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about

The debut episode of the radio drama! DJs DSNT and A Fluid Thing discover subliminal messages to drink Mr Pibb on cassette tapes and decide to investigate. Meanwhile, the National Audubon Society faces legal issues.

lyrics

Narrator: In a quiet unsuspecting little town, there lives a college called Oberlin, upon whose back there ungainly squats a radio station. The DJs who frequent this radio station are not, as one would expect, the heroes of their community. A wiser man than I might refer to them as “epically boring”. A show each week is given two hours to culminate the Herculean efforts of these DJs as they compress their life’s worth of musical experience into a playlist. This playlist is broadcast over a very small area where it is almost certain that no one is listening. For the most part, except for the far-reaching tendrils of observation possessed only by great Cthulhu himself, their actions will go unnoticed.

For now.

Dun dun dunnnnnnnnn.

We find our DJs, A Fluid Thing and DSNT sitting in the Fairchild lounge, drinking fine scotch and mourning the loss of Electrosaurus Rex.

Music: You Can’t Hurry Love by Phil Collins.

DSNT: You remember that time we serenaded them when they came in the station?

Fluid: Yeah, they really liked that. I think they did.

DSNT: They probably spent the entirety of their show ringing the boner bell.

Fluid: Ha, yeah. Remember that time we rang the boner bell when they came in?

DSNT: They totally didn’t get that joke. We spent an hour planning it!

Fluid: We always think so hard about everything. I don’t think anyone gets us.

DSNT: Remember that time we brought them five dollar footlongs?

Fluid: No?

DSNT: Oh, right. That was me. Standing in their door. Late at night. By myself. I got my pants on by the time the police got there, luckily. Good times…

(Beat)

Fluid: Remember the time that we Rickrolled them?

DSNT: When we played it at them or when we sang it?

Fluid: Both of them, I guess.

DSNT: Ha ha! Yeah. They won’t make electronica shows quite the same anymore, will they?

Fluid: You know what I think? I think we’ll have a great show after us next semester and we’ll form the same kind of relationship with them that we had with Electrosaurus Rex.

DSNT: I suppose.

(Beat)

DSNT: Did you hear that?

Fluid: What, the song?

DSNT: Yeah, something sounds weird with the tape.

Fluid: Sounds fine to me.

DSNT: I’m going to take a look at it, I think it must be dirty or something.

SFX: The song stops and DSNT takes the tape out.

Fluid: Is it okay?

DSNT: I think so. Wait. Look at this.

Fluid: Look at what?

DSNT: The ribbon. There’s a smudge on it that looks exactly like a…chicken foot or something.

Fluid: Hey, yeah, I see that.

DSNT: Look at this ribbon, I think it’s covered in them.

Fluid: Did the player do it to them?

DSNT: I don’t know…do you have cassette tape cleaner?

Fluid: I read somewhere that you can play a tape backwards to clean it.

DSNT: I guess I’ll do that.

SFX: DSNT puts the tape back in the player. It starts playing backwards. Over the song, we can quite clearly hear the following words:

Tape: Drink Mr Pibb. (Pause.) Drink Mr Pibb. (Pause.) Drink Mr Pibb. (Pause.) Are you drinking it yet? (Pause.) Seriously, drink it. (Pause.) I’ll kill your family if you don’t start drinking Mr Pibb. (Pause.) I have a knife on me. (Pause.) Okay, I was kidding about that. I don’t really want to hurt you, I just want you to drink Mr Pibb. (Pause.) Drink Mr Pibb.

Fluid: Well, that’s weird. Who would do that to your tape?

DSNT: It sounds like it was recorded in there on purpose.

Fluid: Like a “Paul is dead” type prank? Maybe the patterns are to alert us to its presence.

DSNT: Maybe. You know, I’d be horrified by this if it were anyone other than Phil Collins.

Fluid: I wonder if the company hired him to do that.

DSNT: Maybe he just really, really likes Mr Pibb. This would probably be a really good time to start circulating a rumor about him. “Hey, I hear that Phil Collins has a pool that he fills entirely with Mr Pibb, then he electrifies it by throwing a toaster into it, and then swims around naked with several hairless Puerto Rican pool boys, all of whom have a master’s degree in inappropriate homosexual encounters from the University of Nightmarish Parasexual Fantasy.

Fluid: At least two of the pool boys are Scientologists, and the rest follow the teachings of Zoroaster.

DSNT: Hey, isn’t that a city in New York?

Fluid: Zoroaster? No, he’s…uh…I guess imagine Jesus, but instead of the laser vision he’s a robot from the crab nebula and is at least eleven stories tall. And instead of prayer, you worship him through vigorously masturbating to pictures of batons.

DSNT: What?

Fluid: I mean…why don’t we investigate this more?

DSNT: How could we possibly investigate this?

Fluid: The only way I know how.

DSNT: Let’s take it to the lab.

Fluid: Actually, I was going to say take a nap, but that works, too.

DSNT: Great! But first…let’s get some Mr Pibb.

Fluid: Yeah! I was just craving some, too.

Music: The Hawaii Five-O theme.

Narrator: Meanwhile, in Non-Sequituria, we find a local swine farmer speaking to his impressionable young daughter.

Swine Farmer: I sure am excited about the square dance.

Swine Farmer’s Daughter Wife: Gee, pa, I sure am excited about being pregnant with your baby!

Swine Farmer: Well, wait a sec. We can’t afford this here baby. We needs to get rid of it. What say you go down to the cellar and get me some peach preserves?

Swine Farmer’s Daughter Wife: Well all righty then…

Swine Farmer: Abortion….PAWNCH!!!!!!!

Swine Farmer’s Daughter Wife: Dammit, pa, that’s the third one this month!

Swine Farmer: Oh Sue-Bob, when will you ever learn, women can’t tell time.

Sue-Bob: I used that radiomabob who told me the time every hour on the hour! Here, let me show you!

SFX: She turns on the radio. (Recording of “And, fortunately, the hemorrhoids killed an entire school bus full of…) Feed the Pig PSA.

Sue-Bob: Gee, pa! That there God and his American government must be angry about that there abortion you just gave me. Maybe we should start savin’ money so we’ll be able to afford them there contraceptives.

Swine Farmer: Who told you about those?!

Music: Love Potion No. 9.

Narrator: Meanwhile, our intrepid DJs have finally reached the lab. They gave their mysterious cassette tape to the 2009 recipient of the Nobel Prize in Chemistry, Dr. Flavor Fresh, for a substance analysis of the chicken feet.

DSNT: Well, that was an ordeal.

Fluid: I thought that swans were herbivores. Good thing I had my tiger repellent spray on me.

DSNT: Well, we all make mistakes. Anyway, now we can get down to business.

Fluid: Tell us, Dr. Flavor Fresh, did you find anything?

Flavor Fresh: Why, I’m glad you asked. You see, the tape is covered in a chemical known as…brainium. It’s a rare chemical that, in large doses, can rehabilitate…stroke…victims from most of their loss of momentum. However, in small doses to people who have never had…strokes…the chemical produces an effect not unlike that of sodium pentathol, which is better known to you non-science jive turkeys as “truth serum.”

Fluid: Who would do such a thing?

Flavor Fresh: While we have almost no evidence to…examine…besides the chicken-feet imprint on the tape, I would suggest you get other cassette tapes from the same store and bring them to me. I can examine them for more…brainium.

Fluid: Where did you get the tape?

DSNT: The guy who runs Java Zone has a black market cassette tape trade running out of Gibson’s. I got a box of a thousand for five bucks last week.

Fluid: Why Gibson’s? That doesn’t make any sense.

DSNT: Exactly…

Flavor Fresh: While you two investigate, I’ll whip up some…Love Potion No. 9.

Fluid: You mean the stuff from that song that’s playing in the background?

Narrator: We venture now to the bootleg record store in Gibson’s. Among the cramped aisles of the convenience store are strewn cassette tapes, records, CDs, and other dusty entertainment mediums. The clerk at the counter is a horrifying one-nostriled monster sporting a flock-of-seagulls haircut.

Clerk: CAN I HELP YOU?

Fluid: Why are you talking in Caps Lock?

Clerk: I WAS BORN WITH TOO MANY HORMONES.

Fluid: Which hormones?

Clerk: ALL OF THEM.

Fluid: I’m so sorry.

Clerk: WHY SHOULD I BE AN OBJECT OF YOUR PITY? I LIVE MY LIFE EVERY DAY LIKE EVERYONE ELSE, RUNNING AN INNOCENT ILLEGAL RECORD STORE. I WAKE UP EVERY MORNING, SHAVE MY BACK WITH A STRAIGHT RAZOR, COME TO WORK, AND HEAR CRAP FROM IGNORANT LITTLE SPUNK MONKIES LIKE YOU ABOUT HOW TALL I AM OR HOW BAD I SMELL OR HOW MY BACKHAIR GROWS AT A SEEMINGLY VISIBLE RATE. I CAN’T STAND LIVING ANYMORE, BUT THEN I REALIZE THAT WITHOUT ME ALL THE KITTENS IN THE WORLD WILL DIE IN BURNING BUILDINGS. SEE, I WORK AT A FIRE STATION ON THE SIDE AND SPECIALIZE IN KITTEN-RESCUING.

DSNT: That was altogether too much information.

Fluid: Oh, no, I was interested!

Clerk: IT’S OKAY, PEOPLE OFTEN INSULT ME ABOUT MY VERBOSE SPEAKING HABITS.

DSNT: Can we buy some more cassette tapes?

Clerk: WHY, YES. WE HAVE A SPECIAL TODAY ON CASSETTE TAPES. IF YOU PROMISE TO GIVE COPIES TO ALL YOUR FRIENDS, YOU GET TWENTY MORE FREE.

DSNT: I’ll take a dozen!

Fluid: Wait, do we really need–

Clerk: WE ALSO HAVE A SPECIAL RELATED TO THAT. IF YOU BUY A DOZEN OF THE FIRST SPECIAL, YOU GET OUR FULL STOCK OF LASERDISCS.

DSNT: Well, while we’re at it, why don’t you give us all your VHS tapes.

Fluid: Why would you want that much? We just needed a few cassette tapes.

Clerk: IT’S A DEAL. THAT’LL BE ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS.

SFX: Ka-Ching!

DSNT: Hey, what’s with all these HD-DVDs?

Clerk: I WAS SWORN TO SILENCE!

SFX: Hari-kiri.

Clerk: MY ONLY REGRET IS THAT I HAD TOO MANY HORMONES.

Fluid: That seemed largely unnecessary.

DSNT: Speaking of largely, let’s see what we can fit up its nose.

Fluid: That’s just disrespectful! We should report this to the police.

DSNT: Sting has no power in this county! Oh, also, let’s take its wallet. I mean get these cassette tapes, laserdiscs, VHSes, and HD-DVDs I happened to find and most definitely did not just steal back to the lab.

Fluid: Well, I guess while we’re committing a surprising amount of larceny, I’ll take this Roberta Flack CD.

Narrator: Meanwhile, in Non-Sequituria, the intrepid young Toshi is approached by a shadowy businessman, the likes of whom he has never seen before.

Shadowy Businessman: Toshi-san, my men have been watching you for months now, and we have much to discuss.

Toshi: What? I’m just a penniless, nubile 18-year old Asian man.

Shadowy Businessman: Exactly…and I have a business proposal for you. How would you like to be able to afford everything you’ve ever wanted that you can’t afford now? Your parents could have a gold Jacuzzi, on the money you can earn in a month of working for me

Toshi: What exactly did you have in mind?

Shadowy Businessman: Well, my employers and I have been looking to fill a…particular configuration of person we have been researching. You may not realize it, Toshi, but you have the keys we seek. You see, we want to fill a niche market…a phrase you will find particularly ironic once you accept my proposal…and you WILL accept my proposal…you see, there is an oft-overlooked sector of the vice market. Prostitution is rampant in our fair city, and in America, and there are two points which no one fills. You see, male prostitution is an already-overlooked sector of the market, and Asians are not often included, at least, Asian men. You, Toshi, have a great destiny. You will help me, Joe Nagaman, to create the greatest escort service ever. Tokyo Joe’s Young-Male-Asian-Escort Service!

Toshi: I’m not sure if that’s how I want to earn my fortune.

Shadowy Businessman: You see, Toshi, you have no choice, I already have your plane tickets, we already have a spot for you in our…academy, and most importantly we have already fitted geisha robes to your exact specifications. Yes, Toshi, your mantra for the rest of your life will be “For Sex or Meat”. This is a great beginning….

SFX: Swirling wonderment.

Narrator: And that was how Tokyo Joe’s began…

SFX: Tokyo Joe’s Advertisement.

Narrator: Back in the lab, our DJs have consulted with Dr. Erica Dyer, the recipient of the 2009 Nobel Prize in Forensics.

DSNT: You mean Dr. Erica Dyer, the very curvaceous recipient of the 2009 Nobel Prize in Forensics.

Narrator: No back-talk, lowly character.

Fluid: Dr. Dyer, have you figured out who messed with these tapes?

Erica: It looks to me like they were either originally recorded like that or tampered with by the studio itself.

Fluid: Who in their right mind would record tapes covered in brainium?

Erica: I have no idea. All these cassette tapes are from different artists and labels, so it’s seemingly an industry-wide technique.

Fluid: But, all our older tapes didn’t have that done to them.

Erica: Then, they must’ve been recently tampered with.

DSNT: Hey, Dr. Dyer, I can’t help but notice that you’re extremely attractive.

Fluid: And, why do all the marks look like chicken feet?

Erica: Actually, they’re bird feet. The pattern is so nonspecific that we can’t know if it’s a chicken foot.

Fluid: Hmm, you’re right. Well, do we know why it’s like that?

Erica: I couldn’t say.

DSNT: If you didn’t hear me the first time, I said you’re extremely attractive. In the chest.

Erica: It’s probably just the machine they used to imprint the tapes with brainium and subliminal messages. Hmm, now that I think about it, if we look at all the tapes we have, nothing bought before 2008 is tampered with. Maybe the major studios were paid by the Mr Pibb company to recall all their tapes and use them to get people to buy Mr Pibb…

DSNT: Your breasts look particularly supple today.

Fluid: Maybe they’re using a dead format so that nobody will notice their tampering. No investigators in their right mind would look into this.

Erica: It’s possible. Give me that Roberta Flack CD you brought and I’ll look into it. Maybe you should report this to the FBI.

DSNT: I want to have sex with you.

Fluid: I think we should probably look into this more before wasting the FBI’s time.

Erica: Why? We have solid evidence that something’s amiss!

DSNT: Hey, baby, want to go diving?

Fluid: I just have a bad feeling about getting the police in on this.

DSNT: And, by go diving, I mean going out to a restaurant with me tonight, coming back to my place, taking our clothes off, and making sweet, sweet love by the fire.

Erica: All right Cookie…but, if anything bad happens to you two I’ll feel responsible!

DSNT: Why can’t you hear my inappropriate sexual advances!

Fluid: Don’t worry about us, we’re trained samurais! Or was that trained delicatessens? I often mix those two up.

Erica: I’m going to look into the other recording formats you brought to me while you find out what’s up with the Mr Pibb company.

Fluid: We’ll be back soon.

DSNT: It’s as if I’m in some alternate universe where sexual innuendo is all produced at infrasonic tones! Has society finally crumbled?

Music: “Something Happened On The Way To Heaven” by Phil Collins.

Narrator: Meanwhile, in Hell, Phil Collins wraps up his latest universal tour. He is approached by a familiar rabid fan.

Clerk: OH MY GOD PHIL COLLINS.

Phil: Hello, mate, what’re you in for?

Clerk: I HAVE TOO MANY HORMONES TO GO TO HEAVEN.

Phil: Well, that’s a bummer. I wish I could’ve taken some of those off your hands while you were still, y’know, above ground and what.

Clerk: THAT’S OKAY. I KIND OF LIKE IT HERE. IT IS ONLY MY FIRST DAY, THOUGH.

Phil: Ooh…I hear it gets worse every day.

Satan: Yes, why indeed it does!

Phil: Satan!

Satan: Good to see you, Phil! I guess I’ll be seeing you again in fifteen years or so.

Clerk: BUT, WHY CAN’T PHIL COLLINS GO TO HEAVEN?

Satan: Well, I thought it was obvious! I traded him ungodly talent for his soul.

Phil: Yes, indeed, you did! Unfortunately, I have ungodly talent on the drum set, and not with anything useful like songwriting or leading a band.

Clerk: BUT, GENESIS GOT SO MUCH BETTER AFTER PETER GABRIEL LEFT!

Satan: Ha! That’s a good one.

Clerk: I’M NOT KIDDING. I LOVE YOUR RECENT WORK.

(Satan and Phil Collins burst into uncontrollable laughter.)

Satan: Oh, that’s good! Really good!

Clerk: THAT’S TERRIBLE! I REALLY DO LOVE YOUR MUSIC, PHIL COLLINS!

Phil: Here’s the thing, now. I can play my drum set like some kind of ridiculous drum-playing robot or whatnot. I just can’t sing, write, lead, talk, think, or get by in daily life very well.

Satan: When you trade your soul for ungodly talent, where do you think it comes from? I just siphon it off all your other talents. So, you’ll be good at one thing and terrible at the rest. Ever wonder why the famous ancient philosophers were also accomplished politicians, mathematicians and dramatists?

Clerk: NO, BUT WHY?

Satan: I ran out of extra talent after I gave it all to them! Rat bastards.

Phil: Well, I’ve got to be goin’, my friends. I have a meeting up above about…well, it’s business stuff.

Satan: Come back soon!

Clerk: ISN’T THAT TECHNICALLY A TERRIBLE THING TO SAY TO SOMEONE?

Satan: Why aren’t you in the hot tub?

Clerk: I DON’T CARE FOR HOT TUBS.

Satan: Exactly…

Narrator: We go now to the National Audubon Society. A seemingly innocent charitable organization that hides a dark side…but, for now we go to the organization’s lone secretary, ever busy and ever procrastinating.

SFX: Filing papers.

Secretary: Doo doo doo, filing papers, doo doo doo, reading a few. Ooh, a memo for the President! Let’s see, here…Dear Mr. President, please stop filing orders for thousands of dollars in lunchmeats. Our budget is already thin enough as it is. On an unrelated note, thank you for the gift basket of delicious lunchmeats. Doo doo doo…ooh, a letter from Phil Collins! Dear Audubon Society, I will be coming in on the 15th to discuss the terms of my recent contract with you and whether or not I will sue you blokes for all the money you have. Oh, wow, that’s today…I probably should’ve scheduled him an appointment with…

SFX: Door breaking down.

Phil: PHIL COLLINS SMASH!!!

Secretary: AAH! Who’re you?!

Phil: Why, I’m Jerry Garcia. I mean Phil Collins.

Secretary: Oh, wow! Hey, I loved your work on Tarzan!

Phil: Yeah, yeah, I know you probably did.

Secretary: Are you here to schedule a meet…er…I mean, let me check if the President is in right now. Nope! He’s not.

Phil: Wait just a sec, you didn’t do anything just now!

Secretary: Yes I did.

Phil: No you didn’t! I saw you! You just sat there!

Secretary: I checked if the President was in. He wasn’t. I can schedule you an appointment sometime next month if–

Phil: No! I scheduled one for today and I’ll damn well have it.

Secretary: The President is a very busy man, I apologize for any inconvenience he may have–

Phil: If you don’t let me talk to the president, I’ll hit you with my drumsticks.

Secretary: Ah, no! Don’t do that!

Phil: Well, I think I’ll just have to at this rate. If you don’t let me talk to the president right now, I’ll hit you right in the head with my drumsticks. It won’t make a very pretty noise, neither.

Secretary: No, wait, don’t–

SFX: Phil hitting him with his drumsticks.

Secretary: OW! That really hurt! That really hurt! You…hurt me!

Phil: I warned you, but you wouldn’t listen!

Secretary: I think my ears are ringing a bit…

SFX: Phil hitting him with his drumsticks again.

Phil: That help you at all?

Secretary: No! It didn’t! Listen, if you’ll just wait in one of the chairs over there I can go talk to the president to see if he can squeeze you–

SFX: Phil hitting him with his drumsticks again.

Secretary: Hey, I was helping!

SFX: Phil hitting him with his drumsticks again.

Secretary: Stop it, Phil Collins, you’re being really mean!

Phil: Well, that’s just what happens when you mess with Phil Collins.

Secretary: Geez. Go sit down.

SFX: Phil hitting him with his drumsticks again.

Phil: Don’t tell me what to do, boy. Now, is there a good place to wait while you get me the President?

Secretary: Well, yeah…in the chairs over–

SFX: Phil hitting him with his drumsticks.

Phil: I’ll just take your chair, then.

Narrator: Unfortunately, the President isn’t in today. His wife, however, is.

First Lady: I’m telling you to do your laundry, and if it’s not done by 1:00 tomorrow, you’re fired.

SFX: Phone hanging up.

First Lady: Goddamned accountants.

SFX: Phone ringing.

First Lady: Really?

SFX: Picking phone up.

First Lady: President Carl Flicker’s office, this is First Lady Sheila Flicker speaking.

Carl: Sheila, this is Carl. Now, I don’t want to alarm you, but–

Sheila: What is it, now? What could possibly be so urgent that you call your own office instead of just coming here for once?!

Carl: That’s what I’m trying to tell you, I think–

Sheila: This is unacceptable, Carl! Not coming into your own office more than once a week! Do you expect me to do your job for you? Because, Carl, I’m quite easily doing it better than you are by even showing up. Was I elected to do it?! No! You were! You were elected to this job! Why aren’t you doing it?!

Carl: Sheila, this is a conversation for later, see–

Sheila: Sometimes I wonder why I even married you! I’m surprised you even showed up to our wedding.

Carl: Now, come on! That’s–

Sheila: And, when was the last time you brought me flowers?! I sit here every day doing your job for you and you’re at home, I presume, doing who knows what…

Carl: For your information, I was compiling a list of infomercials and seeing who directed them. See, I thought the society would want an infomercial, and…

Sheila: An infomercial! Carl, I’ve been talking to the Society’s accountants all week and you’re far over budget to even think about an infomercial.

Carl: That’s before we factor in t-shirt and pin sales…

Sheila: They did, already, and you’re still over.

Carl: I bought almost nothing this year! I–

Sheila: Besides, of course, all of Phil Collins’ songs for whatever stupid reason–

Carl: I never–this isn’t the point!

Sheila: Yes, it is, Carl! You’re terrible at your job!

Carl: I am not! And, see, I called you to tell you–

Sheila: Carl, I sometimes just don’t know what I’m going to do with you. You’re getting old, and lazier every day, and I have no idea how you’ll ever get reelected like this.

Carl: I wasn’t elected, I’m the President of the Audubon Society.

Sheila: You–! Really?

Carl: No! I know you call yourself the First Lady and all, but you’re really not! It’s not really the most important job in the world, Sheila. Now, let me–

Sheila: Wow. That’s actually a relief. I was always under so much pressure!

Carl: Yeah, so the reason why I called…

Sheila: I feel like a new woman! I–

Carl: I think little Timmy overdosed on prescription-strength Tylenol.

Sheila: You think what?!

Carl: Now, it’s probably not a big deal! He’s just passed out on the kitchen floor and I’m not quite sure what–

Sheila: Call the ambulance!

Carl: Well, should I hang up–

Sheila: Wait, did you say Tylenol?

Carl: Yes?

Sheila: You can’t overdose on…by “passed out on the kitchen floor” do you mean “on the couch playing video games in the living room?”

Carl: I mean, I thought you assumed I mean that.

Sheila: We’ll talk when I get home.

Carl: Wait, Sheila–

SFX: Phone hanging up.

Sheila: Jeez.

SFX: Door opening, closing.

Secretary: Ma’am, there’s someone here to see you.

SFX: Door breaking down.

Phil: PHIL COLLINS SMASH!!!

Sheila: Oh, my God!

Secretary: Oh, not again!

Phil: I’m here to complain about me songs.

Sheila: Oh, my, you must be Phil Collins.

Phil: Are you the president?

Sheila: No…well…yes. Yes, I am. Basically.

Phil: Why the hell’d you cheat me out o’ me songs?!

Sheila: Now, Mr. Collins…

Phil: Now, you just wait a sec! I signed a contract you said allowed you the rights to one song!

Sheila: I haven’t actually seen the contract about that, I’ve only been in for about a week, but–

Phil: Well, get it out and read it, then! I thought you of all people would–

Secretary: Mr. Collins, she’s the President’s wife filling in for him, give her some slack!

SFX: Phil hitting him with his drumsticks again.

Secretary: Oh, come on!

Sheila: Mr. Collins, please calm down!

Phil: Why should I?! In addition to all me songs, that contract took me rights to free speech and to peacefully assemble! I demand at least the right to peacefully assemble back. Genesis is trying to put together a reunion tour.

Sheila: I’m so sorry, Mr. Collins. I’m sure this is all a mix-up, I’m not sure why the Audubon Society would ever need any of those things. Now please stop strangling Marty.

Marty: I think all the blood has escaped from my brain.

Phil: Oh, sorry, Marty, I didn’t notice you there. Looks like your neck just got right between me hands.

Marty: *Gasp* I…I taste the color blue…

Sheila: Marty, could you go through the files and find that contract for me?

Marty: Sure thing…ma’am…

SFX: Shuffling through papers.

Sheila: Well, Mr. Collins, I don’t believe I’ve properly introduced myself. I’m Sheila Flicker, the…well…First Lady of the Audubon Society. Carl couldn’t be in the office today. For some reason.

Phil: Phil Collins. You’ve probably heard my music.

Sheila: Now, who exactly negotiated this contract with you?

Phil: Some PR guy, methinks.

Marty: We only have one PR guy.

Sheila: Is that the guy with the weird facial scars and clown makeup?

Marty: Yeah…I’m not sure why we hired him.

SFX: Flashback.

Chad: Welcome to the Audubon Society! I’m Carl Flicker, the President, and I’ll be your interviewer. Are you nervous?

Joker: Are you nervous?

Carl: I…er…oh…you…well, uh, I guess you’re…you’re hired.

SFX: De-flashback.

Marty: Man, he’s a creepster.

Sheila: I hear he’s a jokester, too.

SFX: Flashback.

Joker: I’m gonna make this pencil…disappear!

Marty: Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, you’re jamming it in my ear!

SFX: De-flashback.

Marty: You’re tellin’ me. Oh, here’s the contract! Let’s see…

Narrator: We’ll come back to those three later. Meanwhile, we join our noble DJs once more. They’ve received a carrier pigeon from their Station Manager demanding they come to the office immediately.

DSNT: What do you want?! We’re kind of busy lately.

Fluid: Yeah, what with investigating a conspiracy behind cassette tapes with subliminal–

SFX: DSNT slaps him.

Fluid: Ow!

DSNT: What my associate means to say is that we’ve been busy planning our many shows. Which, if you didn’t remember, are Monday from 12 to 2 PM and 4 to 6 PM, and Tuesday through Friday from 9 to 11 PM.

Fluid: You slapped me!

DSNT: That’s not the point, you see–

SFX: Fluid slaps him.

DSNT: Ow, you–

Station Manager: Knock it off!

Fluid: But–

Station Manager: Shush. Now, I’ve received a telegram about what you’ve been doing, and I have to tell you, you two are on thin ice.

DSNT: But–

Station Manager: Thin ice! I expect you to stop this immediately and get back to doing your jobs right.

Fluid: But we just wanted to investigate the conspiracy a little bit! We promise it won’t get out of hand! Please let us?

DSNT: Pretty please?

Station Manager: I have a station to run, and I can’t clean up after the mess you’ll leave when you’re gone!

DSNT: But, we promise–

Station Manager: I got a telegram about what you’re doing from the Ad Council, and it’s not right!

DSNT: Wait, the Ad Council? Not, like…the Mr Pibb people?

Station Manager: What? Of course not the Mr Pibb people! Someone from the Ad Council heard you play one of those things you call PSAs and they’re very angry.

Fluid: What?

Station Manager: *Sigh* This!

SFX: Sexy Time PSA

Fluid: This message brought to you by the Ad Council.

Station Manager: It’s just offensive, even if it does incorporate the text of the PSA! The call I got from the Ad Council was so angry, I wouldn’t be surprised if you turned up missing!

Fluid: Can you really turn up missing? I mean, if you turned up you’d no longer be missing. Shouldn’t it be something like…I dunno…if we didn’t turn up? Missing? I’m not really sure.

DSNT: We can stop playing that PSA if you really want.

Station Manager: Just not before 10 PM, okay?

DSNT: At least they didn’t hear the one we made about wifebeating.

Station Manager: What?

DSNT/Fluid: What?

Narrator: And, our lucky DJs were let off the hook once again. And, that concludes our story for today. But fear not, as we’ll join all our not-quite-yet-beloved characters once again next week for Twizzlers for Everyone Forever presents: Death Spares Not the Tiger, an epic radio drama! Next time…fear!

Fluid: I told you, my name’s not Hugo Chavez!

Narrator: Shock!

Sheila: Carl, what did you do with the bottle of champagne I got at the–OH, DEAR LORD.

Carl: What? It’s just a little prank.

Narrator: Action!

Tokyo Joe: Yes, Toshi, yes! Soon you will be able to service seven men at once with your mind.

Toshi: Ouch. My pride.

Narrator: Sadness!

DSNT: No, I never really liked pecan pie that much.

Narrator: Betrayal!

Station Manager: A PSA about lubricant?! Oh, come on, now!

Narrator: Ludicrous bravado!

Phil: It keeps hot things hot and cold things cold! How do it know?

Narrator: Breakthrough!

Erica: I’ve invented a new form of Jello. It has sentience!

Narrator: Lust!

French Woman: As you may notice, the electrodes are attached to your nipples.

Fluid: Oh, I actually didn’t notice that. Huh!

Narrator: And, the most epic of epic.

Marty: Hey, look, a penny!

Narrator: So, for this week we’re done, but next Saturday at 2, join us for more adventures in Oberland!

All: YEAH!

credits

from Twyzzlers for Everyone Forever presents: Death Spares Not the Tiger, an epic radio Drama, track released January 31, 2009
Written by Ben Ferber and Donnie McEwan
Ben Ferber – Fluid, Flavor Fresh
Donnie McEwan – DSNT, Swine Farmer
Chad Putka – Satan, Carl Flicker
Chris Gentes – Tokyo Joe
CJ Penso – Tape, Clerk, French Woman
Danny Kessler – Marty
Hillary – Shiela Flicker
Joe Phillips – Toshi, Phil Collins
Mary Heatwole – Erica Dyer
Mora Harris – Sue-Bob, Station Manager
Ralph Johnson – Narrator, Joker

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Twyzzlers for Everyone Forever Oberlin

A series of radio shows hosted by Ben Ferber and Donald McEwan. Very few socks, lots of inappropriately-placed Subway restaurants, fake (and real!) celebrities galore, and lots of prog rock.

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