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Day-O! De dead!


   “Knock-knock. Who’s there? Nosferatu. Blah-ha-ha.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s Night o’ de Day o’ de Dead (2019-11-01) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back a couple of years. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet, though the farther back in time you try to go, the less likely it is to work right, just like real life.

I just remembered saying on the air near the beginning of the show that the time change is /next/ week. It was because I was in such a hurry getting ready, what with the power having been off all week till Thursday, and looked up the time-change date, read /March 10/ but only registered the 10. So on the extremely tiny chance you see this before it’s late enough for you to miss your appointment in Samarra, set your grandfather clock back tonight. In a perfect world there wouldn’t be any of this newfangled clock-changing jiggery-pokery. It’d be cash on the barrelhead, midnight is midnight, gol-durn it.

Besides all that, here are links to further worthwhile educational and/or sensational items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Rerun: The skeleton dance.

Skeleton song. I like this band. They remind of Gogol Bordello.

It’s a dog. It’s always been a dog.

Testing the new robot soldier. The testing is not as cruel as it looks. Think of it as a toaster. That’s how it starts.

Gun Shop, a high-speed documentary.



Art. (via Everlasting Blort)

Out of the toothpaste tunnel, into the bucket. (Click the sound on.)

Just try to play this without smiling your head off.

“Give me all your lupins.”

Galaxy of horrors.

“Getcher filthy paws offa me, monkeyboy. Yarrgh! Rowr-bazzle! Mmph! NNNN!”

It’s the teeth and the tongue that really sell it.

Art. (arrow right for gallery)

An /ordinary/ toilet drain seal (you put it on the floor, on the mouth of the drainpipe, drop the toilet on top of that, then screw the toilet down) is about the size of a small cereal bowl, made out of sticky flesh-colored wax, costs about $2.50 and tax, and lasts until your house is vaporized by the Earth being swallowed into the expanding Sun. Now, if you want to pay a little more for a seal that will last until the heat death of the infinite multiverse, you can get a fancy blue mil-spec thing like this one. And every time you look at the toilet, you’ll get the pleasure of knowing that there’s a lovely blue plumbing part down under there that you bought because you liked it, because you deserve it. You’ve worked hard in your life and why not treat yourself? Also you can talk about it at holidays and family gatherings and when you’re interviewed by local news about your neighbor and that monstrous act he committed, because he always just seemed like a quiet normal guy and nobody had the faintest idea. What a pretty color. I saw a Karmann-Ghia that color once. I wonder where that car is now. (Just for future reference, this paragraph is a representative snapshot of my internal dialog 97% of the time, though it’s rarely about plumbing or cars.)

Speaking of which, I want a car with a dashboard that has either /all/ of these things on it or only a mechanical speedometer and maybe a high-beam indicator: a /mechanical/ high-beam indicator– a little clockwork-powered semaphore flap with white paint behind it, and mechanical headlights that don’t switch between bulbs or filaments inside but swivel up and down on a cable to a pedal on the floor.

If you were there you’d say, /Oh, honey. Oh, no. Don’t feel bad. I’ll pick it up. Go on, take your break. That’s okay./ We’ve all done something like this, and it’s only toilet paper; it’s not as though anything broke.

But these people, on the other hand. Alcohol. Tch.

These are the guys you want touching the delicate insides of your ride. They know what’s what.

Pass this and you’re a Moose. That’s really all there is to it.

Also memorize these lyrics.

The Paul Lynde Halloween special.

Crazy talk.

That’s Commander Michael Lucky Jack Hendo Henderson, there, of the British Space Force Juggernaut the H.M.S. Camden Lock, in /Hyperdrive/. Nick Frost.

I love this man’s wonderful videos about repairing little steam engines. This engine is one of the many he built himself in the first place. When he fixes ones others made he’s very gentle in pointing out where they went wrong cutting corners and, for example, not using the proper metal for a particular bearing. The sound of his voice.

See the map. The story of the map is in the first comment.

And stories about remarkable chickens, including the real life demon chicken breed with black feathers, eyes, skin, claws, meat. Everything about it is black, like the story /The Black Sorcerer of the Black Castle/, by Andrew Offutt, which was in one of the paperback books in the two full shopping bags of absolutely favorite books we loaned to Mickie when he was in the hospital for months in the early 1990s and we never got them back because he threw them out or gave them away. /That’s/ something I’d use a time machine for, or try, just to test it. Get those books back, /then/ go kill Hitler, and do the other things, not because it’s easy but because it’s hard. Deal with the consequences later, or rather let the Time Police restore the proper timeline; that’s what they’re paid for. Don’t take the man’s job, Jack.

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