Orange Fitzo's Fuss...a continuing biker saga..fiction.

You may have seen me standing around in one of the bar fight scenes in 'They Saved Hitlers's Brain,' because I was an extra in it. Solid extra. One time I got to hurl a man out a window, in some other B movie. They was calling me near every week to go somewhere looking scary, and I was making near double the minimum wage, had my own trailer, and of course my bike, so those were "yesterdays when I was young' like Roy Clark would sing. Things are pretty fucked up now. Been out of show business long. Long in the tooth. Got respiratory fits.

The wife hasn't forgiven her delusions, and still intends to hurt me, kill me , what ever, probably through the use of some type of henchman, or henchmen, and that's the topic of this paganistic sermon.

I was not fucking other men's bitches, but the wife's paranoid. I did not offend her family code of schizophrenia, but she is the type of woman so determined for revenge she'll sleep with only the most hide bound ex-green berets and mercs so she can round up a posse. Old ladies are better at it than Wyatt Earp. Reminds that I served as an extra in dozens of western movies, standing around a saloon. Don't want my friends thinking all I did was biker films, because I was already a biker, like I have no talent. That sort of behavior has become a sore point here in the Winnebago I holed up in. People always look for worms in a perfectly green granny smith. Life is a tart green apple, and people are fucking worms. Pardonez. I'm embittered.

Alright, it was a tragedy that time I had a speaking role in "Surf Nazis Must Die," and I made a poor choice of comments, it got back to some powerful Jews in the film business, and I got my poor ass black balled. Jeez folks are vindictive. 

.............

Okay, that was shit that happened last week.

This week I'm in the hospital, on my fifth oxycontin, and my man who keeps the Winnebago on his front lawn brought me a gallon of JD. He's been letting me stay in the rusting vehicular shell. Has agent orange. Likes some company. He let's me in the house sometimes. Good peep. This here's just a short update. Seems some of the ex's fuck-pals managed to jump me. 

Dude was just aking me  what the minimum wage was like back in the 1960s.

good of you to ask...

... rents on trailers was way, way cheaper before certain bastards came in and 'developed' my former haven. I was making the equivalent of five bucks an hour, after you do some math. You might compare my standard of living, at the time, with that of an entry level sand hog. People flipping burgers earned fly shit.