SomaCow Media is proud to present… SomaCow!
T’was the night before Christmas, and the whole damned show
Was feeling a bit hostile. Why? I dunno.
It could be the fact that J and Ross just cannot,
Show up in our studio on time, and un-pot.
Ted.
Perhaps the malaise comes from Mickey or I’s
Inability to stop with “We quit Smoking!” lies.
Or it could be that two years ago, when started this crap,
We figured we’d be set: in luxury’s lap.
The anger has flown, from one show to the next,
To the point where JPP and TSB only send texts.
The equipment is breaking, and a mountain of trash,
Has stacked in the studio; Wait, is that hash?
It’s been a tough year for SomaCow Media, Inc.
We’ve seen a few shows flounder, falter, and then sink.
Lord knows we’ll miss the sounds of Syndown
Gay German Ass Poundery, With Super Synth Sound.
And who could forget our Dear Lunar Room?
I can’t understand why that show was doomed.
It consisted of great talk, and music, and whorin’
I really miss the gay, and Eric, and Lauren
I never got over the shock to my system
When one Friday Night, The Aftermath went missin’
It wasn’t that they quit, or were fired, per se.
They just ceased arriving mysteriouslay… eh?
Another great loss, and a bitter end, ’tis true,
Our Sister Show Say Anything, Voice of the Shrew
Came when Jen, Debe, Diana, and that puppet broad Kari
Collectively went all “Aunt Flo” (t’was scary)
Year’s been a real bitch, you betcha, yeppers
We’ve lost more members than a whole camp of lepers
Very little remains of the banner we raised
The cow is near tippin’, her eyes are a-glazed
But what of the past? I’ve never been one
To sit and pine over what’s over and done.
To 2009, and what will cure our sinking ship!
It better be good, and I hope it comes quick.
First off, We’ve brought on board a fiery new host,
Take a moment with us and give him a toast!
Prime Time Geek is the name you’ll need in your browser
The man has chops, mad knowledge, huge Bowsers.
And with a bit of SomaCow polish, grace, grease and spit
We’re grabbing one show back from the podcasting pit
Refire the barbie, and fill his mouth with some corn
We’re bringing Piggy back, ComaSow is reborn.
“Now, Geoff,” you might say, as you listen these words
“I think you might have swapped brains with a bird…
Whyever, dear man, would you keep up this charade?
I mean, seriously… When is the last time ANYONE was paid?”
I could tell you some shit, about how we do it for more
Than any of your precious shiny “dollars” afford.
How we’re fighting big media, giving ideas a voice
How we’re providing an independent and damned fine new choice.
But the reality is, as I stand with you here
I am not sure if all of us will be back next year.
Some may go on, to pastures much greener.
Some may get thrown out, if they don’t learn to operate the fucking board. I
am looking directly at you, Brian, you piece of utter shit. Do your fucking
job, stop eating on my fucking board, quit breaking shit, and stop yelling
into the fucking mic. You worthless, smarmy bastard. I wish your dad had shot
you into the carpet.
Anywhere, where was I? Oh yes, Merry Christmas.
How in the hell could I ever have missed this?
What I want to be clear, why we do what we do -
We do what we do here for… well… you.
It sure ain’t the pay, SomaCow bleeds red out her ears
Wonder if we can claim listeners as dependents this year?
But there is something I earn, each time I crack the mic
The ever growing response, what you hate, what you like.
I hear from a bonzer guy, in Australia, no doubt -
And he thinks it’s wicked, what we’re putting out.
I hear from a sweet lady, avoiding retirement
And she’s knitting my baby new attirements
We receive your emails, your phone calls, your letters
We sit in stark awe at the discussion, unfettered.
“You suck, and we love it.” “You’re right on point”
“Hey Ross, it’s your mother, can I get a joint?”
Maybe this year, we’ll land a few paying spots to air,
Lord knows, the economy is robust and prepared!
But as long as there’s will, and scratchies, and brew
And listeners like Chrispy, and Iceman, and you
I can promise you that, come success or obscurity
We’ll continue, we’ll develop, we’ll work, and we’ll see.
Perhaps one day, instead of scrabbling uphills
We might break even after paying our bills.
Until that day comes, just know we are pumped.
To have you download us, and in ear be dumped.
From unsnowing Florida, we say with eyes mistenin’
“Merry Christmas, The Heard, and thank you for listenin!”
Oh, and also. Bowlful of Jelly. Just sayin’.
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