This past weekend, I did two radio shows. One was my normal (used conditionally) show, Self Help Radio. The other was another KOOP show, which I subbed, called Stronger Than Dirt. You can click on the link to see what sort of show that is, if you're not familiar with the song it's named after.
On one show, two people dressed as bunny rabbits showed up. On the other, someone strange called & told me "I sounded familiar" but not because they'd heard me on the radio.
On one show, gods that take the form of bunnies were professionally discussed. On the other, footwear of deejays was unprofessionally discussed.
On one show, uncomfortable & unconventional commentary about rabbit poop was celebrated. On the other, Canada was unsuccessfully located on a map.
On both shows, incredible music was shared with the people of Austin. But you don't have to take my word for it (or even be in Austin). Both shows have been made digital exactly as they happened & are available for your listening pleasure right here. What are you afraid of? What are you waiting for?
I am sleepy now. I'll nap while you listen.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
Professional Confessional
Carlton Wind, of Megasticks, Nebraska, writes: "I once fed the largest hamster known to woman (indeed, only a man had seen a larger hamster, & that man, alas, was not myself) the world's stickiest head of lettuce (verified by committee) & wrote the best narrative on the experience I had currently available."
Rita Mylar, of Curt, Delaware, responds: "Happy indeed is the (non-existent) soul whose piece of (intangible) mind is made (virtually) whole by kind & good (insufferable) works within the confines of (metaphysical) beauty!"
Dr. Emily Ouch, of Reeling, Nevada, commented later: "You may imagine that the sum is equal to the sum of its parts, but that is a common misconception by the layperson in regards to both diagnoses & treatment of what we in the business call 'the sum of its parts.' It's now well understood that some of its parts are in fact not really factored into the sum of its parts. We find that sumptious."
Children's entertainer Chet "Fluffy The Moose" Spurt weighed in on the editorial page of the Bongos, Alabama, Bingo Quarterly: "As superfluous as the destruction of a single species - a single species of a thousand thousand members we may want to remind ourselves! - may appear in the annals of the cosmos - a work that spans a billion billion volumes we may say as we try to find a book in this library! - as one of those such species who may yet die - who may find themselves as merely one of a trillion trillion trillion footnotes in but a single book in that momentous library we must be aware! - truly even so it should bum us out."
Famed newscaster & javelin catcher Horace Tilde of Woetown, Kansas, mentioned: "Old bumps, sit ye not on mine forehead, though thy crusty way be but crust in my way. Old folds of skin, lay ye not on mine flabby buttocks, but set ye gently, so I my yet rest comfortably on my piles. Old nasty thoughts, come ye not when my mind is most intoxicated, but approach ye calmly, bearing gifts of pornography written, photograped & filmed, so I may see thee when I may most need thee. Yay, verily."
But it's Grant Cheesecutter of Wormwood, Texas, who made it most clear: "I don't give two whooping cranes if you can't get your ass motivated to listen to Self Help Radio on 91.7 fm KOOP this afternoon. I don't give a flying fleidermaus whether you listen to it online at koop.org from 4:30 to 6pm central United States time. Truly, I couldn't give more than half a shipwrecked shogun. I'll do it with you, I'll do without you. God you make me puke."
Rita Mylar, of Curt, Delaware, responds: "Happy indeed is the (non-existent) soul whose piece of (intangible) mind is made (virtually) whole by kind & good (insufferable) works within the confines of (metaphysical) beauty!"
Dr. Emily Ouch, of Reeling, Nevada, commented later: "You may imagine that the sum is equal to the sum of its parts, but that is a common misconception by the layperson in regards to both diagnoses & treatment of what we in the business call 'the sum of its parts.' It's now well understood that some of its parts are in fact not really factored into the sum of its parts. We find that sumptious."
Children's entertainer Chet "Fluffy The Moose" Spurt weighed in on the editorial page of the Bongos, Alabama, Bingo Quarterly: "As superfluous as the destruction of a single species - a single species of a thousand thousand members we may want to remind ourselves! - may appear in the annals of the cosmos - a work that spans a billion billion volumes we may say as we try to find a book in this library! - as one of those such species who may yet die - who may find themselves as merely one of a trillion trillion trillion footnotes in but a single book in that momentous library we must be aware! - truly even so it should bum us out."
Famed newscaster & javelin catcher Horace Tilde of Woetown, Kansas, mentioned: "Old bumps, sit ye not on mine forehead, though thy crusty way be but crust in my way. Old folds of skin, lay ye not on mine flabby buttocks, but set ye gently, so I my yet rest comfortably on my piles. Old nasty thoughts, come ye not when my mind is most intoxicated, but approach ye calmly, bearing gifts of pornography written, photograped & filmed, so I may see thee when I may most need thee. Yay, verily."
But it's Grant Cheesecutter of Wormwood, Texas, who made it most clear: "I don't give two whooping cranes if you can't get your ass motivated to listen to Self Help Radio on 91.7 fm KOOP this afternoon. I don't give a flying fleidermaus whether you listen to it online at koop.org from 4:30 to 6pm central United States time. Truly, I couldn't give more than half a shipwrecked shogun. I'll do it with you, I'll do without you. God you make me puke."
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Not Enough Time To Make Any Sense
Busy busy busy. Also, rainy rainy rainy. It's 75 degrees outside right now. In July. At 5pm. That's so fucked it's not funny.
But it's going to get worse!
Yay Global Warming!
But it's going to get worse!
Yay Global Warming!
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Whither Rabbits?
It's simple. My show this week is happening on July 27. Exactly sixty-seven years ago on that date, July 27, 1940, a brilliant fellow from Taylor, Texas (which is just a few miles north of Austin, where you can hear Self Help Radio) named Tex Avery directed the very first cartoon which featured the iconic animated smart-ass (& very close friend of mine during my youth) Bugs Bunny. I'll be celebrating Bugs' sixty-seventh birthday on my show Friday with a show all about Bugs' family: the Leporidae. The rabbits.
Oh, Bugs'll make an appearance. Don't you worry.
Also, next week's show will be about bathing. So for those of you who don't like it when my show has an actual reason for having its theme of the week, I'll return to being utterly arbitrary in August.
Oh, Bugs'll make an appearance. Don't you worry.
Also, next week's show will be about bathing. So for those of you who don't like it when my show has an actual reason for having its theme of the week, I'll return to being utterly arbitrary in August.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Preface To Rabbits: A Long Discussion Of That Episode Of "Gilligan's Island" Where Our Hero Ate The Radioactive Carrots & Got Super Eyesight
Bunny was the name of the schoolgirl tragedy we witnessed on Prom Night, 1993. You didn't remember all of it - you'd been huffing charred Cocoa Puffs since 10am - but we had made a pact that said this: if we couldn't get anyone to go with the prom to us, we'd act like we didn't care while inside we'd feel like we'd never do anything greater than killing ourselves. Since we weren't terribly motivated, we planned instead to eat as many sandwiches as we could without looking at one another. That was the plan. But as you know, human beings make plans while rabbits laugh. The night turned into a tragicomedy.
At the time, the woman you loved was working as the bass guitar in a psychobilly band. The woman I loved was married to the drumkit in the same band. We weren't old enough to get in the bar, but the kindly bouncer let us sit across the street & listen. Across the street was the halfway house, & we only thought about it insofar as we wondered what exactly it was halfway between. We figured it was something like, halfway between the bar & the house behind it. Something like that.
Louie Crazypants was a convicted felon with convictions. He didn't believe two homosexual boys like you & me should be so unhappy on our Prom Night 1993. I explained we weren't so much gay as sensitive & he beat the living shit out of me for sassing him. I still remember his kind eyes as he explained to me, apologizing, why he had to do it, baby. Then he gut-punched you to show you he loved you, too. He handcuffed us to the back of his truck & drove us to the prom.
Wow, were we fucked up that night! Louie bought us beer & grapefruit, & he told us to drink up, only hitting us when we accidentally squirted him with grapefruit juice, as you will, trying to forced a piece out with a spoon. We arrived at the school in time for the crowning of the King & Queen. Looking around, you & I noticed the same thing - for some reason, Louie had taken us to a school not in our city, but in the neighboring suburb. We also noticed he had covered himself in gasoline & was laughing madly as he moved toward the school door.
Oh Bunny! You were the cutest Prom Queen I'd ever seen, & I'd seen at least one before. Louie ran straight for you as you sneaked a cigarette, balancing your tiara so prettily as you attempted to light a smoke in heels. Your light came on as Louie came on & the two of you went up, up, up. The school, which had earlier that week had all of its asbestos removed & so was feeling a little vulnerable, caught fire as if in spite. Handcuffed to the truck, holding grapefruit rinds to protect us from parts of the school flying at us as the it blazed, we barely saw the class come flying out of the school, virtually every one of them horribly burned & screaming.
The police weren't entirely understanding - we were beaten repeatedly & forced to answer to the name "Betty" - but in the end, they couldn't explain how we could be handcuffed to a truck & also able to start a fire. When we tried to show the cop how we could have done it anyway, our lawyer stopped us, & he was beaten repeatedly. We enjoyed that.
We found out about Bunny years later, when the story was made into a made-for-TV movie that you saw on a plane. You wrote to the producer about how unfair it was that they cast Anthony Michael Hall as you, but I was perfectly happy with the brillaint casting of Paul Dooley as me. You called me that night - the first time we talked in years - & my mother yelled at you & then went across the street & threw eggs at your window. Those were the days!
At the time, the woman you loved was working as the bass guitar in a psychobilly band. The woman I loved was married to the drumkit in the same band. We weren't old enough to get in the bar, but the kindly bouncer let us sit across the street & listen. Across the street was the halfway house, & we only thought about it insofar as we wondered what exactly it was halfway between. We figured it was something like, halfway between the bar & the house behind it. Something like that.
Louie Crazypants was a convicted felon with convictions. He didn't believe two homosexual boys like you & me should be so unhappy on our Prom Night 1993. I explained we weren't so much gay as sensitive & he beat the living shit out of me for sassing him. I still remember his kind eyes as he explained to me, apologizing, why he had to do it, baby. Then he gut-punched you to show you he loved you, too. He handcuffed us to the back of his truck & drove us to the prom.
Wow, were we fucked up that night! Louie bought us beer & grapefruit, & he told us to drink up, only hitting us when we accidentally squirted him with grapefruit juice, as you will, trying to forced a piece out with a spoon. We arrived at the school in time for the crowning of the King & Queen. Looking around, you & I noticed the same thing - for some reason, Louie had taken us to a school not in our city, but in the neighboring suburb. We also noticed he had covered himself in gasoline & was laughing madly as he moved toward the school door.
Oh Bunny! You were the cutest Prom Queen I'd ever seen, & I'd seen at least one before. Louie ran straight for you as you sneaked a cigarette, balancing your tiara so prettily as you attempted to light a smoke in heels. Your light came on as Louie came on & the two of you went up, up, up. The school, which had earlier that week had all of its asbestos removed & so was feeling a little vulnerable, caught fire as if in spite. Handcuffed to the truck, holding grapefruit rinds to protect us from parts of the school flying at us as the it blazed, we barely saw the class come flying out of the school, virtually every one of them horribly burned & screaming.
The police weren't entirely understanding - we were beaten repeatedly & forced to answer to the name "Betty" - but in the end, they couldn't explain how we could be handcuffed to a truck & also able to start a fire. When we tried to show the cop how we could have done it anyway, our lawyer stopped us, & he was beaten repeatedly. We enjoyed that.
We found out about Bunny years later, when the story was made into a made-for-TV movie that you saw on a plane. You wrote to the producer about how unfair it was that they cast Anthony Michael Hall as you, but I was perfectly happy with the brillaint casting of Paul Dooley as me. You called me that night - the first time we talked in years - & my mother yelled at you & then went across the street & threw eggs at your window. Those were the days!
Monday, July 23, 2007
No Buns For You!
SELF HELP RADIO NOTES. PAGE ONE.
In addition to the regular Self Help Radio, which will allegedly be about rabbits this week, Self Help Radio host & founder Gary Dickerson will guest host the famous KOOP show Stronger Than Dirt.
SELF HELP RADIO NOTES. PAGE TWO.
Self Help Radio host & founder Gary Dickerson spoke with authorities & was unable to provide any information about the whereabouts of KOOP programmer & host of the famous KOOP show, Stronger Than Dirt, Scott Gardner, although Gary Dickerson seemed to think he'd turn up after Sunday or so.
SELF HELP RADIO NOTES. PAGE THREE.
If you're sad about missing Self Help Radio last Friday, the show about "Pride," or if you are sad because you heard it, you can either relive your pain or experience it for the first time, because the show is available in its entirety on the Self Help Radio web page.
SELF HELP RADIO NOTES. PAGE FIVE.
Any listener who has last seen or otherwise heard anything from Self Help Radio host & founder Gary Dickerson's naked mole rats, who went out for a drink last Friday after a brief heated exchange & have not called home since are advised to contact Gary Dickerson at the Self Help Radio offices. Please note: the naked mole rats might currently be clothed.
SELF HELP RADIO NOTES. PAGE SIX.
Did you know that naked mole rats have extremely hard teeth because they eat very hard things. Like corm. Or rhizone. Or corn nuts. Or the rims of whiskey glasses. But mainly the roots of plants. You know. God I miss them. Babies please come home!
In addition to the regular Self Help Radio, which will allegedly be about rabbits this week, Self Help Radio host & founder Gary Dickerson will guest host the famous KOOP show Stronger Than Dirt.
SELF HELP RADIO NOTES. PAGE TWO.
Self Help Radio host & founder Gary Dickerson spoke with authorities & was unable to provide any information about the whereabouts of KOOP programmer & host of the famous KOOP show, Stronger Than Dirt, Scott Gardner, although Gary Dickerson seemed to think he'd turn up after Sunday or so.
SELF HELP RADIO NOTES. PAGE THREE.
If you're sad about missing Self Help Radio last Friday, the show about "Pride," or if you are sad because you heard it, you can either relive your pain or experience it for the first time, because the show is available in its entirety on the Self Help Radio web page.
SELF HELP RADIO NOTES. PAGE FIVE.
Any listener who has last seen or otherwise heard anything from Self Help Radio host & founder Gary Dickerson's naked mole rats, who went out for a drink last Friday after a brief heated exchange & have not called home since are advised to contact Gary Dickerson at the Self Help Radio offices. Please note: the naked mole rats might currently be clothed.
SELF HELP RADIO NOTES. PAGE SIX.
Did you know that naked mole rats have extremely hard teeth because they eat very hard things. Like corm. Or rhizone. Or corn nuts. Or the rims of whiskey glasses. But mainly the roots of plants. You know. God I miss them. Babies please come home!
Friday, July 20, 2007
Proverbs 16:18
Oh why did I agree to do a show about PRIDE? It's making me look bad! It's the worst of the Seven Deadly Sins! I am so fucked!
Wait a second. I don't believe in that "sin" shit. Plus, I am a child of the last three decades of the 20th century. Pride was never a bad thing. Pride was the one thing you had when you had nothing else. Fuck you Bible! I am proud to be the person I am.
Oh wait. I'm a white dude. White Pride is what racists call their hatred. I don't have any of that. I barely have a heritage, let alone some kind of "culture" about which I can be proud of. Now I'm fucked again.
But I am kinda proud of my radio station, which recently had its license renewed. Fuck yeah! Community radio pride! I am totally down with that.
So if you're proud of yourself for non-icky or fucked-up reasons, or if you're proud that there's a radio station like KOOP around, or if you're just glad there's only seven deadly sins, because you've counted at least twenty, then you will enjoy Self Help Radio today at 4:30pm. That's Central time. You can hear it on 91.7 fm or you can go to the KOOP website to listen online.
If you do, I'll be proud of you.
Wait a second. I don't believe in that "sin" shit. Plus, I am a child of the last three decades of the 20th century. Pride was never a bad thing. Pride was the one thing you had when you had nothing else. Fuck you Bible! I am proud to be the person I am.
Oh wait. I'm a white dude. White Pride is what racists call their hatred. I don't have any of that. I barely have a heritage, let alone some kind of "culture" about which I can be proud of. Now I'm fucked again.
But I am kinda proud of my radio station, which recently had its license renewed. Fuck yeah! Community radio pride! I am totally down with that.
So if you're proud of yourself for non-icky or fucked-up reasons, or if you're proud that there's a radio station like KOOP around, or if you're just glad there's only seven deadly sins, because you've counted at least twenty, then you will enjoy Self Help Radio today at 4:30pm. That's Central time. You can hear it on 91.7 fm or you can go to the KOOP website to listen online.
If you do, I'll be proud of you.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Partner Faking Her Orgasm?
I love love love the Urban Dictionary.
When I have to do a show where there's not a whole lot to talk about & I don't really want to make things up (well, I never really don't want to make things up), I'll go see what the kids are defining.
Sometimes, though, there are things I could never say on the air. Like this definition of pride meat. I have no doubt young men have used this phrase before. It certainly sounds like something a twenty-year-old would talk about. That, & a pride swing. Kids today! So free & easy with their naughty bits!
I could probably get away with talking about the "lewd" act called the Pride of Montpelier, but it's only funny because of the second part of the definition.
In Austin there are a lot of pride rides. Did they call cars in the 70's with Black Power stickers on them "pride rides"? Were there Black Power stickers? Why not?
But, in any case, tomorrow's Self Help Radio will at the very least increase the amount of prideons you have. Isn't that worth it?
When I have to do a show where there's not a whole lot to talk about & I don't really want to make things up (well, I never really don't want to make things up), I'll go see what the kids are defining.
Sometimes, though, there are things I could never say on the air. Like this definition of pride meat. I have no doubt young men have used this phrase before. It certainly sounds like something a twenty-year-old would talk about. That, & a pride swing. Kids today! So free & easy with their naughty bits!
I could probably get away with talking about the "lewd" act called the Pride of Montpelier, but it's only funny because of the second part of the definition.
In Austin there are a lot of pride rides. Did they call cars in the 70's with Black Power stickers on them "pride rides"? Were there Black Power stickers? Why not?
But, in any case, tomorrow's Self Help Radio will at the very least increase the amount of prideons you have. Isn't that worth it?
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Whither Pride?
Dear Communists,
Look! It's a naked guy with a bird's head! No, really!
Have you had problems with pride? I guess I've had my highs & lows. We always think we're better than we are until we're laid low.
That girl's dangerous! She must be on some powerful stuff!
A show about pride should not be construed as me having pride in my show. I know how embarrassing it is. Like being pantsed every Friday from 4:30 to 6:00 by the nerdiest bullies in the world. Which you will of course find on KOOP.
We'll have to face the fact that we're not alone in the universe.
I operate almost entirely like a stuffed iPod on random. Pride just came up. But not that U2 song. I'm not talking about individual songs - I mean themes. My iPod is stuffed with themes.
The whole fucking universe is split in two!
You know what I hate? When people attempt to pat themselves on the back by saying, "You'd be proud of me..." & then telling me something they are proud of. Hell, I'm amazed anyone gets up in the morning. My pride in you is already at its lowest possible point.
Unit 1-7 respond. Unit 1-7! I'm missed you so!
Listen Friday. You'll see. Pride goeth before a weekend.
Look! It's a naked guy with a bird's head! No, really!
Have you had problems with pride? I guess I've had my highs & lows. We always think we're better than we are until we're laid low.
That girl's dangerous! She must be on some powerful stuff!
A show about pride should not be construed as me having pride in my show. I know how embarrassing it is. Like being pantsed every Friday from 4:30 to 6:00 by the nerdiest bullies in the world. Which you will of course find on KOOP.
We'll have to face the fact that we're not alone in the universe.
I operate almost entirely like a stuffed iPod on random. Pride just came up. But not that U2 song. I'm not talking about individual songs - I mean themes. My iPod is stuffed with themes.
The whole fucking universe is split in two!
You know what I hate? When people attempt to pat themselves on the back by saying, "You'd be proud of me..." & then telling me something they are proud of. Hell, I'm amazed anyone gets up in the morning. My pride in you is already at its lowest possible point.
Unit 1-7 respond. Unit 1-7! I'm missed you so!
Listen Friday. You'll see. Pride goeth before a weekend.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Preface To Pride: Insomnia Is My Shame
Other people named "me." A late-night study in failure.
This Gary Dickerson makes more money than I'll ever see. & wow! Check out those stock options! He seems to be working with semiconductors.
This Gary Dickerson seems to live in Phoenix & takes nice pictures. (I like that it says "Gary Dickerson's Favorite Photos.")
This Gary Dickerson has written a helpful article called "Fluke Facts," & he should know, since he's "a member of the Manasquan Fishing Club, past president and vice president of JCAA, chairman of the Fluke Committee and a JCAA Trustee." Good for him!
This Gary Dickerson (with a picture) owns Dickerson Mechanical in & was elected President of the Flint Plumbing & Mechanical Contractors in 2005. Such accomplishments!
Yikes! If you scroll down on this page, you'll see two generations of Gary Dickersons involved in a lawsuit at the West Virginia Supreme Court of Appeals. I can only dream of what it might be all about.
There's a douchebag named Gary Dickerson apparently really involved at this radio station. Oh wait. That's me.
In this court case (another court case!), the issue is the state of Texas vs. William Speer, a prisoner who killed his fellow inmate, whose name was Gary Dickerson. That sucks.
This youngster named Gary Dickerson is located in "Glorius Gloucester."
About this Gary Dickerson, we discover "Gary Dickerson has been in the commercial furniture industry since 1992." Don't I know!
This Gary Dickerson is a sergeant in the DeKalb (Georgia) Police Department’s Vice Squad. There's a picture, too!
This Gary Dickerson teaches a class on glass bead making. No shit.
I could go on for hours but I should try to sleep. There are so many Gary Dickersons in the world! We should be in a club.
Zzzzzzz.
This Gary Dickerson makes more money than I'll ever see. & wow! Check out those stock options! He seems to be working with semiconductors.
This Gary Dickerson seems to live in Phoenix & takes nice pictures. (I like that it says "Gary Dickerson's Favorite Photos.")
This Gary Dickerson has written a helpful article called "Fluke Facts," & he should know, since he's "a member of the Manasquan Fishing Club, past president and vice president of JCAA, chairman of the Fluke Committee and a JCAA Trustee." Good for him!
This Gary Dickerson (with a picture) owns Dickerson Mechanical in & was elected President of the Flint Plumbing & Mechanical Contractors in 2005. Such accomplishments!
Yikes! If you scroll down on this page, you'll see two generations of Gary Dickersons involved in a lawsuit at the West Virginia Supreme Court of Appeals. I can only dream of what it might be all about.
There's a douchebag named Gary Dickerson apparently really involved at this radio station. Oh wait. That's me.
In this court case (another court case!), the issue is the state of Texas vs. William Speer, a prisoner who killed his fellow inmate, whose name was Gary Dickerson. That sucks.
This youngster named Gary Dickerson is located in "Glorius Gloucester."
About this Gary Dickerson, we discover "Gary Dickerson has been in the commercial furniture industry since 1992." Don't I know!
This Gary Dickerson is a sergeant in the DeKalb (Georgia) Police Department’s Vice Squad. There's a picture, too!
This Gary Dickerson teaches a class on glass bead making. No shit.
I could go on for hours but I should try to sleep. There are so many Gary Dickersons in the world! We should be in a club.
Zzzzzzz.
Monday, July 16, 2007
My Lover, My Vice Principal
- What do you think of my teeth?
- What about your teeth?
- They were just cleaned.
- Yeah?
- So?
- So what?
- Do they look clean?
- I guess so.
- Take a good look.
- You want me to inspect your teeth?
- Sure.
- Why?
- What if the hygienist did a shitty job?
- How am I supposed to know if the dental hygienist did a shitty job or not?
- Look, I picked up this pamphlet, & it says here: "Dental hygienists remove soft & hard deposits from teeth, teach patients how to practice good oral hygiene, & provide other preventive dental care." My hygienist didn't say dick about practicing good oral hygiene, but instead talked about American Idol for a half hour with her hands in my mouth. So I'm curious, did she in fact remove soft & hard deposits from my teeth, or even provide other preventive dental care? I can't look myself!
- Not even in a mirror?
- Can't you just take a look?
- I'm not a dentist! I'm not a dental hygienist!
- Have you ever seen like plague or other gunk on teeth?
- Sure, but...
- Then just be a pal & take a look.
- I don't know...
- If you do, I'll give you a treat.
- A treat?
- A treat.
- What kind of treat?
- You'll have to inspect my teeth to find out.
- Oh, what the hell.
- I'll open my mouth big & wide.
- Uh, as far as I can tell, OW! Motherfucker! You fucking bit me!
- That's the treat!
- Jesus Christ! What a fucking psycho! I didn't even tell you how your teeth were!
- I couldn't wait to give you the treat!
- What about your teeth?
- They were just cleaned.
- Yeah?
- So?
- So what?
- Do they look clean?
- I guess so.
- Take a good look.
- You want me to inspect your teeth?
- Sure.
- Why?
- What if the hygienist did a shitty job?
- How am I supposed to know if the dental hygienist did a shitty job or not?
- Look, I picked up this pamphlet, & it says here: "Dental hygienists remove soft & hard deposits from teeth, teach patients how to practice good oral hygiene, & provide other preventive dental care." My hygienist didn't say dick about practicing good oral hygiene, but instead talked about American Idol for a half hour with her hands in my mouth. So I'm curious, did she in fact remove soft & hard deposits from my teeth, or even provide other preventive dental care? I can't look myself!
- Not even in a mirror?
- Can't you just take a look?
- I'm not a dentist! I'm not a dental hygienist!
- Have you ever seen like plague or other gunk on teeth?
- Sure, but...
- Then just be a pal & take a look.
- I don't know...
- If you do, I'll give you a treat.
- A treat?
- A treat.
- What kind of treat?
- You'll have to inspect my teeth to find out.
- Oh, what the hell.
- I'll open my mouth big & wide.
- Uh, as far as I can tell, OW! Motherfucker! You fucking bit me!
- That's the treat!
- Jesus Christ! What a fucking psycho! I didn't even tell you how your teeth were!
- I couldn't wait to give you the treat!
Friday, July 13, 2007
Downsides/Regression
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Baby Is In Love With Fire
Baby, baby, please put down the cello. It never did anything to hurt you. Yes, that's a cello. You've never seen a cello? Is that why you want to hurt it?
Some rock stars who end up owning curvy bulging instrumentals cannot help by sticking stickers on them. This is probably an incorrect response to the curviness or bulgiation of the instrument. Unless it doesn't matter. But flautists never put stickers on their flutes. Or do they?
Why focus, then, on how fire destroys things that are flat as well as things that are round? Why not focus instead on fire's tendency to taper itself around the top of the flame? Why not talk about fire as a solid thing with an edge? Or even think about it? It might take your mind off of being burned alive.
All this talk makes the model blue. Do you know Blue the model? She's skinny, foreign & addicted to model airplane glue. She looks at the world in a weird way, & prefers you bring her leaves rather than flowers, as if she's playing the odds. Then she's stick the stem in some glue & snort until her eyes bleed.
Do you even know the difference between gangrene & distemper? Like me, you're confused with the word "gangrene" - why isn't it called "ganyellow"? Fuck Latin roots, I want to be able to trust medical terms again. Like we did when we were children.
When I finally meet your parents, please do not tell them I was not proud of us on this day. Please don't mention the blood-soaked tablecloth or the high cheekbones I made for you to wear. Tell them instead that we came to an impasse & all it took was a burning cello & thirteen stitches for us to know that love is impernanet & difficult.
Some rock stars who end up owning curvy bulging instrumentals cannot help by sticking stickers on them. This is probably an incorrect response to the curviness or bulgiation of the instrument. Unless it doesn't matter. But flautists never put stickers on their flutes. Or do they?
Why focus, then, on how fire destroys things that are flat as well as things that are round? Why not focus instead on fire's tendency to taper itself around the top of the flame? Why not talk about fire as a solid thing with an edge? Or even think about it? It might take your mind off of being burned alive.
All this talk makes the model blue. Do you know Blue the model? She's skinny, foreign & addicted to model airplane glue. She looks at the world in a weird way, & prefers you bring her leaves rather than flowers, as if she's playing the odds. Then she's stick the stem in some glue & snort until her eyes bleed.
Do you even know the difference between gangrene & distemper? Like me, you're confused with the word "gangrene" - why isn't it called "ganyellow"? Fuck Latin roots, I want to be able to trust medical terms again. Like we did when we were children.
When I finally meet your parents, please do not tell them I was not proud of us on this day. Please don't mention the blood-soaked tablecloth or the high cheekbones I made for you to wear. Tell them instead that we came to an impasse & all it took was a burning cello & thirteen stitches for us to know that love is impernanet & difficult.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Whither Worms?
I can't remember why I decided to do a show about worms. I wrote it down one day & it became a reality. That's right, I'm a follower & practicioner of Scribbling Your Dreams, the powerful spiritual system which helps you bring all that you desire to reality. Consider:
- Alma Tetragon of Oneida, Wisconsin made it a habit to write down the things she needed when she would go "shopping." Once at a suitable market or store, she would look to the list & get the things she wanted. Coincidence? Only a fool would think so!
- Martin "The Herbie" Textile would often write home when he was in college at Brown Shirt University, & he would always make it a point to let his mother & father know in not-very-subtle language when he needed twenty bucks here, fifty bucks there. His parents would send him the money! Luck? Not hardly!
- Don Apachepants was a moderately successful Herbivore who was often too busy to communicate verbally with people at his business. He would therefore write & send memos to his workers. An example: if he sent a note to his secretary which read, "I'll have my usual lunch of potatos & pills at one," he would find his afternoon repast on his desk at one pm. Was this magic? Are you some kind of crazy fuck?
What did all of these things have in common? The person desired something, & then they wrote it down. The power of the written word has been well known ever since Santa Claus began keeping his famous "lists" two thousand years ago, & the children who found themselves on the "naughty" side developed painful, incurable, terminal diseases, but it was long suspected you had to be an immortal like Santa Claus to make such things happen. But no! It's within the realm of mortals like you - & like me.
So now, when I want something, I write it down. Please note: email doesn't count. Nor does blogging. It has to be a written note. Whether the handwriting needs to be legible is subject of intense scientific scrutiny. Also, it does not appear to work in any language other than English, unless you're an immortal like Santa Claus. Sorry!
More & more people are putting all their eggs in the basket called Scribbling Your Dreams, & why not? It seems to be true. It feels right. I can cite anecdotal evidence to support it. Why shouldn't it be true?
Let me know if you can make some money off this, & cut me in, wouldya?
- Alma Tetragon of Oneida, Wisconsin made it a habit to write down the things she needed when she would go "shopping." Once at a suitable market or store, she would look to the list & get the things she wanted. Coincidence? Only a fool would think so!
- Martin "The Herbie" Textile would often write home when he was in college at Brown Shirt University, & he would always make it a point to let his mother & father know in not-very-subtle language when he needed twenty bucks here, fifty bucks there. His parents would send him the money! Luck? Not hardly!
- Don Apachepants was a moderately successful Herbivore who was often too busy to communicate verbally with people at his business. He would therefore write & send memos to his workers. An example: if he sent a note to his secretary which read, "I'll have my usual lunch of potatos & pills at one," he would find his afternoon repast on his desk at one pm. Was this magic? Are you some kind of crazy fuck?
What did all of these things have in common? The person desired something, & then they wrote it down. The power of the written word has been well known ever since Santa Claus began keeping his famous "lists" two thousand years ago, & the children who found themselves on the "naughty" side developed painful, incurable, terminal diseases, but it was long suspected you had to be an immortal like Santa Claus to make such things happen. But no! It's within the realm of mortals like you - & like me.
So now, when I want something, I write it down. Please note: email doesn't count. Nor does blogging. It has to be a written note. Whether the handwriting needs to be legible is subject of intense scientific scrutiny. Also, it does not appear to work in any language other than English, unless you're an immortal like Santa Claus. Sorry!
More & more people are putting all their eggs in the basket called Scribbling Your Dreams, & why not? It seems to be true. It feels right. I can cite anecdotal evidence to support it. Why shouldn't it be true?
Let me know if you can make some money off this, & cut me in, wouldya?
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Preface To Worms: The Nature Of Things
This is what we drink on Self Help Radio:
Made from tears, not from worms. So there.
Made from tears, not from worms. So there.
Monday, July 02, 2007
O What A Whiff It Is
Dear Snoots,
Did you get the wet hair I sent you in the mail? It was sent through this wacky gift site/online fart-noise-making organization called Self Help Radio. Why hadn't I heard of them before?
Much love,
Dad
Dear Dumbass,
I am happy to learn you've added 2.0 to your name to reflect your current state of plastic surgery. How do I know this? Because I've discovered a web site, Self Help Radio, in which I can find out personal information about people I hate. (For people I love, it costs money.)
Ha ha,
Vinny Dictive
Dear Prestidigitator,
Your combination microwave oven/drum kit has arrived from Self Help Radio. Did you want me to put it in the den, the kitchen, or in the back of my mind?
Please advise,
Guileless
Dear Tacks,
I was listening to a radio show the other day & it hurt me to listen to it. I think it was called Self Help Radio. It hurt it hurt it hurt. Do you know it's archived? Even the show I heard on Friday! Oh I am nauseous from all the pain.
Ouch,
Muggsy
Dear College Graduate,
I am sorry, but your qualifications make it impossible for us to hire you. Pardon me, that sentence should have read "lack of qualifications." Perhaps you should work somewhere else. Might we suggest Self Help Radio?
Sincerely,
High Paying Job
Dear Moby D,
I am writing you out of sheerest desperation. Our next port of call is the tropical dive called Self Help Radio. It's the place where the slave kids make gummy bears. Please say you'll forgive me so I can stop this aimless wandering.
Please!
Ahab
My friends,
We take as our text today the third chapter & sixth verse of Self Help Radio. Please remember, clean your hymnals afterwards. Your soul will take a little longer. Now: pray! Pray God Damn It! PRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
Amen,
Pastor Douche
Did you get the wet hair I sent you in the mail? It was sent through this wacky gift site/online fart-noise-making organization called Self Help Radio. Why hadn't I heard of them before?
Much love,
Dad
Dear Dumbass,
I am happy to learn you've added 2.0 to your name to reflect your current state of plastic surgery. How do I know this? Because I've discovered a web site, Self Help Radio, in which I can find out personal information about people I hate. (For people I love, it costs money.)
Ha ha,
Vinny Dictive
Dear Prestidigitator,
Your combination microwave oven/drum kit has arrived from Self Help Radio. Did you want me to put it in the den, the kitchen, or in the back of my mind?
Please advise,
Guileless
Dear Tacks,
I was listening to a radio show the other day & it hurt me to listen to it. I think it was called Self Help Radio. It hurt it hurt it hurt. Do you know it's archived? Even the show I heard on Friday! Oh I am nauseous from all the pain.
Ouch,
Muggsy
Dear College Graduate,
I am sorry, but your qualifications make it impossible for us to hire you. Pardon me, that sentence should have read "lack of qualifications." Perhaps you should work somewhere else. Might we suggest Self Help Radio?
Sincerely,
High Paying Job
Dear Moby D,
I am writing you out of sheerest desperation. Our next port of call is the tropical dive called Self Help Radio. It's the place where the slave kids make gummy bears. Please say you'll forgive me so I can stop this aimless wandering.
Please!
Ahab
My friends,
We take as our text today the third chapter & sixth verse of Self Help Radio. Please remember, clean your hymnals afterwards. Your soul will take a little longer. Now: pray! Pray God Damn It! PRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
Amen,
Pastor Douche