SomaCow Media Network is proud to present SomaCow, brought to you by Mr. Wizard’s Lifeless, Zombeified Corpse. Now we know why that old coot was always trying to strengthen our brains – For Him To SNACK ON!
In this hour, we discussed my day trip to a nucular power facility, we reminisce on each of our favorite childhood experiments (J misunderstood, I think… But it is a touching tale to hear what happened between the bean courses that night in a leathery tent somewhere woodsy), and we wished my wife, the neatest damned woman I have ever known, a happy birthday!
I will only say this about the nuclear joint – I am no longer scared of terrorists getting in. I mean, they let a fat guy with no papers and seventeen days of shavelessocity wander around the damned grounds for two hours. What!? Us Worry!? It does make me wonder – If you live near a nuclear power plant, are you less happy when your eye passes the structure on the horizon? Does it fill you with dread, or are you unfazed by the sight of sure radiation?
When you were a tyke, did you ever get up to reckless destructive activity masquerading as science? What were your favorite experiments? We failed to go in to so much stuff in this hour, from the old salt, pepper, and palmolive trick (teaches kids important concepts about ethnocivility!) to the old “fill up a room with mouse (mice?) traps and set them all off with a ball at once. Or, your brother! Thanks! So, we’ll revisit the topic another day, but in the meantime there is good information here about hydrogen bombs and sugar stoves and all manner of things that go pop and whee. Very nice.
A very special Happy Birthday to my dear wife, Jen. Many of you have enjoyed the birth of our first child together, shared in the story, and sent us so many well wishes, and for that, I thank you. As a gift to my wife for her birthday, I am going to now turn OFF TEH INTERNETZ, and go snuggle some, and maybe pat the baby on the head or something. Have a great week, and I’ll be back here Wednesday, serving up the podcasty goodness you know and love with my mad fat superdope chefs, Mickey and J. Peace out, indeed.
Well, Geoff is off at sensitivity training learning not to call black people ‘monkeys’, or Asians ‘Alien slanteyes’. Hopefully.
And while he’s off learning to not call people “durka durkas” vs “woo woos”, I’m here at home watching Anthony Bourdain. See, I know that when Geoff comes home he will want to watch him again so that means double Anthony for me! I think if we ever had a third person it would be him…
So let’s see how the guys do with this more sensitive side of SomaCow. Any ideas on a punishment if they fall into their old ways?
Geoff finished Stardust and gives his final review. Is it a children’s book? (If you would like to sponsor this, or any other segment, email me, Jen, at somacow@gmail.com)
Listen to me, folks, and listen good. We talked about a range of subjects in this hour, including Mickey’s birthday, turkey legs and sundry street food, and the need for Mike Myers and Adam West to do something useful with their autumnal years, but none of that matters.
What matters is that you understand Joe Piscopo is crap. If you already know this to be true, skip along with your bad self, and enjoy this episode. The rest of you, hold still for a moment.
Born Joseph Charles John (already, what the fuck?? What kind of insane parent names their fucking kid Joe Chuck John? RABID WEASEL PARENTS, that is who. And Joe Piscapoe is their perfect weasel child. Bready of eye, rank of fur, he wriggles and slashes his way from project to project, spreading mediocrity and gayish gauntness to the small screen like some kind of Rotten Johnny Weaselseed. But there is no fooling us here at SomaCow, JoeChuck. We know you for what you are – talentless also-ran base faced eater of broken meats)!
In all sincerity, we wish Mickey a Happy Birthday and discuss the finer points of SNL cast members, least of which is certainly Joe Pisscapough, who not only lied about the evidence that lead this great nation into armed conflict against Iraq, but also was probably responsible for the 400 years of oppression forced upon black men and women long ago.
That was probably offsides, and it really isn’t my intention to list off the terrible crimes against humanity that Joe Pizzapoke has wrought. But, as long as there is white on my screen and honor in my heart, the truth will out! Nefarious bastard!
Anyway, we played the following great bands, none of which do hackneyed impressions of Frank Sinatra ad nauseum. Unless we played Richard Cheese, but I think he does a lovely Frank. Ad Nauseum.
Entries (RSS)