NPR, If You Don't Shut Up I Will Cut You
One of the things I detest about National Public Radio is all the talking. Would it kill them to play a little R&B? Maybe a few slow jams? I hate listening to people talking! Who cares what people think? If you people at NPR are so rude that you can't address me directly via mail or telephone, then I don't care what you think. Communication is a two-way street, or some such hogwash. Maybe I have something to say - but you wouldn't know that, would you? You're too busy shooting off your mouth to listen to me. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: there is nothing about NPR that wouldn't be improved by copious amounts of the Keith Sweat oeuvre. And perhaps a bit of Bel Biv Devoe here and there.
P.S. I happen to have some exquisitely compelling ideas about the Chavez/Castro trade talks, but do I get any NPR air time? Hell no I don't.
P.S. I happen to have some exquisitely compelling ideas about the Chavez/Castro trade talks, but do I get any NPR air time? Hell no I don't.
6 Comments:
Nevermind NPR, check this out - some 80-year-old chick is being hailed as a hero for rescuing her sickly neighbor from an apartment fire by carrying said neighber on her back down two flights of stairs. I mean, WTF? Am I supposed to view this as some uplifting affirmation that I can do anything I set my mind to, no matter how unlikely it would seem? Give me a break. The one day a week I manage to haul a sack of garbage to the dumpster out back, fire or no, is still going to be a big deal - just ask Mrs. Bird. Yeesh, already.
Oh, and get this - the neighbor started the fire by lighting a cigarette too close to her oxygen mask. I suppose there's a lesson there, somewhere, but right now I gotta go down a handful of Tylenol with some Carlo Rossi to try to get rid of this pounding hangover headache. Let's see some nosey geezer rescue me from that. Good luck hawking the trade-talk idea.
Perhaps you would go farther within NPR if you submitted your Casto/Chavez trade talk analyses with:
- a soft background of latin jazz beats (with bongo)
- sounds of poor children playing in the street
- and cheap, tinny honks from a crappy third world car
That seems to work.
Meanwhile, the liederkranz or limburger? issue is subtly ignored.
While you're at it, could you slap Terri Gross into next week?
My sainted aunt, Nora Pennard-Rennard - an odd woman, glimpsed this post and fled into the street.
Jumping Jesus! That swill peddled as "R&B" these days is the only thing on Earth worse than those droning, complacent knuckleheads on NPR. Not worse by much, but worse.
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