Inappropriate Use of a Podcast presents: Beyond the Near Horizon
Inappropriate Use of a Podcast presents: Beyond the Near Horizon
Oct 31, 1982: Col Prather Interviews Professor Tasha Gilmoyle
On remote from Galway, Ireland. Colonel Stephen Prather interviews Dr. Tasha Gilmoyle to discuss her book “Apocolypse: 1983” plus birthdays, listener letters and more.
INAPPROPRIATE USE OF A PODCAST is proud to present encore presentations of the iconic radio program "Beyond the Near Horizon" with host Colonel Stephen Prather. Since 1975, this innovative program has explored the unexplained, the occult and other controversial topics. Featuring interviews with unconventional experts from across the intellectual spectrum, every program lives up to the promise of its creator Colonel Prather to "not allow the ordinary distractions to thwart the search for wisdom and knowledge." As he reminds, "all that and more may just be revealed beyond the near horizon."
Podcast website: https://www.buzzsprout.com/2027077
Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/inappropriate-use-of-a-podcast-presents-beyond/id1637243805
Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/episode/0h9HrbF63cZXjtg28it2PR?si=ozcekZDDQBuEgIiBqO-b1Q
STEPHANIE
On remote from the enchanted country of Ireland, it’s Beyond the Near Horizon featuring Colonel Stephen Prather. Now, here’s your host, Colonel Stephen Prather
INTRO
CSP
Thank you Stephanie. Welcome to our listeners, wherever they may dwell on the lonesome and journeying orb we call planet Earth. It is Monday, October 31st. All Hallows Eve and we transmit to you today from the shores of ancient kingdoms, home of Queen Boudicca (Boo-di-cah) of the Iceni (ai-see-nai), warrior and demigod Cu Chulalnn (Koo Kullen), you do not get more dark and mystical than this enchanted land my friends. We’re happy to be here at the Tarnished Scepter a Korean Mexican fusion restaurant next to the Buried Finch Gardens, in the storied city of Galway, Ireland. Failed Tennis Pro Phil Pratter, who was nice enough to set us up here and was serving as our grip, I guess you would say-just got arrested for public indecency - or the Irish equivalent I suppose - public indecency with a "traffic bollard" I believe I heard. We've got a nice old couple from Donegal who've picked up the slack, Dolores and Mathew. Mathew looks like he's flagging a little. I’ll tell you, in animal stock and people, drool is a tell-tale sign of exhaustion, and Mathew is dripping like a shoulder-bit antelope.
Word to the wise, Mathew, wrap that power-cord around your shoulder vertically, that will help distribute the weight. Delores, you might want to lay him to the side, it looks like he's starting to foam at the mouth there.
That aside, our guest joining us tonight is the winner of the 1981 Edinburgh Unidentifiable Liquids Competition, she’s author of, among many works, “Radium Sun: The East Coast Irradiated Surfer Epidemic,” “Yucca Plant: Secret Invaders,” and her latest work, “Apocalypse 1983.” That’s Professor Tasha Gilmoyle, fellow at the Kilkenny Institute of Involuntary Energy and I think you’re going to find her pretty darn fascinating. I also understand she refines her own petroleum, so that’s probably worth sticking around for alone.
CURRENT EVENTS
CSP
We’ve had quite the adventure getting here. It was ten hours flying into Heathrow and Yuri and I followed that with a hopper to Dublin and then the train over to Galway here. I eventually made my way through most of a copy of the Times and if you didn’t guess it from the dramatic look of the sky in these parts, baby there is some grade A portense in the air. First of all we were 100% tailed out of Heathrow-which given my position, I’m used to. I’d describe this fellow in a dirty tan raincoat as a sort of stretched out Walter Matthau in terms of his facial appearance. He had at least three different copies of Mayfair rolled up in his pockets. For the uninitiated that would be your English equivalent of Playboy magazine. Mayfair, if you don’t know, is underwritten by the Most Aerial Order of Turkish Unity Ministers, who originally hail from San Jose. The sort of head honchos, Art and Oly, the Arden Brothers, were booted out of the Unitarian Universalist Church out there in Cali when they refused to relent on elevating Foster Brooks into a newly created position of Super Pope, which did not go down well among the free-thinkers.
Now, Art and Oly wind up overseas after trying to hold up a Sears & Roebuck outlet store near Seattle. We talked about their cadre when we were covering Infidel Fest out in Reno last November. Fair to say if you see anyone in the British Isles sporting a copy of Mayfair or North Coventry Pike and Zander, just know they are funneling the proceeds back into Istanbul in an attempt to flip the country Unitarian. Mr tan raincoat is just one of many of their cohorts.
Surveillance withstanding, I was reading in the Times that temperatures in Paris—and I want to get the conversion here correctly—were 490 degrees Celsius, which I think might be 89 degrees—sorry? Yuri, what was that? That seems low. What would 490 be? Sure, there's an adding machine on the table back—yeah. 914 degrees? I have to think that some of the kitchens down in the La Courneuve (La Koor-nyuhv) district get pretty hot. Not to lose the noodle but I would say, the Frenchies need to get a little cash together down there and throw up some awnings. Makes you wonder what they’re spending their money on. God forbid they spring for an air-conditioner on the continent.
Strange weather either way you cut it. I understand that Professor Gilmoyle has no shortage of theories on this heat wave but all roads in my opinion tie into the Fae. It’s popular to follow that whole Peter Pan, Midsummer Night’s narrative, but bear with me here. Mainstream opinion will tell you that the garden variety Fairies we see back in the states and the Fae are one and the same. Let me assure you, they are not. In one corner is a limp link of Oscar Meyer and the other is a Louisville Slugger. No offense to the Cherokee who have their own Fae attachments or the Scottish, Germanic and Irish enclaves that hopped the drink, but it’s no competition. They hang out in packs over here with Kelpies and Elves and homeless brownies. Try to get a free seat on a bus and you’ll see pretty quick a whole gaggle of Otherworlders with a hold on this island like Wrigleys on a deer antler.
You and I or humanity at large don’t have a prayer of affecting the weather-but these Fae Folk are clearly trying to flip the lawnchair and expand their dominion outside the Otherworld. Now, this heatwave might just be the grand stratagem to push people off their properties, turn the soil arid, and let the Fae expand their underground lairs. Ever wonder why Irish soil is so fertile? Two words: Fae compost, my friends.
It’s right there in their poems - “Come gather near to the smoldering fire, the embers aflame will console and inspire.” Now my only aim is to spread some awareness of course. It’s one thing to be taken off guard, but another to have your britches pulled down when you thought you were going to shoot a halfcourt shot.
And let me tell you, folks, these Fae are not just litigious—they're ingenious. Dig deep, and you'll unearth their fingerprints all over the Rancho De Pescado development near Dublin.
Ephemeral Tenancy? Sure, let's have a chuckle about it, then let's absolutely tear our hair out over it. Only in the fantastical legal lexicon of the Fae could mushroom circles in your backyard be the quill that inks a lease with the Earth Spirits.
Speaking of such; we've had Melvin. We've had Tico. Many other earth spirits on the program. Were they being agents of renewal and counterbalancing mankind’s footprint in the world? No. They are as engrossed as a partially tranquilized land surveyor in the high-stakes drama of whether Andy Gibb will stay or go from Solid Gold that one wonders if they even realize they're being colonized by Fae embassies sprouting up like Shiitake after a spring rain.
Ports of entry, people. Ports of entry. This transports me to my airborne rendezvous with a super friendly latex salesman—a gentleman from Vermont named Nutro or, was it Nugget? Details, really mere footnotes to the main spectacle. You see, this man's prodigal son was recently exonerated in a rather unpleasant legal affair. The celebratory gift? None other than the fabled Commodore 64 personal computer, an artifact not just of silicon, but of sorcery as we have laid bare many times. We've heard tales—testimonials—about Price Binger’s Soul Purifier working wonders on the Apple II. But what of the Commodore?
Now, allow me to unspool a thread of intrigue. The Montpelier merchant who peddled this digital chimera had apparently been besieged by users, their screens turning an eerie shade of emerald at the stroke of midnight. But it doesn't end there. For ten minutes, culinary alchemy unfolds: butter, so lovingly interwoven into cakes, pies, and confections, performs an exodus, transmogrifying back into prosaic 1.5 x 1.5 x 3.5-inch blocks. Shelf-ready, I dare say! As if that wasn't sufficiently uncanny, nearby marmots—be they pets or mere passerby—suffer a rather ignominious bout of gastrointestinal turmoil.
Why, you ask? Well, I researched this reading a back issue of Tool and Plow in the toilet of the 707 as we were passing over Greenland and the answer may lie in a quaint Austrian dance, known as the 'Schuhplattler (Shoo-plaht-luhr).’ This dance is deceivingly simple- handclaps and foot stomps, which—when executed- radiate outward into the atmosphere on a wavelength that only a powered-on Commodore 64 anywhere globally can pick up. This clearly creates a quantum doorway, making all these supernatural phenomena a fait accompli. Remember, listeners, the Schuhplattler isn't merely Austrian folklore; it's a digital conjuring incantation, waiting for the clock to strike twelve. So, the next time your Commodore 64 takes on a viridescent glow, perhaps consider locking up your butter—and your marmots.
When we return, birthdays. I’d be pleased if you stick around.
COMMERCIAL 1
How often do you stop to consider the many things in your life that leak? Faucets, car engines, even the United States government has its moments. Leakages, my friends, are the unsung saboteurs lurking in the shadowy crannies of our daily existence. Sun-tortured garden hoses, cracking even disintegrating over time, until that Sunday arrives when they become treacherous assassins, murdering the delicate veneer of your stylish corduroy, delaying your rendezvous with a bewitching woman named Fussy, resulting in the end of your genetic line.
That's why, in my endless quest for solutions to life's magma flow of conundrums, I found LeakEnigma 11. Now, the '11' isn't just a head-scratching cipher—it signifies the jaw-dropping price of just eleven cents!
Imagine my wonder, even stupefaction, when I tested this sorcerous serum on a pair of galoshes whose cracked left sole first betrayed me during the winter of ’78.
I simply applied a dab—a mere skosh—of LeakEnigma 11 and the results were so rapid and astonishing that I felt like I’d given birth to standard-sized infant. Those galoshes were as watertight as a Finnish accountant after the quick once over. Lazarus rising from the dead, in shoe form, my friends.
This easy to use elixir can seal, mend, and resurrect any leaky object—be it your grandma's vintage teapot or even your sainted grandmother herself long suffering with incontinence since Jerry Ford was in office.
It was no lie, for the paltry sum of eleven cents—that's right, a mere eleventh of a dollar—you too can become the maestro of mending, the savant of sealing, the paragon of patching! Combine it with bacon bits and mayonnaise and I’m telling you, you haven’t tasted better salad dressing.
But act fast, because supplies are running low folks. I can only assume there's a basement somewhere in Sheboygan with at least a thousand cans of LeakEnigma 11 already hoarded away. Nancy, we love you, but you probably should lay off.
Don't let leaks subvert your domestic tranquility. Send check or money order for eleven cents to LeakEnigma Parish, Prancing Thunder, Wisconsin, 53558, include $10.75 for shipping and handling. Get your LeakEnigma 11 today and make sure the only thing leaking in your life is the single tear on your check as you revel in your newfound, leakless peace of mind.
BIRTHDAYS
I am still not used to the light up here. The skies are beyond haunting, they look poised for something…dark, I’m sorry to say. Marjorie Jacobian in her memoir “God’s Lightbulb”, specifically her chapter on cursed peoples identified a massive prism about 600 square kilometers in size, positioned over this whole archipelago up here. My closet back home is better lit than this place and let me tell you it does bring the hallucinations. Come out around dusk and don’t be surprised if you see what I can only describe as multiple Cloris Leachmans in various poses across the horizon like a bizarre group of constellations. Frightening to see in person at scale, and despite what Yuri thinks, it cannot be chalked up to a C grade plate of bangers and mash.
Speaking of alarming, maybe dangerous is the better word. Our first birthday tonight, a woman I can only call a matron of militarized munchies Juliette Gordon Low. Born in 1860 on this date. A common name? No. One you should know though if you’re concerned as I am with legalized standing armies. Ms. Low is responsible for none other than one of largest peacetime reserves in the world—although I can’t be sure of the exact numbers—that would be the supposedly benevolent Girl Scouts of America. An organization insidious for the baiting techniques they use—the female youth of this land in paramilitary forms dispensing what I can only call a dental nightmare. Macaroons have their place, but not when actively used to seduce the populace into a dull and drooling mass. I can only say I’m thankful that this dragon queen died in 1927. Then again, did she? Food for thought.
Our second birthday spotlight is on the other end of the orthodontic spectrum. This guy has a smile that can impregnate at fifty yards. Add to that by all accounts, he’s as virtuous as the character he plays on ‘Little House on the Prairie.’ Naturally, I know him from the aforementioned 'Bonanza' , that’s MIchael Landon, turns 46 today.
I have to posit here, some doubt as to whether he’s quite the John the Baptist in bluejeans we've all been led to believe. I happened across an article in ‘Currents in Alternative Podiatry,’ claiming that Mr. Landon was up to his buttonflies in a 'parking spot' fixing scheme. This operation purportedly targeted senior citizens and the socioeconomically disadvantaged. His 'Little House,' it seems, was more of a little hub for clearing waivers that could be purchased through a network of bellboys and doormen across the Golden State.
Come time for that dinner at ‘The Humble Hebrew’ in Malibu where the spaghetti noodles are exactly 11.6 inches long—or a trip to the ‘New Hapsburg Imperial Theater' to see John Dean’s One Man Show, “Hush Daddy,” your more geriatric patrons would find their reserved parking spots mysteriously occupied.
As you know, I have an often erotic love for the free market, but Landon and his shadowy posse quickly created a fabricated scarcity that would make OPEC blush. Why haven’t we heard about this on the CBS evening news? According to the same article, Mr. Ingalls was definitely caught with fingers in the crock, but given his king-making prowess a deal was struck in which he would do a weekly penance of sorts on an angel themed TV show to be named and - here’s the capper - Sonny Bono would be installed as mayor of Palm Springs, California. This is a guy who dressed like a full body moccasin, so I’m not too confident on the last bit. We'll never truly know, but I find it curious—very curious indeed.
Dale Evans, wife of Roy Rogers, is 70. I’ve been researching these two since the late sixties and you want to talk about a dry milk carton pressed beneath a teacher’s derier. Try finding any information on the Flying L Ranch down in Davis, Oklahoma where Evans and Rogers were married back in the mid-forties. And I’m not talking about the party line about a working cattle ranch. I’m talking about the pursuit of the real truth here. For one, we still don’t know what became of the Reverend Vidal Flemming, who was the first poor soul to look into this mess during the 1950s. The mainstream press carried the water that he drove his Chevy off the end of McLean dyke. Between you and I think he got “Bad Day at Black Rocked.” The question remains, what kind of propellant and apparatus for that matter will allow you to get a structure-a ranchhouse- that is no way airworthy, aloft. To that point, the only picture I’ve seen from the marriage ceremony-no surprise-is indoor. God forbid they get a view through the window and reveal that they’re cruising at around ten thousand feet above the Oklahoma plains. As is the case with most of these things, humankind is not nearly ready. See: Charlene Tilton.
Let’s see which friends of the show we have celebrating birthdays this evening. Best wishes to long-time listener and frequent caller on Carnivore Night, florist, Deidre Herd is 41.
Deidre is the proud owner of "Thorny Issues," a florist shop down in Bold Refusal Illinois, specializing in rare carnivorous flora. Rumor has it she discovered a temporal rift in her greenhouse and now sources her Venus flytraps directly from the planet Triffidia. If you’re ever passing through Bold Refusal, she holds moonlight séances to consult the spirits of dead botanists for rare horticultural insights. We used one of those formulas last Thanksgiving to sedate Marisol’s cousin Dillion. Happy Birthday Deidra.
Next, our friend and all around expert mechanic Ian Pell, is 59. Ian as you may know, advertises on the show for "Cogs & Bog," an auto shop near Portland, Nebraska that is only open speaking of the moon-during eclipses and other celestial events. They only repair cars manufactured during Mercury retrogrades, so it’s a pretty niche market. If you’ve ever had a vehicle repaired by Ian, and we’ve verified this - you will notice that they appear to drive to random points in time, future or past. These apparently coincide with uncomfortable conversations be it with family or strangers. If you want to read a great show transcript, Ian called in to share mechanical tips when we had Juice Newton on the show. I didn’t know you could use a the rear shock on a 77 Skylark as a dowsing rod to find ley lines. So, enjoy your special day, Ian.
Lastly, Vikadamos Manakufapolos, known to friends as “Mitchy,” Vikadamos is credited with reintroducing fire-belly salamanders into urban sewers to balance out the alligator population in Iowa City. Turns out they didn’t have an alligator population, so that’s turned into a little bit of a headache. Mitchy is also in charge of arranging the city's trees in geometric patterns only decipherable from an altitude of eight thousand feet where the Hectorian surveillance probe snaps its Polaroids. As we’ve discussed on the show many times, arrangements are in place with the Hectorians to manage terrestrial arboreal health in Greater Iowa City. They’re in their seventh year of drought there, so presumably they’re still tweaking it. Happy 38th birthay Mitchy.
Do we have some interesting correspondence for you when we return. We’ll see you back after this message.
COMMERCIAL 2
(A low, pulsing and ominous tone plays. Dark orchestration eventually rises behind it until the end of the spot)
You’re listening to the voice of Enoch Price. There’s a new book coming to newsstands as we close the extraordinary year 1982. If you are frightened of being terrified or perhaps losing your mind altogether, I beg you to change to another radio station for the next few minutes. Let me be perspicuous: this text has already driven two typesetters to madness and caused an unfortunate incident involving a bookbinder and cheese-making leper colony.
For this literary foray, I have reached deeper into my own darkness than I dreamt imaginable. In my lonely study lit exclusively by malfunctioning incandescent lights, I embarked on a phantasmagorical voyage, so profound that even Dante would have cautioned against. My mind meandered through the antechambers of Hades, soared through the ectoplasmic realms of the Netherworld, and dallied in the twilight bazaars of the Djinn. There I dined briefly on a sort of strawberry puff pastry. I remain haunted by its innocent and timely succor.
Nonetheless, when I returned, a tome of some 413 pages laid in my hands. The title of this infernal incunabulum is 'The Widow of Abaddon’s Trousers.’
Of course, out of conscience, I must tell you something about the poor man at the center of this story. He is a waif, when compared to the average human male and his name carries the burden of his parentage. He is called Chippy. What Chippy lacks in strength and intelligence, he makes up for in sheer volume of misfortune. It is his unskilled hands, that upon discovering an ancient timepiece, unravel the fabric of his own soul. Through his ruthlessly misguided decision-making, you will find yourself questioning the ontological contours of humanity itself.
So, if you believe yourself to be of robust constitution, mentally and spiritually, then prepare to enter a world that defies the paltry laws of both God and man. Do you possess the courage to meet 'The Widow of Abaddon’s Trousers?’ That remains to be seen, but the ticket will cost you a mere $10.99 for a hardback that you will either entomb with your own remains or bequeath to your offspring, regardless of their worthiness. 'The Widow of Abaddon’s Trousers.’ To be found soon in a sinister corner of your local bookshop, next to the crucifixes and salt circles. I thank you humbly.
LETTERS
I have been enjoying some bangers and mash here at the Tarnished Scepter which go by the name the Vicar’s Elegy and I have noticed something astonishing. I’ve had at least three good cracks at this plate of Vicar’s Elegy between segments here. I’ll say it here, folks- I have in fact finished this plate at least twice. And yet, when I come from the little matador’s room having done my business, the contents of the plate have reconstituted themselves. Honestly, based on the verbal assault we’ve been throwing at the Fae Folk, I expected to be poisoned before gifted with limitless lunch.
So I’ll say it right now. I am not above meeting with our adversaries. If the Fae Folk are listening now, and I don’t think I have to wonder about that much, then I’d say give us a call on the higher plan hotline 1-607-834-0981, international charges apply and I understand they are very hefty. If you call after 11pm here local time, you can dial 1-800-590-0003, and you’ll land a slightly better rate provided you can keep the conversation to three minutes or less. If you get disconnected for any reason, just dial 1-517-404-3571, wait for the overseas operator who will patch you back over to the 0981 number. It’s four times the normal rate unless you disconnect and reconnect again and then you save either 31 or 14% depending on the operator. No reason for us not to sit down and get some questions answered.
Quick note here for Mindy, who is daughter to Dolores and Mathew. Yuri passed me a note that you called. I just wanted to let you know everything is fine there, they hitched a ride with ambulance about twenty minutes back after Dolores also started sporting a little froth. And wouldn’t you believe it, they are already back.
Turns out it was a turnip delivery service on the hunt for some quick day labor.
Here’s the deal, Mindy, I wasn’t expecting miracles from your parents. Their slow pace-especially with heavier equipment, has been a setback. Added to that I lost a button-down we used to make a tourniquet. But I sent a list of likely financial damages for the show, so you all can have a look at those when time allows. I’m happy to accept payments over time, assuming the amount per payment doesn’t fall beneath 500-American dollars of course. Appreciate the call.
Alright, let’s jump into listener letters.
Letter 1
We have Blanche Sosa from Forgotten Field, Minnesota who writes us first. ‘Dear Colonel Prather, I reach out to you as an act of desperation. I am a 63 year old widower and for most of the 30 years I have lived in my modest home, Mr. Fillemonger has been my neighbor. Our relations were polite bordering on dull for many years, until he supposedly passed away last winter. I am purposeful in raising that doubt Colonel, as I have noticed a great many suspicious happenings since his official departure.
While my next-door dwelling now stands vacant to the naked eye, I hear disquieting sounds of hammering to the beat of the old Jimmy Tenders jazz record “Ain’t No Love Bigger than the World’s Love Except My Love” played in reverse, and in the dead of winter, the inexplicable wafting smell of sunflowers mixed with the scent of a slightly irritated middle-aged landscape. This has crossed the line in me from curiosity to concern.
As if that weren't enough, the purification ponds at the Louise and Geoffrey Sluicejetter water treatment plant where I was baptized, usually pristine and practically crystalline, have turned an unsettling shade of lavender and emit an ethereal glow which shoots through the reeds and regularly illuminates Fillemonger’s abandoned 1969 Chevy Capybara Wagon.
Colonel Prather I have taken to wearing a pillow case over my head and other implements at all hours to avoid this taunting menagerie. I don’t know you well, but If you cannot assist me, I will make your life a living hell, love Blanche.’
Thank you Blanche. I’m pleased to say that as soon as we knew we would be reading your letter on the air, we sprung into action. When I was kid, I used to chat with a vagrant, who hung out at the end of our yard. I remember on one occasion that he was sewing himself up after a quick liver procedure, and he told me that “sometimes the best answers are the simplest answers.” You don't get advice like that and not have it stick to you.
In this case, it's right there in the name of the little town you call home. Now, according to the research that Yuri cooked up for us, there are around 280 persons in Forgotten Field give or take a toddler. Nearly as many as that disappeared with the topsoil tour group in Nob Lawson’s beetfield up in Pressing, Oregon in winter 68 and we’re not even factoring in the deliberate use of hallucinogens yet.
Blanche, in short, not only do we have an answer, we’ve already got things rolling on the ground. We enlisted the assistance of an advertiser on the show who specializes in real estate acquisitions. We won’t mention them by name, but they’re one of the many folks that deal in temporary foam structures.
You’ve probably noticed by the time we’re reading this a number of mobile homes surrounding Forgotten Field and the presence of some folks roaming the streets dressed in full-body protective clothing wearing patches reading the “Happiness Foundation.” These folks will speak in Italian, but don’t be alarmed, they are there to guide you to the one of the three processing queues on the town outskirts. It’s suggested you take any critical documents, a small suitcase and coat, if time permits.
You’ll spend between 6 to 8 months in the tent city they’ve stood up near Whispering Falls, which is only about a day on foot from your location, I’m happy to say.
Afterwards, Blanche, you’re going to be welcomed back to a completely remade Forgotten Field. The long hike back will be worth it as you will be returning to the renamed “Remembrance Gardens,” a sprawling luxury resort where you will have your own 180 square foot apartment with working toilet. There, you’ll join a new family of sorts among maintenance services where your work will be essential to the experience of every wealthy visitor. Best of luck and thanks for the letter.
Letter 2
We have had a lot of folks asking the whereabouts of self-proclaimed Civilian Scientist Aaron Huff, so I’m pleased as an undulating body of water to hold in my hand a letter from Aaron, postmarked Tucson, Arizona. He begins here, ‘good day to you Colonel and let me offer my apologies for the lengthy delay. I have been doing a lot of tunneling lately and recently started work at Walt’s Chicken World where I am second shift. After much consideration, I am pausing work on the Forrest Tucker international tunnel network until I develop a means of vaporizing silica without heat. Listeners to your show would have heard me speak before at length about the vengeance I seek towards the spiny-headed Porfundians, whose arrogance and prancing is more a motivation to me than their ruthless but little known pillaging of my childhood home, Taffeta Springs.
Full confession, it is with some regret that my near-constant taunting of the Porfundians has them planning a fairly large invasion of our beloved planet Earth. With this in mind, I felt like I owe it to my fellow citizens to develop various means of defending our cosmic shores as it were. The first of these projects is meant to avoid conflict altogether or to at least render it very difficult on our spine-faced attackers. Please find the schematic draft of the Mirror of Celestial Confusion Array or MCCA. This device will project misleading images into orbit or onto the lunar surface to steer even the most persistent alien interlopers away.’
Let me see here- he’s got about a page and a half here on polish. Here we are, ‘I am currently eyeing potential sites in New Mexico, specifically the picturesque stretches south of Tucamcari. This area should snugly accommodate the 12.5 mile radius of the centerpoint unit, codenamed Liza Minella,’ I wonder if he meant Liza Minnelli, hard to say. ‘Please do not read the codename on air. Collectively, the entire five pedestal sunflower array configuration signal-stitches to a maximum projecting circumference of 157.08 miles. Power and equipment requirements are as follows.’
Here’s the good stuff, ‘Five miniaturized fission reactors to sit at the base of each pedestal. Each of these will named after my first five girlfriends. Angie if you’re listening, no you did not make the list.
For command and control, we’ll need 60 IBM System 370 mainframes linked for parallel processing. Approximately 11,000 8-inch floppy disks in a climate-controlled vault outfitted with fluorescents and Boston ferns for atmosphere. Colonel, for personal reasons I plan to self-fund most of this, but would appreciate a small bridge loan of $75 to cater a southwestern style buffet for some additional investors. All the best, Aaron.’
You certainly won’t find any fans of the Profundians in this studio. I think this MCCA sounds absolutely fantastic. Unlike many ideas we discuss, this really has a chance of happening. As for the $75, I do think that could also happen, but I would actually need to borrow $20 from you for around four weeks. Once I returned that to you, I would loan you the first $5 of the $75, but would then need to borrow $12 for another week and a half roughly. We would just continue this pattern , subtracting or adding three dollars each time around until we both end up with $118, at which time you could offload $43 in my direction and we’re all square. I’m not sure what kind of timetable you’re operating on, but hit us up on the Higher Plane Hotline if you like the sound of that. Always good to hear from you, Aaron.
Letter 3
Last one here I have to say has got me pretty concerned.
‘Dear Beyond the Near Horizon, my name is the honorable Claudia Navarro and I am the 33rd Mayor of Steer Pilot, Texas. If you follow lacrosse, you’ll know that our Steer Pilot Senators advanced in 1971 to the divisional round of the state championship before we were eliminated by the West Houston Regulators, although that outcome is disputed.
They’ve carried your program on KEKI-AM, The Hound since Maria Rubio saw our savior in a tortilla back in October ’77. I’m writing on behalf of our municipality in relation to your broadcast. During the meeting of our four person town council on April of this year, resident Walker Partners, who manages abandoned alpaca enclosures alerted us to the fact that during the 1am to 2am timeslot when your program is usually rebroadcast from the affiliate in Melting Pine, an alternate program has been airing featuring a host named Cody Harris Parker who claims to be a recently broke oil baron pushing a line of skincare products called Wealthy Widow. He calls the program Cody Harris Parker Investigates and they focus on a different stain removal problem each episode.
If this sounds like it might become tedious, it does. We did not as a community have a great love for your program but your subject matter is at least varied. Last Monday night, an emergency session was held after a week of the following broadcast topics:
August 1st: removing peach jam from a cream colored cable knit cardigan using soy sauce
August 2nd: removing day old tomato soup from an mauve afghan using motor oil
August 3rd: removing red latex paint from a silk banner using only fire
You get the idea I’m sure. This has become a living hell. Naturally, you might be asking why we don’t simply switch off the radio. If you’re familiar with Ulto the ice wizard, we have credible intelligence that suggests he will make landfall in or near city limits. His trademark whistling sound is slightly amplified over AM radio waves and so every house and business in town has their radio playing night and day for this reason.
We have no love for your content but thought you and this Code Harri Parker character might make nice, natural enemies. Better yet, there is an outside chance that you both might perish and we can get Paul Harvey back on the air.
With all legally binding implications and emotional desperation,
Mayor Navarro.’
Well, let me first say it’s an honor to address a fellow patriot with such specific grievances. Let me also commend you on your lacrosse team’s valiant efforts back in ’71. I don’t really follow art in general, but I don’t think it too much a coincidence that the minimalist Donald Judd relocated to Marfa the same year your lads fell in pretty mysterious fashion to West Houston. I’ve previously linked this to a sore thigh I experienced during that time, but I think there’s enough mayonnaise to spread around here.
Now to get back on the ball, I am concerned. Cody Harris Parker is messing around with some very dangerous and powerful elements. Apparel stains are often the means by which those who have taken the holy escalator signal to the living. There is no doubt in my mind, Mr. Parker has likely snuffed out the final, vital communications of countless grandmothers and fighter pilots feeding the meat grinder for his broadcasts. To paraphrase Freud, a spaghetti sauce stain is never just a spaghetti sauce stain, just ask Golda Meir.
As for your listening dilemma, I’m very sensitive to Ulto’s situation. He could land on any sofa in that little berg of yours, hypothetically speaking. This guy is trapped in an unhappy marriage and the whole dalliance with The White Witch-I think that’s just about the sex. I don’t like to dabble in peoples person affairs but you’ve got to first of all, go back and end things properly with Helen. You’ve got two condos in Vail, the only child you had is touring with KISS, I think the peace treaty writes itself. But I don’t know if you end up with Jardis. She’s a looker, but aside from the fact that you’ve got no Jinn or Giant in you, you both deal in meteorological manipulation. That’s a right down the middle career conflict and you’re gonna end up super bitter I think. And let’s be honest, hooking up with someone who just got out of the clink after a 900 year banishment is asking for grass stains on the khakis. Ulto needs to only focus on descending to the Terran plane right now, period.
With that in mind, and as much as I would love to retain your listenership there in Smear Violet, priorities are priorities. So, we’ve purchased a bus ticket for a friend of the show Donovan ‘Vagabond’ Brock. I’ll tell you right now, you’re going to love this guy. He is one heck of a story-teller. We’re sending him down with a LPAM-low power am transmitter, dipole antenna, rotary knob mixer, probably a couple of Shure SM58s. And, we’re just gonna have him transmit right over top of that sucker. He’ll certainly cover the three square miles that make up your little berg. He’s an avid asphalt collector and given that background, his show will focus on road-resurfacing, at least for the first couple of years. If you folks can spot him food, water and a place to stay, I think he can do the rest. He does have a small Butane Hash Oil habit, so you might get a little unexpected foot traffic in town, but I think it’s a pretty balanced deal. We do thank you for writing and all the best.
Folks, when we return, we’ll discuss the new book “Apocalypse 1983” with Professor Tasha Gilmoyle. Stick around.
COMMERCIAL 2 (Colonel Prather)
Are you the president of a large, wealthy company? If you are, you’ve noticed increasingly how strong, successful men have started to become the bad guy in just about every movie and TV show spilling out of Hollywood. It’s enough to wreck a person emotionally, and although I’m not the president of anything specific, I feel such a pang of sorrow when I
(Noise and radio signal disruption erupts. The voice of the Colonel fades in this sonic mist and through a squealing hail of sound, the voice of Donavan ‘Vagabond’ Brock emerges in mid-sentence.
HIJACKED BROADCAST (Vagabond Brock)
Vagabond: -that’s the whole reason you toss or fling that stuff into the woods, Cindy. God’s honest truth, straight from the Vagabond.
Good people let’s talk about the situation we have with mile marker 52 out on Fender Highway. Listen up good. We’re not talking garden variety rutting here; we’ve got an AASHTO-grade FUBAR. Straight out of Dostoevsky. A longitudinal joint failure stretching over a full two-tenths of a mile, people. This is not your grandma's transverse crack, oh no. This is a day-old milkshake on a canvas of asphalt, an affront to every decent road layer from here to Milwalkee.
Now, for the plebes among us, let me elucidate: longitudinal joints are like the spinal cords of our roads. Treat 'em wrong, and you're in for a lifetime of regret and an uncountable sum of alignment adjustments. So, when we're talking about a failure, I'm not referring to missing a free throw in gym class. No, siree. This is about compromising the skeletal integrity of the arterial lifeblood of this fine nation.
I've got schematics here showing a Geogrid layer just begging for deployment. And don't even get me started on the 'Idaho Slab' technique—no, we're not making potato pancakes; we're saving this road from subgrade deformation, and possibly from itself.
Now, if you're as invested in binder-to-aggregate ratios as I am, I want you to stay tuned. We've got an interview coming up with Dr. Sheila Stone, the woman who single-handedly revolutionized warm mix asphalt. She's the Beethoven of bitumen, folks, and you won't want to miss it.
I’ve got a message here from the Steer Pilot Mercantile Commission I’m going to lay down for you. “For immediate release, this is a correction to the message of October 18th. We were premature in reporting the death of our chairman Julius Lester, who was merely enjoying a good sleep on a quiet afternoon. Naturally, we are looking into who exactly it is we buried down at Curious Meadows and we welcome the public’s assistance in determining this person’s identity…
(Noise and disruption returns, crossfading back into Colonel Prather)
REMAINDER OF COMMERCIAL 2
…ask anyone who wears undergarments of any kind and they will tell the same thing.
Do yourself a favor and if you’ve got one, have your personal secretary or underling of your choice give the folks at the Corporate President Preservation Support Fund a call at 1-800-780-7456, operators are standing by to offer the type of comfort and understanding you deserve from a relative stranger who will answer to the name of your choice and it will only cost you 99 cents a minute. Don’t believe the hype from Hollywood, start feeling like a captain of industry again, one soothing conversation at a time. That’s the Corporate President Preservation Support Fund, it really is going to be alright.
INTERVIEW PART 1
Alright folks, with us now on the long distance trunk line from Kilkenny, author and Professor of Aluminum Variance at the Kilkenny Institute of Involuntary Energy, Professor Tasha Gilmoyle. Good evening Professor, or do you prefer Doctor?
TG
Professor’s fine. I can tell already you got soft hands, city boy hands.
CSP
Over the phone? I didn’t read anything about remote viewing in Yuri’s notes-
TG
Your voice, genius- it’s all whiny.
CSP
You’ll find this interesting. The Spectral audiologist Lance Candicedancer we had on in year 2 described my voice as sounding like a wounded land mammal, although he did’t specify which one. The bottom of some paws can be pretty tender, so you might be on on to something. Let’s lay the banana skins down- you are straight up one of the most controversial figures in Europe, and I’d be dishonest if I claimed I didn’t want to talk about your most recent arrest for motorizing field mice in Denmark. Naturally, our main reason for having you on is what I think is your fascinating new work, “Apocalypse: 1983.”
TG
“Controversial" is a crumb of a word the uninspired toss around when they're too witless to engage with the material, isn't it? As for the mice escapade, I'd argue it's more of a crime to let those rodents squander their potential by not motorizing them.
CSP
Well, I thought we might start with your background. Not many know of your origins and you don’t include biographical materials in any of your book sleeves. I assume you’re from Ireland originally?
TG
Your back of the book biographies are the sanctuary of the narcissists. I am of Hibernia, but my intellectual pursuits were self-crafted, all of em here know me, know how I make my livin.
CSP
If you don’t mind my pressing a little here-where you born in Kilkenny proper? There are rumors-mostly circulated by one of your chief critics, Antoine Lamufe, that not only were you born there, but that at the age of six you actually sent your mother and father to work at a rubber sealant factory and that this was solely in the interests of supporting what was a pretty ugly taffy habit at the time. How much of that is based in truth?
TG
Antoine Lamufe—the peddler of mendacities and weaver of trite conspiracies. The man wouldn't know truth if it slapped his bare ass. I wasn't born in Kilkenny; I merely find myself tethered to this intellectual wasteland for the time being. Aye, I had no great love for my parents, but I don’t need no help. Don’t want no volunteers, don’t want no mates. So then. Got any questions that aren’t from the tabloids?
CSP
Fair enough. Fair enough. Now, I first heard your name back in 1979, reading “Yucca Plant: Secret Invaders.” I think it’s right up there with the immortals, maybe better than “Satan’s Milk” by Bridget Coma. Before we get to the new book, I always wanted to ask, what do you have against the Yucca? Don’t get me wrong, they crossed the line when they invaded Elko, Nevada, but you seem to start that book with a fire in your belly.
TG
Most of your like possess no clue of the real yucca. This plant’ll swallow you whole. I seen one take down a Baptist minister in Green Gables. A little shakin’, a little tenderizin, and down he went. I ain’t cracked open a bible since then. As for “Satan's Milk”—that’d be the literary equivalent of elevator music.
CSP
So, I take it you didn’t enjoy the film version? I thought that was pretty compelling turn from Rod Taylor.
TG
Film version? Jesus. Get your rock on straight, Rod Taylor couldn't act his way out of a paper bag if you spotted him a hose and a pair of spiked heels. Twenty quid says the whole enterprise was nothing but a shallow money grab. Does that clear it up for ya?
CSP
I admit to being biased, but man I love the Rodd Taylor heel inserts. If you don’t use those, I’d recommend them. On the scientific front, I understand that congratulations are in order. You recently published a paper up at the Institute outlining a method of increasing cooking time through temperature reduction. What type of applications for this breakthrough jump out at you?
TG
This ain’t no monkey cage we got here. My research is about understanding the ramifications of energy alteration on a molecular level. The real action is in material sciences, cryogenics, even nuclear dynamics. I wouldn't expect someone who thinks 'Satan's Milk' was compelling to understand. Listen close. In the future, when you eat your precious chili dog, you’ll be unleashing a power source that will course throughout your body. You’ll need to be cautious when you go to the toilet. But your flatulence, your flatulence will give you the power of flight itself.
CSP
Speaking of predictions, you paint a pretty grim picture of the future in “Apocalypse: 1983.” Fires, floods, earthquakes, you name it. Muncie Indiana really seems to take it in the shorts. Why do so many of the catastrophes in the book start from ‘Little Chicago?’
TG
You go tel the coroner and the taxidermy man that it's not so much about the geography as it is about the human arrogance that tends to pool in such places. They're all sinkholes of delusional self-importance.
CSP
What in hades happened in Muncia Indiana?
TG
Exactly. Naturally, when the universe decides to correct itself, these places become the epicenters of calamity.
CSP
Well, I had a word class squash pasta there last year at the Close Encounters reenactment, so I’m not sure if they had it coming perse. I do need to hoof it up there earlier next year so that I don’t get stuck playing Melinda Dillion again. Good actress but her wardrobe looks awful on my frame. Folks, we’ll take a short break, then we’ll take some of your calls with Professor Tasha Gilmoyle. Do come back.
COMMERCIAL 3
My feet like those of my late father and actress Audrey Hepburn are something of a desert. Large, long, filled with mystery and danger and brother are they dry.
For years I carried a pumice stone in the shape of General Douglas MacArthur along with a matching foot file. That did the trick until I reached the age of 17 when I transitioned to a raspberry heel balm made by old Mrs. Hercum at the VFW. When she was arrested for cannibalism, I began making my own vaseline in my converted capri cabover camper.
If you listen to this show, you know how that ended of course and each August 4th, we read the names of the good people who perished in that inferno.
That was why I was at first tearful and then thrilled to find a fantastic new solution. Introducing the "Three Eyed Pyramid Foot Treatment" from Total Chemists, another exciting offering from the makers of "Acid Clean Disinfecting Rust Repellent"!
It’s as easy to use as it is to pronounce.
Step 1, apply three squirts from your sixteen ounce bottle of Pyramid ointment onto your bare foot. After the temporary stinging pain subsides, recite the easy to learn verse “Wepwawet, opener of ways, granter of choices, unfolder of options, I praise and honor you.”
Step 2, Slide into your comfortable Nile Knitwear Socks, made from pure Egyptian cotton, and blessed by a dedicated team of actors in the Detroit area, dressed in authentic Pharaonic wardrobe reproductions.
Finally, invoke one final incantation three times to release the spirit of Pedanon to incite your own phalangeal rejuvenation. For reasons of public safety, we won’t recite it over the air, but let me tell you, after only 190 treatments, you’ll begin to feel the sarcophagi on each of your feet lifting away.
Side effects include mild bouts of molting and a tendency to create paralysis in others when you touch them. I think it’s a fantastic way to maintain personal space and the look of fear in other peoples eyes is pretty addictive.
Do yourself a favor and sign up for just three easy payments of $19.99. You’re going to send that first check or money order to Total Chemists Townsend Daycare Facility, 16 Newman Street, Thunderclap, New Mexico, 81001. Take your first steps in years toward moistness, peer into the Three Eyed Pyramid today.
INTERVIEW PART 2
CSP
Folks were back with Irish author and professor of aluminum variance, Tasha Gilmoyle. If you’d like to talk to our guest, hit us up on the higher plane hotline, 1-800 777-1010 or 1-800 ‘Get Higher.’ Again, that number 1-800-536-4956. Get those questions ready, folks.
CSP
Professor you depict four stages - or steps towards next year’s apocalypse in your book. Could you lay those out for us?
TG
Look at the boy that finally graduated from interviewin’ school. I laid it out nice and clear. First, we have "Ignition," the literal and metaphorical spark that initiates the catastrophic chain of events. This will take the form of a film featuring Jason Robards and John Lithgow.
CSP
Who in hades is John Lithgow?
TG
That’d be one of a party of four extraterrestrials that come to live on earth and let me tell you, they’re not here ‘bout pleasure boatin’ or day sailin’.
Now, second comes the "Proliferation," where all hell breaks loose in a kaleidoscopic flurry of disasters, each worse than the last…
CSP
Fires and floods.
TG
That’s for ninnies. I’m talking about a cult run by the most dangerous creatures on this planet.
CSP
Chimera? Chupacabra-
TG
Schoolchildren. Dabbling in dark alchemy out in the fields among the corn and the cauliflower, designing by their own wee wicked hands a walking horror-an armada of mind-controllin’ toddler-sized demons.
CSP
Like the ballards.
TG
They’re nothing like the ballard, you mindless twit. These ready armies make their way into millions of homes as a plaything for their little masters. But there’s something underneath it- under that soft, pasty, ugliness. These unholy toddlers do the bidding of chaotic forces at nightfall coordinating their movements with another of their abominations, an ungodly grafting of half-rabbit, half-insect.
CSP
Are we talking possible ties to the Fae Folk in these parts?
TG
It’s got nothing whatever to do with the fae folk, ya genetic mistake. These are proper soldiers in the service of destruction. They have a direct hand in bringing about the third stage, "Desolation.”
They’ll be grabbing onto minds of the weak and strong alike. You would’ve never seen nothing like it-people clawing and scratching at each other in obedience to these little bastards.
CSP
Wouldn’t we have a height advantage over these toddlers?
TG
We’re talking about millions of these things crawling the cities, farms and suburbs alike.
CSP
Even places like Perth Amboy?
TG
What in the holy hell is Perth Amboy? We’re talking about societal collapse, mental unraveling, and the devaluation of anything we once held dear. Money, power, your precious institutions—ashes to ashes, my friend.
The final stage, "Extinction," is precisely what it sounds like. The world, as we know it, ends not with a bang but with an agonizing whimper. So, there you have it, the Four Horsemen of your American Dream.
CSP
That’s brings up a good point. You mention that America and Muncie Indiana are hit pretty hard by this coming apocalypse, but not only do other areas survive, some of them make out like a Latin lover. Everyone in Montevideo ends up with a free Volkswagen bug just to name an example. The United States has defended the free world from the Commies, what did we do earn the ire of gods?
TG
I’ll tell you what ya did. You put Wink Martindale and Chuck Woolery on the air. One country is responsible for all of that. Everybody has to do penance.
CSP
Not sure we’ll come to precise accord on that topic. Let’s take some calls if we may. Therma, from Jetison, Nebraska, you’re on the air with Professor Gilmoyle.
THERMA
Thank you Colonel Prather, long time listener. I don’t think you address this in your book Mz Gilmoyle, but I was wondering if you could tell me what stool softener you use.
TG
Therma, I’ll tell you what happened to a colleague of mine many years back when I taught Japanese math down near Waterford. We’d already been drinking mightily before we stumbled back to our campus apartment. This friend of mine, a fellow teacher, a French fella, Professor Herb’e crawled into the kitchen. I didn’t notice how hungry he was until half an hour. He was like a tiger.
You know what you do when you got someone that hungry, Therma? You find whatever you can to feed them.
What you’ve got to realize is that we were hired on the download, between semesters. No one even knew we were teaching for a week.
But there was an actor fella in there before us and he’d left a mess of bananas.
Well, this old Frenchman, he was real hungry and kept pounding those things down. And I’d start hollering and screaming, warning him to stop. But he just kept at it.
Before I looked, eleven bananas had gone down his throat.
You know the thing about someone with constipation, they’re all bent over and they look up at you with these eyes-they don’t even seem to be living. All you can do is push them behind that water closet door. And you then hear that terrible high-pitch screaming.
Anyway next morning his sister and his brother in law came to pick that ol Frenchman up. Eleven bananas went down that gullet, once frenchman carried out and I taught both our classes the rest of the summer, July ,11th 1952.
CSP
I’ve gotta go with Pettermans Pellets on this one Therma. They also ward off vampiric tree squirrels, so two for one there. Carl from Clean Pipes Maine, you’re on the air.
CARL
Dr. Gilmoyle, you mention an armada
TG
you've stopped mid-sentence, Carl. Have you croaked boy?
CARL
well I think you said Gilamonsters. But, deal is, I can pretty much run a brigade of those critters down in my Silverado. Sounds more like a nuisance than an apocalypse. In the main I was wondering if you might consent to dating my brother in law Frank. He’s not too sharp, but I’ve got to get him the hell off my sofa and I’m guessing a woman with your dispiriting disposition doesn’t get many suitors. I’d spring for a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and gas money if you’re game.
TG
Carl, let's not conflate my disdain for humanity with a lack of romantic prospects. As for your brother-in-law, well, if he's the sort of man who finds Gilamonsters a mere nuisance, then I doubt he'd be mentally equipped to comprehend the complexities of my world view, let alone share a pint with me. Consider my disposition not merely dispiriting but rather a Darwinian filter, separating the intellectual wheat from the chaff. Next caller!
CSP
Carl, I’ll patch you over to Yuri who will take your information down on the live connection. We had Will Leveler on recently, who’s been trying to cross breed with the bipedal Collies he’s been raising up in Woodstock. Not sure on the conversational aspects, but sometimes it’s nice just to have a warm body to curl up with at night. Perithon, Water Lord of the Underlands, on the line from Kansas City, you’re on the air.
PERITHON
I have consumed your book with much interest, earthling. The panic you instill among the peoples of this pathetic globe will serve our colonization efforts well.
TG
Ah, so the cosmic voyeurs are tuning in now, are they? Well, Perithon, Water Lord of the Underlands, I hope you have a robust return policy on your colonization venture, because if you're relying on my book to instill panic, you may find that humans are just as likely to ignore impending doom as they are to acknowledge it. Otherwise, I’d be a rich woman and I wouldn’t have to frequent the radio equivalent of old Whitechapel.
PERITHON
You seem to loathe humans at an intensity near to our own. Would you be interested in joining our cabal? I can offer you Long Island, New York in return.
TG
Long Island? That sodden stretch? You'll have to do better than that.
PERITHON
Fine. New Zealand, Bali and a used jet ski. I’ve only been on it once.
TG
You seem a bit desparate if you don’t mind me asking.
PERITHON
You know, even for a human, you’re very rude.
TG
What? Did I put a crack in your sippy cup?
PERITHON
I am Water Lord of the Underlands and you will speak with the appropriate decorum!
TG
Not so great and mighty that I ever heard of ya. I bet you go walkin’ around with a scepter, don’t ya?
PERITHON
I wield the Lance of Infinity, mind you tongue!
TG
Lance is the name of a brother-in-law or the fella ya don’t take on a boat for fear he might drown. You don’t name an instrument of power after it.
PERITHON
You’re the host, are you not going to step in here? This is outrageous.
CSP
Actually, we have to wrap things up here, but thanks for the call Perithon.
PERITHON
You are gutless coward, the likes of which-
CSP
Whats next for you Professor? Could we see an “Apocalypse 1984” at booksellers in the coming year?
TG
I never understood the incessant need to know what's next, as if today's calamities aren't engrossing enough. Let’s not lose sight of the worm here. There’s a matter of payment to be considered before we’re done with our business.
CSP
Sure, we normally handle that off-air. Let me transfer you to Yuri-
TG
Hold on there boy, there won’t be no transferrin. I told you people I’d do this damn show for ya, but it won’t be easy on your pocketbook. You bring yur fancy radio-making equipment and your factory made wingtips all intendin to spread your seed and then you try to get real cheap on the locals, don’t ya? Well it ain’t gonna go pleasant like that. Maybe the gynecologist who talks to dead pelvises will take your lousy 30 quid, but if you don’t want certain of your budgetary practices made more widely known, you’ll make that a hundred for me in a lick. Capiche?
CSP
Well, under normal circumstances, we’d be be a hosed down dog, but Yuri, I think Dolores may have gone to the little girls room. Could you just go through Mathew’s pockets? The left one looks promising.
CSP
Dr. Gilmoyle, just stay on the line, we’ll get you set up. Folks, tomorrow night we hand the celestial steering wheel over to none other than Bacterial Psychologist Carmina Powell Hurling. She’ll be welcoming back an old friend of the program, Montgomery "Monk" Sanders, the Encinco Parking Shaman. He’ll be joining Carmina from an improperly parked late model sedan to be named. We’ll have a good 25 minutes of the show, as is standard, in automative rumination and meditation. Mr. Sanders expects at least one listener to be blessed with perpetual free parking with the proviso that’s limited to metro Encino and Calabasas, festival events excluded. So, check it out.
So far from home, I have to give thanks to our announcer Stephanie, failed tennis pro Phil Pratter for all of his pre-detainment assistance here, Yuri on the boards, the esteemed Dr. Tasha Gilmoyle and our special guests Delores and Matthew, the latter of whom I’m pretty confident is eventually going to receive the appropriate medical attention. I will be back on the program two nights from now following my post-flight lithium powder treatment.
OUTRO
Until then do not allow the ordinary distractions to thwart your search for wisdom and knowledge, all that and more may just be revealed beyond the near horizon. Good night.
