Greetings and Salutations! Last week, I am sure that you noticed that I was not on the air. Truth be told, I was feeling a bit under the weather after the night out at the strip club. But that is not what kept me from the airwaves. What kept me off was the stress from the drama of earlier that day with that horrid interview from last week that was all about making the Rothechilde Foundation look like a group of insensitive thugs due to a minor incident involving a few upset elephants. Although, I have weathered that storm, I am facing a similar, earth-shattering, internet radio stealing mental dilemma this evening as well.
What is this dilemma? Well, it is simple and two-fold. First, there was the clothing anxiety issue that almost sent me into anxiety overdrive. You see, I was asked to teach a jujitsu class as a substitute for my instructor who was off celebrating his birthday. That was not the problem, I can deal with handling that. The problem came as a result of my panicking because of my pants. They did not seem to be my pants.
For one, the color and texture of them felt “off.” The other problem was that they did not feel “right.” I felt like I was traipsing about in someone else’s legs or something. I had a hard time focusing on driving and maintaining my calm because I was focused on the idea that I was, at that time wearing pants that not only felt weird, but felt like they may have belonged to someone else. I mentioned this to my secretary, whom asked me who’s pants I thought they were (I did find them in my room). She asked me what about them made me feel as if they were not my pants and all I could reply was: “everything!” In any case, after teaching the class (for which I had to travel to the most wicked place in Michigan: Frankenmuth), I drove back to my Samurai City digs and quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a black mock turtle neck shirt. Actually, I would have preferred to be wearing slacks of some type, but the jeans worked well enough to stave off a full-fledged anxiety explosion.
The next issue that has my mind in a tizzy is this whole deal regarding Rush Limbaugh and Sandra Fluke. The story is, Rush called her a slut and a prostitute because she advocated health insurance plans covering health insurance. Her words to encourage state-sponsored baby anti-proliferation even had old Rushy boy calling for sex tapes so he could post them online. Surely, any whore who is seeking health insurance coverage for birth control must have a host of sex tapes from her numerous dalliances with shady men that are available for mass dissemination via some “porno tube” website.
This has me most concerned because Rush turned tail and apologized. Apologized! This surely is a different corpulent, angry bird of a politico that we have grown to love over the years. What happened, man? I was all for supporting the Republican idea that no one should ever use birth control. In fact, if you do not want children (and cannot afford a nanny or au pere to raise them, nor can you afford to travel to some other nation where abortions and contraceptives flow like milk and honey), then you probably should not have sex. Fucking is for people who can afford the luxury of preventing a potential pregnancy, or eliminating the accidental creation of little monster clones of yourself. If you cannot afford the traditional remedies offered by the wealthy (Brazilian abortions, French morning after pills, or European boarding schools), then either go celibate, or take your chances with a shady, back alley abortion specialist on the streets of Mexico or Seattle.
However, I was betrayed. Betrayal most foul! His Most Majestic Obesity back-pedaled and apologized to Ms. Fluke. He took back his venom and took the wuss way out all because a few sponsors decided to pull their ads from his show. Really? What the fuck, Limbaugh?! These sponsors knew what you were all about, and they probably support you in your medieval attitude towards women and civilization in general. But they know the score, Rush. They know that most people are afraid of the right-wing agenda. They know that people fear the wealthy and our insidious urge to keep the poor as destitute as possible, and as numerous; we need that population to subject and get cheap labor from. The problem is that you spoke the truth that we do not want spoken too often. Here is how it works:
- Have horrid right-wing, preferrably a near-racist and sexist attitude.
- Wait for some mouthy schmuck to voice this reprehensible concern.
- Silently agree, then pull sponsorship from the jerk to keep our customers content and unaware that your corporation fully intends to reward the jerk with perks, back slaps, and tickets to Nazis on Ice at the local ice arena.
Rush, you added an undesired step, and apologized! Now the liberal will know that we are cowards who only want a silent, subtle manipulation of the people. That is, unless they are trying to get a piece of our one-percent pie. If that is the case beat those bastards down and trample them with elephants. So, way to go Limbaugh: you made a girl cry, and then took it back like a wuss. What are you going to do next, put on your girly shorts and listen to Selena Gomez albums with your widdle, gurlfriends?
But enough of that satirical sarcasm, on with the show. Below is the list of artists appearing on tonight’s broadcast. To have a listen, tune your Internet browser to http://darksideradio.com. If that gives your trouble, try opening the link in your media player. But really, clicking the link should take you to the station. If it does not, keep trying. You want to listen, you know you do.
Tonight’s Featured Artists (Subject To Change)
Type O Negative
Siouxsie and the Banshees
Mindless Self Indulgence
Ministry & Co-Conspirators
Nine Inch Nails
Snake River Conspiracy
So, tune in tonight and enjoy the program. If you have Twitter, @XRothechilde and @Darksideradio give song-to-song updates during the show.
Commercials are from: “Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas” and “Grand Theft Auto IV”
Promotion spots for DJ Xavier produced and Created by: DJ Mirage, Ethermagus, and DJ Parallax