Abbreviated Audio

Posted By Johnny Heller on May 7, 2012

FOR THE HELL OF IT VOL. 3 NO. 4  

NEWS, OBSERVATIONS AND RANDOM THOUGHTS

Pyongyang, NK…North Korea recently demonstrated that they are ready to take their rightful place among Nations willing to screw up on a grand scale.

With the world watching with baited and – in many cases – bad breath, the North Koreans test fired a ballistic missile that they hoped would prove that they were capable of firing a ballistic missile.  They proved only that they cannot – as yet – do much better than most grade school rocket enthusiasts with a science kit, some matches and an M-80.

While the North Koreans insisted the rocket was meant to be an “earth observation satellite” every human being on the planet knew the North Koreans were really trying to see if they could send a nuke somewhere if they wanted to.  They can’t.  If they really wanted an “earth observation satellite” they will have to learn to be satisfied with Google earth.

The failed launch, which scattered debris in the Yellow Sea, was a considered a great success by North Korea’s new Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un who replaced his recently deceased father Kim Jong-il as one of the word’s highest ranking a**holes.

Beaver, PA…. Two cousins were run over by a car driven by another cousin and had to be air-lifted to a local hospital.  The cousins – two 13-year-old girls – fell asleep while sunbathing….on a road.  Their older cousin, the driver, didn’t know they were there but one assumes he found out when he heard a noticeable “thump-wahunk” sound as he drove over them.

I can only imagine the conversation the girls had in selecting this prime sunbathing spot.

“Hey, we should lay down and catch some rays.”

“Yeah – where should we lay down?  By this tree?”

“What if a bird poops on our heads while we lay there?”

“Yeah….ewwwww. That would be the worst possible thing that could happen to us while sunbathing I bet.”

“It would be the worst. How bout the pavement? It’s nice and warm.”

“What if a car –say driven by one of our cousins – runs us over while we lay here?”

“That ain’t gonna happen!  One of us will make sure not to get drowsy by the hot sun and stay awake and warn the other if a car comes.”

“Okay. You stay awake first.”

“Okay.”

“zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz”

“zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz”

“OW!”

“Damn!”

“We got run over by a car driven by our cousin! Were you asleep?”

“I was – were you?”

“I was.”

“I have many many broken parts.”

“Me too. But you got some nice color.”

“Really? That’s good.”

“Yep, I can’t move any body parts at all but at least we didn’t get pooped on.”

“Yep. All in all, a good day.”

Sarasota, FL... Paul and Belinda Jean Berloni were arrested in Sarasota this week for various charges all stemming from their decision to tow their 7-year-old granddaughter – dressed in her swimsuit and “driving” her plastic Hot Wheels car behind their SUV.

The child wore no protective gear, although outside of a reinforced Michelin Man tire suit, I don’t see what kind of gear could’ve saved her from grievous bodily harm.  Happily, she survived the ordeal and had a wonderful time.

The Berloni’s also had a fine time until their arrest.  Apparently they had been joy riding and drinking all day with the tot being towed along behind them…in traffic…on roads.

It’s always been my opinion that just because you can have children doesn’t mean you should have any.  These morons are the kids Grandparents so this could be evidence of a long line of genetic misfits or a statistical aberration.  Either way, how drunk do you have to be to even think this is a good call?  Personally, I have been absolutely polluted on several occasions and never once did I think: “You know what would be a great time? Pulling my niece behind my car while we drive through Chicago! Wouldn’t that be great? Somebody get me a wagon!”

The Berloni’s tied the Hot Wheels car to the bumper of their SUV using two dog leashes.  Hmmm. Dog leashes….aren’t those the things that sometimes snap and allow dogs to get free and dash about like – well – dogs?

“That’s why we used two of em!,” barfed Berloni. “We weren’t stupid about this.”

No word yet on where the Berlonis got the leashes but I can only hope they don’t own dogs.  “Hey! Lets see if Rover can water ski!”

Nutley, NJ…Patricia Krentcil, the New Jersey “tanning mom” who was accused last week of endangering the welfare of her child is no longer facing charges in the non-incident.

Sun burns on Krentcil’s 6-year-old daughter led school officials to believe that Krentcil had taken her daughter into her tanning salon and into the tanning booth.  “I would never do that to my daughter!” said Krentcil, “I tan, she doesn’t.”  Clearly.  Krentcil, 44, doesn’t look a day over 78 or even 1000 with her deep dark skin tone.  Her “healthy” complexion brings to mind JRR Tolkien’s Ents – or an antique highly burnished 4-door bureau.

Of course school officials should’ve known that sun burns frequently occur from exposure to the sun.  “We had no idea that could happen from the sun,” said one official.  “It really explains a lot – all those years I just assumed I was embarrassed for 3-month stretches at a time…hmm…who knew?”

While Krentcil beat the child endangerment rap and is likely a fine mother, she still must deal with the fact that to many Americans, she’s a wee bit off the beam.  Even tanning enthusiasts like Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi of the god awful “reality” show Jersey Shore have said of Krentcil – “that bitch is crazy!”  Normally, this column is at odds with anything Snooki says but I must admit under the “it takes one to know one” rule (1958 Supreme Court: Billy v Susie “poo poo head” ruling) Snooki may have a point.  I mean who knows crazy better than Snooki?…or bitch better than Snooki?

However Krentcil is burned up (you can’t really see it in her face but she is red with anger) over the Snooki comments and wants payback.  Showing deep wisdom, insight and a limited vocabulary Krentcil called Snooki “the biggest a**hole in the world.” She went on to say that Snooki “is fake, fat and her t*ts are fake.”  Snooki responded by saying: “hmm, fake – check.  Fat – check. Fake t*ts – check and check. Biggest a**hole in the world? I dunno, it’s a pretty big place.  I may not even be the biggest a**hole on Jersey Shore…”

Whoever turns out to be the biggest a**hole in the world, the smart money is on one of these two and it may come down to a snarling beat down between a charcoal briquette and a burnt log in a slap fest.  “When this is all said and done,” Krentcil said, “I’d like to meet up with Snoopy.”

Snoopy. Don’t you just love it?

New York, NY My House… So I’ve been getting emails of late asking me if I would like to increase my penis size.  And being a guy, I naturally say – “of course, why wouldn’t I want to upgrade to incredibly monstrous?”  (And – being a guy – I am lying.)  I am, as is well known to all and sundry, a short Irishman.  We Irish are known for our great humor and our loyalty and our gregariousness.  Even those of us commonly referred to as “black Irish” aren’t known to be especially well endowed because we’re not really black. We are really Irish but that’s it. We have dark hair and green eyes and nothing else.  So here’s the thing — how do these email guys know about my penis?  Who’s been talking?  Has someone been overheard saying: “Heller’s a decent guy.  Too bad about the penis thing…”

I don’t think so. It’s not like it’s abnormal.  It hasn’t been a bone of contention – it’s just been a bone.  Which is all I’ve ever asked of it.  It’s all anyone has ever asked of it.   Why am I getting solicited to enlarge it?  And if one could enlarge it, would one want to?  If it’s possible, why haven’t we all done it?  And  how big are they talking?  Would I be able to use it as a kickstand when I want to relax and lean on it like an un-tethered bycicle?  Would I have to be careful not to trip people with it in the gym?  Would it drag behind me like a tail?  There are many unanswered questions in these enlargement ads.

Of even more interest, assuming that this is interesting at all, is that these emails are frequently followed by emails offering me an opportunity to increase the size of my testicles?   Really?  They can do that?  I suppose if I’m getting my Johnson done, I should have matching yarbles.  If I’m going for freakish, I think it best to be uniformly freakish.  But what if one enlargement works and the other doesn’t?  What if one of my boys looks like a bean bag chair and the other like a bean?  That would be bad.  I could develop a noticeable one-sided tilt – of course I’d lean on my grossly enlarged penis so maybe no one would notice – but still…

Or what if the boys get long and not big? What if I could play hacky sack with them?  Or what if they get really big so that I’d have to walk bow legged but, on the plus side, I’d be able to sit on them if I couldn’t find a bar stool?  These are worrisome issues.

In short – and it is – I’ve decided to leave well enough – and it is – alone.

New York, NY My House again…THE LESBIAN ZOMBIE STORY

I’ve noted an alarming fascination in the body politic with lesbianism, zombies and vampires.  I don’t really understand it but I thought it worthwhile to give in to popular sentiment and write a quick zombie lesbian story.

Susan had been a lovely girl – almost stunningly attractive – depending, of course, on whether or not you’re the type easily stunned by attractiveness.  At any rate she had all the pointy things in the places there ought to have been points and all the curvy things in the places curvy things belonged and men and women both wanted to sleep with her.  (not really sleep so much as they wanted to stay awake and do dirty things to her various curvy and pointy parts).

And while Susan really used to enjoy sleeping with women – especially her BFF Sandy – she hadn’t really thought about it much in the last few days.  This was not caused by any sudden depression or deep disturbance in her inner harmony.  Her lack of sexual desire was firmly rooted in the fact that she had accidentally been exposed to radiation and had turned into a zombie.

Her only thought was to eat brains.  It wasn’t even a thought process so much as a primal urge that must be obeyed

When Susan saw Sandy – tall, lithe, sexy Sandy – she didn’t notice Sandy’s new haircut or the way her blouse stretched taut across her heaving chest as she did various chest heaving things.  She only saw Sandy as a vessel that held tasty brains.

Sandy, recognized that something was different about Susan but wasn’t sure what it was.  She began to figure it out when she opened her arms to greet her lover and instead of having her kiss returned, felt Susan’s teeth chomping on her head.  Sandy shrieked: “Oh my God! You’re a zombie!”

Susan drooled in passive acknowledgement and again went for Sandy’s brain – ignoring completely her naughty bits.

“The hell with this,” thought Sandy and she picked up a machete and cut Susan’s head clean off.

“Man,” said Susan. “I hate it when my lesbian lovers become zombies.”

The End. Or is it…

Category: For The Hell Of It, Johnny Heller, Uncategorized | 1 Comment »
Tags: abbreviated audio, audio, blog, comedy, FOR THE HELL OF IT, Johnny Heller, narration, narrator, news

Posted By Jo Anna Perrin on April 27, 2012

Hardcover: The Technologists by Matthew Pearl

Published February 2012 by Random House Publishing

Note: This is both a review of the hardcover edition of The Technologists by Matthew Pearl, self-purchased copy, and a review of the Audiobook, also self-purchased.

The Book:

I admit, freely and wholeheartedly from the get go, and in the interest of full disclosure, that I have a full-on literary crush on Matthew Pearl. He had me at “The.” However, that being said, if I’d never been lucky enough to be familiar with Mr. Pearl’s work prior to The Technologists,  I’d make it my goal to become familiar now.

In the aftermath of the  recently climaxed Civil War of the States a new friction has developed in the form of  a battle between past traditions of labor, and the looming future of technology. Boston in 1868 is a mélange of wounded veterans pandering for work, young hopeful and elite young men vying for the educational crowns at universities like prestigious Harvard, and laborers and unions seeing themselves replaced by the advent of the machine.  Sprinkle in some old time religion, and the omni-present argument over Darwinism, and  you are left with a stew of passionate emotions and self-interests. And when it bubbles over what’s left is a literary world where past and present collide, peppered with the essence of the fantastic,  in Matthew Pearl’s new historical thriller, The Technologists.

Amidst all this, the fledgling  Massachusetts Institute of Technology, with its mission to allow science to be its deity and education to become egalitarian–hence opening up education to all with merit regardless of position–becomes fixed as the center of controversy when a series of unexplainable atrocities transpire from Boston Harbor, to Boston Common.    Ships ominously spin out of control, their instruments and  compasses rendered useless in a late evening fog,  causing numerous  tragic collisions and casualties. Soon after in the hectic Financial district of Boston,  glass defies its own innate properties. Window panes  dissolve from their moorings, detach from buildings, and glass once solid, cascades liquefied onto the streets below, only to solidify once more entrapping anyone unfortunate enough to engage contact.

It appears to the terrified public, and is exacerbated by the ham-fisted reporting  of a  greedy sensationalizing Press, as if nature and the laws of physics have been completely up-ended.  As other inexplicable anomalies follow,  the argument ensues:  is it sabotage by the proponents of  the demi-god Science, or is it Nature, punishing mankind for having been subverted by hubris and the grasp for divine control.

At the heart of it lies MIT and its paean to the future of  Science.  Attacked by the press, under assault by labor unions, and reviled by the vested interests of Harvard, there is a danger that the first graduation class of MIT may become its last, and any hope for the future of the Institute dashed.

Enter  three senior MIT students: the young Civil War veteran Marcus Mansfield, a  charity student, his friend Robert Richards a wealthy but ostracized  son of Boston society, and Edwin Hoyt, a high Brahmin blue-blood who is nothing short of brilliant. They ban together to save the reputation of MIT, even though the board of  MIT has strictly forbidden their interaction. The trio form a secret society, The Technologists, with the express purpose of discovering  the secrets behind the bizarre technology and ending  the malignant design of its unknown creator.

Combining their unique strengths they battle the nameless  forces creating resistance to change through terror, hoping to end the stigma that hovers over  progress in general, and the  reputation of MIT specifically. They are eventually joined in their pursuits by a mainly self-taught and equally brilliant freshman, Ellen Swallow. Ellen has her own problems with being a woman in a man’s world, but when her genius becomes instrumental in circling toward the enigma of the mastermind behind the atrocities, she too becomes part of the society that will use the reviled art of science to thwart the menace.

There is as well a fourth important protagonist in The Technologists, and that would be the silent but ever present city of Boston.  Pearl, as in his other historical thrillers, takes the past, and doesn’t just present it, he owns it. He dazzlingly paints such a vivid picture of an era, in this case the  Boston of 1868, that it becomes three dimensional.  When left to our own mental devices, we can see and hear the citizens, sights, and sounds, that made Boston one of the most advanced cities of  that age. The rural charm of the town of Cambridge, the unbeaten and desolate expanse of Back Bay and its surrounds, the class distinctions and the toll of unrest left over from the Civil War, vividly come to life.

Moreover there is a wry foreshadowing by the author throughout the book, as we see our world of today, encircled by the shadows of many of the same prejudices and themes that afflicted Boston in 1868.

If you are a fan of mysteries, and additionally and aficionado of period thrillers, or just plain like a well written and intriguing book,  do pick up The Technologists.   Pull up a chair and immerse yourself. You won’t be disappointed.

The Audiobook:

Audiobook:  The Technologists

Written By:  Matthew Pearl

Narrated By:  Stephen Hoye

Published By: Random House Audio                  Length: Unabridged 18+ hours

Note: Having been enthralled by the book, I set my sights, or rather my ears, on the Audiobook.  I was a bit skeptical about doing so, because firstly, I like to review only what I recommend. I have too many friends in the publishing and narrating end of the industry  and I’m of the school that everyone should get, if not an A, at least an E for effort.  I do not like to show my wit or ability or lack of wit and/or ability by denigrating.  So, again, I was a bit nervous.  After listening to the Audiobook, I shouldn’t have been.

As I have already given you chapter and verse from the hardcover book, I’ll get straight to the audio part of the review:

The Technologists, published by Random House Audio, features an expertly written mystery by Matthew Pearl, with  splendid narration by Stephen Hoye.  His soft intriguing tones induced me into believing all would be fine, even as I knew full well that trouble was about to erupt in triplicate. His pacing was often intentionally lulling, moments  before, in the turn of a phrase, he would skillfully pick up the pace and take us racing toward disaster. There were occasions of melodrama to be sure, but as the plot often turns on  fantastical circumstances, that suited me just fine.

Again, if you are a fan of mystery, thrillers, and period thrillers specifically, buy the Hardcover, or buy the eBook, or  buy the Audiobook, or visit, aid and abet your local library. In fact, visit your library anyway. You’ll be glad you did.

 

Category: Jo Anna Perrin, Reviews, Uncategorized | No Comments »
Tags: abbreviated audio, audio, audio book, blog, book, Fiction, Jo Anna Perrin, mystery, narration, narrator, Random House, review, Thriller

Posted By Johnny Heller on March 14, 2012

FOR THE HELL OF IT     Vol. 3  No. 3             

Where’s Cockup?

Being A Celebration of the Life and Times of An Unsung Audiobook Pioneer.

It is easy for we lucky few in the Audio Narration business to forget our forebears.    Why, in these heady days that social pundits are already calling the golden era of audiobook narration, what care we for those whose hard work and dedication to the craft of not spitting while speaking made our magical lives possible?  Sadly, it is too easy for us to forget the early pioneers of our industry.

Yet who can blame us?  We get invited to the best parties where hosts lure us with promises of cheez whiz on Ritz crackers and champagne cocktails made with ginger ale and Yellow Tail chardonnay.  We fight off paparazzi sometimes two people deep snapping away with their smart phones like we were prize heifers.  And the sex! Every night! Sometimes with other people involved. And, of course, the money. The huge sums that are lavished upon us and sent to us within mere months of narrating the work of an author who will never know of our love for her words – especially the adjectives.

We congratulate each other over twitter and facebook – “far too busy to pick up the phone, Dahlings”. Why, Peter Berkrot came to New York City and we didn’t even have time to share a cocktail! Tavia Gilbert threatens to move here now that she is a big muckety muck in the industry and the beautiful Colleen Marlo and the lovely Anne Flosnick and the sultry Xe Sands are simply too busy to do more than tweet every few moments about their latest audio conquests.

(Writer’s note: I promised to get some more names of swell people into this column and by god, I did it. I couldn’t work in more in the actual story line so here’s a shout out: Diane Havens, Jeffery Kafer, Karen White, Cassandra Campbell, Orlagh Cassidy, Robert Fass, Michele Ford, Dustin Ebaugh, John Pruden, Mark Turetsky, Hilary Huber, Stina Nielsen, Amy Rubinate, Heather Henderson.  I missed many – I will try again next time!)

But we must give credit to the man who made all of this possible.  I speak, of course, of the late great inimitable Quentin Cockup – the man who first impregnated the pause and put the “action” into action verbs.  Here, for the first time in print, is his story.

Quentin Cockup was born to an aristocratic and well off agricultural family in the south of England in a little hamlet called Liverwurst on Rye.  (The original family name of Penishead was changed to Cockup in 1660 when Charles II returned from exile to rule England.  The reasons given for the family name change were threefold:

1. It was thought that “cockup” – a name commonly given to various blunders – would be less embarrassing to the future children of the Penisheads than would Penishead.

2. It was also a friendly little joke at the expense of Oliver Cromwell and the Rump Parliament (which all of England thought was a much funnier name than either Cockup or Penishead), whom the Penisheads felt had cocked things up royally.  It should be noted that poking fun at Cromwell in 1660 was far easier than it would’ve been in 1658 when he was still alive.  The returning King, Charles II also had fun at Cromwell’s expense going so far as digging up his body and “executing it” which, at the time was hilarious.

3. It was also changed in order to confuse future historians.

At any rate, the Lady Cockup of Liverwurst on Rye gave birth to Quentin in 1930 after a very difficult pregnancy and horrific delivery.  Quentin, at first, refused to come out.  “He’s coming!” shouted the nurse.

“Am not,” replied Quentin – which was quite shocking.  Not only was he speaking before leaving the womb but he, on closer inspection, was in a smoking jacket and reading Punch.

Quentin was lured out by a promise of suet which to this day is disgusting.

Young Cockup was a cowlicky lad from the start.  And by cowlick, I mean, of course that he could frequently be found in the barn licking the cows.  This led to a lifelong interest in leather hide and teats.  Imagine Quentin’s great happiness when asked to join in his very first game of “hide and seek” only to encounter huge disappointment when he realized he had misunderstood the game’s name.  After his first “hide and teat” debacle Quentin was very rarely asked to join in games played by his peers.

With little to do and time on his hands, Quentin spent his time in his father’s library.  His father was considered by many to be much taller than those half his size and was a voracious collector of the works of philosophers like Locke, Rousseau, Nitchze, Hobbes, Dr. Phil and Kant.  He was also keen on literature focusing on laundromats, the history of sewing needles and early American hat blocking techniques.  The elder Cockup had enjoyed a life in the Queens service and had risen to the rank of Major General in the Colchester Garrison’s Royal Horse Artillery, before it was discovered that he did not like horses or artillery but only enjoyed playing dress-up.  He was reduced to the rank of Major and sent home to spend his retirement designing decorative tea cozies.  Yet Major Cockup was a great inspiration to young Quentin.

“Father –“Quentin would say.

“hyup?” Major Cockup would answer.

“I’ve no idea what I want to do with my life.”

“Well you’ve a nice speaking voice, have you considered clown school or becoming a mime?”

“Mime?”

“It’s half past 10. Why do you ask?”

“Pardon?”

“What?”

“I – er…”

“Yes. Well.  Good talk. Good talk. Why don’t you go read a book or something?”

And Quentin did go read a book.  Several in fact.  And while he read he decided that reading aloud – to others – might not be a bad idea.

“Hmmm,” thought young Cockup, “I’ve a lovely voice and many people don’t.  In fact, many people sound just awful and no one would ever want to hear them speak aloud.” (This, of course, was long before we became less annoyed by people with horrible lisps and grating voices….long before Sylvester Stallone starred in Judge Dredd and tried to say “stop in the name of the law” and failed miserably.  This was before Barbara Walters became less and less impossible to understand whenever the letter “s” appeared in an uttered word.  This was certainly before Mob Wives and Jersey Shore brought strained grating mispronunciations and poor grammar to our ears so regularly as to sound almost normal.)

“I think,” thought young Cockup, “I shall follow the advice of my father, Major Cockup, and do something with my speaking voice…like speaking.”

And so Quentin Cockup went to the BBC and began reading aloud from the works of Shakespeare, Dickens and Ernie Bushmiller.  He was frequently booted from various offices before he even started to read from the bard.  This was due to the fact that he loved to dress in Shakespearean costume and knew very little about “codpieces”.  Cockup’s cod pieces would frequently move about while the poor fish flailed to and fro – frightening all and sundry and resulting in Quentin being shown the door in rude fashion.

One day, however, Cockup was able to do a reading and, once started, he electrified those in hearing distance.  So velvety smooth was his voice, so perfect his diction, so beautiful his tone that those lucky few who heard him said things like: “what a velvety smooth voice,” “wow guv’ bloody perfect diction,” “posh tone chap!” and assorted other swell things.  Cockup was signed to a contract to read The Pickwick Papers on BBC 23 radio.

This was to be the first audio of a written book ever recorded and it surely would’ve been an amazing treasure for the ages.  Sadly, while Cockup gave his heart and soul and one of his kidneys during the performance, the engineer forgot to hit the record button.  (It was one of those crazy machines where you have to hit “play” and “record” at the same time and the engineer was a recent hire who would be known forever after as “one button Freddie” – not at all a bad thing for a one-handed ex-mariner who had been known previously as “one-handed Stanley”.)

Cockup was crushed to learn that his reading had not been recorded and the BBC was crushed to learn that for 23 hours it had broadcast dead air – and they were further crushed to discover that no listeners had bothered to complain – leading to the end of BBC 23 Radio for all time.

To make matters worse, Cockup lost more than his heart, soul and a kidney. He lost his will to read aloud ever again.  It would be wonderful to say that scholars still debate whether his malaise was due to his sad experience or the fact that his producers never paid him for his efforts, but there is no such debate. No one cares about most Cockups and Quentin was no exception.

It is believed that Cockup retired to the family estate and spent his remaining years in silence – spending his dotage writing critical comments on Amazon and Audible about various narrators – especially Simon Vance and Simon Prebble.

Sadly, very few people remain who ever heard the dulcet tones of Quentin Cockup but we who toil in the audio recording industry would do well to remember his sacrifice.  As for me, whenever I win praise or and award for my work, I always say, generally just before everybody else does – “Heller wins? That’s a cockup.”

Long way to go but nobody forced you.  See you back here again soon!

 

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Tags: abbreviated audio, audio book, blog, book, comedy, FOR THE HELL OF IT, Johnny Heller, narrator

Posted By Johnny Heller on January 26, 2012

FOR THE HELL OF IT   VOL. 3 NO. 2      

Open Letters to Public People

To Newt Gingrich:

Dear Newt,

I hope its okay to call you Newt.  I know how prickly you can get but I’ve never known a person named Newt and I’d like to use it.

You recently chastised John King of CNN and the national news media in general for beginning the South Carolina Republican debate by asking you about your relationship with your ex-wife and her claims that you wanted an “open marriage”.

In fact you said you were appalled that he would begin a Presidential debate with “a topic like that?”

Why?  Shouldn’t American voters enjoy a fuller understanding of a candidate’s sense of ethics and morals?  Don’t we get to ask about your extramarital affairs?  You thought it was fine to impeach Clinton for his infidelities – why can’t we discuss yours?

Speaking of ethics and morals, in all of American history there has been only one Speaker of the House disciplined for a violation of ethics.  I bet you know who don’t you?  See him every day in the mirror right?  And think about it….you violated the ethics of a body of people so ethically challenged, so morally corrupt and so tainted by cupidity and hubris that few in the nation can think of a single member of the group without revulsion.

Have you noticed how very few of your fellow Republicans have hopped on your bandwagon?  Sure Rick Perry endorsed you but that’s like getting the nod from Alfred E. Neuman or Urkel. Most Republicans who have offered any opinion of you have uniformly said that you are “dangerous” and “untrustworthy”.  I grant that America had very little idea who Obama was and we still elected him but we know who you are and I don’t think we’re going to elect you.  How can we?  You look like Andy Richter’s weird older brother!  No question you are in the “Anybody but Romney” contest that is currently being waged by the GOP.  In the end, however, you’re likely to lose the “Anybody but Romney” contest to, interestingly enough, Romney.

Sure you won South Carolina and now you’re a serious contender but realize this: South Carolina has a population of almost 5 million people and only 243,000 voted for you. 100,000 voted for Santorum and he’s just plain scary.

Oh. One other thing:  In 2011 you were interviewed by the Christian Broadcasting Network and you were asked about your infidelities (I guess it wasn’t as appalling as when John King asked you the same question). You told the interviewer that “…partially driven by how passionately I felt about this country, I worked too hard and things happened in my life that were not appropriate.”  Really?  That’s what you want to go with?  Let’s examine that.

(Let me say that I don’t judge you for having flings.  I don’t care about that – I only care about your absurd explanations when it’s easier to just say you cheated in the past and who knows what the future will bring.  You’ve already proven that you aren’t bound by any moral or ethical ethos so how does anyone know what you’ll do next and who you’ll do it to? )

You had extramarital affairs because you are passionate about this country? How does that work exactly?  You’re on a political visit and you’re passing through Ohio.  You sit at the local Ramada Inn bar and an attractive saleslady from Akron is there and you turn to her and say: “God! I love Cleveland!  I really feel passionate about this entire state! And the country? Don’t get me started!  Ooops! Too late! I went and got passionate about America – better come up to my room and let me show you my committee member! C’mon!”

…and that works for you?  Who are these women and why aren’t you writing books about how to pick up babes based on patriotism alone?  You still wouldn’t get elected but the books would be better than the ones you write now where the Confederates win the Civil War.

And the bit about working too hard and having that lead to “inappropriate” behavior?  Almost all working Americans work too hard and still manage to behave appropriately.  You almost never hear a working husband or wife coming home late from a long day at the office and announcing:  “Man I’m beat.  I’m gonna go next door and screw the neighbor.”

That’s okay though.  At least we understand you.  If you become the President, you will keep your passion for the country in check and you won’t work too hard.  Sure it’s the Presidency and you really should be passionate about America and for 4-8 years you need to work harder than ever before but we’ll expect less from you – after all, we know what hard work and patriotism does to your libido.

Sincerely,

Everyone

To Simon Vance:

My Dear Mr. Vance,

Alright enough!  We now know that you are not really human but a robotic audio machine that is stuck in the “on” position.  And we know that the “excellence in narration” lever is stuck in the full on position as well.

It is also possible that you are an alien life form sent to earth to incite envy amongst the ever growing population of audio book narrators.  I suspect that your presence on our planet is part of a larger plan to weed out those narrators whose work is so suspect and hourly rates so low as to send the entire industry into despair.

Well, it’s working.  At the For the Hell of It offices, we get hundreds of calls from narrators whose chief complaint works out to be that they are not you.

What can one say about so prolific a narrator and so gifted an actor that has not already been said by his 13,000 Earphone Awards, his 55 PW Listen Up Awards and his growing collection of Audies – some of which he uses as wheel blocks for the boat in the driveway.

While we appreciate that California has staved off bankruptcy due to the taxes you pay on all the loot you make, we fellow narrators have a small request: throttle down dude – you make us look bad.

Hush up a bit and let some of us get a gig.  Do you never sleep?  How do you have time to do face book and twitter and a video blog and your website and YouTube and still knock out three 11 hour books before breakfast?

Love,

Everybody You’ve Ever Met at APAC

To Various “Real” Housewives of Assorted Places and Reality “Stars”:

Dear Ladies (and a few gentlemen),

Stop it. Just chuck it in and admit you are harming the very social fabric of our nation.  You send a message that plastic body parts, asinine behavior traits and poor manners are the tools one needs to succeed.  You have been made into “stars” by vacuous morons who are polluting the airwaves with videos of your horrendous lives.  Just go back home and build a still or something.

You are celebrities only in the same sense that people who shoot bottle rockets out their ass on You Tube are famous.  You are celebs because the media has decreed it not because of any particular skill or talent you may possess.

Being rich because you are weird or nasty or attractive or unattractive or can pick a dime up off of an ice block using only your butt cheeks does not mean much in the actual real world.  You can’t put “I’m a famous skank” on your resume and expect to get hired nor have you used your undeserved celebrity status for anything but furthering your undeserved career and wealth.

I know it’s been a great ride for you but it’s been terrible for America.  Maybe you’re not to blame.  Why should you say “no” to fame and fortune when it requires you to be nothing more than the horrible people you already are?  Perhaps the blame is better placed on the major networks who failed to entertain us, allowing the cable networks to come in with alleged “reality” shows where people we wouldn’t want to stand next to in a Wal-Mart checkout line suddenly become the stars.

“Hey! What do you do for a living?”

“Me? I take boils off of people’s butts – it’s a family business.”

“Great! Let’s do a show – Boil Suckers of Atlanta!”

“What do I gotta do?”

“Do you drink?”

“Yeah.”

“Like drugs?”

“Yeah”

“Beat the wife and kids?”

“Sure.”

“Then just keep doing it – we’ve got a hit!”

Of course when the major networks started losing viewers to these cheaply produced tawdry reality shows, they had a choice – bring the viewers back with quality scripts and exciting character driven narratives or copy the cable crap….hmmmm.  And now we have reality shows on major networks and talent competition shows that are derivative of each other and entirely ripped off from the BBC to begin with.

And to step into the void left by the major networks abandoning scripted storylines comes…cable!  We’ve come full circle and the only losers are us. Ain’t it a wonderful world?

So, again, please stop appearing on our television sets.  Your choice of jewelry or men/women or where to send your dog for grooming is not of interest.  When you go out, we don’t care if you hook up or just hook.  Granted, some people love your shows but it’s not fair to expose them to your sordid arranged escapades and allow them to believe that it’s anyone’s reality.  It’s too easy to lead too many astray.  Why pander to them when you can lift them up?  Why show them drunken louts in Jersey when they can watch real morons on CSpan?  Why allow the media to feature you and your garish outfits when it would be so much better to deprive the would -be -journalists of your bizarre behavior choices and force them to cover actual important news?

I’m not asking you to change who you are.  I’m asking you to stop sharing who you are with the world

Sincerely,

Everyone with a TV Set

To Woody Allen:

Dear Mr. Allen,

I began watching your films around the time you started making them.  I, like many of your fans, didn’t particularly care for your more “serious” efforts – I thought, for instance, that I might need to shoot myself half way through Interiors.  I did end up stabbing myself during Hannah and I still don’t understand your fascination with Scarlett Johansen.

That being said, I cannot ever thank you enough for Midnight In Paris.  It’s simply glorious and wonderful and it does everything one can want in a film.

That’s it.  Thank you for being brilliant and thank you for this film.

Yours Truly,

The Movie Going Public

PS: did you do “The Artist” too? Because that was wonderful as well.

To People Who Sing the National Anthem At Televised Sporting Events:

Dear Warblers

Here’s the thing, if you make your living as a singer, it would be helpful if you could sing.  Try it for a while at home and see if you can find a note that you can hit consistently and try to use that note a lot.

There was only one Marvin Gaye and it’s just silly to try to sing the National Anthem the way he sang it.  So just sing it.  We know it’s a hard song to sing and for many of us, it’s not a really great song but for better or worse, it is our anthem and it needs to sung well when it is sung.

And here’s another tip – try to memorize the words.  See if you can follow the through line and connect to what the author is trying to say.  I know that you are likely nervous and as long as you really try, people will be forgiving.  If you try to be hip and do it your way and really screw it up – people won’t forgive…or forget.  Remember Rosanne Barr? That’s my point.

I’m not a particularly good singer.  I can hold a tune in much the same way I can carry a grand piano up a hill – with a lot of dropping, swearing and hesitancy.  So guess what? If asked to sing the Anthem at a big event, I will decline.  Because I know I can’t do it. (Of course if they give me a lot of money, I would do it because given a choice between professional pride, personal dignity and lots of loot – I am going for the loot.)

I don’t know that Steven Tyler or R. Kelly or Christina Aguilera needs the money.  They’re big time stars with large bank accounts and huge egos.  I, on the other hand, am not a star, have no bank accounts of note and a huge ego.  See the difference?  It’s okay if I take the money and screw up the song.  I’m not a singer.  Seriously, in some of my narrations I have to sing a little and I hate it.  But the producer wants me to sing and I want the check he will be giving me – likely weeks later than promised – so I sing.

Okay? So if you get a gig to sing the anthem:

1. Learn the words

2. Don’t try to do it “your way” unless your way doesn’t really suck.

3. Have a little respect – for yourself, your audience and the song – even though it’s really not a very good song.

If you can’t do these things, say no to the gig and let someone who really understands the song, the American sense of pride it invokes and the American spirit.  Someone like Irish tenor Ronan Tina.

Sincerely,

People without earplugs

Before I sign off, one personal note – PETER BERKROT! – there.  (I promised him a shout out.)

That’s all for now!  More Next time at Abbreviated Audio – home of For the Hell of It!

 

 

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