NOTE: I was totally gonna go on enumerating the individual merits of each of the Crew - but Kelly stole my thunder. So here goes Plan smurfin B.
Sound of the metal chair legs scraping the floor as I stand, coffee fumes permeate the air in the church basement in which the meeting is being held. People wearily crane their heads around the room to acknowledge me as I rise.
Hi. My name is Randy and I’m an NOTLPer. (Chorus: Hi, Randy) It started out oh, about three years ago. I thought I had it under control. I’d download an episode, darkly chuckle occasionally, and go about my life. But once a week just wasn’t enough. I didn’t want to come down from the high I got from listening. For 2 hours a week, give or take, I was happy. And I mean smurfin gurgling in the womb happy. You all know what I mean, right? (my quick glance around the room is met with knowing nods). I was riding lightning, reliving the thrills of the movies I loved in the warm company of the fastest minds and foulest mouths in the midwest.
I thought it would never end. I was Carrie White with an armful of flowers and the most handsome boy at the prom on my arm. Then one dark, terrifying episode, it happened. Kelley left me. The news came tumbling out from the darkness like a bucket of cold pigs’ blood to brain my date (and spare me the awkward end of that Prom Anecdote) and splatter me with Porcine B-Neg and skull particles pasted with odd bits of blond ‘fro.
I guess I went off the rails for awhile. I don’t remember much after that. Yeah, my beloved Crew was still there, but minus one. I’d lie awake tossing and turning. Wondering what would Kelley have said there. Or worrying if Chiseck would be gone next weekend. I became agoraphobic, I’d sit in front of my computer waiting for the download - hand drumming endlessly on the desk like a junkie waiting for his fix to boil in his spoon. One episode Andy’d be out, and I’d worry that he’d meet Mr. Right and blow off the podcast permanently. I had nightmares of Amy and Freddie adopting a Laotian child or two and bagging the podcast.
So, I stopped deleting the episodes, and erased everything else off my Zune, so I could just shuffle all the happy times, and not get interrupted by Clutch or Frankie goes to Hollywood.
The episodes all blurred together as I took a header into booze, drugs, pills, steroids, Jesus (via a local cable access channel), and the Psychic Friends Network. Whenever I was downtown, I’d scan the rooftops for gargoyles. It got to where whenever I was in the car, I’d drive along and karaoke the dialog from each episode. If my eye caught a frightened look from a pedestrian or a worried cross-glance from another lane - I’d just yell louder. Glaring at them defiantly. What did they know?
Then, one episode I heard it. A new sound. The calm voice of an angel. It reassured me. The voice said “Snippity Snap!” a lot. It told me to put my pants back on and to go back to work. And so I did. (I’d go on here - but it’s late and this probably wasn’t too funny to begin with).
In closing, please allow me a quick note to the gentleman from Virginia:
Anonymous Right Wing Micro-Anus Guy, I want you to know… that I try. When Lisa and the kids at the school tell me that I’m supposed to control my violent temper, and be passive and nonviolent like they are, I try. I really try. Though when I see this girl… of such a beautiful spirit… so degraded… and this podcaster… that I love… sprawled out by this big ape here… and this little girl, who is so special to us we call her “God’s little gift of sunshine”... and I think of the number of years that she’s going to have to carry in her memory… the savagery of this idiotic moment of yours… I just go BERSERK!
(Sorry, I had to throw something in that would allow me to use the term Micro-Anus, and Billy Jack just felt right - My apologies to Mr. Tom Laughlin).
