It turns out this is a real thing. According to the “Bible” channel on TV, if I just sit on a cheap K-Mart folding lawn chair, gently washing my 1980s Pontiac while a child chokes to death on a pair of iPod earphones (probably filled with rap musics), it’s a felony. That’s right, I’d be a dangerous criminal for doin’ nothing.
Fifty Shades of Freddy Grey. This has been in the news this week, as one of the police officers involved with Freddy Baltimore’s death could now face 30 years in prison. That is, a jury of his peers (all cops?) convicts him of it. Which isn’t likely. Which means more riots. And more crappy CNN coverage.
A caller pitches a master’s thesis level question: Is the song “Informer” by Snow the greatest song of all time?
Certainly not. But even as a “not-a-reggae fan” kind of guy, I couldn’t help tapping my toes a bit, as we try to make an impromptu Radio Citrus remix version of the song, on the fly.
Of course, thanks to Gary’s call, I found myself in a “Grade C” (health code) twenty-four-hour Mexican food drive thru at two o’clock in the morning — jamming out to this jam.
Our morbid fascination with plane crashes:
Have you ever heard a plane crash?
Most of us, thankfully, never do. But during a useless YouTube click-adventure late one night, I discovered original recordings from air traffic controllers as they lost contact with two prominent and fatal commercial aircraft accidents (TWA 800 and ValuJet) back in the 1990s.
Toby and I (and you) listen to these recordings from end to end to discover the remarkable work of traffic controllers and the bone-shuddering pronouncements when they realize the pilot they were just talking to — is now dead.
Radio song requests:
These fit in nicely with your 1980s Trans Am you couldn’t stop washing.
So now, from the prison cell of your thirty-year depraved-heart murder sentence, all you can do if use your “one phone call” to dial up 93.1 The Arrow and ask them to play something from Van Halen.
And not the crappy Van Halen after David Lee Roth left. Those songs were too whiny.
Tesla ‘Powerwall’ Battery:
Finally, I can have a Tesla in my garage.
Actually no, I still can’t. I’m so poor, I don’t own a garage. Heck, I don’t even rent a garage. Yay for my high-skilled and useful degree from the College of Social and Family Studies.
But the bigger question isn’t the economic feasibility of plopping a $3000 dollar battery into your $650,000 McMansion in a bad neighborhood with underperforming schools because these friggin’ kids are on drugs and their parents aren’t teaching them manners, because let’s face it, these KIDS TODAY? Am I right? All they do is play video games. And now when the power goes out, they won’t stop because the router and PC are hooked up to a Tesla Powerwall.
No. The big issue is the spoiled brat (or mentally-ill guy) who has the courage to ask Elon Musk for a job at one of his press events last summer. And it wasn’t a custodial staff job, either. Holy crap, Elon’s reaction is priceless!