Tales From Wolf Mountain

3-4 Genuine Radio: Broadcast DSRT-665

May 20, 2024 Wolf Mountain Workshop Season 3 Episode 4
3-4 Genuine Radio: Broadcast DSRT-665
Tales From Wolf Mountain
More Info
Tales From Wolf Mountain
3-4 Genuine Radio: Broadcast DSRT-665
May 20, 2024 Season 3 Episode 4
Wolf Mountain Workshop

Offer a message for your place around the fire.

FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.  

Average Joe rocks on their porch amidst a startling amount of sand.  

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.  

Average Joe rocks on their porch amidst a startling amount of sand.  

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.  

Wind on the plains, blowing the dust and sand. Too desolate for even a tumbleweed. A somber melody is plucked off a beat-up string instrument. A chair rocks on a wooden porch. 

AVERAGE JOE: Radio?
Oh no, we don’t have no radio around these parts. This here is a simple land, filled with simple people…
Peaceful, ain’t it?
Well don’t be a stranger there, go on, pull yourself up a chair. I can see you’ve been travelin’ far. Must’ve been anyways, ain’t no other way to get out into these parts… You know I thought I’d be havin’ some company tonight…yep, I can always tell when I’m gonna be havin’ some company over ‘cuz I gets me the urge to come on out and just let a little bit of music roll out over all this nothing… And more often than not somethin’ like you happens to pop on back out of that self-same nothing, and well… shit. Here we are I guess. 
Oh shit, nearly forgot, introductions! I’m Joe, uh, Average Joe, people call me. When there’s people. And when they want to call me, I suppose. I’m sure you’ve got a name, we’ll get there, probably, but first I gotta…I got specific instructions…hold on…

Obviously reading off a list - slightly under the breath.

-Assume mantle of folksy elder…check
-Welcome stranger to great expanse of nothingness…check
-Shock, belittle, and/or horrify stranger with tales of terror and madness…not…check…
Okay.
Okay. So I gotta do a little sort of a creepshow-type of a thing here for ya, okay? And I…I did not prepare…let me tell you that right now…so this is gonna…you know what, this could be good. It really could. 
Goddamn it…okay. Uh, any help would be appreciated. You don’t have to, but you know, come on, there’s only two of us, be a pal…
You scared of anything? What gets ya? Spiders? Snakes? Ghosts? Inability to escape personal demons of your own creation?
Clowns? Is it clowns?
Fuck.
Alrighty then, hold on, lemme try something… I got a couple of masks back here… I’m gonna pop one of these on and we’ll just kinda see what happens, huh?
Here, hold this, hold on a second…

The mask goes on.


JANIE BOO: Togetherness: A Parable

Two lovers met one another in a town that was more sand than substance and found themselves with the unbridled NEED to get married that penetrates those young and in love and…well…stupid. 
And as is the way of these things, these two lovers turned the fire of their passion into a mess of children that grew up and moved away, and really it didn’t seem like more than a quick flip of the calendar that these two lovers found themselves abed one evening, hair whitening as fast as their joints were aching, and the two of them discussing what if anything was to become of the lack of passion that had invaded their lives. 
An idea was set forth, the sort of idea that would naturally rear its little head during a conversation like this, but also the type of idea that always seems to make itself known with all the grace of a gopher on roller skates. 
The idea was thus: that one of the lovers, (coincidentally the same person that happened to have the idea in the first place - but that I’m sure is absolute happenstance and nothing more), one of these lovers would find a fine young specimen of beast or man and give themselves over to the carnal pleasure that was once something near sacred. 
All talk ceased.
The clock ticked a steady rhythm.
Two puffs of smoke left a well worn pipe.
And a few words were spoken to deliver the pregnant pause:
“You will do what you will do, and I will do what I will do.”
Another two puffs of smoke left the well worn pipe.
The clock continued to tick its steady rhythm.
And there was no more talk for the rest of that evening. 
It was almost seven months later to the day when one of the lovers gently dabbed the corners of their mouth with a cloth, took a small sip of water, and proceeded to tell the other lover one of the most graphic tales of sexual debauchery that had been uttered in that county before or since.
The other lover received it roughly as well as could be expected - a small reduction in chicken consumption as well as a murmur of acknowledgement from behind the same newspaper that had been read that morning.
That same evening, the two lovers were lying beside each other in bed.
All talk had ceased.
The clock maintained its steady rhythm.
Two people looked at a dark ceiling, saying nothing.
And then one lover rose, grabbed the handgun from inside the nightstand, put it between their teeth, and managed to pull the trigger three times, once standing and twice, reflexively, on the floor where they found themselves shortly thereafter.
One person looked at a dark ceiling, saying nothing. 
The clock, shattered by a bullet fired from the floor, rested. 
And there was no more talk for quite some time.

The mask is removed.

AVERAGE JOE: I’ll tell you once and I’ll tell you again if’n you ask for it, that voice hurts the livin’ fuck out of my throat… Where’s that drink…where the hell…ah, there we go.

A gross sip.

That’s it, that’s the good stuff there. 
So, what’re ya thinkin? Why’d you, uh, ya know… it’s not that I’m not happy for the company, but I mean hell… it’s a bit desolate out here when it comes to good times.
Unless, of course, you weren’t looking for good times.
Unless, of course, you were having yourself a whole mess of bad times.
Unless, of course…

The last line fades off into a soft chuckle.

No no no no no no no, hey hey hey, where do you think you’re goin’ now? Can’t be goin’ nowhere by this time, see the sun? Headin’ on down. And you’ve got nothin’ around here but sand and shitty decisions and the biggest one of those would be headin’ on out into that fuckin’ stretch of wasteland when you don’t have the sun on your side. 
Here. Take this. 

Something is given.

It’s a mouth harp. And whoever named it got it about half right. Lot to do with the mouth, not much of a harp, really, but I s’pose nobody’s perfect. You just kinda hold it between your teeth with that dangly bit sticking on out in front, and slap that little sucker back and forth and pretend like your talkin’ and bing bang boom, you got music. 
Try it.
Go on, try it. 

Pause.

Alright, fuck you, you fuckin’ coward, I’ll do it.
You just sit there and….listen, and…..think about what you’ve done….

Mouth harp begins, and we fade into the next story.

MS. DAPHNE DE-LAURII SAMARANO:  I noticed the sand at the same time I noticed the patterns in the cars parked at the intersection. Just walking to work, normal day - few clouds, nothing crazy - and I could swear that I had seen the exact same lineup of cars the day before. Red SUV, black pickup with a dent in the door, white hatchback with a roof rack. That one especially stuck, because of the rhyme.
Hatchback with a roof rack.
Hatchback with a roof rack.
Hatchback with a roof rack.
And I’m puzzling about this and rhyming in my head, and I notice this fine sand is absolutely everywhere on the sidewalk.  It kept getting kicked up by my heels and making its way into my socks. 
I’m a bit of a creature of habit, one way to work, one way home, shopping on Sunday, call Dad Tuesday evenings… It’s a comfort. The fact that my way to work might have sand on it from now on was distressing. Mildly distressing, but distressing. 
The next day I was paying closer attention to the sand - there seemed to be more of it but maybe I just hadn’t noticed - and I looked up a few seconds after the light changed. I guess I’m trying to justify a bit of skepticism - I didn’t get a good look is what I’m saying. But still, as they drove off I’m pretty sure that the line of cars went: red SUV, black truck, white hatchback - quite possibly even with a roof rack. 
Hatchback with a roof rack.
Hatchback with a roof rack.
I was on my guard the next day. I was ready. I even put plastic bags over my shoes and I’m glad I did because there was definitely more sand. No doubt about it. It had even started to make little piles in the grass. Little dunes. But that didn’t matter quite as much as the line of cars at the intersection.
A red SUV.
A black pickup with a dent in the door.
And, of course, a white hatchback with a roof rack. 
They all drove off, and when I looked behind me, I could see that a gentle breeze had already begun to cover my footprints with a fine dusting of sand.
The day after that was upsetting. The sand was deep enough that I had to kick it out of my way with every step, and even though I used my plastic bag trick again, every time the wind blew it seemed like the sand found its way into every sweaty nook and cranny that it could. Absolute misery. 
The line of cars, red, black, white, just like always, left deep tracks in the sand covering the street. I wondered how they managed to see any of the lines on the road, but just as quickly remembered that I was walking on a sidewalk that I couldn’t see except in my footprints and scuff marks, so I let that thought drift off.
As the cars pulled away, the white hatchback with the roof rack spun its wheels in the sand before gaining traction and weaving slowly on its way.
By the end of the week my daily walk had become a trek up a massive sand dune. 
My plastic bag shoes were entirely useless. 
When I reached the spot that I knew to be the buried intersection, I saw, all in a line, three small boys on 10-speed bikes. A red bike in front, a black bike with bent handlebars, and in the rear a small white bike with a basket. They gave me a cheerful wave and I returned it in kind, and off they rode, throwing sand behind them, seemingly unbothered by the incline or unsteady ground.
I’d go back that way again, but I ended up getting a new job on the other side of town, so my daily walking route has changed and I just don’t really have the time. Sometimes I wear the plastic bags on my shoes though.
So…you know…
I remember. 

The mouth harp fades back in, and AVERAGE JOE finishes his little song.

AVERAGE JOE: Now see, that’s why you don’t wanna be wandering around out there. Listen.

It’s quiet. 

Lot of nothing out there. Lot’s o’ fuckin’ nothin’. And if you don’t wanna turn into a piece of that nothin’ yourself, you’ll listen real careful to Ol’ Joe when he tells you to do or not to do somethin’. But hey, it’s your choice. Free country. Free enough, anyway. 
Hold on.
Hold on right now. 
C’mere. 
I said…get over here…
Let me see your eyes.
Don’t you squint at me.
Open ‘em.
Open ‘em wide.
Yeah…that’s what I thought…that’s exactly what I thought…
Okay now you do it.
Here, I’ll even hold ‘em open.
Look deep. You see that? You see what I’m saying? It’s like a little mirror isn’t it? Like a little TINY mirror set into each one of my eyes. Can you see yourself? Wave to yourself. Yeah. Like that. Now look at what’s behind ya. 
Not in reality…damn it…
Use the eyeball mirrors. 
Look in my eyes and look over your own shoulders at the same time. What’s that you see there? What’s that behind ya? 
Because it sure isn’t desert. 
Now what might that mean?

AVERAGE JOE lets out a long slow chuckle that fades into MADELINE TAYLOR’S monologue. 

MADELINE TAYLOR:  Conditioned Emotional Reactions. 1920. 

Beautiful classical music begins playing. 

We decided finally to make the attempt, comforting ourselves by the reflection that such attachments would arise anyway as soon as the child left the sheltered environment of the nursery for the rough and tumble of the home. 

One of the two experimenters caused the child to turn its head and fixate her moving hand; the other, stationed back of the child, struck the steel bar a sharp blow. The child started violently, his breathing was checked and the arms were raised in a characteristic manner. On the second stimulation the same thing occurred, and in addition the lips began to pucker and tremble. On the third stimulation the child broke into a sudden crying fit.

11 Months 3 Days 
1. White rat suddenly taken from the basket and presented to Albert. He began to reach for rat with left hand. Just as his hand touched the animal the bar was struck immediately behind his head. The infant jumped violently and fell forward, burying his face in the mattress. He did not cry, however. 
2. Just as the right hand touched the rat the bar was again struck. Again the infant jumped violently, fell forward and began to whimper.

11 Months 10 Days
1. Rat presented suddenly without sound. There was steady fixation but no tendency at first to reach for it. The rat was then placed nearer, whereupon tentative reaching movements began with the right hand. When the rat nosed the infant's left hand, the hand was immediately withdrawn. He started to reach for the head of the animal with the forefinger of the left hand, but withdrew it suddenly before contact. 
2. Joint stimulation with rat and sound. Started, then fell over immediately to right side. No crying.
3. Joint stimulation. Fell to right side and rested upon hands, with head turned away from rat. No crying. 
4. Joint stimulation. Same reaction. 
5. Rat suddenly presented alone. Puckered face, whimpered and withdrew body sharply to the left. 
6. Joint stimulation. Fell over immediately to right side and began to whimper. 
7. Joint stimulation. Started violently and cried, but did not fall over. 
8. Rat alone. The instant the rat was shown the baby began to cry. Almost instantly he turned sharply to the left, fell over on left side, raised himself on all fours and began to crawl away so rapidly that he was caught with difficulty before reaching the edge of the table. 

11 Months 15 Days
1. Tested first with blocks. He reached readily for them, playing with them as usual. This shows that there has been no general transfer to the room, table, blocks, etc. 
2. Rat alone. Whimpered immediately, withdrew right hand and turned head and trunk away. 
3. Blocks again offered. Played readily with them, smiling and gurgling.
4. Rat alone. Leaned over to the left side as far away from the rat as possible, then fell over, getting up on all fours and scurrying away as rapidly as possible. 
5. Blocks again offered. Reached immediately for them, smiling and laughing as before. The above preliminary test shows that the conditioned response to the rat had carried over completely for the five days in which no tests were given. The question as to whether or not there is a transfer was next taken up. 
6. Rabbit alone. The rabbit was suddenly placed on the mattress in front of him. The reaction was pronounced. Negative responses began at once. He leaned as far away from the animal as possible, whimpered, then burst into tears. When the rabbit was placed in contact with him he buried his face in the mattress, then got up on all fours and crawled away, crying as he went. This was a most convincing test.

1 Year 21 Days
The rabbit. The animal was placed directly in front of him. It was very quiet. Albert showed no avoiding reactions at first. After a few seconds he puckered up his face, began to nod his head and to look intently at the experimenter. He next began to push the rabbit away with his feet, withdrawing his body at the same time. Then as the rabbit came nearer he began pulling his feet away, nodding his head, and wailing "da da." After about a minute he reached out tentatively and slowly and touched the rabbit's ear with his right hand, finally manipulating it. The rabbit was again placed in his lap. Again he began to fret and withdrew his hands. He reached out tentatively with his left hand and touched the animal, shuddered and withdrew the whole body. The experimenter then took hold of his left hand and laid it on the rabbit's back. Albert immediately withdrew his hand and began to suck his thumb. Again the rabbit was laid in his lap. He began to cry, covering his face with both hands.

The music ends, and we fade into the section of WORMBAIT JONES.

WORMBAIT JONES: Well…this is certainly a departure.

(Joe H. - Please listen to “Simultaneous” by Puscifer. After that, record three different improvised/true [your choice] stories about being at a concert and seeing live music. Don’t be beholden to the truth as much as you are beholden to the feelings behind that truth.)

We fade back into AVERAGE JOE plucking a melody. 

AVERAGE JOE: Ain’t never was a desert. 
Need you to start understanding that.
You can’t get away from this shit by burying it under a pile of sand and dust and nothing. 
It’s still there.
You’re still there.
There’s a field with grass blowing gently. 
And a great, blinking, tower. 
Iron scaffolds supporting the voices that you hear.
Transmitting.
Always transmitting. 
You can’t stop it.
You’ll never stop it.
All you can do is try to understand it. 
Try to withstand it.
‘Round Wolf Mountain there ain’t no such thing as a desert. 
No time for that bullshit.
I’ll tell you what it is.
I’ll tell you right now.
Genuine Radio Broadcast D-S-R-T-6-6-5.

END.

Podcasts we love