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8/7/06 My Gun Is Me
In my heart lies a place called Swampland Hey Been a pretty rough couple weeks here at Hell's half acre, hope all of you lovely people are doing well. If you recall last issue in this never ending (I hope) serial (The Perils Of Bill) which is my life, (I wouldn't wish it on anyone, but I wouldn't trade it either) our hero was in the clutches of a two week (minus Al nights) drunk, well, boys and girls, it went three weeks plus, got pretty ugly, one of those don't stop drinking till you see blood, not to mention the white of your puked up everted intestines, just like some deep sea monster's, snagged and pulled to the surface against its will, call me Billy Giant Ceratioid Anglerfish if you don't already, culminating in a really killer drunk fueled by a fifth of Wild Turkey 101- by the way, the secret to drinking a whole bottle of whiskey straight is to take BIG drinks, numerous swallows at a time, and then exhale as hard as you can after each last swallow- this minimizes (as much as possible) the burn and keeps you, or at least it does me, from throwing up- fuck that sipping shit, that's for Scotch drinkers and other assorted nancy boys, also it gets that bottle down you FAST, thus increasing its effect. Only problem was it went down so fast it was gone before I was ready to quit drinking, but I didn't feel safe to go after some beer, also it was after 2 am by that point anyway.
Man, as I've said in here before, you know what's the hardest part of drinking for over three weeks? Stopping. Number one, it gets to be a habit real fast, as least for me, and number two, you know that you're facing the mother of all hangovers once you stop. Horrific headaches, shakes, fever, dead wicked (and dead real, and truly frightening, how'd THAT shit get into my head, Jesus Christ, what's WRONG with you, William?) nightmares. However, to quote The Sandman (the comic character, not the wrestler) "If you wanna play, you gotta pay". Too, too true. Not much in the mail bag, just a couple, including one from Sarah, asking why Joe hasn't put many pictures with the past few issues, as always, why you asking me, cos I can't speak for Joe, I would assume he's either been busy or uninspired, but that's just speculation on my part, in truth I have no idea. Got one from Jason saying he can't make the party, we're both sad about that but we'll hook up here soon, he sent some photos of the fruit of his loins (which I'm forwarding to Joe for inclusion here), I cant believe how big they both are, jeez, I've never even seen Ceila yet and she's almost old enough for me to ask out.
One guy was real unhappy there wasn't a photo of the OL outer space vagina in last issue, maybe there's not a picture of it on the internet, I don't know, the episode is The Guests, find a copy and watch it if you need to see it that badly. And while we're on the OL, I'm down to my last few episodes out of the 49, MAN what a show, in this one I watched earlier today, The Duplicate Man, long a favorite cos it's utterly deranged, this guy needs a futuristic pistol to go hunting the escaped Megasoid (you gotta see this damn thing to believe it), so the prop guys take your standard cop revolver of the day and tape sockets from a socket wrench set to the top of it, and the end of the barrel, and there you go, future gun. Hilarious.
This computer is once again annoying the living fuck out of me, slow as shit, keeps cutting off cos whatever has caused an error in whatever, fuck this damn thing, I'm seriously thinking about getting a new one, I hate the mother fuckers beyond all reason, but if I gotta have one, it's better to have a good one than a bad one. And right now, I got a bad one.
In that vein, is it just me, or is every other commercial on the goddamn TV for fucking Geico? I wouldn't buy their fucking insurance if they gave it to me for free. I think Mel Gibson needs to go to The Famous Bill Bitner's Famous School Of Tolerance. (I THINK HE NEEDS HIS ASS KICKED). Well, that's what we do at the Famous Bill Bitner's Famous School Of Tolerance. (IT'S BEEN ALL DOWNHILL FOR MEL SINCE THE ROAD WARRIOR ANYWAY). You don't like Braveheart? (IT'S BEEN ALL DOWNHILL FOR MEL SINCE THE ROAD WARRIOR ANYWAY). Okay. I also see where Barbara Eden is coming to the Clay Center (with that fucking moron Larry Hagman). No, I'm not going. I don't trust myself not to bum rush the stage.
Had to get new glasses (talk about sticker shock) cos the frames on the ones I got eight years ago- dissolved. Seriously, I been wearing them while working out this sweaty, sweaty summer, and the other day they just fell apart, pretty bizarre, took 'em to the eye doc to see if he could piece them back together, he was like (honest)- Eye doc: I can't put these back together, they've been melted . . like
with acid or something, see, here, and here, and here . . . what did you
DO to these, anyway? I'm hot blooded and salty in more ways than one, I always have an elevated body temperature and my blood runs far saltier than normal, as, I've been told more than once, does another of my bodily fluids, and God bless you girls who swallow (and I drink tons of water, way more than you do, I bet- I meant all of you, not just girls who swallow {God bless 'em}) which creates this hellishly corrosive sweat, ask Joe, or David, I've borrowed their guitars, played them for an evening, given them back and heard, "Holy FUCK, what have you done to my strings, they're BLACK", and they are, it's not dirt, the actual metal has turned black from whatever voodoo juice it is that leaks from my fingers. (MIGHT'VE JUST BEEN YOUR PLAYING) Might have at that. Not much to say about my parents, they're about the same, slowly crushing the brain of their eldest child and only son. Had a dream a week or so ago that I was riding in a car, my Mom was driving, down the wrong side of the street, I can see all these cars coming at us, I keep telling her, "Get over on the right side of the road . . . GET OVER ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE ROAD!" and every time I do she gives me that squinty eyed clueless look she does when I ask her in real life, "What have you done with the telephone?", or "Did you forget about this stuff that's boiling over on the stove?" I started this about an hour before they went to bed, in that time she came down here three times, twice to ask me "Do you want me to put away supper?"- I had eaten some- what else- tuna and brown rice about noon, been PBR since then, she fixed my Dad bratwurst, mashed potatoes and pinto beans for supper, yeesh, but he was happy- both times I told her yes, please, I went up there a little while ago and it's all still sitting out on the stove, I'll have to put it away before I go to bed, the third time she came down to ask me "Did you set your Daddy's meds up today?", well first off, you stay away from them since I give them to him, second off, if you really wanted to know, why didn’t you just look in his pill box there upstairs, instead of coming all the way down here to ask me? Because if she just looked in his pill holder then she couldn't come down here and get up my fucking ass, that's why. In addition, I had the phone down here earlier from where I tried to call the girls, it rings and it's Thelma for my Mom, I take the phone up and hand it to her and say, "It's Thelma, for you", she immediately presses the button and hangs the fucking thing up, then puts it to her ear and goes "Hello . . there's nobody on here" Cos you fucking HUNG UP, all you had to do was . .Jesus Christ. All these annoyances are minor, I concede, readily, but they're also incessant, and innumerable, again, its the great white Vs. piranha thing, each little piranha only takes a small bite, but after ten thousand of them have gotten hold of you, you're nothing but a fucking skeleton.
I asked him how Paula was doing, he just shook his head, I have no idea what that meant but I don’t take it to be a good sign, I didn’t pursue it, I asked him about Ric Ramell, mentioned in here numerous times, you'll remember Paul and Ric's parents were both part of the Pittsburgh contingent, again not a good report, Ric started out here after college, '78, working for the insurance company USF & G first as a claims adjuster, I remember the summer of '79 he came out to Loretta and my love nest trailer there behind her parent's house with one of those little tape recorders and had me say my name was Alexander (why shore) and that I ran my car off the road cos I was trying to miss a deer. I didn’t give a fuck, he brought out a 12 pack of big mouth Mickey's, I'd have said I shot JFK. Anyway, Ric started working his way up the corporate ladder, got transferred out of here in the late 80's- I ran into him in Kroger around '88, he with his son, Andrew, cute kid, me with Sarah, also a cute kid, I'd have had Rach with me as well but she hadn't been conceived yet, Ric left town real soon after that- bounced around for a bit while he kept climbing, finally settled, pretty far up the ladder, in Harrisburg, PA. So, USF & G gets bought out, I don’t know when, and a few months ago, at age 50 (cos Ric is older than me), after, what, 27 years with them, Ric gets handed his walking papers. There you go- right there is why Bill refused from day one (or whenever it was that Loretta finally got me at gun point out into the work force) to bend over for Corporate Fucking America. Ric did, and what did he get? After reaming his asshole out until it's this loose and flaccid thing, they tell him, "We're done with you, bitch, hit the fucking road". Bullshit. And of course, according to Paul (although he wasn't relating it as a bad thing) Ric bought into that whole consumerism/materialism thing that so many corporate whore/drones do, so that now he's got a big house and a bunch of expensive vehicles and all this other shit, and he can't pay for it, and he's having hell's own time finding another job, and he's fucking hurting, bad. You know what I own? Nothing. You know what I want to own that I don't? Nothing. And for once, I'm bragging, not complaining. Fuck, I realize we all can't be elitist philosopher's, sitting in their parent's basement swilling PBR, everybody- well, almost everybody- has to work, but for fuck's sake . . . better you than me, is all I can say. Better you than me. This, of course, provides a perfect lead in to Loretta, who I'm not
really going to talk about except to say that now she's agreed to bring
the girls partially in for the party weekend of the 19th, As for the party itself, I'm not getting very worked up about it cos when you do- "Oh, this is going to be the BEST PARTY EVER"- invariably it fucking sucks. Also, I've been in a King Of The Piss Pots mood lately (more on that later). But, I'm hoping that a lot of you show up, and that we all have a very good time. And we should, as long as all of you bring lots of beer, and remember that EVERYTHING I DO IS RIGHT. All around I see the purple shades of evening What's Bill been listening to? Got that shipment of import CD's mentioned last issue, part of the reason the drunk days kept going, cos I'd come down here after another day on the fucking front line and (try to) relax by listening to them, and start cracking beers (during these drunken days every time I'd shop for Al- who's no better, worse, in fact, pretty much incontinent of bowel now as well, FUCK that, you know, where's my fucking euthanasia stick?- I'd buy all the PBR that they had in the cooler, usually two cases, so I'd have it here on hand), and that would be that. FINALLY got "Concrete and Clay" on CD, great, great song, Unit 4 + 2 (catchy name, guys) Singles A's And B's, the rest of it good mid 60's Brit folk rock, but nothing else of the caliber of C & C. Also got SAHB (as I've said in here easily a hundred times, they were one the best bands EVER, if you don't agree you're just fucking clueless and beneath my goddamn notice, sorry) two on one CD, Framed/Next, I could listen to this stuff a thousand times, and have, and not get tired of it, also ordered The Impossible Dream/Tomorrow Belongs To Me only to find out the place (Musicmasters World Wide, check it out) was sold out, and the CD is now out of print, great, out of print in the US since forever, now out of print the UK. . . there's no justice. Vambo still rules though, mother fuckers.
Their paper thin bassist was an alleged tough guy back in the day (late 70's) but all he ever beat up was Brit music journalists, a scrawnier and less pugilistic bunch of pansies you could not find on this earth if you spent the rest of your life trying. I never bought his rep for even a second, I don’t care if he did have a black belt in whatever the fuck, no guy named Jean Jacques (or no two guys, named Jean and Jacques, for that matter) are gonna get much from me other than the back of my fucking hand, and the toe of my fucking boot. Wanker. Good bass player, though. Also got John Entwistle's Whistle Rhymes, also long out of print in the US, good album, very good, in fact but maybe buying it was a mistake, this is another one of those albums that's absolutely burned into my head regarding a certain time and place, in this instance fall '78, when Joe came up to visit me and Loretta in Fairmont, and he brought some new records he'd bought, including this one (coincidentally enough, an import as well) and I'm telling you- I'm sure most of you think I'm exaggerating, or flat out bullshitting, other than Joe, I think he maybe understands and believes after all these years- I can put this CD on and close my eyes- especially when I'm hammered drunk- and I am BACK there in that two room apartment of ours, it's 1978 and I can see Joe and Loretta and that room we're sitting in as vividly, and as REAL, down to the smallest detail, the beads of sweat on the white and red can of Weideman beer in Joe's hand, the crab chair he's sitting in, the little lace trim around the sleeves of the blouse Loretta has on, and the three stripes at the neck, purple, orange, pink, in that order (remember, this was the 70's), that goofy ass rock star collage on the wall, I'm looking at Pete Townshend right now, to his left is a picture of Bad Company, Paul Rogers is wearing an ivory suede vest, Mick Ralphs is playing a brown sunburst Strat, to his right is a grinning Pete Frampton, and I guarantee you, if you could get into a time machine and go back to that room, that is exactly what you would see - as whatever you happen to be looking at right now. Even more upsetting, I can recapture exactly how I FELT, I'm happy like I was then, top of the fucking world, ma. happy, cos not only am I very much in love (although even at that point we've already settled into the roles that would destroy us, Loretta the responsible adult, Bill the talented but wayward child), I have all these wonderful dreams that at that point I'm fully convinced are going to come true, and I have not screwed my life into the ground so deep it'd take Thor and the fucking Hulk to pull it back out. And I'm neither. This ability is not a gift, I promise you. It's a fucking curse from hell.
What's Bill drinking? Pabst. Been dry six days, the liver's back to just three times the size of a normal human being's, and I'm in a fucking mood again, so here we are. Friday night in Liverpool. What's Bill been reading? The Chinese Death Cloud Peril, a take off on the old pulps, of which I am a fan, good, I'd recommend it, although I can’t remember who wrote it, and it's already back at the library. Also a biography of Ross Macdonald (Kenneth Millar), excellent writer of modern (50's- 70's) California noir mysteries, most featuring his DFZ inspiring private eye, Lew Archer, if you've never read any of his stuff, do yourself a favor and check it out, you'll thank me, I'm sure. Good biography as well. Following are some of the titles suggested by his publisher for what eventually was published as The Barbarous Coast- Skull Crasher, Cut The Throat Slowly, The Dead Don't Cry, The Hardboiled Angel, A Gun For Lew Archer, Kill Hard!, A Doll For The Butcher, Slaughterhouse, The Blood Pit, Blood On My Knuckles, Blood On The Velvet, The Naked Kill, his Head In The Gutter, A Fist in The Guts, A Handful Of Guts, My Gun Is Me. Pretty lurid, but I fucking really like most of 'em, in a silly sort of way.
I gotta get this guy to write the ad for the DFZ movie. Speaking of DFZ, he and Danny beat Gorgeous And Young last (Saturday) night in Sabine- DFZ took out both those limpers with his loaded mask head butt, it was sweet- in a #1 contenders match, to see who gets a shot at the belts at the 9/8 show at WV State. Also worked another one of those wrestle for Jesus shows in Huntington with Nikita Koloff this (Sunday) afternoon, just realized I told Joe earlier this week I was going to try and stop by this evening and play a little guitar and see if it was worth bothering (everyone else) with at the party- whoops. I'll stop by later this week. Oh fuck. I also just realized I don’t know where that Neil Young CD you loaned me is. It's not "lost" lost, I just don't know where it is. Both matches went okay this weekend but I have to tell you, I'm just not into it right now, I used to love this shit, now it's just a chore. And I'd thought about going into detail, don’t feel like it now for a number of reasons, I'll just note DFZ got into a pissing match in the locker room with Logan in Sabine, part of it I'll admit was my current I'm A Little Piss Pot attitude, everything and everyone right now just gets on my fucking nerves no end, but part of it was a legit gripe, I walked out before the show was over, Logan was livid, Danny was afraid it would hurt us for 9/8, I told him bullshit, Logan needs us a hell of a lot more than we need him, and I was right, Danny had a "lets kiss and make up" message already on his answering machine when he got home. Which he hasn't replied to yet by the way, and good for him. I think I'll tell you how to eat a dozen doughnuts at one time and then take this one home. Actually, now that I think of it, there's not that much to tell. You buy a dozen doughnuts, then you eat them, one after the other. Anyway, it's something I do from time to time (like this past Thursday), usually after I'm coming off an extended drunk and for some reason I start craving doughnuts, pretty much the only time you'll ever see me eating one (I got offered some during the BOTB shoot and was tempted, but I declined, it was in the middle of the abusive period and I didn't want to spray them down the back of my legs mere minutes after eating them- a three week drunkard's digestive system is a strange and sad set of pipes, you better damn believe), pretty much like how 9/10's of the time if you see me drinking a pop, I'm hung over. (NINE TENTHS OF THE TIME I SEE YOU, PERIOD, YOU’RE HUNG OVER) Touché. First off, if you're going to put away a dozen doughnuts in one sitting, get some coffee. In fact, get a lot. Just get good old regular coffee, no flavored shit, cos you'll be dunking several different flavored doughnuts in it, by the time you're done its gonna be like drinking cake frosting anyway. The other day when I went to- started to call it Mister Doughnut, Doughnut Connection, why the fuck they got to change EVERYTHING- to get my dozen doughnuts, I got two 20 oz cups of coffee, the idea of sort of drinking a 40 oz. of coffee appealed to me. Anyway, you need the coffee to give you energy to do all that chewing, plus it helps cut all that sweet shit outta your mouth. I think pretty much anyone could eat a dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts, as they're mostly air anyway- good air, I'm not knocking them- but here's how Bill eats a dozen doughnuts. This is what I get, also the order that I eat them in (you want to eat the heavier ones first). Two of those chocolate coated ones with custard inside, like an éclair (Laura was telling some crazy story when I was out there many weeks ago about how she asked someone to get her a creme doughnut and I can't remember if she wanted this kind or the kind with whipped crème in it, but whatever she got it was the kind she didn’t want and she was totally disgusted), then two of the kind with whipped crème inside (I like 'em both, cos I'm a man), then two jelly doughnuts, just regular jelly, none of that apple pie filling shit or whatever. Then go to the normal type doughnut, the kind with a hole in the middle, get two of the coconut covered kinds, (this is where I start dunking them in my second container of coffee, both cos it tastes good, and cos it helps me get them down, just like little Takeru cramming his Nathan's hot dogs on the 4th of July), then two chocolate covered, and then two of what I call just regular doughnuts, I think some places call 'em glazed or whatever, but they're just regular doughnuts to me. You should be able to drink all your coffee and eat your doughnuts in an hour. (AN HOUR?!) Sure. That's just one every five minutes. (YEAH, BUT AFTER YOU'VE EATEN NINE OR TEN . . . ) Eat the damn thing. (FIRST OFF WE'RE NOT TALKING ABOUT ME, AND SECOND-) It's just a fucking doughnut. Eat the damn thing. Or are you gonna let a little fucking doughnut kick your ass, Mister big time wrestling star? Huh? Are you? (YOU'RE NUTS). Well, I ate a dozen damn doughnuts and drank 40 oz, of coffee in an hour. (YOU'RE ALSO OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND) I enjoyed it. (BULLSHIT, YOU WERE SICK AS A DOG) Yeah, but it was a good sick. And I had that lovely helicopter brain thing going on that's so entertaining when ever you don’t have to drive, or operate heavy machinery. (I'D SAY IT'S PROBABLY A GOOD TIME TO TAKE IT HOME). Probably. I've been good this issue, but I'm pretty inebriated right now (one of the challenges of writing these things is having to keep coming up with different words for drunk), so I think I'll close with a limerick from one of the weird ass dreams I had last week, more of a nightmare, actually, where I was a suit type worker guy, and got up to give some type presentation, and instead of whatever I was supposed to say, this came out. As far as I know it's original to my dream self, I've never heard it before. There was an old fucker named Paul Yeah, I'd hate me too. Later Bill
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"The fault lies not in the stars, but in ourselves"- William
Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
It was actually an enjoyable evening, I've used these recent nights of
maximum pixilation as a much needed escape from reality- I been a good
soldier for a full year now, but I'm really starting to suffer from the
old battle fatigue- I'd get my parents squared away and in bed, then come
down here and get just pounded cross eyed, and read, and listen to music,
and try and go off into my own little world for a while, which isn't quite
as shitty as this one- I know, I know, the fault lies not in the stars.
Wild Turkey night, drinking that whiskey straight out of the bottle made
me think of cowboys, which got me thinking of the ultimate cowboy, John
Wayne, and I'll be damned if before I knew it the old bastard didn't show
up, very personable fella, old John, and then, shit, Lee Marvin smelled
the open bottle, and Richard Widmark- of course, Duke ended up having to
shoot Lee, and I killed Dick, so to speak, but it was still a good damn
time.
Till the next morning, anyway.
Got an e-mail from Laura noting Mars is the closest it's been or will
be in a thousand years, and asking "Isn't this how War Of The Worlds
started?" Yes it is, and don’t I have enough trouble sleeping
already? Although at this point I might almost welcome a Martian invasion.
Come outta that tripod and fight like a man, motherfucker. I'll spot you
ten tentacles to two fists and still kick your clammy ass.
Whatever spam filter I had through msn has also quit working, dammit,
now every time I get on here it's back to the stupid shit, Paris Hilton
isn't sexually harassing me anymore, but now I keep getting these e-mails
wanting me to increase the size of my load. Good Christ, like I need help
with THAT. And I'm having enough trouble disposing of the copious amounts
of semen I already produce, thank you very much, why the fuck would I want
to make more? Idiots. Leave me alone.
Hot enough for you?
Ran into Paul S., Paula's (Moose's old girl friend from issue Motorhead)
Dad in the library, didn't recognize him at first, the years have really
taken their toll on him, maybe me as well as he didn't immediately
recognize me either, then sort of did, then again, last time he saw me I
had hair halfway down my back, he asked "You went out with Paula,
didn't you? I remember you being over to the house", I could've been
a smart ass here but refrained, he wasn't nearly as evil and obnoxious as
he was 30 years ago (unlike me), just a tired old man, why fuck with him,
we sat and talked for a bit while my Mom aimlessly roamed up and down the
same few aisles of the miniscule Cross Lanes library ("Is this where
you keep the canned asparagus?").
(Joe, why don't
you put the invite on here, to everyone out there in newsletter land, if
you're reading this, you’re automatically invited, seriously, I don't
give a shit if I've never met you before in my life, in fact, that might
be to your advantage), even agreeing to meet me in Morgantown instead of
at the WV/MD border, obviously she wasn't doing this out of the goodness
of whatever she has in her chest behind those once awesome tits, bingo,
she and Paul are going to Pennsylvania that weekend for some reason (I bet
its boring, whatever it is) and don’t want to take the girls, so . . .
fine by me. Better than fine. Super fine.
Also got Blood Red River, a Scientists best of, more good shit,
especially "Swampland" (and yeah, I know the lyrics actually go
"nine parts water" but my heart's really nine parts whisky, and
whose newsletter is this, anyway?) and a Stranglers twofer, with their
first and third albums on it- I don’t know- musically I like the
Stranglers a lot, good riffs, surprisingly melodic (pussy boy Bill has
always been a sucker for a good tune), way prominent bass (I think they
had Joe doing their mixing) lots of Doors-y keyboards- they SOUND really
good. Their lyrics are unfortunately, frequently a lot of misogynistic
crapola, sort of surprising cos they were at least semi-bright guys- but
accent plus garbled articulation means for the most part you can ignore
the actual words and just enjoy the sound of them.
What's Bill been watching? Well, The Andy Griffith Show, as always, I
can’t believe I've watched this show as many millions of times as I have
and only caught this today. I always thought Mary the County Health Nurse
was damn hot, it was only while watching her today that I realized she was
Julie Adams of Creature From The Black Lagoon infamy. Hell, Andy,
she had you tugging at your boner in that silly little nurse's hat, you
should've seen her in that white bathing suit, Aunt Bea would've had to
rinse out your drawers.
Bad guys hate Harper 
Just
one comment to add. Bill is not the only one that can still
remember emotions and feelings from what seems another
lifetime ago. I feel the same way and while it is sometimes
a wonderful thing, there are happier moments that became
such a lie that you wish you could forget them all together.
Here's to you my soul brother. Remember too, that we, the
Bengal Tigers, occasionally do get a swipe at the jugular
for the fatal blow. Not necessarily a pretty sight but that
is life in the this jungle.