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9/30/04 Every Dog Its Day
Hey First off, before we get to the fun stuff, let me say that a bunch of you have been getting e-mails from me that aren't from me. Joe says someone, very likely one of you, has a virus in their computer that's kicking out e-mails with my address on them. One of them was headlined NOT BE LIABLE FOR ANY DAMAGES WHATSOEVER which is kind of amusing, but still, it ain't me. I don't know what to do about it, just wanted to let you know what's going on. A good way to tell if it's actually from me or not is if it's a forward, because I don't do forwards. "I feel like a damn possum". Jesco White So, Jesco feels like a possum, I feel like a Death Falcon, we all have out crosses to bear. The above quote from an article about our boy Jes in the Daily Mail for July 12, where he talks about how down and out he is now. Shit, I thought he always was. And crying about how he's brain dead from all that gas huffing, I can remember interviews with him from 10 years ago where he was saying, "I've done gone all stupid in my head bone from gas huffing, hyuk" and acting like he thought it was amusing. Not so damn funny now, is it?
He wasn't my kid, he was actually this other worker's named George, but I worked a lot with him anyway, it was a genuinely sad case, his mom was this real nice lady who was absolutely devastated by the situation, had no idea why he started, had no idea how to get him to stop- nor did anyone else, unfortunately. George and I took him up to the Olympic Center in Preston County fairly early in this saga, David was about 12 then, we get him up there with no problem, he's fine in the car on the ride up, no indication at all of any trouble to come. Then we're walking across the gravel (at the time) parking lot to the center, George and I are a step or two behind him, I see David bend over, and come up with a rock the size of a goddamn grapefruit, spin, and throw it directly at the side of George's head, who's turned, talking to me. I yelled "DUCK!" and thankfully, George was quick witted enough to just do it, the rock whizzing past where his head had been, it'd have smashed his fucking brains out if it had hit him. I tackled David, this skinny little kid, and immediately realized he was more than I could handle, it was like trying to wrestle a human eel- eels are notoriously strong, which you know if you've ever caught one, and a goddamn gas huffing crazy one, forget it- he kept squirming and kicking and biting and growling- and yes, eels growl- B: George, give me a hand here! George jumped in and- G: Good Christ! The three of us go rolling across that gravel lot, and finally end up with George and I on top of this scrawny little maniac, holding him down, barely, by the sheer weight of our two adult bodies. Some of the OC staff have come out to watch, but are being no help at all. George and this nurse are having a discussion, getting increasingly more profane and desperate on George's part-
And so on. I tried my hand. B: Lady, I don't know how much longer we can hold this kid down. If he
gets loose he's gonna rip your fucking head off, I promise you- then drink
up all the gas in the county. The OC staff all go back inside to wait for the doctor, swear to God, leaving us on the ground out in the parking lot lying on top of this kid, who's still squirming, as best he can, and trying to get away. Just LIKE a damn eel. It was a goddamn ridiculous situation to be in, I'll be the first one to say it. After about 20 minutes George goes- G: I don't think I can hold him much longer. So I did, surreptitiously, looking over my shoulder to see if any OC staff were looking out the window at us or something. Right about the time the little fucker goes limp, (naturally), up pulls the doctor. He was a little curious, not to mention suspicious, as to why little David was unconscious, "He just passed out, man, must've been from the stress or something." "You guys didn't-" "Absolutely not". David started coming back around (I feel compelled to say here that I was not trying to hurt him in any way, just subdue his ass, for all our sakes) and I'll be damned, Doc just went ahead and Thoazined him anyway, I guess to insure that David would be tranquil (ized) for the rest of the evening, and Doc wouldn't have to be called back out. Ha. False hope, at least on the tranquilized part. Before George and I even made it back to Charleston, doped up like he was, David had still gone off, beaten up some female nurse, and run off- and I'll bet they didn't try too hard to catch him either. Eel boy on the loose, call the Star. David was soon picked up, and spent the next couple years working his way through various secure treatment facilities, all unsuccessfully, like I said earlier he eventually got so bad he was actually drinking gas, in absolutely amazing quantities, at least to me, I thought that shit was toxic, I'm sure if he'd have farted he'd have taken off like a fucking rocket, he finally lost the ability to speak- I saw him, once, at that stage, and I'm not trying to be a weenie, but it damn near made me cry- and later, even to feed himself or shit anywhere but in his pants. The last I heard of him he was in some institution, I'd be amazed if he's still alive today. All over huffing that fucking gas, it just boggles my mind. GAS. Jesus. So much for this issue's trip down memory lane- (AND A PLEASANT ONE IT WAS). -what's Bill been up to lately? Well-
B: You're lucky they didn't sting you to death when you were up there
the other day. He's got two cans of wasp spray, one this foamy type stuff that supposedly coats the nest and kills them off, and another fogger type thing that's supposed to knock them out of the air. His plan is for me to spray the nest, by far the more dangerous task, since I've got to get in pretty close, while he rides shotgun with the fogger and knocks down any yellow jackets that resent my squirting poison on their nest. B: Sounds like a recipe for disaster to me. So I do, I'm busy concentrating on coating the nest with this foamy shit, when all of a sudden there's this great whooshing sound and my head is cloaked in this mist, and I can't breathe. I'm serious, I can't breathe at all, can't even fucking inhale, it's like my lungs are paralyzed. I go staggering across the yard. B: AAAAAAAAAAACK . . . GAAAAAAAAAAAAAH . . . JESUS! I was a very slim hair away from engaging my Dad in a bug spray battle, foam versus fog- he was ready for it, too, standing there in gunfighter stance just like Clint Eastwood- a crazy old white haired Clint Eastwood- when what little bit of sense I have suggested I stop, as his aging old heart might not be able to take it. As might not my aging young one. B: You just got lucky, old man. Well, I foamed the nest, and he sprayed it, and I didn't notice it having a whole hell of a lot of effect. Once our cans were empty- D: All right, now we gotta knock that damn thing off the side of the
house. So I did. Several, actually, all with that patented Bill Bitner rock throwing accuracy. They bounced off the damn thing like it was made of concrete. B: Doesn't seem to be having much effect. He goes around the side of the house, comes back with a big chunk of broken cinder block. B: You've got to be kidding. So I throw the big chunk of cinder block at the nest, hard, and only succeed in breaking a piece off of the bottom, maybe an eighth of the entire thing. It was still enough. B: Holy fucking- There must've been a thousand fucking yellow jackets come swarming outta that nest- it was damn scary, just the sheer number of them. Fortunately, they didn't seem to connect us with the cinder block chunk that busted up part of their nest, cos none of them came after us as we pelted into the house. My mom had been watching us through the window. M: You know, you two are really too old to be carrying on like this. And when he comes up with one, I'll tell you all about it. If I'm not all stung up to hell lying in some hospital room somewhere.
Jason gave me a bottle of Booker's true barrel bourbon as my groom's man gift, VERY classy, God bless, thanks again, this is as good as bourbon gets, bottled straight from the barrel, uncut and unfiltered, 126 proof- ah. Top of the line (ma). Jason, with genuine concern, told me when he gave it to me, "There's this booklet inside that tells you how to drink this stuff so you don't go blind" but you know what my booklet says? "Bet you can't drink all of me in one sitting Bill, you goddamn pussy". Oh well, so much for sipping. And continued vision. I've said this before, but I think there's a definite distinction between bourbon drinkers and scotch drinkers, I know very few people who really like both, I can drink scotch, good scotch, anyway, but I sure as hell don't love it. Not like I do bourbon, anyway. I think scotch drinkers tend to be snooty, and bourbon drinkers more down to earth. Seriously, and this doesn't have a thing to do with intellect. And I know a lot of you getting this are scotch drinkers, a (very) short list being Joe, Geri, Steve, Martha, both Jeans, David- only bourbon drinkers I know of in the bunch besides me are Jason and Chris K- but I like your snooty asses anyway, so don't be offended. Or do, whatever, I'm down to earth, I'll understand. I don't know what side of the bourbon/scotch divide Chris Shultz and Ron and Doug fall on, write in and let me know. After all the talk of Tina's newfound love, she told me Sunday when she was out at my parents that she and old Vince have split, which shocked the hell out of me. Seems Vince still has a thing for his ex-wife, which was news to me, and Tina finally got tired of hearing about it, and cut him loose, which she's prone to do, I've seen her kick quite a few of them to the curb over the years. God bless, what is it with these guys that can't let their ex go . . (YEAH, WHAT IS IT WITH YOU GUYS?) You mean, what is it with us guys, don't you? (I SURE AS HELL DO NOT. DON'T INCLUDE ME IN THIS, I NEVER DID LIKE THE BITCH. BY THE TIME I CAME ALONG SHE WAS ALREADY NO DAMN GOOD, AND PLENTY OF IT. ONLY TORCH I'M CARRYING FOR HER IS THE ONE TO BURN HER GODDAMN HOUSE DOWN WITH). Okay, fair enough. (IN FACT I KEPT TRYING TO TELL YOU, BACK IN THE DAY, 'OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES, YOU IGNORANT GIT, SOMETHING IS VERY FUCKING WRONG HERE' BUT WOULD YOU LISTEN TO ME, OH NO, SHE COMES OVER AND PUTS THAT STUFF IN YOUR FACE AND YOU BELIEVE ANY DAMN THING SHE TELLS YOU). All right, already. Nobody likes to hear "I told you so". Although it was pretty good stuff . . . (SO YOU'VE SAID. NOW GET OVER IT).
On another related note, my parents have cancelled their annual fall trip to South Carolina to see Aline cos her son Tracy, mentioned numerous times in past issues, is just about done in over his divorce, lost his job for missing so much work, lost the trailer he moved into after the divorce cos he had no job, he's now back living in Aline's basement spending most of his time crying in the beer he's buying with Aline's money and talking suicide, so that Aline is pretty much afraid to leave him alone. We're still welcome to come down, but my parents don't want to with all that shit going on, and neither do I, although a little time with my Dad might be just what the doctor ordered as far as Tracy goes, my Dad's cure for what's ailing him being, "What he needs is a swift kick in the pants". I hear ya. And I'm not being hypocritical here, hell, drink and cry all you want to if that's what you need to do, I'm right there with you, just don't be a fucking burden on others with it. (LIKE BY SPEWING OUT A NEWSLETTER FULL OF BILE?) No, like expecting your fixed income Mom to support your pathetic ass, AND pay for your beer, AND listen to you stress her poor old heart by telling her you're gonna kill yourself. (LIKE YOU'VE NEVER SAID THAT). Not to my Mom. Or to my Dad, either. (COS HE'D GIVE YOU A SWIFT KICK IN THE PANTS). You're damn right he would. I am disappointed I'm not going to be able to go fishing with my little buddy the Flying Dutchman, Aline said he's talked all summer about us coming down in the fall. Maybe next spring, if Tracy's either straightened up, or shot himself, or whatever. ANOTHER Ramone done gone. Johnny, dead a week or two ago, at 55, from cancer. None of 'em left now but the drummers, fucking hell, that's just not right. Tomorrow will be the third anniversary of my moving into this place. Three fucking years. That depresses me more than you can possibly know.
"You no laugh so loud when Senor Slade, he ponch your stupeed face. PAM, PAM! YOU DIE!" Sam Slade's robotic cigar, Robostogie. "Verily, I shall stomp their pointed heads into pie plates". Judah Maccabee, aka Judah The Hammer, friend of Nexus.
"Gaze into the Face of Fear!" he intones. "Gaze into the fist of Dredd" JD replies, and punches his fist all the way through the back of Fear's helmet. Great stuff. Haven't been able to watch as many old movies as I'd like, cos they all seem to be coming on at times I'm spending at Al's, and he doesn't get TCM or FMC, the channels most of what I want to watch are on, and even if they're on a channel he gets, it's next to impossible to actually watch something with Al in the room, cos he's there talking non stop for the eight millionth time about something that happened in 1925, or else asking me where his daughter is at, or where his car is at, or where HE'S at, I'm serious. Kathy is pretty good at it when she's there, she can say, "Al, 'I'm trying to hear this" and he'll shut up, at least for a minute or two, but I try it and he talks more, if anything. He's also back doing that crank the heater up to infinity in the middle of the night shit, which I'm telling you, is going to result in the death of one of us before this winter is over, got a hell of a headache from where I left there yesterday morning all sweaty and overheated, and it's still with me.
Also watched "Bonesnatcher" on the (yuk) Sci-Fi network, horror movie set in the desert in south Africa, Namibia, started out very promising, fell all apart and went to shit in the last half hour, too bad.
Drinking? Beer. Like I said, I've had a wicked headache all day- Joe and I were supposed to go on our second annual day long boat trip today but I just felt too shitty, not to mention the weather was no good- not much sleep the past few nights, too much heat as well, sort of napped this afternoon, just drinking a few beers- well, we're up to ten, but that's still just a few, comparatively- so I can go to bed here in a bit and go to sleep and not get my days and nights all turned around, got training tomorrow night in Nitro- had dinner with X and Booty Monday night, more developments in the seemingly never ending saga of "Is Bill going to take over XMCW or not?", I'm sort of flagging right now, we'll discuss it next issue, but I will say Booty truly is an excellent cook, as well as wearing the pants in that family, by every indication I've seen. I'm REALLY flagging, I think this one's done. Anything you want to say in closing?
Go to fucking bed, you. (PAM, PAM. YOU DIE.) Enough, already. When all the world is young, lad Later Bill
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Don't cry for me 
Although, by God, that gas huffing will definitely do for you. Worked
with a number of kids over the years who had that addiction, the worst was
this red headed kid from up Sissonville, named David, dropped his IQ fifty
fucking points, points he really couldn't afford to lose, in less than two
years by huffing, then later drinking, gas, it was just insane, what a
fucking waste.
G: Get some Thorazine in this kid. 
The saga of my Dad Vs. Nature, or, "There Is No 'U' in Tarantala",
continues. Stop out there the other morning, he wants to show me something
(after I've eaten his latest concoction, Tortilla Casserole, "How was
it?", "Uhm, heavy." "You betcha." Next up?
Bandito Hot Dogs. Criminitly.). There on the side of the house, right
under the drain, is this insanely huge yellow jacket nest. I mean, this
was the fucking Gotham City of yellow jackets, two feet by two feet, at
least, and protruding out from the wall at least a foot. It's partially
covered by the ivy growing there, but still, how my Dad missed it, or
missed getting stung to perdition, cos there's now easily a hundred damn
yellow jackets swarming all around it, while he was up there cleaning out
the drain earlier is beyond me. God must look out for crazy old men.
Stood up for my boy Jason at his wedding last Saturday, congratulations
to he and Michelle, I love you and the Death Falcon loves you, we both
wish you both all the happiness in this world, forever. Got to see my bud
Chris K as well, a pleasure as always, and Chris, good job on the
girlfriend dude, Joanie was good looking, seemed very nice, she got a
sister?
I'm trying. Although I was shocked and surprised to hear that Satan was
actually telling Gandhi how well built I used to be (this in context to an
old t-shirt of mine I gave to Sarah, that she was wearing around their
house). My only comment is "what's this 'used to be' shit?" I
think I have an old photo she took from the time she's referring to, I'll
scan it in. I was pretty skinny back then, to my current way of thinking,
but it was a look that certainly worked for me at the time. Must've been
the hair.
What'd Bill been reading? Lots of old comics, (and I figure everyone
knows the Japanese call their comics manga, but did you know that
translates as "irresponsible pictures"? They kill me.) lately,
Nexus, which is hard to describe, but it was damn good, intense and
complex, with some occasional humor, excellent characterization, as good
as any comic I've ever read. Also went through my stack of Quality comics,
which published all this Brit stuff, like the great Judge Dredd (Stallone
should be shot for that fucking shitbag of a JD movie he made), a well as
lesser known stuff like Strontium Dog, Rogue Trooper, and Sam Slade,
Robohunter, all really good comics, I say the Eighties sucked mightily,
cos by God, THEY DID, but there were some damn good comics that came out
of that decade. Great lines like-
Or when Judge Fear, one of four apocalyptic alternate world Judges,
opens his helmet visor and shows Judge Dredd his face. This act has
previously stopped the heart of anyone unfortunate enough to be shown
what's inside the helmet.
I did watch "The Amazing Transparent Man" last week, one of
the few SF movies of that time ('59) I'd never seen, with choice old
dialog like, "You know what one of these bullets will do, son? It'll
rip your spine out and roll it up like a ball of string." That's some
damn bullet. Later, a character is told, "You better lay off the
giggle water". That's some damn advice. Also watched "He Walked
By Night" even though I've seen it a million times, still good, it's
the movie Jack Webb based the Dragnet series on, he's in this as a police
lab tech and it's quite amusing to see how much a young, scrawny Jack Webb
resembles Barney Fife.
What's Bill listening to? "Zombie Heaven" box set, already
been praised in these pages before.
(ARE YOU A WASP?)