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9/10/09 Killing Yourself To Live
Hey They've always worked for me up to now as well, Hunter old son, but they're starting to wear a little thin. Bill's passing through another dark age right now. Nothng new, just the same tired old litany of depression/physical pain/substance abuse I've been inflicting on you (and myself) for years, maybe jacked up to the nth level this time, but still the same old shit. Like I said to Joe (who stopped by and fixed my computer- "I know what you did. I just don't know how you did it") in an e-mail, I'm having a real hard time right now making myself give a fuck about anything, including my own health and well being. (AND THAT'S DIFFERENT FROM EVERY OTHER DAY HOW?) Right now it sucks, but I also know that the sun is going to shine in my back door again someday, so if my liver and brain and internal hosepipes can just survive till this thing runs its course it'll all be fine. I sometimes get asked when I'm in these binges, "Why do you do this to yourself", well, part of it's like that old joke, "Why you keep hitting yourself with that hammer?- Cos it feels so good when I stop" but honestly getting more-than-comfortably numb is the best way I know to get through these spells, self medication at its finest. It's just taken more of a physical toll on me this time than usual. So, mail bag. The word with the **** in last issue's title was supposed to represent Buttfuck's for those of you who asked. Yes that was real blood in the devil photo, can't you see the big slice in my head it came out of? And yes, I am fit as fuck, and not just for "a fifty plus year old man", either. Got some more amateur psych work about self abuse and misplaced aggresion, when will you people realize you are wasting your time? Got some responses to the Adventure movie thing last issue but I can't remember what any of them said and don't feel like going back and trying to find those e-mails right now. (THAT'S CERTAINLY GOING TO ENCOURAGE PEOPLE TO WRITE IN) And I don't think that it's that I'm not cut out for bar work, cos I can be damn personable- (JUST ASK HIM) -I just don't think that's the bar for me. My mom. Yow. She hasn't been feeling well for about a week, listless, wants to sleep all day, wobbly when she walks. I took her to the doctor last Thursday (then to the Cross Lanes library, Cross Lanes Kroger, Poca Dollar Store, Poca Post Office, Poca Supermarket, Cross Lanes City Bank, Dunbar library, then IHOP on Corridor G where I had this pretty good scrambled egg/cheese/spinach thing that I then went in the bathroom and threw up, wasteful I know, shouldn't have even bothered, we left at 8 am, back home after 6 pm, if that's not a full day's work I don't know what is), her blood level is way down so he upped her procrit shots but so far I haven't seen much change. Not too concerned though, she's only 82, and she comes from long lived stock, on her side my aunt lived to be 86, my uncle lived to be 88, and my grandmother lived to be 96. Of course that's not counting my other uncle who blew his brains out at 27 (and I'm pretty sure I know why). Took her up to Lori's today cos I'm leaving in the morning for Scarefest, and again she's being a pain in the ass about her transport home. Why? I swear to God, because she LIKES being a pain in the ass. But at least for the next few days it won't be in mine. Still scrapping. When we were in Kroger Thursday I saw this couple that come in from time to time, as they passed I heard the girl say to the guy, "This would be a good day to go to the scrapyard, that mean guy isn't there." Ha ha. In all seriousness, I take no pleasure in being called the mean guy, because in all truth, I don't think that I am. I am just SO damn sick off these cretins and their constant attempts to scam. Seriously, the next fucking idiot that still tells me "it's aloomium" after the mag sticks to their steel is getting that mag right up their ass. Aloomium this, motherfucker. So what's Bill been up to? Took Aline back the morning after last issue went out, hungover as fuck, but getting out of bed with a pounding headache and an uncertain stomach is just another day at the office for our Bill. Not a good trip down- bad traffic, bad weather, bad drivers. Normally from here to Rock Hill is all down hill but not this time. After we got to Rock Hill we- actually, they, I wasn't hungry- ate, then we walked over with Teresa and Denise (I walked behind her) to look at Don and Denise's new house. Mike's building it for them and it's fucking huge, three floors, I bet close to 6000 square feet, it's really nice. Denise was complaining cos Don had just taken off on a ten day motorcycle trip with his buds and all these lighting and countertop and all kinds of other furnishing folks were all wanting answers so they could move forward with getting the house done and Denise was going to have to make all these decisions while Don was gone- (SMART GUY) -maybe, but I was working it hard, "Baby if it was me I'd have never gone off and left you, I'd have been right here with you"- (YOU ARE SO FULL OF SHIT) Well, yeah. While we're in the midst of the tour Mike comes over and asks me if I want to go to the dirt track races the next night. Since the alternative is staying with my mom and Aline and maybe Tracy as well, I say fuck yeah. We go back to Aline's and I'm sure trying to make me feel bad cos that how she is my mom goes on and on about how nice Denise and Don's, as well as Mike and Teresa's houses are, and when I don't bite she comes out and asks me "Don't you wish you had place like that?" (WHAT, SO YOU COULD NOT LIVE IN IT AND STAY WITH HER?) Who knows? Still, do I wish I had a place like that? Not even a little bit. I've never been into material things at all, which poor Loretta didn't find out till too late, after she'd said "I do." Not saying there's anything wrong with it, they simply don't mean anything to me. Give me a roof over my head, something to drink and something to read and I'm as content as I will ever be. And the roof over my head is pretty much optional. I dont begrudge in the slightest the Bell's all of their many nice possessions, the big houses, the multiple flat screens and super video systems and vintage cars and motorcycles and boats and jet skis and such because they are genuinely good people, I know they also give tons of money to their church (which I know for fact is one that spends it on food/clothes/shelter for those in need, not on a self aggrandizing bigger fucking church like so many do, the dicks) and they've all worked hard to get these things. And there's the other side of it. I dont want to have to work hard- or have to work period- to pay for this shit. Even if you gave it to me free, a lot of this stuff I'd turn down, cos I still don't want the responsibility of taking care of it. Cos I won't. I'd much rather have friends with nice houses/boats/whatevers that I can enjoy without having to pay for or maintain them. (GOD YOU'RE A LAZY SOD) I prefer to consider myself enlightened. The next day, Friday. my mom and Aline leave to go shopping and I find this fitness channel on Aline's satellite and for the next four hours I watch all these hot women doing their yoga, worked out a little myself but I kept getting distracted. When they get in at four they bring me a couple big sloppy southern chili cheeseburgers, they were ace, I was just finishing the second one when the phone rings. Its Denise, "Tell Bill to come next door and keep me company while I'm fixing the salads for the cook out tonight." Whoa, momma. My ass was out the door before Aline had hung up the phone. I get over there and first thing she does is offer me a beer. D: We don't normally keep beer around. This is left over from
Don's birthday- I crack a Yuengling black and tan, they best they had. B: Can I get you one? My one turned to five and hers to two and I guess she was being honest when she said she normally didn't drink cos those two went to her head. We're having this very pleasant, innocuous conversation while she's making this saled, when suddenly she comes over and plops down on my lap and throws her arm around my neck. D: You really would have stayed here to help me with the house, wouldn't you? (OH MY GOD) Quiet, you. B: Of course I would have. And she gives me a kiss on the cheek, kind of sloppy, but which I guess was innocent enough. A few seconds later though she gave me another one, on the neck, that had some teeth in it. Naturally I have to fuck it up by simultaneously getting a boner, and THAT LOOK in my eyes, both warning signs she detects, one at either end, and she hops up and goes "We'd better get these salads up to Teresa's" Yeah, guess we'd better. Still- and I can't believe I'm saying this- it was for the best. At this point I'm certainly not above trying to seduce a married woman- not bragging, just saying- and I would dearly, DEARLY love to have another go with my girl, but Denise is the type that would feel guilty about it, and I like her too much to want that for her. We walk up to Teresa's, Bill experiencing some serious discomfort. They all eat but since Bill is already into the beer he instead puts a dent into Mike's stash, five more b&t's down the hatch. Then we load up Mike's cooler with more beer- cans only- and it's off to the dirt track. I only went to get out of the house but you know what? I LOVED it. I know, I can't believe it either. But there was none of that horrid redneck vibe to this place at all, it was just a bunch of good old southern folk having a Friday night at the races. Lots of families, old folks and young folks and black folk and white folks all sitting together and having a grand time, about five more beers in (for Bill, Mike, who is a good old boy in the best way and who I like quite a bit, very responsibly only drank two) I turned to Mike and shouted, "This is fucking America here, buddy!" "Well, yeah, sure," he said, like he thought I might have been confused about where we were. I really enjoyed the races as well, all the bright colors going round and round and the loud, muscular engine noise ("You hear them engines, Mike." "Yeah." "That's fucking AMERICA, buddy!" "Okay.") and of course the crashes. I realize the seventeen beers helped, but I'd have still enjoyed it sober. Only person having a better time than me was this fat little white kid, maybe 7-8 years old. Between the races they'd play songs over the PA and every time one came on he'd jump up and dance his jiggly little ass off. Didn't matter if it was an old boogie chestnut like "Radar Love" or "Born to Be Wild" or some old disco song like "Play That Funky Music" or "Disco Inferno," or some new rappy shit I have no idea what the hell, the music would hit and he'd be up and shaking it. Totally unselfconscious, he wasn't doing it to show off- (IT WAS IN HIM AND IT HAD TO COME OUT) Exactly. Anyway, me and him had a great time at the dirt track races. Came back Saturday cos my mom had forgotten her meds, even though she said she had them when I asked her before we left, on the ride back I started getting that "Oh dear, here we fucking go" rat in a barrel feeling again, between getting home Saturday afternoon and going to the yard Wednesday morning I drank nine twelve packs of Yuengling- this I know because I counted them Wednesday night when I threw them out. That's 108 beers in a little less than four days. (NO WONDER YOU BEEN HAVING PROBLEMS WITH YOUR PIPES) No wonder at all. That doesn't count the six pack I drank that Sunday afternoon out on the Sanjero with Joe- extremely nice afternoon, took my shirt off and got some sun- drinking and smoking cigars and talking dirty- well, I did most of the talking, I guess Joe listened dirty- or the three I drank that night when I went up to the Empty Glass for a showing of Space Preachers. Jan was there, who I like, and Balsa, who I really like, funny guy, at one point he tells me "I have crazy uncle like you!", lucky kid, there was also this Polish girl there, student at State who was crazy hot, so much so I actually avoided her so I wouldn't embarrass myself. The following Friday went to Africa Mike's for a killer good dinner (which thankfully stayed down, been a sin to waste it). Mister Bulky bought some big thick steaks, Sig grilled them and fixed all kinds of sides to go with them (my mom ate the leftovers she sent home for the next three days), we hung out on Mike's deck drinking beer and smoking cigars- (THIS IS GETTING TO BE LIKE SAYING YOU WERE BREATHING) -pretty much, then Mike and I watched The Girl Hunters, with Mickey Spillane who might not have been a great actor, but he was a good Mike Hammer- (LIKE YOU'RE A GOOD DEATH FALCON?) There's no such thing as a good Death Falcon. Next day I went up to Summersville to shoot some promos for the big match in Lexington this weekend. In conjunction with Scarefest Brain Logan is defending the AWA World Title against DFZ, managed by- James E. Cornette. Yeah, him. Or rather, he was. See, this is why I hate talking about stuff in here, even so called sure things. After driving up to Summersville (I made them pay me in Bass ale for my trouble) and cutting these promos to air on whatever channel this fed is on there in Lexington, Logan calls me earlier this week and tells me first that the match is off, then calls back and tells me the entire show is off. Something about money. Fucking whatever. It's always something about money. Cornette's still coming to Scarefest on Saturday, I'll get to hang and drink with him which will be mucho cool, of course I'll get pictures, but it's not the same as being managed by him (nor will I be getting the $300 I was guaranteed for the match). Again, fucking whatever. After the promos I drive back to Charleston breaking one of my cardinal rules which is, if you start drinking in the afternoon, DON'T STOP. Should have bought a six pack for the drive but I didn't and I was sorry for it later. Though to be honest it very well might not have helped. Get to Chris's around seven and we (with Deb) go over to Ron's for MC, lots of drinking and smoking and dirty talk, far from all of the latter from Bill. Chris and Deb were just back form Okinawa, where Chris made me jealous as fuck by appearing on Japanese TV, jobbing (karate) to some old Japanese guy but that's how it works, the gaijin always does the job for the local. They brought presents back for all, can't remember what anyone else got, not that it's really important, I got a super cool Ultraman action figure (who's already done the job for the DFZ action figure Mike made me- you're not in Japan anymore, tough guy). Not too far into MC I get dizzy as fuck- not quite a swoon, but close- and I realize I'm not gonna make it to Ron's bathroom so I turn and have a good three heave puke over his back rail. (WHEN YOU GOTTA GO-) Still a poor way to repay his hospitality. Was still feeling quite punk after voiding my guts so I took a long, cold shower in Ron's immaculate bathroom and felt some better, then spent the night at Chris's. Putting Saturday night behind me I kept banging the beers through out the week cos first I wanted to, and two, by God this is my body and I make the rules, had a couple episodes of food unexpectedly making an exit back out the way it entered beside the one at IHOP, but as it didn't happen with any alcohol I wasn't too concerned. Did the twelve Yuengling three Labatts 24s this past Sunday night, went to bed feeling fine, had to get up to piss about 4:30- and I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't straighten up. Every time I tried I'd get this stabbing- and I been stabbed, even if it was self inflicted, so I know what it feels like- pain in my left side right under the ribs. And this is no X-acto knife, this is fucking Excalibur. And it's rusty. Hurt like FUCK. Not being quite so far gone that I was willing to lay back and piss the bed, I shuffled all hunched over like Grandpa Moses to the bathroom and pissed- -a river of blood, which slowly congealed into a death's head, while the water in the toilet slowly began to boil around it. Then the skull's lower jaw moved, and a voice came from out of the toilet, deep and inhuman, saying- Actually, I just pissed piss. I woke up the next day with my side still sore, but I could stand up. So I figure maybe we'll set the beer aside for a day and work out, so I did- and favoring my side, somehow pulled the fuck out of my groin. (YOU PULL YOUR GROIN ALL THE TIME. I'VE SEEN YOU. PERVERT.) Not that groin. The one that runs from your balls, in this case my left one, down the inside of your leg and past your knee, and that when pulled feels like someone's laid a rope of fire there if you move wrong. And pretty much anyway you move is wrong. Getting in and out of a car right now is murder. Oh yeah. And I have no memory of last Saturday at all, nothing, from the time I got up to the time I went down. Other than all that shit, I feel great. And none of this is any big deal. The Indestructability Of Bill. That's my philosophy, Marty. This computer just fucked me again. This one doesn't even make sense. How the hell. . . I HATE THESE FUCKNG THINGS. Technico Mysterioso (yes, I've named it, cos it's gonna be personal when I stomp it to flinders) here didn't save any of the What has Bill been reading? I just did and I'm not doing it over, so- let me count- I read 26 books since the last What's Bill been reading, some of them quite good, and, let's see- 11 graphic novels, again some of which were quite good but sorry, I'm not typing all that shit twice. But the conversation between Peacemaker and Blue Beetle that follows this paragraph- it was in THE MIDDLE of all that review shit. It gets saved, but all the stuff around it disappears? Explain that one, computos, in a way that doesn't acknowledge Bill's War With Technology. Peacemaker: Never trust an alien. (YEAH, I SAW HIM AT THE DIRT TRACK) What's Bill been listening to? John Cale (2), Glen Campbell (2)- don't smirk there's a couple of good songs on each album, I wouldn't buy them now, I'd just listen to the good songs on you.tube- Can (1), Canned Heat (1), Nick Cave (1), Cheap Trick (2), Chrome (4), Eric Clapton (1) Clash (5) Eddie Cochran (1), Colosseum (1), Coltrane (1)- I try and I try, but all I hear is blippity-blip shit, Alice Cooper (1), Julian Cope (1), Coral (1), Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose (1). What's Bill drinking? Well, nothing now cos it's late and I want to get at least some sleep tonight, green tea earlier. In fact, this is the third night in a row with no alcohol, first time since June - and NO, it's not cos drink is winning, I just wanted to save up a little sobriety for Scarefest. STILL haven't gotten to the Why DFZ Is Currently Retired column, fuck, he'll be back wrestling before I get to why he quit. Also had some obits, and some good sites to recommend as well as some other stuff I wanted to get in this issue, but it can wait- it can always wait. I got Scarefest starting tomorrow, I may be hobbled a bit by this pull thing, but I'm sure I can rise to the occasion if needed. Hopefully I'll have an good report in TSOS II. But good or not, report I shall. Anything from you? (NAH. WHEN YOU'RE NOT DRUNK I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING TO SAY) I have the same problem. Later Bill
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"I
hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence and insanity to anyone,
but they've always worked for me." Hunter S. Thompson 
