House of Wachs

SKIN DEEP

Here's Michael Jackson in a Vegas bookstore with what looks to be office supplies all over his fucked up face.

My god. Will his father just apologize to him already for calling him ugly when he was little? I'm trying to keep down a meal over here.

OK, then. Michael. How about trying this website I found? Barnesandnoble.com. Thanks.

Also thanks to legendary conservative Rush Limbaugh for acknowledging my contribution to the culture.

Rush was pondering what this widely disseminated photo of Hillary Clinton would mean for her chances in the elections.

His conclusion: Not good. The American people don't vote for old and ugly. Interesting theory.

Here's a HOW column from 1/23/07:

Here's why Hillary Clinton will not become president.

She's ugly. Good night! She could promise to repeal the income tax tomorrow and still wouldn't cut it. She's just not attractive. There's no way around it.

Margeret Thatcher was ugly too, but people in England thought she was a male or at the very least, Alistair Cooke, which lent a regal credibility to her. Hillary Jefferson Cunton reminds everyone of the unselected leisure-suited witch in their life, be it recovering alcoholic lesbian spinster aunt or poodle haired real estate agent. She is easily the worst representative of the word female one could credibly put in front of the voting public.  Her penis envy shows on her puffy, weary, Soviet face in every single picture.  When she smiles, it can never mask the companionship of the wide eyes of surprise, the tell-tale sign of an enraged person who must over-emote to hide the smoldering within.

Sure, there are other reasons that invalidate this dumpy, water-logged totalitarian's grab for power.

She's a she. The American public does not want a leader who is prone to emotional outbursts and fits of irrationality.

Her voice.  A public already weary of George Bush's fumbledumble way of speaking will not put up with a shrill woman who says "Ya know" more times than your average NBA center.

But ugly is really all you need to score this one.

That's why I'm thinking my vote in '08 is gonna have to go to this man:

Barack Albino! The clear choice.

Happy birthday to Dr. Mike, who is 45 today. If you're in the Colorado area, and you need a new liver, give him a ring.

CHRISTMAS IS ONLY 3 MONTHS AWAY!

NEW!!! At the House of Wachs Store

The "Don't Tase Me Bro" T-Shirt.

HOW reader Chris Jansen in Athens, GA gets a free shirt for this remarkable idea.

W.I.C. THEATER

Did you see Britney Spears big comeback on the MTV DUI Awards last night? Talk about re-invention! She lip-synced to her new record, "Gimme More," which is the harrowing fable of a young woman who desires as much of the male sex organ as possible, no matter the cost. How fresh! The dead, soulless, cry for help eyes were a nice twist, I thought, and her groggy dancing evoked a tableau of the final minutes of a wonderful romantic evening between a young lady and a stranger with  20 dollar bills in an IGA Supermarket parking lot at 4:47am on a Sunday.

I really liked the part where Harvey Keitel came out dressed as Sport, and told her how much she made him feel like a man while he stroked her hair with his special cocaine finger nail.

But I think Sarah Silverman was mean with her comments. There are children involved, Sarah. Little tiny bastard mongrel children with bright futures if comedians would just stop heckling them for a second.

Let's play a fun game. Can you tell which is Britney out of all these Craigslist prostitutes?

First prize is a nude of Vanessa Hudgens. So is second prize. And third. Get your guess on. Hurry!

YOUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK

Here's a real annoying comment on a previous entry here at the HOW from a couple days ago. This one.

See the picture of the chupacabra with the snaggle tooth? Here's what "Danny"--probably a clever alias--said about that photo.

That tooth on the right has Wachs written on over it.....ROFLMAO

First of all, it doesn't. I'll get to that in a moment.

Second of all, even if your comment was true, "DANNY," it is highly unlikely that it rises to the level of humor where anyone would roll about the floor as if he were consumed with flame, and laughing hard enough for his glutes to fail.

It's more like ROFTBMOA. Rolling On Floor Being My Own Audience, a.k.a .masturbation.

As for the first part, 99% of the Wachs Teeth Project is finished. Here are the results of that trial.

Yeahhhhh, ran out of budget before the nose hairs. Sorry. Next payday perhaps.

No photoshopping here, folks. Just 100% hand blown porcelain from Peru where orphan children blow on tubes as Mayan dwarf artisans shape the tooth. Not too shabby.

My wife tongue-kissed me...voluntarily...for the first time in 27 years! Now I will burn all prints of The Greenskeeper and erase all memory of my old teeth. Oh, happy day! There IS some joy in Yidville. Mighty Wachsy has glammed out.

DON'T GET MAD, GET GLAD

Ya heard?

The Atlanta City Council is considering a ban on the wearing of baggy pants, an activity popular with dangerous and stupid people.

Atlanta Councilman C.T. Martin, says saggy pants are an "epidemic" that are becoming a "major concern."

I've received a huge volume of emails here at the House of Wachs on this hot button issue. Here's a sample from a HOW reader in the Atlanta suburban area:

"Larry, what kind of world is this that allows ghetto youth to parade around town half nude, but I can't wear my white hood to a barbecue with friends?"

Excellent question, and although I understand your outrage at this travesty and your strong desire to see people of rhythm dressed in slacks and white alligator belts, please CONSIDER:

We've been down this road before, in the 80s when we banned the wearing of Viking helmets and large clocks around one's neck.

Remember how many children lost track of time and plunged into drugs and promiscuity?

If you ban baggy pants, how will people be able to tell us that they are dangerous and stupid? Many of them cannot speak or, at best, grunt like animals in order to satisfy their base urges for food, water, and poppin' pussy. This may be our only protection from such desperadoes.

What will Britney Spears' children wear? They didn't choose their womb. We've certainly had enough unwelcome nudity from that family.

Banning baggy pants may stop one slippery slope, but it will certainly start a new one when power mad government officials start banning other things that they don't like. One day we'll all wake up in regret when we realize that they've banned traditions that you or I cherish such as sideways baseball caps, hand jobs on a park bench, and public displays of menorahs.

I propose a solution that is free of government, which then can spend time on the things it does best such as helping single women raise more children.

Why not recruit and pay some of the world's top homosexuals to be seen in public wearing baggy pants and Timberlands? I think you'd see a welcome change of clothing. And think how pleasant it would be to buy some chronic from a lad dressed like Robert Goulet.

WORD!

STATE OF THE ART

I hate to state this publicly for fear of incurring the wrath of my hot-tempered and sexy dermatologist who reads this, but sometimes the risk of skin cancer is worth improving one's physical appearance. It happens so rarely for me to get positive feedback on my appearance, but now I've got a really nice glow to my skin after a week.5 at the beach and a couple of hours of being with a senior citizen in a porn shop. My neighbors are buzzing about my savage tan.

Side note to my hot-tempered, sexy dermatologist--the tan is only on my limbs. My torso and other clothing covered parts are still fish belly white as per your instructions.

I plan on pursuing a pro-tanning agenda that includes extending the current color level until at least the time my teethwork is finished about a month from now. Oh, how I wish it was done already. What a combo. I'm so excited.

Next time Aunt Bunny calls my parents offering to fix up a Wachs boy with actress Ellen Barkin as she did last week, it'll be me, and not the swarthy, Tunisian-inspired look of my brother Dr. Mike, who despite a weight gain of about 20 pounds in the last year, still can open doors with just a smile, while I still need the aid of attorneys and doctors.

Much to his credit, Dr. Mike kept his integrity by refusing the temptation of Barkin up her 52-year old Hollywood tree just because she's a movie star.

"I've already got a wife and girlfriend. It's enough," he explained to my mom, the pimp, who, by the way, has come up with a great cure for sciatica...leaning against the dishwasher! It really works.

Only 7 more days until Phase 1-Bleaching commences. By September, I'll be going to Kohl's to purchase my robe, pipe, and slippers at their annual Half Off Back-To-School Sale, and hosting wine tastings at my condo with a jazz combo playing in the corner. Look out ladies! I've been watching "Big Love" on HBO lately and getting some big ideas.

It is certainly an antidote for the frustrating act of trying to find meaningful work in the radio business circa 2007, where the idea that skillfully produced entertainment can compete for listeners and revenue hasn't quite caught fire just yet. Here's an interesting email I got from a very talented former colleague:

Wachs--

You still jobless too? I can't seem to find the right gig. In the meantime, I am getting incredibly muscular and I plan to use the muscles for good. My original plan was to use them for evil. Then I saw the new Harry Potter movie and good beats evil. How much can you bench? This is the part of the day where I usually send a half assed tape and resume to Idaho or some other Godforsaken place. But today, I am going to start an internet rumor about Lindsay Lohan. If you happen to hear on the streets that Lohan has seven nipples, then you know who the source is. I have pictures.

I work in a warehouse now. I'm a captain of industry.

Hope all is well,

**SENDER REDACTED**

My response:

I am not jobless. Recently, I helped my wife complete a slide show for our neighborhood swim team. The pay was minimal. Actually, it was zero. Actually, I have yet to be reimbursed by the homeowner's association for the $35 of materials it cost me. So, yeah. I'm not jobless. I'm paying to work. But it's still work, and that makes me a worker. It puts me, too, on the side of good, and not evil.

I admire greatly your work ethic and I will do my level best to help spread this fresh Lohan rumor. In fact, if you read about it on TMZ, Defamer, or Drudge, then you can smile knowing that the juice I have with my industry contacts is still flowing. Perhaps you saw the fruits of my recent work floating the rumors that Lance Bass is gay, and Paris Hilton went to jail, neither of which are true, but generally accepted as true by most people. And get this...I happen to know who Ellen Barkin is dating!!!

I saw that the program manager of our former hangout,**STATION CALL LETTERS REDACTED**, has posted a job for producer of **SHOW NAME REDACTED***, which is odd, due to the fact that they have no shortage of producers on that show, and even their producers have producers.

You may want to apply, but my experience tells me that this job is designed solely to be a conduit of information back to the PD on how to get rid of **SHOW NAME REDACTED**, and their negative return on investment. A mole, if you will, inside a show that lacks no producers. Once that show has been dismissed, you will be discarded. But it's probably worth a good 7 months of pay, not to mention the perks of being able to wear nipple clamps, eat freshly made host turds, and jack off into a cup and eat it, while the hosts whine to the press and their agent about what misunderstood victims they are....all on the air, in the name of great morning radio in **MARKET REDACTED**, the nation's number **MARKET SIZE REDACTED** market.

In the meantime, keep your pimp muscles strong.

So as you see, I have now become a haven of comfort for the similarly afflicted. It's like being a homeless advocate only with less odor. I will accept this burden, and invite other talented radio people in or out of the business currently to seek counsel. I will soothe you. Come bask in my glow.

SCIENCE!

How is it that it takes a film studio about 3 hours after a premiere to determine whether a movie stays or goes, a TV network knows within 3 weeks the fate of their new programs, but it takes a radio company 3 years and then maybe just one more quarter to determine whether something DOA will suddenly catch fire? The head. It is on auto-shake.

If that is not enough necksercise for you, CSPI, the Center for Science in the Public Interest, the research and development arm of the Center for Cash Hungry Attorneys With No Discernible Plaintiffs has successfully threatened Kellogg's to back off of using Shrek and other cuddly characters in their ads for cereal.

Science. That's a word that means when you figure that cereals with sugar and cuddly characters endorsing them have been around since before the word obesity was invented, then maybe cereal characters should be thrown out as a suspect in child obesity cases. Science. It can tell you exactly how many households have obese children with incomes over $10 a year make purchasing decisions for the family.

Meanwhile....

If you doubt for a second that porn is completely accepted in the mainstream of American life for people under 30, catch the next ad for AXE Body Spray, or, if you're not a fan of "Adult Swim," "Scrubs" or "Kyle XY," as I am, click here to see.

Their current marketing campaign is summed up by the simple slogan, "Bom Chick a Wah Wah," which is the phonetic pronunciation of a classic guitar lick played during porn scenes. Does this work at all if the target audience doesn't know much about porn?

Big Cologne has always marketed it's products as lady magnets. But they drew the line at what would happen after you got the ladies by the nose. Hai Karate showed adult men fending off (and punching!) horny women in the 60s. Even Hai Karate men had traditional ethical and moral boundaries and they were enforced with a haymaker, if necessary.

The Old Spice Guy attracted women hanging about the wharf, but even they went off into the soft-focused distance, perhaps to a cozy chowder restaurant with a fireplace for some romance. He had a shot, but not a certainty.

"Bom Chick a Wah Wah." Whoa! The Axe people are betting the sex farm that their target audience of 16-30 knows plenty about porn, even it's musical conventions, thus guaranteeing them an encounter with women so sexually aggressive that one sniff of AXE will overcome any gestures of romance or self-defense by the wearer to create a real life porn scene. The floor may even sprout shag carpeting.

Keep chasing Tony the Tiger. He's a problem.

LOVE TUGBOAT

Single gentleman. Call me gay now, thank me later.

It is imperative that you bone up on the prices of women's clothing. Whatever you gotta do. Secret subscription to Vogue. Spending time on the toilet with mom's magazines (which can serve double duty if your mom is hip). I don't care. Just learn about what it costs for women to look hot. It's going to be important someday.

"Love your show," says Teen Manager at the ticket booth.

Yes, but it's not on anymore. Maybe he said "loved." A fan's a fan.

"Thank you."

We're in the movie theater lobby before "Knocked Up," the summer's top anti-abortion comedy. It's about this loser who gets a hot chick drunk and pregnant after a one night stand. I don't want to give away the shocking ending, but it basically outlines how women need men more than men need women.

Anyway, the theater was filled with young ladies and their quarry. Wearing the same clothes as all the hot actresses in the movie. It was absolutely insane. Life aping art? Art aping life? It was a big, circular monkeyfest. It was brazen. The women, by agreeing to go this movie, were telling their dates to their faces, "This is how much I'll probably cost. Pay attention."

According to my wife, who has been worth every penny (ass-kisser), "Some of these girls are wearing $1000 worth of clothing, and are not hookers or bankers. These guys have no clue what they are getting themselves into."

$1000? For a Sunday night date with some schlep who works as a ball cleaner at Monkey Joe's whom she met while her little brother had his 4th accidental birthday party? No way! My wife is just saying that so I don't look at them and think about them in the shower. That can't be true. My wife didn't wear expensive stuff when we were dating, and when I say dating, I am, indeed waggling my fingers in an airquote with one hand and a pantomime of slipping a roofie with the other.

After we got home, I went on Google Clothes. Damned if my wife wasn't telling the truth. Based on my research, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that at least half of the teen princesses in that movie palace were canning the goods with at least a grand, sometimes two, on their hills and valleys. And the guys... They were certainly dressed to their income level with Gap crap that fell on the floor during a sale and managed to evade security. Maybe, just maybe, a Banana Republic Outlet item purchased during a family trip to Destin. They really do have no clue what they are getting themselves into.

So, do yourself a favor. If you aren't willing to fuck a woman of character and integrity, and that can be tough without liquor sometimes, then go ahead and know women's clothing lines and what they cost. Use your leverage while you have it.

Now that I've helped you, back to my own moral dillemmas. Here's an email I received today:

Dear Mr.Wachs.

My name is [MALE NAME], I am 15 and attend XXXX. My parents always hated your show when you guys rocked the rock (96 rock) in the mornings, however I loved it. You provided sense and humor and sexuality in your show and made mornings legendary. My best friend and I, XXXX, always listened to you every morning, and even if I had to take a dump, I would not miss a minute of the show. Now that the reminicing is over, I can really tell you something.

It wasn't two days into the first time I heard you guys that I really started looking up to you guys. I realized that one day, I didn't want to be a radio co-host, but I did want to have as much humor and sense like you. I realized I wanted to be like you. My neighbor is XXXXX who is a DJ on XXXXX and me and him talked about you. He said he had met you before and said you were nice people. It was before that moment that I dreamed of meeting you. I still have that dream, is there any way It can be fulfilled?

Your Friend,

XXXX

Certainly you can see the problem. Hey, look up from that copy of Elle for a second. I'm talking to you.

On one hand, the email is very genuine sounding and flattering. On the other hand, it makes me nervous that I could be getting Punk'ed by someone trying to frame me as a lover of young boys. I don't want to be mean, if this is a sincere email, but these days....

OK, here's what I'm going to do. Shine some light. I will respond here, in a public place, to XXXX's email, and everything will be above board.

Hey pal--

Thanks for the email. It was very thoughtful and flattering of you. It would be great to meet you in person because then you can ask me all the questions about the show you want.

Meet me at Ryan's Steakhouse in Alpharetta, Tuesday at 3. After I get off my shift, we can hang and chat for awhile. Cool? Oh, and bring a sleeping bag with you if you want.

Later.

Nice. Problem solved.

Speaking of Punk'ed, I have a great idea for that show, if it's still on, although I don't think they'd have the balls to do it. The person who does this should be inducted to the Comedy Hall of Fame automatically and handed a lifetime contract on Comedy Central.

OK, I'm watching Dr. Kervorkian, fresh out of jail and onto 60 Minutes. A hero's welcome for Dr. Death. They love him over at 60 Minutes because he helped people kill themselves. Great dude.

But Dr. Kervorkian is a little pissed. First, because he's frustrated as he thinks of the money lost by not being allowed to put  Mike Wallace out of his misery right then and there on the interview floor with his hypnotic death stare that he perfected in prison to stave off unwanted lovers.

The other reason Dr. Kervorkian is upset is that he's out on parole, which means....

"I can't talk in detail about the procedure or advocate a procedure, especially with individuals," he explains.

He says he cannot offer counsel to anybody or advise people how to commit suicide. And he cannot be present at a suicide or euthanasia.

So how great would it be to set up Dr. Kervorkian in a mall food court or hotel room or something with hidden cameras, and some actor comes along and pretends to slit his wrists in front of Dr. Kervorkian? The look on his face would be priceless, don't you think?

GET OUTTA HERE, YOU'RE KILLING US!

So much confusion swirling in my head. I come back to town and things are not right. Let's empty it all out on a clean sheet of virtual paper and see if we cannot make some sense of it.

I was mildly surprised over the weekend to see that in the AJC's business section, they had a glowing profile of the brothel in Gwinnett belonging to Lisa Ann Taylor, aka Melissa Wolf, aka The Prostitute at Sugar Loaf.

"...the master bedroom has red —- lipstick red —- walls. The spacious suite is on the main level and, accented with rich fabrics and Asian motifs, casts a sensuous mood.

"This," said Lisa sardonically as she strolled into the suite, "is the infamous bedroom."

Silk, velvet and brocade pillows are piled high on the bed next to a faux mink throw. And a gracefully curving chaise slopes invitingly before the suite's fireplace, one of four in the house."

Obviously, this room was not designed for prostitution at all.

The rest of the article lovingly describes what is a very splendid home for a hard-working woman trying to please men but finds herself charged with violating RICO statutes. I tend to believe she's guilty of nothing more serious than lowering her neighborhood's property values and raising their divorce rate, but still....

Contrast that with when Yours Jewly took one for the team a few months back. Do you recall seeing this in the AJC?

The disgraced radio host's kitchen has beautiful, seamless granite countertops with a raised eat-in kitchen bar on the island. Wachs' floors are hardwoods all the way back to the spacious and sunny family room wired for surround sound and with a stone gas fireplace, leading out to a charming porch with chairs for a smoke and a sip on a late Friday evening as you wonder what the hell is going on?

No you didn't read that. Because they didn't do any such profile of me. Sucks. What next? A tour of Heather the Hottie Bank Robber's vacation home in Destin?

Melissa Wolf has some great PR skills buried underneath her other two-letter anagram skills, I will grudgingly admit. Even her reviews on The Erotic Review, the consumer reports of prostitution, are uniformly glowing. This from a gentleman named MuffMaster69:

"....After a very sloppy (and the good kind of sloppy) **** I returned the favor by feasting on her beautiful ****...Man, it like eating honey! She must've **** 3 times!!!!!!!!"

Very nice, but wouldn't it be a little safer for society and children if Whole Foods sold honey that was flavored like the vagina of a 42-year old stripper who's been with over 300 men, women, and objects in the past month? Less stigma. Higher property values.

I hope they ran the piece to help her sell the place faster and at a better price. I can get behind that. I think the Gwinnett DA is really going over the top on this one, although it does distract him from shutting down more Mexican grow houses.

But she needs to sell that house and get out of that neighborhood. She got a little too wild for the room. In theory, the idea of having a brothel in your subdivision has immense appeal. But after thinking it over with some soap and a washcloth in my shower, I've decided that in practicality, It's better to have a golf course. She's gotta sell it.

You should hire a decorator to fancy up an abandoned warehouse along Route 29 in Lawrenceville and you'll have all the business you can handle in a neighborhood where no one cares, honey biscuit.

Also singeing my nerves these days is the research project I've undertaken to find a new car for my beautiful wife as the lease is almost up on her current buggy. Great timing, lease.

I do like leasing, though. You get a new car for an affordable price every 3 years. No one really wants a car older than that.

It's hard enough buying a car as a man, for yourself. But getting a car for a woman is triply painful.

"Honey, look at this. Consumer Reports loves it. JD Power is glowing. It's got passing speed, cargo room and great safety features, plus Sirius, sunroof, navigation, third row seating, and it's $200 less per month than the older car your driving now."

"Does it have a pedicure protector on the gas pedal?"

"Uh...no."

"I don't want that car."

Now I'm getting a barrage of calls and email from car dealers well into 8:30 at night when I'm trying to watch American Idol while I clean my gun.

Here's my favorite call of today:

"Hi, this is Sandy from James Lofton Hummer in Lithonia. How are you today, Mr......Wash..is?"

"Wachs."

"Walks?"

"Wachs."

"Wolchez?"

"Wachs!"

"Way-chiz?"

"Wachs!"

"Woks?"

"OK, fine."

"Well, that's good. Mr...Walsh, the reason I'm calling is....."

Wait, lemme guess. You're calling to sell me a car?

"...that the 2007 Acura Labia w/Premium package and Alloy Wheels is still available."

What a surprise!

"I'm not interested in that car anymore. But thank you."

"Oh, what models are you looking at, do you mind me asking?"

It's really not her concern now, is it?

Oh, there is a way to turn around a "no," but this friendly chit-chat is not it.

Had she said, "Look, come in. I'll give you a nice massage in the conference room and then you can have the car for $120 a month," I would have changed my mind and bought it. Doesn't make the car any safer or less of a rapidly depreciating piece of junk, but I'm not driving it, so what do I care?

Hang up, sharp knees. You lost the sale. There'll be others. Just not now.

The Braves are looking weak to me, but they have world class PR people on the payroll, and great spin will put people in the seats despite the giant holes in the roster that the Mets, Marlin, or Phils will gallop through around July. Contributing to the problems: injury prone players, outfielders trying out for 2nd base, counting on Mike Hampton. Even "Salty," lasts year's spring phenom has been outrighted to another year at Double A.

Now Chipper has an ankle sprain. This after switching to bigger shoes to alleviate his foot problems, and telling the media how he didn't work out at all in the offseason.

Jeff Schultz of the AJC interviewed him March 5th.

"Last year I worked out three hours a day and I still played 110 games," Jones said. "I worked so hard on my core last offseason, and what happens? I get two oblique injuries.

"I was drinking a lot of whey shakes, eating a lot of protein bars, a lot of oatmeal, a lot of yogurt, a lot of eggs whites."

And now?

"And now, I still have a lot of egg whites, but with the yolks," he said. "Candy bars have taken the place of the protein bars. Instead of the whey shakes, I get those cookies-and-cream milkshakes from Chick-fil-A."

Oh yummy! What a delicious way to say, "I'm 35, I've got enough money. I don't give a shit anymore, so quit hassling me you left-wing sissy sportswriter who's probably an anemic putz and got teased and lived in a plastic bubble when he was 9." And that's fine. He's earned it. I probably would, too, if I could.

But for dignity and PR sake, couldn't Chipper just switch to a better trainer or regimen instead of flaunting the fact that he's made a choice to be the new John Kruk? You're not John Kruk. People liked him for his Regularguyishness^TM, not his belly. Do you think America would've have embraced Gary Cooper if he had manboobs? Fat and stoic is no way to go through life, son.

"It's only a mild sprain," chirp the beat writers, as if this is a fluke for Chipper and he won't ever get hurt the entire season. As if he won't sprain his thumb eating a ham biscuit or something by the time May rolls around. Boy, these guys really know the drill.

All I'm saying is, don't expect anything more than a mild improvement over last year's Braves team. The bullpen is vastly improved, but you have to have a bunch of starters who can hand them a lead, and I may be wrong, but perhaps the memory of Ryan Howard hitting 3 of Tim Hudson's best pitches out of the park in one game still is fresh.

I think most fans understand that the sale of the team is affecting operations significantly so you get what you get and have less margin for error than other clubs. When your personnel can't get it done, you need to marshall all your PR resources to make it entertaining and dramatic for the 6 long, hot months ahead. I hope they do well. I hope they surprise. Just do it at the expense of somebody else's radio career this time, please? Drain resources from the Cowboy Bob show why don't you? Thanks.

No doubt the club has made the town a better, more prideful place in the last decade, so they deserve some patience while the lawyers and accountants do their thing for a couple of years. I leave you with this quote from a motorist placard at the 316/85 interchange construction project:

"Let 'em work. Let 'em live. Slow down." Amen.

And amen to my good pal, the Kimmer, who chose to exercise his FU money option and retire from the game of radio after a couple of great centuries. Semper Fi, big buddy. Where's that job you turned down? I know someone who'd be great for it. You're killing me!

BALDYS UP, HAIRYS DOWN

Yes, I shaved. Why? Because I have replaced Nardelli as the the new Jefe of Home Depot. Hell, I'm good at getting fired, so I figure I'll take a job that pays me a couple hundred million to get canned as opposed to one that affords me the opportunity to pay lawyers thousands in legal fees and bail money. Makes sense, no?

Truth is, I have no full-time employment currently. What happened was I got home last night from another brilliant 2 hours of talk radio on 92.3 FREE FM, and made myself a nice cup of chamomile tea and put on some Air Supply to wind down as is my custom.

Drowsiness set in, but sleep was difficult. I kept dreaming that Rosie O'Donnell was sitting on my face. My lips were chapped from the constant licking in order to savor the leftover goodness of that evening's delicious Chicken Tikka Masala that I enjoyed at my favorite Indian place, The Brown Derby. Skin mites started a housing project on my chest, and made my neck tingle as they made their commutes to the flaky skin mines underneath the tangle of facial hair.

Enough. Last night, at 1:30am, I called up my team of shaving implements, and we razed the village.

I think the beard peaked in the early 20th century when cough drop box models wore them, sparking a craze. Millions of pneumatically-challenged Americans idolized the Smith Brothers who were the kings of cough suppression. The castor oil and goose grease companies tried hastily to sign Mary Pickford to a deal showing some ankle on their bottles, but it never took.

Then penicillin came along and the Smith Brothers became uncool. The beard went the way of the dodo, which enjoyed immense popularity as neckwear for men before the invention of the ascot in 1672, and fashionistas latched onto the herpes simplex sore as the "must have" facial accessory of today.

I don't know if the beard will ever make a full comeback like in it's heyday. The 80s saw some activity in the mainstream. My last beard was in 1984. Here were my beard role models then.

These were men of great leadership and their well-groomed jaws represented order and quiet strength. I wore my beard proudly for three years before shaving it off when I took a job as fund raiser for "Mullets of Love" and was forced to concentrate my energies on the party in the back.

But today's beard role models are different.

Today's beards are the realm of the underworld. My decision becomes quite crystalline.

Yes, I have failed to stick with the "Whiskers of Fate" project. How will fate treat me now that I have fatally dealt with my whiskers? Well, that's between me and my karmic deity.

Yes, I am afraid, but what is a man if he never faces his fears? He is a man with a lot of fears and a too much hair.

Baldys up, hairys down. Peace.

larry

LARRY'S BEARD

2006-2007