Reminds me of the launch controller's quip as everybody stood gawking at the expanding fireball that had been Challenger: "Obviously a major malfunction." Even at the age of nine, the idiocy of the statement rankled me.
See what steroids do to people? They screw up your hormones, your tissues, your attitude, everything.
Skeletor was just your run-of-the-mill bodybuilder. But he wanted more. And as his ambitions grew and festered, so did his muscles, because he had started taking 'roids. But soon, the drugs took over his life, his personality...even his face grew gaunt, frighteningly so. His gym buddies came to fear his skeletal visage and budding megalomania. It seemed that he was not content just to win all of the bodybuilding contests with his 'roid-honed physique, no, he wanted the world.
He took to playing with swords and necromancy. As the drugs exacted their toll, tearing away the last shreds of Skeletor's humanity (and the remainder of his face,) the transfigured bodybuilder retreated to the dark castle he had bought with the winnings from the Mr. Eternia competition. And there he resides today, conducting his ghastly experiments on the deceased, and plotting against the living, his tragic life a grim object lesson for steroid users everywhere.
While [promoters] are often seen as dubious, they did have a knack for getting new acts their break on FM radio...station programmers may soon become even less adventurous in choosing which songs get tapped for rotation on FM stations' heavily guarded playlists.
The term "station programmer" is appropriate, considering that in many radio markets, the disk jocky or board operator is a computer.
I listen to a local ClearChannel AM station in order to hear Coast to Coast AM and occasional sports broadcasts. On too many occasions, there have been instances of 15+ minutes of dead air, or even better, two simultaneous audio feeds being broadcasted over the airwaves.
This stuff pisses me off, so like a fool I try to contact the station, but my calls go unanswered, as do my emails. There is nobody there. Or nobody who cares to respond to their captives/customers. And being a monopoly, why should they? It's all arithmatic.
Meanwhile, I pick from three local FM community stations for quality programming. For morbid kicks, I let the dial linger on one of the commercial stations for a minute or so and let their vapid glop reverberate in my ears. It is less than nothing, like a snack of cotton candy and ramen noodles.
Fortunately, there's the Internet. I can get any damned kind of music I want over the Internet. So take heart, radio listeners--you don't need a radio to listen to radio when you have a computer. This is why the hedgemons have no future. Let them rot.
Slashdot Mirror
Hope is here, slashdotter.
Why don't they just share the fucking island? These disputes are enervating and pointless.
I'd settle for mine getting on that bowling team on The Surreal Life.
Reminds me of the launch controller's quip as everybody stood gawking at the expanding fireball that had been Challenger: "Obviously a major malfunction." Even at the age of nine, the idiocy of the statement rankled me.
Skeletor was just your run-of-the-mill bodybuilder. But he wanted more. And as his ambitions grew and festered, so did his muscles, because he had started taking 'roids. But soon, the drugs took over his life, his personality...even his face grew gaunt, frighteningly so. His gym buddies came to fear his skeletal visage and budding megalomania. It seemed that he was not content just to win all of the bodybuilding contests with his 'roid-honed physique, no, he wanted the world.
He took to playing with swords and necromancy. As the drugs exacted their toll, tearing away the last shreds of Skeletor's humanity (and the remainder of his face,) the transfigured bodybuilder retreated to the dark castle he had bought with the winnings from the Mr. Eternia competition. And there he resides today, conducting his ghastly experiments on the deceased, and plotting against the living, his tragic life a grim object lesson for steroid users everywhere.
The term "station programmer" is appropriate, considering that in many radio markets, the disk jocky or board operator is a computer.
I listen to a local ClearChannel AM station in order to hear Coast to Coast AM and occasional sports broadcasts. On too many occasions, there have been instances of 15+ minutes of dead air, or even better, two simultaneous audio feeds being broadcasted over the airwaves.
This stuff pisses me off, so like a fool I try to contact the station, but my calls go unanswered, as do my emails. There is nobody there. Or nobody who cares to respond to their captives/customers. And being a monopoly, why should they? It's all arithmatic.
Meanwhile, I pick from three local FM community stations for quality programming. For morbid kicks, I let the dial linger on one of the commercial stations for a minute or so and let their vapid glop reverberate in my ears. It is less than nothing, like a snack of cotton candy and ramen noodles.
Fortunately, there's the Internet. I can get any damned kind of music I want over the Internet. So take heart, radio listeners--you don't need a radio to listen to radio when you have a computer. This is why the hedgemons have no future. Let them rot.
At last, a man who knows where the umlaut key is.