Thursday, May 05, 2005

Guest Blogger: Evil Stacy (Why I Hate Rock Radio Too)

(Stacy Without an E is weeping on the floor of his broadcast studio after a long day of putting up with mediocre radio personalities from across the hall. Suddenly, and without warning, his distant cousin Evil Stacy Without an E surfaces from oblivion. Hating to see his cousin in such pain and despair, Evil Stacy has prepared a little speech for the mindless twits across the hall. This...is his rant...)

I despise egotistical, talentless morons.

I especially hate egotistical, talentless morons who tell themselves how talented they are every five minutes.

Goddamnit.

The extremely talented, cordial and witty afternoon host on the rock station in our cluster was "released" from the company a number of weeks ago.

Translation: he wanted to be paid what he's worth.

Since the first day since he was expelled, the new Program Director of the rock station across the hall has been blasting his station so he makes sure that every single creature within earshot realizes how funny he just was.

He bolts from the station like a monkey with a new diaper, prowling the hallways asking everyone, "Did you hear that? Wasn't that funny?"

Most people are clueless as to why he's so excited.

He nearly pushes me to the wall as he prances about.

"Did you hear how funny that call was?"

"God no. Your mindless drivel that passes as acceptable broadcast radio polluting the airwaves should be mentally disposed of in a landfill far, far from my existence."

That's what I should have said. Of course, if I had, he would have tilted his head to one side and quizically asked what my problem was.

The other day I had front row concert tickets to one of the biggest shows of the year. I took the winning call, the caller was fantastic and I started to edit within the three minutes until I had to go on.

I pause. There's some sort of noise in the background. I crank up the volume to discover...it's the rock station across the hall! You have to be kidding me. There's a thick wooden door, ten feet of space, another thick wooden door, and then my studio.

That's fuckinggodawful loud.

I get so frustrated I calmly walk across the hall and ask them to TURN IT THE FUCK DOWN!!!

No, I don't yell. Only in my mind. And it hurts.

They oblige. I walk away and I can hear them whispering. As soon as my studio door closes shut, it's cranked in volume again.

Since he is the new boss of the station, my only recourse now is to go to the General Manager. But if I go that far, I'll become the bad guy.

All of the above happened AFTER I received a long list of things my Program Director wants me to do. Before I even step into the door here, I've already worked four to five hours AT ANOTHER JOB. Never a thank you. Not ever a pat on the back. Just get this done in a tone of "or else".

What follows is the complete list of things I want to do on my final day:

--- Bring a giant mallet to work, you know, the overly heavy kind and calmly walk into the rock station's studio (while they're live on the air) and destroy the equipment. When finished, I smile, salute them and then walk straight out of the building. I change my name to Juevo and move to Greece and make just enough money each day to survive. I spend the remainder of my time courting raven haired greek women and sipping pure juices.

--- I tell the listeners all week that I'm resigning on Friday, without discussing it with management. I repeatedly tell them that the show will be replaced by repeats of "Full House", "Two and Half Men" and that god awful "According to Jim". I refer all complaint calls to my boss' home number. I then receive the photos from the private investigator showing how he's been cheating on his wife and post them on the internet on our station's website. I then make my way to Greece as Mr. Juevo (see above).

--- I come into work late for my show, clothes tattered, skin bloodied and walk straight into management's office. I tell them the repeated loud music from the rock station has made me suicidal and I just failed in my attempt to end my life...again. If the rock station is not switched to easy listening immediately and the entire staff fired, I will file a class action lawsuit against the station's owners, insisting that the continual rudeness of the staff hurt me psychologically to the point where my lawyer thinks we "should talk".

--- Lock myself in the rock station studio and play nothing but music from our format on their station. I tell all listeners every break that "...since the staff despises you immensely, we've stopped playing music to cater to assholes...please refer all your complaints in person to the general manager's office NOW." The address will be merrily repeated over and over until a riotous mob of meth users and toothless heroin junkies fill the cubicle walls to the hilt. I promise to then play each of them a request if they piss where they stand. Crapping is also optional. I then Greek it and become Mr. Juevo accordingly (see above).

--- Bring in a five gallon canister of gasoline and a box of matches. I saunter around the building, making sure to leave a huge puddle in the rock studio's carpet, soiling it to no end. I make a path around the building, ending at the exit door. I light a match. Mr. Juevo saunters into history.

That stench you smell is the fumes from rock radio mindlessly melting into history.

Thank you and good night.

(The manager of the "Stacy Without an E" blog wishes to apologize for two or three sentences above. The rest was right on target. Evil Stacy is now constructing a fire retardant suit, just in case. Raven-haired women rule. Down with all the mulakas.)

2 comments:

  1. In-fucking-credible. Are you available for consultations? If I go away to school in a few months I'll be leaving my job, and I'd like something very similar.

    In case you doubted it, you're a goddamned genius. All threats of domestic terrorism aside, I mean it.

    signed,

    Intellectual Elitist Girl

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  2. WAHAHAHA! I was going to suggest EVERY single okay I'll stop now because I am lying. But I was going to suggest a remedy in the form of a mace. William Wallace-style. Fan-fricken-tastic post, good sir.

    As you recommended, I held a Winona Ryder festival and viewed "Heathers," "Dracula," "Girl, Interrupted" and "Little Women." It was a glorious festival of film.

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