With the advent of satellite radio, is there room for local news coverage of Les Nessman’s heyday?
I think so. After all, satellites are flimsy things that fly around like pinballs on a greased baking sheet. They fall and explode, too.
Radio towers are tall, sturdy things. In fact, RKO Pictures had a one on the North Pole before those damn environmentalists demanded that it be torn town.
It had something to do with those jaggy lightning bolts streaking out of the thing.
Anyway, in this era of iPods and X-radio, I yearn for the Golden Age of Les Nessman.
I suppose if Martians had invaded Cincinnati, the public would have turned to Les Nessman for coverage.
After all, Les doesn’t just live and breathe news, but he practically oozes it.
By licking Les Nessman, you might experience a news hallucination, much like thrill-seekers lick certain species of toads for the vision-inducing properties.
No wonder why Johnny Fever was totally out of it. In his off-hours, he licked Les Nessman.
Did he imagine he was licking Loni Anderson instead?
Of course not. That would induce something entirely different. Something which I’ll refrain from repeating here openly, if you don’t mind.
Les Nessman never did manage to cover a hurricane, since Cincinnati isn’t exactly in a hurricane-prone area and Mr. Carlson was very cheap when it came to the news division of his radio station. The travel budget was cab fare.
However, if he had covered one, I think he’d have been an impressive sight in his rain slicker, boldly holding out his wind-meter like an intrepid soldier bearing a torch in the darkness.
Of course, WKRP was a radio station, not a television news channel, so the viewers would have had no idea Les was doing any of these things.
In his hideout, Ayman Al-Zarqawi pouted.
“They love the Hezbollah and Hamas,” he grumbled. “The parades. The diplomacy. The material support. Why not me and my resistance fighters?”
That’s when Wheel of Fortune came on the television, and the idea hit Zaraquawi like a flying brick.
It’s a blend of People’s Court and Wheel of Fortune. Collaborators and sinners confess their crimes against Islam, the Sharia judge finds them guilty, and they spin The Wheel.
Most of it says “BEHEADING.”
Know what’s sick? “AMPUTATION” actually brings relief and joy to the condemned.
And even sicker, it’ll be on CBS soon.
The hunter cowered behind a tree. He took off his fur cap, wiped the sweat from his gigantic bald head, and breathed heavily and rapidly.
Can it hear me?, he thought.
A twig snapped.
He’d lost his gun. His beloved double-barreled shotgun.
In the distance, a click.
It has my shotgun.
After all these hunting seasons, the hunter had finally become the hunted.
More footsteps. Big, furry footsteps.
His heart pounded. His throat clenched.
“Don’t bwast me!” shouted the hunter. “Fow God’s sake, wabbit, pwease don’t bwast me!”
The hunter ran, wishing it was still Duck Season.
“It’s a cookbook!” was the last thing Dr. Chambers heard before the spaceship door closed.
The Kanamint had said they were here to serve man.
Quite literally, as dinner.
Chambers sighed, slumped against the wall of the crowded cell, and slept.
He woke up, alone.
The door opened, and a Kanamint wheeled in a cart.
“Your dinner,” thoughtcasted the Kanamint.
At first, Chambers wasn’t hungry, but the smell was… captivating.
He took the lid off of the tray, tasted a sauce-covered cube, and moaned with delight.
“I must have this recipe,” he said. “Delicious!”
Eventually, they made him a chef.
Vern likes ultramodern. Those fiber-optics they hung him with sparkle nicely.
Genevieve’s always barefoot. Someone tossed poisoned carpet tacks around the living room. Oops.
Laurie loves lemons. When life hands you grenades painted like lemons… too late!
Frank’s in the kitchen, brained by a pig figurine. Supper’s ready!
Christi had bold ideas for that fireplace. They didn’t involve being charred in it, though.
Nikki’s the noble one. She drowned in the commode. Sorry – the throne. Nice gold handle, though.
Kia specializes in curtains. Now it’s curtains for Kia.
Edward won the million bucks. That’ll buy a good lawyer.
As Halloween approached, Dana made a robe, tunic, and headdress of the feathers, stapling and gluing them into place.
She tried them on and turned in front of the mirror.
“Perfect,” she said.
“What are you doing?” asked Toby, her little brother.
“I’m going to be Queztocoatl,” said Dana. “This will get me lots of candy.”
“You look like a Las Vegas hooker,” said Toby.
“How would you know?” said Dana. “You’ve been watching all the blocked channels again! MOM! MOM!”
He lit a match and tossed it at his sister.
“Now you’re the Burning Bush,” said Toby.