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9/16/10 Shiny Jet-Pack Future You're a better man than I were his last words Hey Let's try one of these sober. Should be getting within spunking distance of #300 but I don't feel like counting right now.
My Mom is still in Rock Hill and God only knows how much I've enjoyed the break. Going to meet them- Teresa, Aline and my Mom- in Wytheville next Wednesday, bring my Mom and Aline back. It'll be nice to have Aline here as a buffer for a few weeks after that. Won't be the same as being alone, though. Ronnie has taken to calling himself Ron Dog, as in the other day when he was bitching about being overworked- RD: Ron Dog don't like that. He starts laughing. B: What? He's one strange person Tom was out the other Saturday to do his laundry (and watch college football). I bitch cos the only time we see him is when he wants something which is a legitimate fucking complaint but at least this time he brought beer, a twelve pack of Yuengling for Bill and another for him, and twenty four wings from Cold Spot, so launder away, Tom. Launder away. Now how about taking your grandma to the store every now and then? He's still at the Daily Mail, in fact is now on full time with benefits et al, good for him. He was telling me he foolishly answered the phone at the office the other day and there's some mad as a pissy hornet geezer on the phone raging cos his mail delivery is all fucked up. Yep. After trying to explain nicely to Gramps that he called the wrong place- Tom: We're not the fucking Post Office, we're a newspaper. We
don't have anything to do with mail delivery. Tom went around with this guy for many minutes before finally giving, and hanging, up on his truly enraged ass, and never did get through to him he needed to call the Post Office- "The lady on the phone told me to call you!" That damn lady on the phone. In honor of our much missed patriarch Tom got a really cool tattoo of a P-40 on his calf with my Dad's initials- which also happen to be mine- on the fuselage. Very neat. Which brings us to . . . Mister Boozegob. Summer '61. My mom has just birthed my oldest sister Lori in May of '61 and is too tired and distracted caring for the baby to be the No Fun For Billy Nazi she normally was. Consequently it was one of the best summers of my childhood. I'd have a couple completely unsupervised hours every morning after my Dad had left for work and my Mom and Lori were both napping after Lori's morning feeding (I was supposed to be still in bed as well or failing that playing quietly- ha- in my room). What I did was slip out of the house and wander. For a kid who wasn't allowed to leave his fenced in backyard and was often spanked by his Dad (at my mother's behest) when he got home for doing so- my ass was already mom proof, even at the tender age of four it was already so calloused she couldn't so much as make me flinch with a ten minute wind up- this was sheer free at last, free at last heaven. Mostly I just roamed the streets of our neighborhood- Peppermill Village, in lovely Seat Pleasant MD- but sometimes I went farther, some days down the back way through Carmody Hills to Froggy's, a legit old school roadhouse where I once found a dollar in the parking lot (at other times I found half a set of false teeth, broken, some brass shell casings, and more than one pair of panties but I wisely let them all lay. Also once came across a set of dog tags which I thought were way cool and wanted badly but since they were lying in the middle of a puddle of vomit I let them lay as well). The dollar I spent at the Drug Fair on four comics, a Mounds bar and a balsa wood airplane with a rubber band powered propeller- like it was YESTERDAY. Other days I'd head out the front way to the four lane, once going as far as the stoplight which had to be a good two miles from the house. I was four years old. My mother would have given birth to a two headed flying monkey if she'd known I was out of the house and loose on those mornings- (I THINK SHE ALREADY DID) I'm a Death Falcon. Oh, you mean my sisters. (NOT REALLY) Anyway, one morning I'm just touring the nieghborhood, been up to where they were starting to put some new house in and rolled around in the dirt piles for a while fighting invisible Martian dinosaurs, I start to round the corner about six houses below our house- across the street and one down from Ronny Darnell's- and the guy that lives in the house there is out in his yard. Being the polite, friendly kid I was- I fucking was, serious- I throw up my hand and- Billy: Good morning, Mister Boozegob. Didn't really know the guy but I'd seen him before, he'd be out in the yard sometime when we'd drive by and my Dad would always say "There's that boozegob". How was I to know that was my Dad's crazy ass made up word for this guy who was apparently a stone drunk- I thought that was his fucking name. He immediately shoots me the hairy eyeball. Mr. B: What did you say? Off I go up the street with Mister Boozegob in murderous pursuit. Later that day- Billy: That Mister Boozegob's crazy. When my Dad got home my mom told him about it and he laughed so hard tears came out of his eyes. Mom: It's not funny. I don't like the idea of people chasing
Billy down the street. I also later heard him call some guy a "stinkard" (where did he GET these words?) but by that time I'd figured out it was a title not his name. What's Bill been doing? Not much and liking it. Went down to Joe's this past Sunday and went out on his boat, drank six Harpoons and smoked my Popeye pipe. Nice relaxing afternoon and evening. Started yoga class over at Rosa's last night, going to make it a regular Tuesday night thing, Jean is an excellent instructor and I don't care how it might look, yoga's not for sissies. Got a good work out and a good stretch (though I forgot to get my teacher's pet back rub), although not as good a stretch as Ron, aka Mister Bendy. (I GUESS YOU'D BE MISTER STIFFY) You would guess correctly. I was hampered somewhat by a sore and swollen left knee- I know. I have no idea what I did to it, I'm guessing it was lifting- wrestling ended up being cancelled Saturday- but I'm not sure. It was starting to hurt Saturday, then was real sore and swollen Sunday. It's geting better but I wish I knew what I did so I could keep from doing it again. What's Bill drinking? Right now green tea. Didn't exactly go in the wagon- although for me I guess I did- but I haven't bought any beer this month, just drank the twelve of Tom's and six of Joe's. Bought a couple bottles of vodka- I prefer bourbon but it gives me a worse hangover- I was going to say fifths but since, to quote the Jam (in a song that's over 33 fucking years old) this is the modern world, so I'll say 750 mls. Drank both of them, one a night, with cranberry juice- not cocktail- one Saturday night and one Monday, should hold me for a while. What's Bill been listening to? TSOL (4), Turtles (1). UFO (3), Unit 4+2 (1), Urish Heep (3), U2 (2), Utopia (1), Vanilla Fudge (1), Velvet Underground (6). Maybe I'll get throught this alphabet thing by the end of the year. Lord I hope so. What has Bill been watching? I bought this device that will copy VHS to DVD and so pretty much every waking hour for the past three weeks I've been copying my VHS collection to DVD. Part of just trying to make enough room to turn around in this place, I've already gone through four big boxes of tapes, it copies in real time and while you don't have to watch them to copy them I'll watch the beginning to make sure it's copying right and next thing you know I'm watching the whole thing and I have to tell you my head's quite aswirl from three solid weeks of old Universal monster movies, 50's/60's SF and horror, Marvel super heroes from '66, Japanese kaiju- how many Godzilla movies can you watch in a row before you lose your mind? Fifteen. Ask me how I know- Hammer horror, crazy ass kung fu movies and wrestling- tons and tons of wrestling from way old school b/w 50's stuff through current Japanese hardcore. And speaking of hardcore, then there's the porn. I'm talking the commercial stuff. Contrary to what some may think, even though I've got like sixty some tapes here I bought exactly one of them. Serious. I've had two different friends who decided to dump their collections and I agreed to take them off their hands. As for the others, Loretta and I used to buy- I'll leave it at stuff- from Adam & Eve and with every order they'd send you some tape, I don't really consider that buying them cos I was buying- stuff- and the tapes came free. Haven't converted any of it yet and not sure when I will. I don't need to be watching that shit right now. As for the homemade stuff- forget it. It can wait. Tried to convert/watch a home video Sunday morning, me and the girls in a Martinsburg motel swimming pool July '93 when they were six and three, I couldn't get through it my chest started hurting so bad, so that stuff's all going to have to wait as well. All I'm going to say is that wasn't a bad life- if it wasn't what Loretta wanted fine, walk away. She didn't have to shit on it. Then I did something morbidly insane, saw in the paper where the Carriage Way house is for sale and they were having an open house so I STOPPED IN on my way down to Joe's. That's like picking the knife up off the ground and sticking it back in your heart. Didn't do me a tiny bit of good. (WERE YOU THINKING IT MIGHT?) I don't know what I was thinking. I just know I miss my life so much sometimes I think I'm going to die. Or wish I would. "Ya done shot 'im in da beak!" What else has Bill been watching? Well. I still hate televison with all my black heart but I came across this show that comes on Sunday night at 10pm on History Channel (don't know what's so historic about it but whatever) about alligator hunters and I like it a lot. Now that's a job I could do. It's more like alligator fishing, you bait a hook and hang it over the water then come back later and there's an alligator on it. Then you pull him in and shoot him in the head- unless you fuck up and I honestly can't remember when I laughed as hard as at this crazy ass Cajun coot raging at his helper who missed the head and shot this big alligator in the beak. THE BEAK. My gosh how funny. I guess all this immersion in the past converting these tapes- most of them were Christmas or birthday gifts from you know who and I not only vividly remember receiving them but watching them there at the old house- accounts for the dream I had last nght and I don't think I need Mister Freud to interpret. Loretta and I are still together and have just moved into a new house. I have the new house dream a LOT, have since before we were married, sometimes it's a bad dream- the house is haunted- but normally it's a good dream, though I'm always kind of disoriented in them, sort of a "what am I doing here?" feeling. It's daytime and Loretta and I are in our new bedroom- which looked a lot like the back bedroom at my maternal grandmother's house- getting ready to have sex which was not unusual, we used to have sex a lot in the afternoon ("Girls, Mommy and Daddy are going to take a nap now"). We were both starkers and she was astraddle me looking great, all voluptuous up top with that trim waist, but something's not right. It won't go in. Not that it's too tight (we licked that problem early on)- I can't find it. I'm in the right place, but- Bill: It won't go in. I roll her off of me and look and there's nothing there. Barbie doll smooth. The rest of her is looking dream incredible, but where Bill's trying to gain access . . . nothing. Oh, the frustration. B: For fuck's sake. About that time I hear a noise behind me and here come the girls into the bedroom- yeah, looking about six and three and since this is a dream they're swimming- so we shoot under the covers. L: Well, we can't do anything now. And right about then I wake up. Frustrated. That's all I got this time. It's this damn sobriety. Others will come for you were their last words Later Bill
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Not much mail since last issue. It's not up on the site yet which
is cool, Joe's going to take longer but put up lots of pictures like
he did in the old days or at least that's what we said when we were
all Bass Ale'd up at Cold Spot a while back. Did get some folks
questioning the drinking myself sick aesthetic, I just get like that
sometimes. For no reason I can discern I start feeling like the
fucking sky is about to fall and it's aiming right for me and so I
self medicate until I just don't give a shit and then it goes away
for a while. 