Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Congratulations, you may already be a wiener

Actual telemarketing call - 5:05pm Wednesday.

recorded female voice: Congratulations! Your contest entry has just been selected to win a one-week Caribbean cruise! For more information on how YOU can collect your prize, press nine now.

(Pause. A little slower.) That's the "9" button on your telephone keypad. Press it now.

Monday, September 24, 2007

Tourists are funny

Today I had lunch with a friend of mine who works at the Toronto Tourism Board. She spends most of her day answering calls from inquisitive tourists-to-be on their toll-free information line. It's so unlike me to waste a perfectly good margarita by laughing it right out my nose, but her hotline stories were so damn funny, I totally lost my ability to retain liquids.

REAL questions from the hotline:

Why do French Canadians have a different accent from other Canadians?

How do I apply for the Canadian Express card?

What's all this about Boxing Day in Toronto? Do you box on that day?

I heard about that new law and I'd like to find out... uh, my girlfriend would like to know the best places to go topless in Toronto.

Caller: How far is Boston from Toronto?
My friend: About 900 kilometers, or 565 miles.
Caller: So if I drive using miles, it won't take me as long to get there? Is that what you're saying?

Will the Toronto subway take me to Vancouver?

I'm entertaining some executives visiting from out of town, and I would like to know where they can ride some llamas.

What information do you have on Italy?

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Deaf Retard Adventures, Vol. 3

This morning, I stopped into my local Starbucks for a small coffee -- or a smalli or twall or whatever the hell they insist on calling it -- and there was some shit goin' down. As I walked through the doors, there was some sort of awkward disturbence happening in the seating area where the hipster doofus crowd hangs out with their laptops and newspapers.

I stood in line just 6 feet away and watched as a timid, pint-sized barista girl tried in vain to get a panhandler to stop pestering the customers and leave the premises. But this guy wasn't really listening. Or more accurately, he wasn't hearing. He was one of those deaf and mentally challenged guys who gives you the little card with all the sign language on it and then just stands there like a creep until you give him money. Unfortunately, they don't tell you the sign for "fuck off and leave me alone" on that card, and some of them just don't respond to the universally accepted middle finger.

For the record, I run into the deaf-card people fairly often because there's a school for the deaf in my neighbourhood. The vast majority of these students are polite and totally harmless, and choose NOT to beg strangers for money. But sometimes you get a dude who just doesn't roll that way. But listen, I've got no beef with deaf retards and I am one myself from time to time, so don't send hate mail.

So there's two affluent (and annoying) fashionista moms in the corner with their designer babies, and these bitches are freaking out cuz the panhandler guy is "harrassing" them and "endangering" their precious Guccified offspring. The tiny little barista girl has the daunting task of trying to eject a 300-pound manchild from her workplace, which I think is a lot to ask in exchange for six bucks an hour. The panhandler is getting all edgy and waving his hands around and making "mwuuuh naaah nuh nuuuh" noises and it's all quite fun to watch, but someone's gonna lose an eye.

I tend to believe that calm communication can diffuse a tense situation like this, but in the absence of communication, I find actions do just fine. So I walked up to the panhandler, made eye contact with him, flipped open my cell phone and began dialing. I dialed my friend Mark's number, but that's not the point. I calmy and politely told the panhandler "I'm calling the police, sir. No wants want any trouble."

He handed me a card, nodded, and immediately walked out the door. Because he's just broke, not stupid. I also suspect he may not be entirely deaf, or he's awesome at lip-reading, because he took off at a mighty impressive speed for a fat guy who couldn't communicate with anyone until the word "police" was mentioned.

The elite douchebag moms were all thank-yous and la-dee-dahs and "OMG wasn't that crazy??" and I found them so fucking insufferable that I actually regretted helping them out. The wee barista was so happy and relieved that she gave me a free coffee. Venti! That's italian for "extra grateful"!

Meanwhile, a really confused Mark is still on the phone saying "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON???" and I say "Oh sorry man, just trying to get rid of a retard. Call ya right back..."

Mark: "I thought you broke up with that guy."

Smartass.

When I leave the cafe, the panhandler is just around the corner, pestering new hordes of people who brush past him and pretend he's not there. I stopped and gave him all the change in my pocket and my coffee. He refused the coffee, but kept the cash. He gave me a huge semi-toothless grin. I told him to stay the hell away from Starbucks cuz yuppies are trouble. As I walked away, he called out to me:

"NO MO SNARBUCK!!"

Monday, September 17, 2007

The weekend in pictures

Some of you have remarked that your lives are "boring" (your words, not mine) and that you enjoy living vicariously through me, so I thought you should know that you had a pretty good weekend:

Saturday 7am - Coffee and morning paper on the terrace. A bit chilly. Notice that the garden is pretty much dead and it's probably a good day for the big fall cleanup. But you're not really in the mood for that, so you do nothing about it.






Saturday 8am - Check out the Belgian Grand Prix F1 qualifying sessions. Kimi takes the pole!

Daydream about taking Kimi's pole.






Saturday 3pm - Country karaoke with Sweet Daddy Siki. You don't sing because you don't know any lyrics to country songs. When someone tells you that's no excuse, since the lyrics are on a TV screen in front of you, you quickly diffuse the situation by confessing that you can't read. They don't believe you, so you insist that you cannot see. And you also have a cold and you're losing your voice. And your religion strictly prohibits the singing of country music.


Saturday 8pm - the karaoke party moves down the street 2 blocks and merges with a lesbian BBQ. It's Jamie's birthday! Ryan bakes a homemade birthday cake from scratch, decorated with a lucha mask because Jamie loves the Wrasslin', and you silently ponder what it would be like to be that talented. Eat some cake. Eat another piece of cake for Pistols, because he would've wanted it that way.



Saturday 9:15pm -Feel slightly disappointed that it's too cold outside for the usual tit parade. Settle for staring at tattoos of boobs instead.





Saturday 11pm - You discover a new technique for poaching fish!

Seafood lovers rejoice!






Sunday 7:30am - Belgian Grand Prix F1 race. Quite exciting, especially given the FIA's decision last Thursday to strip the McLaren team of their 2007 constructor points as a result of the espionage scandal. Kimi wins! Massa comes in second, giving Ferrari a 1-2 finish and closing the points gap in the Driver Championship. You feel an odd craving for champagne...

Sunday 11am - brunch with Jamie and Jules to continue the birthday fun. You are served by the Most Beautiful Waiter You've Ever Seen. He's wicked gay but knows how to work a drooling straight girl for a decent tip. You drink one too many champagne and OJ's, leading you to decide it will be more fun to go back to Jamie's for more cocktails than that other thing you planned to do today: clean your apartment.

Sunday 3pm - Realize your friends' dog is more fashionable than you, and feel a bit sorry for yourself. Take notes from the dog on what's hot for fall.

Sunday 4pm - go home and take a short nap to sleep off the mild brunch buzz.




Sunday 5pm - housework time. Mentally write "help wanted" ad for attractive male domestic assistant, but get stuck on the word you would use for a male version of "maid": Butler? (too formal) Houseboy? (too gay) Manservant? (sounds like that douchebag who follows P. Diddy around)


Sunday 8pm - friends drop in to watch the Emmys and help you make fun of celebrities and other showbiz folks that you don't really recognize because you don't watch their crappy shows. Ryan Seacrest totally irritates you. You vow (again) to never watch awards shows. Ever! You really mean it this time!

Friday, September 14, 2007

A note about Pistols At Dawn

Since my cherished friend, Pistols At Dawn, really loves his search stats, I thought he might be interested to know that this week Rocketradio is the people's # 1 source for "nude Pistols At Dawn photos".

I can't imagine:
a) why Save Your Generation isn't the #1 source for "nude Pistols At Dawn photos"
b) why Google would expect ME to have any "nude Pistols At Dawn photos"
c) WHO would be searching for "nude Pistols At Dawn photos"
d) why everyone stopped searching for pics of "Bert's ass"

In the interest of full disclosure, this is the only image of the elusive Mr. Dawn that I can offer, and clearly he's un-nude, but still pretty fucking sexy.

But I do take solace in the fact that when people want "nice assed women", Google sends 'em my way:

1. nude pistols at dawn photos
2. nice assed women
3. "meth of the masses"
4. amway catalogs in russian
5. crazy no pants toronto
6. daniel craig hot cock
7. kat the nudist
8. filipino karate midget TV
9. polterwang
10. sonny crockett open toe shoes

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Mail Bag

Rocketradio receives hundreds of e-mails everyday from our incredibly enthusiastic fans. I can't thank you enough for your thoughtful stock tips, the amazing discounts on all of my favourite medications, and most especially, your kind and generous offers of a larger and harder penis. To you, I say "YOU'RE THE BEST!", because of course, I believe a girl can never have too much cash or cock.

But sometimes you really blow me away, and send me touching poems that are far too beautiful to keep to myself:

yo Ernestine
my stacks poised to explode,
TICK-tick tick
see what everyone else knows
deeply Sonia

A heartfelt thanks to "Q Gayle" for her fine literary contribution to our regular programming schedule. Word!

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Your Caption Goes Here

"Remember the old Superman comic book covers? Take the text off this one and it's kinda, well, disturbing..."
- Mr. C. Radloff


Indeed you're right, sir. This young man must be crying for some reason. But I think as a team, we can all work together to make this image even more disturbing.

Enter Rocketradio's
Caption Crunch Contest!



Write your caption* for the sobbing pillow-biter and win! **


*Sorry, this contest is not open to employees of DC Comics or their immediate family members (you know who you are), although no one will stop you from entering under an assumed identity. The Management would be very grateful if you could send advance notice of any pending lawsuits.

**the Rocketradio Prize Showcase is subject to availability.

Many thanks to Iowa's Sweetheart, The Radloff, for contributing this totally stolen image to Rocketradio. It's dedicated listeners like you who push us to bring you mediocre quality infotainment on a semi-regular basis!