Exter! Exter!

Happy Thursday. I made it back from Dallas & am working worrisomely on my next-to-last Self Help Radio. But I was thinking - hey, it's the end of April isn't it motherfucker? (Whenever I talk to myself in my head, I am extremely profane. I don't know why that is. For veracity's sake, I must write my thoughts down EXACTLY AS I HAVE THEM. If I didn't, I would be no better than [insert someone or something {like a media organization, or your lying-ass roommate in college} you think is a dissembling sack of sick], right?

If indeed it is the end of April, you selfish fucked-up douchehead, then isn't it time once again for another Self Help Radio Extra mix? Oh indeed it is. Please the Self Help Radio Extra page for a unique mix of the new sounds & the hot old sounds & the hot sounds that I don't know when they were recorded. All arranged in a single mix that makes it annoying if you don't like that one song in the middle, but convenient for listening to on iPod or burned to CD or given wrapped-up digitally as a present to your Aunt who thinks an mp3 is a brand of Soviet-era assault rifle.

Again, that's Self Help Radio Extra. I really want to say "You're welcome," but I'll wait for you to listen. Then you can tell me what you think. I'll be sitting here. Whittling. Yes, I whittle. I'm from the South. My father was a sharecropper's son. Whittling was mandatory for youngsters like me. Go, listen. Look, I'm making you a whistle.