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     “Lay down your weapons and prepare to be boarded. Your cooperation, though mandatory, is appreciated. No-one will be harmed if this goes smoothly. Be smart… Tch. Now, see, that one wasn’t smart. Don’t be like him.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-09-17) annual Talk Like A Pirate Day Special KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

Speaking of ARRRH! with a little oy-yoy-yoy added: At 9:30, half an hour into the show, I put on the final episode of the San Francisco Mime Troupe’s summer radio series /Tales of the Resistance: Persistence/, set an alarm for 28 minutes, took my headphones off and took a nap. At least I thought I put it on. It was only when I resumed the position before the mic that I realized I’d started the wrong one, a much earlier episode, because of a folder mixup I made when preparing things. That’s why, in the recording, you hear the Mime Troupe intro start, then a moment of silence to drive home the seriousness of my blunder, then the end of the Mime Troupe outro. I cut my half-hour mistake out of the recording. I’ll play the right episode of that next week. I’ve already written to the Mime Troupe lady to apologize.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

The Codex Seraphinianus, a video survey.

It ain’t a big thing, but go ahead and make a big thing out of it if you can’t help yourself. That’s one way of looking at it.

“Coney Island, the world’s greatest fun frolic.”

The real world.

And the open-secret law about hospital bills. This could save your life. But if you /ride to the hospital in an ambulance/ because you’d die otherwise, you’re still on the hook for that, and it can run up into tens of thousands of dollars just to go across town; even more if the ambulance is a helicopter. Prop your thumb up in the air on a fence or something to hitchhike before you pass out from loss of blood, that’s what to do. And if you wake up, don’t sign anything until you talk with your uncle Tony.

Acoustics of the stairwell. These guys are firemen, I think.

Debs. (via MissCellania)

“Can’t ride up ever.”

Earth from space, European Space Agency material including, of course, the fires, which you can see from space with just your regular eyes.

How they made the Gateway Arch, which was later featured in the teevee series /Defiance/ with a little radio station at the very top run by the son of a space alien crimelord (the albino aliens), who had a sort of Romeo and Juliet romance with the daughter of the wealthy (human) operator of the town’s gulanite mine. It’s a near-future western. The town has a prostitute and a sheriff and everything you need. The sheriff’s raising another kind of alien teenage girl (redheaded tiger/lizard people) as his own daughter, who he rescued from a crazy alien-mind-control-tech cult. Pretty good show; real science fiction, not space elf fantasy crap. Anyway: Gateway Arch (pre-space war that ruins the planet because of crashed out-of-control alien terraforming tech):

Lily Hevesh (Hevesh5). (via NagOnTheLake)

Dead dog, dead dog. G’boy! Okay, come on.

Part of what’s wrong is, if that’s the thumb on this side (I’m not sure it is), the hand is on backward /or is it?/ (via Fark)

Names for then-new colors: “Pimps, still in the prime of life and stomachs on the grass, drinking absinthe.” “Funeral March, composed for the obsequies of a great deaf man.” Etc.

People sitting on or in the black-and-white moon.

The /Mars Attacks/ jellyfish.

Why is your mouth making that noise?

Flowchart. Should you wear a mask.

Gotcher nose! Ha ha ha! And what’s this behind your ear? A quarter!? How did /that/ get there?,imgsize-573549/nose-swab_istock.jpg


Matterhorn wingsuit flight.

“Maybe the cure for geese who behave like jerks is to play harmonica to them.” They’re either singing along or correcting his intonation.

Owls got legs.

Clams got legs.

This fits ancient descriptions of what an angel looks like better than any art you’ve ever seen that’s supposed to be an angel. A thousand eyes made of feathers.

“Not a vaccine hoochie.” Some kind of hoochie, though. /Hot-cha/, as they used to say.

This is what happens when you build a guitar in the woods, Larry. It’s way different from what happens when you find a stranger in the Alps. It’s destructive, in a way, but something comes of it besides a car with its fenders bashed in and its windows smashed. Nice work.

Speaking of which, some clips of the late Norm MacDonald, /late/ meaning dead. He had a rare kind of genius, and the world is poorer for his passing.

Of course I want to see it. But they put everything in the trailer. There must be a funny Yiddish word for doing that:

Re-rerun: Stay cool, Bret. Stay cool, Murray.

“Tug of oar.” A tweedle beetle paddle battle muddle.

Useful self-defense skill. For if she’s ever attacked by a couple of Coke bottles bearing a playing card and a cupie doll and she has her little sticks along.

Science jokes. (via Neatorama)


Hero doorman.

Brave amateur reporter/activist woman. Good aplomb.

She does celebrities meeting your dog. My favorite is Kristen Wiig. And Christopher Walken.

“Wife crashes her sister’s job interview after finding out she slept with her husband.” (via Fark)

Rick and Morty, the Reader’s Digest version.


Rerun: Man tries burning them out, discovers why a gasoline-air mixture works in cars. On the plus side, put a garden in.

The largest star in the universe.

All our stupid problems in the one small dot. (Sung to the tune of /Atchison, Topeka and the San-ta Fe./)

My medium is everywhere. Can’t stop the signal, Mal.

Radio. This is also how all the, ahem, greats started. Rush Limbaugh, Nat Budgerton, Jeannette Crews, Piers Morgan, etc.

Film supercut, a ballet of interchangeable chaos.

Natural disaster movies. How we get them.

Underwear hockey.


Osaka walk.

Pope-struck-by-meteor sculpture.

Elvis does his bit.

Here ya go. Go on, scroll down. Enjoy. The lungs you get from smoking are cool-looking, kinda Goth, but my favorite is the liver you get from drinking; it’s like I imagine the British food /spotted dick/, which I’ve never seen, but it’s probably like the liver here.

Squeeze Box Man commentary (part 7).

Rockized military cadence. This is so great!

It doesn’t look safe.

Eric O’Shea.

/That Thing You Do./ Free, with ads. Good enough to watch twice. This was Tom Hanks’ favorite movie he ever made, he said once. Everything went smoothly, everyone on the cast and crew liked each other a lot and had a great time doing it, and it turned out perfect, just the sweetest little movie ever.

Stay classy, righteous-strike guys.

She seems nice.

Not a good idea to fall into there, I’d think. Stand a little farther away. The rails should tell you something.

Product contains peanuts.

Haley Reinhart’s latest.

And the rest of these are just a few of the offerings from the astounding Everlasting Blort of just the last week. Bookmark their page. Go there every day:

Two girls, one trailer.

Back to work. (click sound on)

Cultural appropriation. Just kidding. They’re only kimonos. I used to have a kimono when I was little; I thought everybody did. Though in our family it was pronounced kuh-MOH-na and they were made of printed towel-cloth. Good thing there are no pictures of me in that or I could never even be elected dog catcher nowadays, because of the scandal of my racist gender-tone-deaf religio-cultural offense against decency. I’d try to campaign anyway, and try to explain, “It’s a bathrobe, and I was three years old,” but that would only make it worse. Also I remember once pulling the sides of my face back to pretend to be Werner Oland (say VEHR-nuh OH-lunt) as Charlie Chan. He was the best and most Germanic of all the Charlie Chans, just as David Tennant, an exotic Scot, was the best Galifreyan Doctor in /Doctor Who/. I saw all the Charlie Chan movies on the Mexican UHF station that stayed on after the other three teevee stations in L.A. shut off for the night. I’d get out of bed and warm up the Zenith and learn how to fight imaginary crime. Then nearly sixty years later someone stole the catalytic converter right out from under my car and clever Chinese quips don’t really help you in real life. Sure, it’s cute when Charlie Chan’s son runs after him through the hotel lobby, shouting, “Pop! …Pop! …Pop!” and Charlie says, “Pop-pop-pop. Honorable number one son sound rike motaboat! Well? Speak up. What is so important?” but in the real world the /police/ don’t even pretend to do anything about crime. You call them and, “Yeah, we’ve been getting a lot of that lately.” They don’t even come around and look at the hole where your car parts used to be. They have more important things to do. I don’t mean to sound dismissive; I’m sure they have. They must, right? There are sirens going off all the time here; surely they’re not just playing with the switch.

Rolling Stone tribute bands. Scroll down forever. There are a lot of these guys. It’s a whole industry. I notice a lot of resting-bitchy-face.

MRI scan of moving your eyes. This is what all faces look like from the inside, where it counts. Resting bitchy face is only skin deep.


And botanical menorae.


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