>>> The Lady's Shave
By staff writer NG Hatfield
April 8, 2007

Junior Year—West Virginia University

I don’t know much about cooking, but I’ll tell you right now reader: a turkey baster can really get you into trouble! No, I’m not talking about overglazing Mom’s Christmas ham (though the sexual implications of overglazing anything seem to be what I’m about to tell you).

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.