuff, pretty violent, there was this good battle tonight between the Wolf Demons and the Birds Of Paradise (who, despite their name, are also demons), almost as good as that battle between the flying gorillas and the tiger men in that classic early Hawkman with that incredible Murphy Anderson art, this stuff's also pretty funny at times, not too sexy for me although they try, cartoon tits just don't move me, sorry, although I'll admit Little Annie Fannie in the 60's-70's Playboys used to rev me up on occasion, and just damn weird, lots of times I just sit there zoning and going, "This doesn't make any sense," and that's a good thing. Just wish it would put me to sleep. What's Bill drinking? Green tea. Contrary to the impression the above advice might give, I've been drinking very little. How I currently feel goes light years beyond just being a little pissed off or depressed, and alcohol is not my friend right now. I really don't know what I'm going to do with myself. I have absolutely no interest in this world in being 19 again, I'm in no fucking way, shape or form emotionally able to start my adult life all over again from scratch- no home, no job, no significant other, no kids- at almost 50. I just don't fucking want to, and I'm pretty goddamn sure I'm not going to. The alternative is to blow my fucking brains out, or it's equivalent action, and I really don't want to do that either. So I don't know . . . but I will say, if you like me, enjoy me now, cos nothing's guaranteed, and that's the green tea talking, not 900 beers. Next time you're someplace that sells magazines check out the October issue of Pro Wrestling Illustrated, got punk ass Brock Lesnar on the cover, the Death Falcon gets a name check on page 99 under the Kentucky section of match results. It's only a single line, but how many national magazines with circulations in the millions are YOU in this month? Don't forget the big wrestling card in Huntington September 26th. I was working out at Bob's a couple Sunday's ago, the ring is set up in his back yard now, messing around with wimp ass Joe/Hannibal, started to sling him up for the Zero Bomb- Bi: Hey Bob, check this out, I'm gonna drop him right on his head.
And guess what? Between being already weak from lack of sleep, and holding his whining ass up while we discussed things, my arms were tired and I didn't do the move right and I DROPPED HIM RIGHT ON HIS HEAD. Hannibal's laying there moaning, "I knew it", I'm trying not to laugh . . . Bo: Did it hurt? Bob cracks me up. Man, I guess that's about it. Not much to write about this time, my heart's not really in it tonight, in fact I'm pretty much doing this cos I haven't seen or talked to many people the past few weeks so this'll let you know I'm still kicking (and bitching). Been having lots of bad dreams when I do sleep, lots of dinosaur attacks, don't know what's up with that, but those are better than the others, where my chicken shit sleeping brain tells itself everything is okay, and I have these dreams where the girls are little again and we're back in my old room listening to Roky and putting make-up on my face so I'm Scorpion or Captain Flag, or Red King Zombie, and then I wake up out here in fucking wilderness central, and it sucks, I'd rather dream about getting ripped apart by raptors. Had a strange dream one day last week, think I'll pass it along so we don't end on such a sour note. The dream starts out and I'm in this big barn, square dancing, there's just two of us guys, me and Elvis Presley, young Elvis, in the dream we were buds, me and him, and all these cutie pie country girls, and I'm having just a great damn time, we was slinging them girls around ever-whar, weren't we, King, I'm thinking, this is really neat, I'm enjoying the hell out of this, good clean old time fun, maybe after this dance I can get one of these cuties to go out behind the barn with me, and we're doing that thing where you go around taking hands and shit, I think it's an allemande (one of the many accomplishments of my life is that I was a champion square dancer back in fourth grade- no shit- and got to/had to perform at some school assembly) anyhow, someone takes my hand and it's not a cutie pie country girl, it's Nelson Mandela, and he wants to talk- N: Come over here Bill, I want to talk about human rights But Nelson is insistent and he leads me off the dance floor and we go sit on these two barrels. I look back and the dance has stopped and all the girls are flocked around Elvis, fawning over him going, oh Elvis, you're so purty, and I'm thinking, dagnation, I knew that was gonna happen, so I look back at Nelson only he's not Nelson anymore but sissy boy Simon le Bon who used to sing with 80's wuss monster Duran Duran and he's not holding a dollar anymore, but a shoe, and he's bitching A SHOE, what the bloody 'ell did you give me a shoe for you twit, and I'm thinking I didn't give you ANYTHING, it was Nelson, and I gave him a DOLLAR when all I really wanted to do was KEEP DANCING and I'm getting REALLY PISSED- so I shoved Simon off the barrel and go to head back out on the dance floor but Elvis and the girls are all gone, I look back and Simon is gone too- shoe was still there, though-and I'm in the barn all alone, and it starts to get really dark, and I can hear what sounds like raptors scratching around outside the barn, and I guess this wasn't that amusing a dream after all. Still beats most of them I been having lately. I can't think of anything else. You want to do the closing honors? (SURE. HOW ABOUT THIS- Okay, I get your point. (THAT SHIT IS SO LAME- 'NOT EVEN THE CHAIR"!?) All right, I said I get your point, though Heartbreak Hotel is still an awesome song. (WELL I COME FROM MISSISSIPPI Good. (THAT WAS BY BLIND FISTY LABOOZE) One of my favorites. I'm out of here. (ME TOO). Later Bill
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Well since my babies left me 
Got the pictures developed of yours truly with Harley and Ivan (RULE
BREAKERS FUCKING RULE) and Joe should be inserting them here amongst this
text, some of you apparently were starting to question whether your boy
Bill had actually hung with them or not, for fucking shame, dammit, IF I
SAY IT, IT'S SO. More wrestling later. Oh, and while we're on the subject
of the site, some of you have asked me why the text on the site is now
smaller than it used to be. I don't know, I just provide the raw material
for the thing, Joe actually runs it. He was over here the other night and
I asked him, he don't know either, it's nothing he's doing so . . . I
don't know I guess is the final answer.
Excuse me- PIECE OF SHIT COMPUTER JUST SHUT OFF AND LOST ABOUT 1O
FUCKING PARAGRAPHS I NOW HAVE TO REWRITE. I HATE COMPUTERS TIMES INFINITY.
OH MY GOD. I wish I'd had a video camera the Sunday before last, cos
there's no way that mere words can do justice to the eye bulging, purple
faced, incoherent ranting apoplectic FIT that my Dad had watching Ozzy
Osbourne slur his way through his mangled version of "Let's (sic) Go
Out To The Ball Game" during the Cubs seventh inning stretch. If you
saw it, you know that it's pretty hysterical in its own right. Now imagine
watching that with my Dad. He was already bitching about Ozzy being there
period, called him "that goddamn bat eating hop head", (he once
called Mick Jagger "that chimpanzee faggot") but when Ozzy
started "singing" my Dad went BE-FUCKING-ZERK. I swear to God, I
thought he was going to kick the TV screen in. He went storming upstairs
in a huff, didn't come back down for hours. When he did, my mom and I were
still laughing.
Uhm, let's see. Comics, Doom Patrol. This is hard with a koogle brain.
Doom Patrol were these four misfits, Robot Man, original name, that, who
was a robot man, some guy got snuffed so they put his brain in this big
orange robot body, he was this wise cracking tough guy just like the also
orange Mr. Grimm (RM was first), you had Negative Man, this pilot, Larry,
he flew too high and got all cosmic rayed up so he had to stay all
bandaged up like a mummy, he could release this energy being, Negative
Man, but if NM didn't get back inside Larry inside of 60 seconds they both
would die, which led to loads of cliffhangers, you betcha, also Elasti-Girl
who could both shrink and grow real big, Giant Man and Ant Man in one
package, although she couldn't talk to ants, and boy, that was a damn
useful power, hey you ants, uh, save me, lastly their chief, The Chief who
was this brilliant guy in a wheelchair a lot like a certain Prof, again
the Chief was first.
