Friday, October 10, 2008

futurist waxes poetic

cell block is right! very bad karma, that place. bigger is sooo not better. you have to pay for bigger and, more often than not, the price is way more than you bargained for.

I thought the old joint was perfect. fuck the sound proofing and automation. it was the death of everything the founding fathers wanted the station to be. fucking reaganites, philistines, philanthropists, dog face pony soldiers with their human resources and corporate communications and ass wipe 'real' radio station crap.

fuck em all to hell.

gimme a nice neumann with a sweet spot and I can live with window units buzzing away and a mess of analogue 70s shit. gimme jack in the box sharks hangin from the ceiling and an old futon under the Lp racks. people crashed out on the floor and taking hits of whatever while things are actually spinning all around and not about to crash on the fucking hard drive mismanaged by program directors and their traffic administrators who wouldnt know good radio if it came in through the bath room window.

people and policies who have no business being in the radio business riding herd over the magicians who instinctively know how to spin radio gold out of needles in hay stacks.

I say exile them to deep space where they can all get busy fucking up black holes.

let em fuck up something that's already fucked up and let us take care of what's not and should never be. cause that's what they did. they took something hand crafted by those who loved every inch of it and turned it into infinite miles of bullshit. if you took all their turd ideas and laid them end to end, they'd already be at their destiny black hole destination.

can you buhlieve sam baker's still there? I think if you work somewhere that long, they should have to build you a condo on the roof with a fire pole into master control. sam should just pull himself up by his fireproof suspenders, brush his burly teeth and fall right down into work every morning. after he gets off, he should be allowed to feast on grilled vice president with a side of slaughtered pledge drive producer slaw and wash it down with the blood of the last crop of community service volunteers. hell, throw in a bag of chips and a pickle. he's earned it.

then he can enjoy a nice extended burp followed by a pleasant dump and shimmy back up the pole for a hazy mid-morning nap in his free condo overlooking the dallas skyline.

now That would be justice.

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