I can't write this on my facebook page, so I'll tell you 7 people.
My friend sent me this text: "Guess who I'm dating? But it's only a fling. I'm having so much fun with him though!"
Get thisL my friend is a super sexy 21 year old and she lives in California. However, she is seeing the grossest B-lister in his 50's known for dating young women.
And get this! They're on a date tonight and he took her to the cheesiest place where the tabloids say he always likes to hang out: The Playboy Mansion. Any guesses? I'll give you a hint. It's not James Kahn.
It is a liberal Jewish political "Comedian. Guess now, answers at the bottom.
Ooh, Gross! You're right. She's dating Bill Maher! Vomit! C'mon, -----, you're better than that! But you're happy, so I won't say it to your face. Nas-teeee!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Proposition W-9
Radio sales people are almost all across-the-board stupid. They will sell anything to anyone who will buy, even if it so obvious that the promotion ultimately won't work. Even if it is obvious that the audience you're targeting for an event doesn't listen to your station, and the audience you already have doesn't give a shit for what you're pushing on them and will be pissed when you try. All sales people see is the check in front of them. They can't see anything else. This was the case with Festival Latino.
We, as the pop-country morning show, got forced by the higher-ups to dedicating the entire show to Festival Latino - a get together in the park for Mexicans and whoever else wants to come out. That's fine. But those people didn't listen to our station. Us on-air people knew that because we fielded phone calls from our listeners and shook their hands at every damn event in town. And our listeners were generally two things: 1. Not Mexican. And 2. Not interested in Mexican festival. Forgive us for knowing our crowd, but we did. Our sales department didn't.
So to make things fun, since we had to promote Festival Latino that morning, we decided we would over-promote it. We played fiesta music in the background all day and it was my job to intro each segment with a high-pitched "FestivallllllllllllllllllLLLLLLatinooooooooo!" That wasn't the part that was going to get us in trouble. We would get in trouble for keeping it too real.
We said on the air to anybody listening: "Hey! Since it's Festival Latino day, we've decided we are only taking calls from Latinos. Real, live, actual Latinos. If you're one of our regular callers who isn't Latino, call us tomorrow. But for today, it's "Latinos Only" on our phone lines. We want to learn about you. But most of all, we want to see if any of you listen to this station, because none of us here think you do. So call us, Latinos. Call us now."
Nobody called. Nobody called for the first two hours. So to make it fun, we'd answer the phone and say "I think we've got a Latino!" And then we would play the sound of crickets chirping. Then we would remain postive on the mic and say, "We're sure we have SOME Latino listeners. You're probably just being shy. Call us, we'll give you a prize."
Then the phones lit up. But every damn caller was a cacausian listener (most of whom we knew by voice - it's small town radio, you have no idea how many people we knew by the first syllable they spoke.) So as soon as they would speak, we'd interrupt them and yell, "No white people! We said Latinos only!" And we'd hang up on them. Sure, we were pissing them off. But we were pissing them off to prove a point. We actually wanted them to be pissed off because we felt for them. Why should we be forced to alienate the supportive listeners who keep our lights on and our gas tanks full, just to appeal to a group of people who weren't even there? We didn't feel they deserved that, so we gave them that, so our management would see how stupid they were to force that bullshit on us and our listeners. Look, I didn't even really like country music, but I would fight for that audience when they were getting fucked, because they were for the most part really good people who took enough beatings by the world, they didn't need their only radio station doing that to them, too.
So, finally during our third hour we got a call from a guy who said he was a Mexican. We asked him what his favorite country song was, and he said, "Honestly, I've never heard of your station. I'm here on the job sight and some country boys told me the DJ's were begging for a Mexican to call. Here I am!"
Our first question was "Are you legal?"
Him: Nope. I snuck in when I was a kid. That's why I don't sound Mexican.
Us: What's your name? Nevermind. Don't tell us. We don't want you to get deported on our account. We're just glad you called.
Him: It's okay. I'll say my whole name and where I live. They won't come get me. They don't care.
Us: Do you want to become a citizen?
Him: I thought about it, but that means I'd have to drive 4 hours to Charlotte. I really get nothing out of it, and no ones gonna deport me anyway, so I'll stay illegal to save myself a drive. ---------------------------------
But boy did trouble come. Not for the illegal guy. For us radio guys who dared ask questions. We were put through hell by our management and the Festival organizers for daring open up the phone lines to their people and asking a few questions that they didn't have to answer. And of course, we had to make an appearance at the festival, and not one station listener was there. It was all Mexicans and us three guys who the Mexicans had never heard of, nor cared to know. That whole event (at least our involvment) was a waste of everybody's time.
I think they should all be deported and forced to live among the hell that is each other's company. Oh. What? I'm not talking about Mexicans. I'm talking about salespeople.
We, as the pop-country morning show, got forced by the higher-ups to dedicating the entire show to Festival Latino - a get together in the park for Mexicans and whoever else wants to come out. That's fine. But those people didn't listen to our station. Us on-air people knew that because we fielded phone calls from our listeners and shook their hands at every damn event in town. And our listeners were generally two things: 1. Not Mexican. And 2. Not interested in Mexican festival. Forgive us for knowing our crowd, but we did. Our sales department didn't.
So to make things fun, since we had to promote Festival Latino that morning, we decided we would over-promote it. We played fiesta music in the background all day and it was my job to intro each segment with a high-pitched "FestivallllllllllllllllllLLLLLLatinooooooooo!" That wasn't the part that was going to get us in trouble. We would get in trouble for keeping it too real.
We said on the air to anybody listening: "Hey! Since it's Festival Latino day, we've decided we are only taking calls from Latinos. Real, live, actual Latinos. If you're one of our regular callers who isn't Latino, call us tomorrow. But for today, it's "Latinos Only" on our phone lines. We want to learn about you. But most of all, we want to see if any of you listen to this station, because none of us here think you do. So call us, Latinos. Call us now."
Nobody called. Nobody called for the first two hours. So to make it fun, we'd answer the phone and say "I think we've got a Latino!" And then we would play the sound of crickets chirping. Then we would remain postive on the mic and say, "We're sure we have SOME Latino listeners. You're probably just being shy. Call us, we'll give you a prize."
Then the phones lit up. But every damn caller was a cacausian listener (most of whom we knew by voice - it's small town radio, you have no idea how many people we knew by the first syllable they spoke.) So as soon as they would speak, we'd interrupt them and yell, "No white people! We said Latinos only!" And we'd hang up on them. Sure, we were pissing them off. But we were pissing them off to prove a point. We actually wanted them to be pissed off because we felt for them. Why should we be forced to alienate the supportive listeners who keep our lights on and our gas tanks full, just to appeal to a group of people who weren't even there? We didn't feel they deserved that, so we gave them that, so our management would see how stupid they were to force that bullshit on us and our listeners. Look, I didn't even really like country music, but I would fight for that audience when they were getting fucked, because they were for the most part really good people who took enough beatings by the world, they didn't need their only radio station doing that to them, too.
So, finally during our third hour we got a call from a guy who said he was a Mexican. We asked him what his favorite country song was, and he said, "Honestly, I've never heard of your station. I'm here on the job sight and some country boys told me the DJ's were begging for a Mexican to call. Here I am!"
Our first question was "Are you legal?"
Him: Nope. I snuck in when I was a kid. That's why I don't sound Mexican.
Us: What's your name? Nevermind. Don't tell us. We don't want you to get deported on our account. We're just glad you called.
Him: It's okay. I'll say my whole name and where I live. They won't come get me. They don't care.
Us: Do you want to become a citizen?
Him: I thought about it, but that means I'd have to drive 4 hours to Charlotte. I really get nothing out of it, and no ones gonna deport me anyway, so I'll stay illegal to save myself a drive. ---------------------------------
But boy did trouble come. Not for the illegal guy. For us radio guys who dared ask questions. We were put through hell by our management and the Festival organizers for daring open up the phone lines to their people and asking a few questions that they didn't have to answer. And of course, we had to make an appearance at the festival, and not one station listener was there. It was all Mexicans and us three guys who the Mexicans had never heard of, nor cared to know. That whole event (at least our involvment) was a waste of everybody's time.
I think they should all be deported and forced to live among the hell that is each other's company. Oh. What? I'm not talking about Mexicans. I'm talking about salespeople.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Glascock.
One time our morning show guy was giving a tour of the radio station to a bunch of young school children. I freaking love kids. And kids really love seeing the radio station. However, opening up a radio station to children can be such a roll of the dice, when you consider their behavior.
I'm not talking about the behavior of the kids. I'm talking about the behavior of the staff! Kids are actually so mesmerized by seeing the inside of a radio station, a place they thought was only in their mom's car speakers, that they actually behave on the tour and listen to everything you have to say.
Radio people, on the other hand, can be some of the tackiest and most clueless people on earth. If you don't warn the staff that the school kids are coming to tour the station that day, you will no doubt expose to the kids to a knockdown dragout cuss fight in the hall between maybe a shady salesgirl and, say, a lazy on-air guy. And once a radio fight starts, the presence of boy scouts in an orderly line won't stop some hungover redneck skank, who is still wearing last night's pantyhose, from threatening the life of some fat hairy mid-day guy (who quite possibly may also still be wearing last night's pantyhose. I'm not saying names. But there was one.)
Since salespeople are the most unrefined of all people in a radio station (I know, even worse than guys who do those morning zoo shows,) me and our morning guy Charles decided that he and I would take over givin any scheduled kids' tours. And, most importantly, we decided that we would only schedule them to come in before 8 a.m or after 5 p.m. That way, they wouldn't meet salespeople during work hours. We thought we had our bases covered.
One day, Charles was giving an early morning tour of our four stations to a group of kids that were all about 7 or 8 years old. After showing the kids our four studios, Charles decided to give the kids a preview of our soon-to-be fifth station. The company was constructing a new studio to put a hip-hop station in. Charles led the kids to the door and opened it up to show them the construction. He knew he'd be showing the kids construction. But what he didn't know was that, as an added bonus, he'd be also be showing them Glascock.
As Charles opened the door, and let the kids file in, he said, "This is going to be a rap station called Coast 97 that will be on the air in a few months. And that over there sleeping in a sleeping bag is Glascock. Who apparently lives here now. Say good morning to the kids, Glascock! He'll wake up. If you kids have ever listened to the radio in this town, you've no doubt heard Glascock. But today, you get to SEE him... in what looks like his new home."
Yes, apparently Glascock had recently gotten evicted from his apartment and didn't have money to find a new place. So without telling anyone, not even Charles, he had been sneaking into the Coast studio at night and making it his home, and he had been sneaking out every morning before anybody came to work so no one would know about his radio-squatting.
Unfortunately, on this particular day, Glasscock had overslept; most likely due to all the empty beer cans that surrounded his head on the sawdust floor while the children watched him wake up. Oh yeah! It was beautiful. I wish I could've been there that morning to see the look on the face of the teacher that came with these kids only to be shown a 40 year-old burnout with long gray/blond/brown hair still drunk and sleeping with his glasses on. Yes, this was the day that Glascock was quite the cock, while sleeping in his classes.
I'm not talking about the behavior of the kids. I'm talking about the behavior of the staff! Kids are actually so mesmerized by seeing the inside of a radio station, a place they thought was only in their mom's car speakers, that they actually behave on the tour and listen to everything you have to say.
Radio people, on the other hand, can be some of the tackiest and most clueless people on earth. If you don't warn the staff that the school kids are coming to tour the station that day, you will no doubt expose to the kids to a knockdown dragout cuss fight in the hall between maybe a shady salesgirl and, say, a lazy on-air guy. And once a radio fight starts, the presence of boy scouts in an orderly line won't stop some hungover redneck skank, who is still wearing last night's pantyhose, from threatening the life of some fat hairy mid-day guy (who quite possibly may also still be wearing last night's pantyhose. I'm not saying names. But there was one.)
Since salespeople are the most unrefined of all people in a radio station (I know, even worse than guys who do those morning zoo shows,) me and our morning guy Charles decided that he and I would take over givin any scheduled kids' tours. And, most importantly, we decided that we would only schedule them to come in before 8 a.m or after 5 p.m. That way, they wouldn't meet salespeople during work hours. We thought we had our bases covered.
One day, Charles was giving an early morning tour of our four stations to a group of kids that were all about 7 or 8 years old. After showing the kids our four studios, Charles decided to give the kids a preview of our soon-to-be fifth station. The company was constructing a new studio to put a hip-hop station in. Charles led the kids to the door and opened it up to show them the construction. He knew he'd be showing the kids construction. But what he didn't know was that, as an added bonus, he'd be also be showing them Glascock.
As Charles opened the door, and let the kids file in, he said, "This is going to be a rap station called Coast 97 that will be on the air in a few months. And that over there sleeping in a sleeping bag is Glascock. Who apparently lives here now. Say good morning to the kids, Glascock! He'll wake up. If you kids have ever listened to the radio in this town, you've no doubt heard Glascock. But today, you get to SEE him... in what looks like his new home."
Yes, apparently Glascock had recently gotten evicted from his apartment and didn't have money to find a new place. So without telling anyone, not even Charles, he had been sneaking into the Coast studio at night and making it his home, and he had been sneaking out every morning before anybody came to work so no one would know about his radio-squatting.
Unfortunately, on this particular day, Glasscock had overslept; most likely due to all the empty beer cans that surrounded his head on the sawdust floor while the children watched him wake up. Oh yeah! It was beautiful. I wish I could've been there that morning to see the look on the face of the teacher that came with these kids only to be shown a 40 year-old burnout with long gray/blond/brown hair still drunk and sleeping with his glasses on. Yes, this was the day that Glascock was quite the cock, while sleeping in his classes.
Friday, October 2, 2009
I guess I'm sexist towards medicated men
I'm drunk, so I can't type you a good story. But here goes the synopsis. I told my one good roommate (not the midget we just kicked out): "Dude, you suddenly suck at being drunk!"
He started to argue with me, when I said, "What did you think of the clowns we drank with last night?"
He said, "A lot of people were assholes last night. How could I know which clowns you were talking about?"
I said, "No, you dumbass! We drank on the street of a hookah bar with five actual circus clowns. In full make-up! If you don't remember clown drinking, you might need to rethink some shit!"
He said, "Sorry. I just went back on Zoloft."
I'm tolerant.
I grew up with women. Ya'll are all on something. But he's a dude. I guess I'll pretend he's a girl and give him a pass.
He started to argue with me, when I said, "What did you think of the clowns we drank with last night?"
He said, "A lot of people were assholes last night. How could I know which clowns you were talking about?"
I said, "No, you dumbass! We drank on the street of a hookah bar with five actual circus clowns. In full make-up! If you don't remember clown drinking, you might need to rethink some shit!"
He said, "Sorry. I just went back on Zoloft."
I'm tolerant.
I grew up with women. Ya'll are all on something. But he's a dude. I guess I'll pretend he's a girl and give him a pass.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
