You see, a few months ago, I had the prestigious privilege of being on WVU’s
college radio, U92 (aptly named U for University… an idea that just is so
fucking original I might squeeze out one right now…). But yeah, when I heard I
was going to be talking about my poetry and how I was working with a hardcore
metal band (named SUDDEN DEATH!!! or DEATH SQUAD, some stupid shit like that) to
turn retarded deathmetal into a hilarious experience, I told my buddies (read:
bragged to the point of being tackled).
They proceeded to insist that they give me codewords that I had to nudge into
conversation. So, I said “Sure, what the fuck?” and they gave me my words:
“turkey baster” and “chipmunk.”
"I’m like the turkey baster to their Alvin and the
Chipmunks.
Double points!!!"
Well, during the course of my interview, the large black
woman decided to ask me a series of mundane questions
about my poetry, and not the combination of it with horrible
shitmetal, which was basically the entire point of me being on the
air. So, I took control of the conversation and moved to set up a
codeword.
“I don’t use women in my poetry very often,” I said.
“Why is that?” she asked, as if she truly cared about my poetic theory. What
a dumb bitch.
“Well, because I once had this girlfriend,” I said, “and she used this turkey
baster… in inappropriate ways. It essentially scarred me for life. I
don’t even like thinking about what I do to women when I do it, let alone
write about them and their whorish, manipulative ways.”
That’s right. I made a dirty vagina joke on the radio. But that wasn’t enough
for my friends. After I had said those seedy things, the fat hooch decided to go
to music break and scold me for such poor public manners.
“Okay, I’ll behave.”
Did I?
C’mon son! Do you really think I wouldn’t use “chipmunk” after I used “turkey
baster?” Hells no. Chipmunk is so much easier to use than turkey baster.
Especially after my buddy Dan texted me saying, “NOW WHERE IS CHIPMUNK?!”
So, after the music stopped playing (Aerosmith’s “Other Side”), the bitch
finally started with the metal band: “Tell me about this unique combination of
music and poetry.”
“Essentially we’re like Alvin and THE CHIPMUNKS.” I made it apparently clear
that this was a codeword.
She laughed nervously, “What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m like the turkey baster to their Alvin and the Chipmunks.” Double
points!!!
“I don’t follow,” she said, pointing at me from her booth with an incensed
look. It was hilarious.
I coddled her. “Essentially, I’m like Dave. I get up there, scream and they
play. It’s a call and response sort of deal. It goes silent.
I yell a line of poetry, then they trash for a few seconds. People really
like it.”
“Sounds like a great time!”
“Oh, it’s fun,” I said, and reclined back in the shitty felt chair, feeling
utterly complete.
The conversation continued for maybe five minutes, with me just bullshitting
about the band (which I didn’t even know the correct name of, and still don’t).
I left the radio station with perhaps the most satisfying feeling I had had in
some time. My buddies enjoyed it, and were adamant about buying me a round at
Finns, this shitty little bar that caters to under-aged kids (I was 20, mind
you). So, I got hammered in celebration of sticking it to The Man.
Sure enough, I quickly found out that the University didn’t take too kindly
to my radio rebellion. I was emailed the following day from the University’s
ethics board:
Mr. Gaudio,
We’d like to have a few words with you about your unseemly actions on U92.
Please stop by the office tomorrow at your convenience.
Yes, it was my third trip there. The first had to do with giving my
University ID to my buddy Tom so he could get into a football game. The second
had to do with writing papers for money—which I got out of by saying I was
writing “example essays” and that what they should be doing is failing the
bastard (nark!) who
plagiarized my helpful essays. Which, hilariously, was done… proving that
you don’t fuck with me.
Long story short, I was put on probation for the rest of the semester. Even a
traffic ticket, they said, would justify another fucking “meeting” about my
discouraging behavior.
Looking back, I’ve got to say that the funniest thing about this experience
is that nothing really happened. I’d say that this is most likely because U92
plays shitty music and nobody ever listens to it. Of course, I knew better than
to blatantly swear on the radio, and WVU’s ethic’s board has bigger fish to fry…
what with the couch fires we have after every home game.
So, maybe a turkey baster can’t get you into so much trouble; but, maybe
that’s because I just said “turkey baster” and I didn’t stick one up the
Dean’s fat ass and suck out all of that Crisco.
But now maybe that’ll get me into serious trouble too! Nobody can take
a fucking joke in academia.
Next week, I think I’ll continue with these fun little memories. After last
week, I was challenged to use codewords in an article (“asshole,” “jam” and
“German Shepard”) and it seemed to work out well. It got me thinking about it
and hell, I’m nearly graduated.
P.S.
Greenpeace. Knapsack. Dildo. Mayonnaise.
