April Winchell

Big Ass Update

What a big week. Really, I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

First of all, I did Mr. KABC's show last Friday night, and I had an excellent time. I just love him. He is such a pleasure to work with, and is probably the most generous person working in radio today. With the possible exception of Paul Harvey.

Speaking of Paul Harvey, here is the track I mentioned on Friday's show, but never got around to playing. It's three minutes, but well worth the effort.

Mr. K had an in-studio audience for the show last Friday. He had invited one of his sponsors and his wife to sit in and watch us waste three hours of everyone's time. What wonderful people they were. They even brought me some lovely gifts, such as this Pez Popcorn. While it registered at the time that it sounded vaguely disgusting, it was only later, in the harsh light of day, that I grasped what a horrible concept lemon flavored corn really is.

Still, I think the popcorn would make an excellent Bingo prize. Which brings me to my next bit of news.

Bingo

On Monday, August 4th, I will once again be calling bingo games and handing out shitty prizes at Ballroom Bingo. The devilish Baron Von Bingo has invited me to participate again, and since I had such fun last time, I could only say yes. In fact, I may make this a regular thing, and do it on the first Monday of every month.

I would love to see you there, so please write "Bingo" on your calendar in a large, childlike scrawl. Ballroom Bingo is held at The Parlour, a fabby little dive in West Hollywood, with an equally lurid crowd. Admission is free, bingo cards are free, and when you see the prizes, you'll understand why.

More importantly, there are $3 dirty martinis to be had, and the tenor of the evening grows increasingly more hysterical and surreal as more alcohol is consumed. So please, come down and drink heavily. It only makes me seem funnier.

The Parlour
7702 Santa Monica Boulevard
West Hollywood, CA 90046
(between Fairfax and La Brea at Stanley)
Phone: (323) 650-7968
7:00 to 10:00 PM

The Parlour is a very small club, so try to arrive a few minutes early.

New MP3s

I've uploaded a few MP3s from Friday's show, and I hope you enjoy them.

First, in the Bizarre Covers section in Multimedia, I have Senor Coconut's rendition of Michael Jackson's immortal Beat It. Dear God, I love this track. I would listen to this every day of my life, provided I only had about two weeks left to live.

By the way, I made a little faux-pas on the Mr. KABC show and said that Senor Coconut was the alter-ego of the German techno band, "Kraftwerk". Fortunately, longtime ex-listener RoseMary emailed me to say that "Senor Coconut is German-bred and Chilean-based, ambient-techno artist Uwe Schmidt. He did, however, record an album of Kraftwerk covers". Apologies to Uwe, who is probably really pissed off.

Next up, Carl Lewis, butchering the national anthem at a New Jersey Nets game on January 21, 1993. The terrorists have already won.

And for those of you who just don't get enough Hip-Hop, The National Fuel Gas Distribution Company presents Rappin' With Gas. Because if there's one thing those natural gas people understand, it's the youth market. Rizzle with Gizzle, y'all.

Next, in the "Terrifying Christian Recordings" section, look for Tammy Faye Bakker's musical laughing freak-out, The Joy of the Lord. I firmly believe this is the music that greets you at the fiery, gaping mouth of hell.

Because I feel so damn good today, I'm going to throw in another piece of frightening Christiana. This was sent to me by longtime ex-listener David. It's a song by someone named Chris Rice, who wonders what cartoon characters would sound like if they were saved by Jesus Christ. I on the other hand, wonder what Chris Rice would sound like if he weren't out of his mind.

And last but not least, Thurl Ravenscroft just wants to go to a Wing-a-Ding-Ding. And really, who can blame him?

Porn

Finally, I received an email last week from longtime ex-listener who wrote, "I enjoy your web site, despite its lack of porn".

This really got me thinking. Perhaps it's my responsibility, as a webstress and content provider, to occasionally give you some prurient material.

To that end, I would like to present to you two highly inappropriate images. I'd like to present more, but I have my standards, such as they are, and not any old beaver shot will do. There has to be something . . . special about it. I think you'll agree, these two images have that certain je ne sais quoi.

Please note, this is really porn (or "pron" as the kids like to say). Don't say I didn't warn you.

First, longtime ex-listener Matt sent me this shot. When I opened this file, I knew I couldn't keep it to myself. Matt calls it "Love American Style". I call it terrifying.

Now before you get all pissy, you have to admit that if you were walking down the street and you stumbled on this scene, and you had a camera, you would absolutely have taken a picture of it as well. Even if it was with your little Sprint phone, you would do it. In fact, that scenario might even make a good Sprint commercial. I'm going to write that up and submit it.

Anyway, the picture reminded me of a New Year's Day about 10 years ago. I was picking someone up from the train station downtown. As we started to drive away, we saw a homeless man walking down the street, masturbating. We both looked at each other and said, "Happy New Year!". Good times.

This next picture is a bit of vintage 1970's porn which I found on a file sharing site. The poster calls it, "Chicks Dig Fros". Damn straight.

To me, this picture is notable for two reasons.

First, the decor, which pretty much speaks for itself, though I would be remiss if I didn't make mention of the wooden swag lamp and the blue Naugahyde ottoman, which has seen some terrible things.

Second, I am always fascinated by people with bad bodies who want to get into porn. Not the girl so much, because we didn't have Photoshop then and everyone had cellulite. No, more the man, who has the tiniest penis in the history of pornography. He might be compensating with his hair.

Ah well. As we say at Bingo, "It's all about the balls".