Friday, July 13, 2007


Thanks for nice calls during Self Help Radio today. It's nice to be on the radio. You're nice to listen.

I am drinking whiskey late into a Friday evening watching "WKRP In Cincinatti" on DVD. Three thoughts come to mind.

1) Even though they don't feature the original music (as explained here), I'm not as disappointed by that as I should be - something about the generic music they use seems appropriate. Maybe because, having been a deejay for over a decade, I could never be so distracted & lackadaisical behind the board. The station must have had a LOT of dead air. But I am sad they cut clips from the aired shows because of the music. That sucks.

2) I loved radio as a kid, but this show probably fanned the flames of my desire to be a deejay more than anything else. But I can't tell you why. Nothing about the station, Johnny Fever, or Venus Flytrap resembles any kind of deejay I ever wanted to be.

3) I am sad to say that another childhood crush is dead. I don't find Jan Smithers anywhere near as Bailey Quarters as cute as I remember her. That's sad. Luckily, I still think Loni Anderson is hideous. Also, I never noticed Andy Travis' accent. Is it because I was raised in Texas?

That's all. Some thoughts. Gonna watch the ridiculous & crazy turkey episode now.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Rent Is Due

I am asked in the privacy of my own head what this blog has to do with a radio show called Self Help Radio. I answer on this blog HOW DARE YOU.

Playlists are everywhere. Recordings of the show abound. Pieces of fragments of segments of me are all over your interweb. But where are the concepts, the conceptualizations, the computations or conception which make up what little radio show I can offer. Here. I keep them here. You would maybe like a tour?

My weariness is only surpassed by my exhaustion. I wouldn't notice either except I am so bone tired. I will go into the hibernation kiddie pool & soak myself into a Friday, when I can Self Help the Radio. All that's required of you is to listen & enjoy, not judge. HOW DARE YOU.

HOW DARE I. I feel like a seedless pumpkin, I am sorry. You have & always will be the paw for my thorn. It's good we occasionally yell. One of us might be dead. Once the other looks startled, we know the squabbling will continue.

But your retinue is paging you. You never really cared what I did here. You were hoping I'd have images of Starlet McNewPerson around so you could download. Make into a wallpaper. For your friends. Like it was 1996.

Oh shit, gotta go. Rent's due.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Whither Boots?

Did you ever wonder, have you ever did? Had you never thought of, if so why? What would happen if you every so often why? These are questions I ask yourself nearly any time, yet unbeknownst to the Captains Of Industry & the Lieutentants On The Mountains, these queries remain unqualified in daily life. So too I begin alone a difficulty with insecure series based on real or actual eventful, called "Boots!"

Mr. Boots, he is prototagonist. Mrs Boots, she is but a window to the wind. The little Boots never came to pass, & therefore thus is monster an unhappiness for folks like these. Sit down or the theme music may overwhelm!

Mr Boots is accessible his assets all in a roadster. Mrs Boot is not necessarily unfaithful in the classic sense. What installation of time-sensitive documentation haven't we once or twice felt obligation in & around the rush hour daytime? Protection is the end of jealousy, is sadness with aging punk rocket helpless in her ultimately lamed desperation.

Mr Boots never did ever, but Mrs Boots understood only in her blood clots. The little Boots might wail, When does Daddy come from? but it's the stern police matron who will shake a finger of disgusting to the archaeology on the second floor. Did you see this as an end or as a mean end? Rubbing soreness is like unto smarter wounds.

Mr Boots is last onscreen in a driving rainbow. Mrs Boots has been alimonily summarized. Since never did the little Boots cry in the night or ever more, it's only lawyers & priestly who make chump change into rhyme. If morality is expected, especially in preproduction, it's the "new blogosphere" here, where art's for art's forsaken, & never you mind it's edutainment.

Didn't talk fastly enough? Perhaps moreover the underlying thematically went over the shoulder of the head, or under the against & metaphor. You're welcome for taking only hours a day to wander; it's more than basic, to prevent an anguish where previously there was only pain. But there's more!

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Preface To Boots: I Own Only Two Pairs Of Shoes

I want to ask you about your boots. What happened to you that you value boots so little? What if I told you that, when you were a baby, we called you "Boots"? & that, at your work, your co-workers say, when you're coming toward them, "Here comes Mr Boots!" Is that why you don't take care of your boots?

Boots may seem bulky & inconsiderate, but sometimes to protect your ankles & allow you to stay out of shin-deep muck & water, you have to sacrifice the breathing space of the skin beneath your ankles. Your grandfather knew that. Your grandmother knew your grandfather knew that. We don't know what went wrong with you.

Really? Boots have a bad reputation among the literati? Who are the literati anyway? Not you, surely. You got a poem published once in the back of Maxim. & it was a dirty poem besides. You rhymed "wussy" with "pussy." Ooo, move over Wallace Stevens. Don't you know self-importance looks cooler in boots?

What, me? No, I don't own any boots. But I am not talking about me. I'm talking about you. Your antipathy toward boots boggles the mind. I sentence you to three years as a shoe salesman! Now get out of my court! Bailiff! Boot him out of here! Ha ha, get it? My bailiff has boots! & he's giving you the boot! On your booty!

I stole that joke from Clarence Thomas. Now, what else is on the docket! This fellow? Sir! What happened to your boots? Oh, it's going to be a long night.

Monday, July 09, 2007

Thou Canvasback!

Here are fifteen words (one for each letter of the alphabet you can remember when you're very drunk) which have been decreed by the United States Word Authority to be used sparingly if at all during this week. Please make sure that, if you find yourself about to utter, mutter, write or "text" any of these words, that you exhaust all possibility of synonymic word or phrase. For example, if one of the words on the list (alas, it is not) were "president," you could use a word like "douchebag," which means approximately the same thing, & is never on the Sparing Words List.

The list, then, with notes from Gerald Pork, the Lexicographer-In-Chief:

1) "armed" (Note: "carrying" would be acceptable; "packing heat" might be embarrassing.)
2) "berth" (Note: all sailors feeling compelled to use this word will be keelhauled.)
3) "cure" (Note: If you're talking about the band The Cure, it's fine.)
4) "fear" (Note: Unless you're a chicken.)
5) "groin" (Note: Of course! Why didn't we think of it before! The word should be onomatopoeia!)
6) "impulse" (Note: this includes impulsive, but not "I'm pulsing!", which is for some reason a very popular phrase among the youth of Altoona.)
7) "jabroni" (Note: Unless you're in Italy.)
8) "louse" (Note: Nor is the plural okay.)
9) "menthol" (Note: The government recommends that menthol smokers ask for "the minty cigarettes.")
10) "oops" (Note: This might not be disallowed; it might just be a penciled-in error by the committee.)
11) "privy" (Note: Or even "privvy." We just don't like the way it sounds. Even with a British accent.)
12) "Q" (Note: Just saying the letter is not allowed. Pronouncing it is fine, since it's not really a sound & it's pronounced "kw." Or just "k.")
13) "taint" (Note: snicker, snicker.)
14) "ulgerfunkel" (Note: we swear, it's a real word. Look it up. Just don't use it.)
15) "word" (Note: Which will make next week's report an ass pain.)

We thank you for your attention.