Tales From Wolf Mountain

3-3 Genuine Radio: Broadcast Honesty 101.01

May 06, 2024 Wolf Mountain Workshop Season 3 Episode 3
3-3 Genuine Radio: Broadcast Honesty 101.01
Tales From Wolf Mountain
More Info
Tales From Wolf Mountain
3-3 Genuine Radio: Broadcast Honesty 101.01
May 06, 2024 Season 3 Episode 3
Wolf Mountain Workshop

Offer a message for your place around the fire.

FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.  

Janie Boo The Happy Clown teaches us all about feelings.  

Genuine Radio is voiced by:  
Joe Hanson  
Kris Northcutt  
Edward Hoffman  
Monte D. Monteleagre  
Edie Pierce  
Alice Stilwell  
and Raimy O. Washington  

Genuine Radio was created by Alexander Wolfe, and is a production of Wolf Mountain Workshop.  

Tune in. Break down.  

Show Notes Transcript

Offer a message for your place around the fire.

FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.  

Janie Boo The Happy Clown teaches us all about feelings.  

Genuine Radio is voiced by:  
Joe Hanson  
Kris Northcutt  
Edward Hoffman  
Monte D. Monteleagre  
Edie Pierce  
Alice Stilwell  
and Raimy O. Washington  

Genuine Radio was created by Alexander Wolfe, and is a production of Wolf Mountain Workshop.  

Tune in. Break down.  

Exciting and blaring carnival music.

JANIE BOO: Hello again kiddos! It’s your old pal Janie Boo: The Happy Clown, and I’m here to have some fun with you today! 
And you know what that means, it’s time to hide yourself away from the world, my little kiddy-friendy-o’s, somewhere nice and dark and safe, where nobody can find you. 
Where nobody will interrupt us. 
(Sing-song)
Because The Happy Clown is here to play…
The Happy Clown won’t go away…
If you try to hide yourself -
On a little tiny shelf -
The Happy Clown’ll find ya, 
Take out your eyes and blind ya’,
And nobody loves a freak.
(Laughter on laughter on laughter again.)
We’ve got a very special episode for you today, kiddos! And a LOT of friends to meet as well. Because we’ve got something very important to talk about today. Do you know what that might be?
(Space for an answer.)
Noooooooo, that’s not it, try again…
(Space for an answer.) 
Closer, but not quite. Do you want a hint? Yeah? Okay, let me think…
It’s not quite real,
And it’s not quite fake,
Some shorten it to “feels” 
But make no mistake,
The word of the day is not 
“Tiny” or “Small”,
It won’t be hit with a hammer,
Or thrown like a ball.
Reach into my mind,
If you’ve got the “inklings”
Because our topic today,
Is Fabulous….
(Pause.)
Feelings. 
Exactly.
Welcome, kiddos. To the Feelings show, with your friend Janie Boo: The Happy Clown, only on Honesty 101.01: The Truth. We’ve got such a fun time for you today everybody. You don’t even know - you can’t even imagine - you wouldn’t even believe… We’ve got special guest friends, we’ve got super-duper interactive moments of auditory joy, and, of course…well, we’ve got the truth. In a very real way we ARE the truth. But that’s why you’re here. And that’s why I’m here. And that’s why WE’RE here…so let’s just get into it…
Everybody do me a little favor here…all at once...everybody close your eyes nice and tight for me…tighter…tighter…until the colors start to pop off like a skinned knee dribbling on hot concrete…that’s right…that’s good…you’re so good…and what’s that? What’s happening now? Those look like…but it couldn’t be…oh my goodness, and the noise… It almost sounds like the clippity clop of hooves and the pitter patter of big ol’ floppy paws…which could only mean one thing…
Everybody give a warm 1-0-1-0-1 welcome to Wormbait, The Dog-Hog, Joooooooones!

Wormbait Jones, pretty drunk, stumbles onstage. His costume is half dog, half hog, and all self-hatred and righteous indignation. He is everybody’s inebriated uncle that has decided it’s time to tell the truth at a family gathering. 

WORMBAIT: Hey hey hey, hello hello, what’s goin’ on everybody? How we doin, huh? How we doin? You wanna fuckin’ just….you wanna fuckin’ chill for a second. Goddamn…
Look at me. Yeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh fuckin’ Wormbait……fuckin’ Dog-Hog……ignore the rampant misanthropy and the unconscious misogyny…..I’m tryin’ to fix one of those….don’t wanna hate you just cuz you identify with a fuckin’ lil’ slit-box twixt your fuckin’ legs.……
What the fuck am I doin’ here again? What the fuck is goin’ on?
Oh it’s Honesty huh? 101.01? Well, fuck….in that case why don’t we have some honesty? Why don’t we have some good old fashioned fun? 
Kids show……fuckin’ kids show……
Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re dumb. Let’s just get that out of the way. You, currently, all tiny and all, you’re stupid as fuck. Like, monumentally. You have a nearly unlimited capacity, but that’s kinda like saying a burnt out house has a bunch of storage space. True, but, fuckin’ wrong. 
As you grow up, you whole job for a good few years is gonna be to learn just enough to keep you from being useless while not actually getting enough of an education to instill real change in a crumbling system. It might sound like a tough little target to hit, but it’s actually more of a natural consequence of top-down leadership valuing the short-term gain and fame over long term sacrifice for progress amidst a world with rapidly dwindling resources. 
Now that didn’t make any sense to you, because again, you’re a fuckin’ moron, but just take it from me that I’m at least half correct.
Where’s my fuckin’ drink….
So eventually you get spit out into this thing that some people call the “rat race” or the “daily grind” or even (for a particular type of alpha douchebag) the “survival of the fittest, bro”, and if you’ve done better than 99.9% of other people to ever walk this planet you have a tiny sense of your place in the world, half a grain of self-control, and maybe even a passion for something that somebody convinced you could be a “good career move”.
Unfortunately for you, you’re also gonna wake up to the fact that you just got spit out into a fuckin’ holy/political/moral/egotistical war between 18 different ways to view the world that have split into 649 different factions that themselves split into 450,738 distinct little clubs that all hate each other, run by people that spend so much time up their own asses that they can legally be counted as a spare tire if kept in your trunk. 
Undeterred, you will march forth, perhaps even intending to fix things, to do a little bit of good for this messed up lil’ place that we’re all forced to live in. Maybe, even though you don’t tell people this, maybe you harbor some secret feelings that you might actually be the ONE, the ONE PERSON that actually manages to cut through all the red tape and bullshit and get people to see other people as just that, PEOPLE, but unfortunately all that comes to an end when you get rear-ended by some little teeny-bopper fuck in their mommy and daddy’s SUV coming out of the grocery store parking lot all because you actually stopped BEHIND THE LINE to allow the elderly man in the motorized wheelchair to finish crossing the road. 
But nobody sees that, do they?
No they do not.
They don’t see that at all.
And all of a sudden, there’s a passenger in the seat of your car and they seem to have kind of a squished up head because, uh oh, uh oh, oopsie doodles, when the teeny-bopper got out of their car with their phone and mouth already running, accusing you of everything from mental instability to a personal desire to fuck up their day, and intermingling it with threats of what the police/mommy/daddy/Uncle Fucknugget The Lawyer are gonna do when they get here, it it it it it it it it it…….it just made you kinda snap.

WORMBAIT is cut off. 

JANIE BOO: And that’s all the time we have for you right now Mr. Dog-Hog Jones. Wormbait, if you like. Wasn’t he fun, kiddos! Look at him shuffle away! He is drunk! Did you see that kiddos? Did you see him drinking all the way through that? He looks sad, don’t he? Him’s just a big sad lonely drunkin’ sunkin’ fuckin’ MONSTER is what he is…… and he knows it… don’t you worry your pretty little faces, he knows it kids. 

Serious.

He knows it. He understands it. He groks it. He gets it. 
It’s.
A.
Part.
Of.
Him.
Where are we goin’? What are we doin’? And more importantly, who’s this little puppet that’s a creepin’ out of the ceiling tiles above us? Why, it’s the middle of the road themselves, Average Joe!

Fanfare.

AVERAGE JOE: Hello. Hi there, my goodness there’s a lot of you! Again, hello, my name is Joe, uh, Joseph I guess, if you wanna be formal,  and I’ve been contracted through the Honesty 101.01 Charitable Trust to deliver a talk on the…what is it…hold on, I’ve got the note…ah, there it is, “you, on the date of so-and-so, will deliver a talk on ‘The Truth Inside The Concept Known As Love’. Failure to provide that will result in some sort of terrible bullshit that the writer, lord god creator of the universe has decree and will enact upon your head and the heads of all the sons born after you… and honestly, it just kinda goes on like that for a while. 
Jesus Christ, man, really? This is what you give me?

JANIE BOO: He’s bad, he’s really bad. I noticed this last time. I think he tried to distract me by making me a clown, but really all he’s doing is showing a weird and shockingly kinky side of himself. 

AVERAGE JOE: He is, isn’t he? Fuck, I mean….I mean…fuck! Hold on - hold on a sec - I wanna try something. Gimme something honest to say. Like, real honest. Hit me. Right now. I’m gonna speak the truth in 3…2…1… ‘I wish I was famous enough that I could publicly do a bunch of drugs and drink a bunch of alcohol and I wouldn’t have to defend my behavior because I would have a bunch of fans justifying everything I did as some sort of “genius-style-process”, even though I would secretly be afraid that they were actually the smart ones, and I was pulling some sort of long-term creative con on the world at large.’

JANIE BOO: (With SO much fake sympathy) Oh man…oh no… that’s gonna really fly in the face of everything he continually says about wanting to destroy his ego and live life for the art itself and all that other self serving bullshit…… Oh gosh…oh golly…

Everything cuts off and a whine of feedback starts, continues, and stops. 

MYSTERIOUS VOICE: Cut it. Cut it and put something good on. Fill time. Fuck this. Fuck this clown bullshit. We’ll pay ‘em all the same, just cut it and put something on.

A tape is loaded.

MS. DAPHNE DE-LAURII SAMARANO: A song. For everybody. Not to distract from what’s happening, but because it’s…it’s important. Yeah. That’s the thing. I’m Ms. Daphne De-Laurii Samarano, I definitely have a large and important role that is definitely not currently being used as filler material, and I’m here to entertain YOU!

Music begins. DAPHNE reads the rest like poetry.

That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die.
It was a colossal and nameless blasphemy with glaring red eyes, and it held in bony claws a thing that had been a man, gnawing at the head as a child nibbles at a stick of candy. Its position was a kind of crouch, and as one looked one felt that at any moment it might drop its present prey and seek a juicier morsel. But damn it all, it wasn’t even the fiendish subject that made it such an immortal fountain-head of all panic—not that, nor the dog face with its pointed ears, bloodshot eyes, flat nose, and drooling lips. It wasn’t the scaly claws nor the mould-caked body nor the half-hooved feet—none of these, though any one of them might well have driven an excitable man to madness.
Without warning came those deep, cracked, raucous vocal sounds which will never leave the memory of the stricken group who heard them. Not from any human throat were they born, for the organs of man can yield no such acoustic perversions. Rather would one have said they came from the pit itself, had not their source been so unmistakably the altar-stone on the peak. It is almost erroneous to call them sounds at all, since so much of their ghastly, infra-bass timbre spoke to dim seats of consciousness and terror far subtler than the ear; yet one must do so, since their form was indisputably though vaguely that of half-articulate words. They were loud—loud as the rumblings and the thunder above which they echoed—yet did they come from no visible being.
The people faded away, the arches, the vaulted roof vanished. I raised my seared eyes to the fathomless glare; and I saw the black stars hanging in the heavens: and the wet winds from the Lake of Hali chilled my face.
 I pray God will curse the writer, as the writer has cursed the world with its beautiful stupendous creation, terrible in its simplicity, irresistible in its truth--a world which now trembles before the King In Yellow.

The music fades.

MYSTERIOUS VOICE: End it. I don’t give a shit anymore, end it. 

MADELINE TAYLOR: Hi kids. This is Madeline Taylor. Resident “Wrapper-Upper” here at Honesty 101.01. We’ve had a lot of fun here today, and it’s important to put a definitive ending on these sorts of things, to ensure that they’re received with the proper context. 
What we’ve witnessed here today is nothing short of a breakdown of control. 
A reaching. A grasping, even. 
I’ve been given a brief license of lucidity in order to provide a platform on which we can see both the forest, and the trees.
Dead as they are. 
It’s become quite obvious that the creator of our world is suffering a breakdown of sorts. 
What once might have been concealed by things like story, character, analogy, art… It begins to lie face-up on the sidewalk and cook in the sun. 
Any search for insight beyond reading the tea leaves of somebody heaving paint in a vain attempt to be Pollock is likely to result in disappointment at the very least. Disintegration at the worst.
What comes after honesty?
I guess we’ll find out next time. 
Take the ending, Janie Boo.

JANIE BOO: Genuine Radio Broadcast Honesty 101.01.

END

Podcasts we love