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Mandy’s puhu, desert moth.


     “For every dildo shop, whorehouse, liquor store or licentious theater that lightning strikes and burns to the ground, weather destroys a thousand churches, and there’s an obvious explanation for this, you’re just not seeing it.”

Here’s the recording* of last night’s (2017-09-08) KNYO (and, three hours in, also KMEC) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show ready to download and enjoy.

Or, thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost, you can get it this other way, which you might like better because it offers an instant-play option and isn’t surrounded by confusing flashing ads.

Besides all that, here are links to a few not necessarily radio-useful but otherwise worthwhile items that I set aside for you while putting the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Everybody’s over the eclipse by now. That was /so/ three weeks ago. But here’s the best view of it, no matter where you drove or what kind of pinhole thing you made out of aluminum foil and cardboard. Our sun is almost 900,000 miles across, so just one of those feathery little wisps at the edge could swallow the whole Earth, tornadoes, volcanoes, kittens and all, like a flaming roaring garbage disposal swallowing a graham cracker crumb.

So he said, “How big do you want ’em?” And I said, I really did: “Vulgar! Big! Playboy mansion trophy wife giant, the bigger the better.”

Dialup modem opera. Also ship horns.

And duplicated by mouth.


The Paganini Orchestrion with paper roll auto-loader, triple bellows,  and deluxe pressure regulator.

“Maureen, you’re not helping, looking in the door! Get him, Denny! Did you get him? Nah, he’s still flying. He is making a mockery of you, boy! Oh! Get him, Denny. Fuck it, the dog’s pissing. Oh! Oh!” And so on. Just /try/ not to burst into laughter. (I just read that Jimmy Kimmel was so impressed with this Irish family’s natural comedic aptitude that he brought them on his teevee show. I like Jimmy Kimmel. I like his weird-but-/why/-weird? eyes. Oh, no! Look, Sarah Silverman broke up with him in 2009. Shit. If /they/ couldn’t work it out, what hope is there?

If pro football were honest.

It delights me that advertisements like this one can be made and paid for. It means so much. The world isn’t dead. But here’s a thought: what if it /is/, and that’s the real future, and that’s Sarah Silverman?

L.A. The fire last week.

The icy finger of death.

Not photoshopped. Golfing in Oregon.

Hurricane categories visually explained.

Clear. Got it.

Cutting in line. (Don’t stop at the video. Read the entire comment thread.)

A valuable skill. What would a person with this kind of talent have done and been in any other era of human history?

Thrilling adventure in an abandoned factory. Kids break in and play with things. The power is still connected to the crane!

Hand-painted Ghanaian movie posters.

10 Burning Man photos. Then 20 more pages of photos just as amazing.

Our sun, the heating system. Leave it where it is. It’s fine over there.

See, when /I/ see “Pumpkin Spice”, I think of the cute chubby Spice Sister. Remember the Spice Sisters? They were a singing group.

And spin class.


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