Posted: August 9, 2006 in The Roper Files

Hear that? That irritating sound…that inane wall of babble, it’s North Texas radio! It lowers your IQ a few points each day, but some of us have learned to tune it out.But it’s still there; it never goes away and it never changes. The same ten or fifteen songs played over and over in between those gay commercials and the Peggy Hill sound-alikes calling in. And oh yes let’s not forget my favorite:” THIS IS A TEST…FOR THE NEXT SIXTY SECONDS the nails-on-the-chalkboard sound you are about to hear is only a test.”Yeah, a test of my nerves. A test of my patience. A test of my sanity. A test to see if I can resist the urge to pick up a crowbar and pulverize every radio in the building. Anything to put an end to 10 hours a day of listening to the WORST excuse in the world for radio programming while going through the paces of my menial job.

None of this seems to bother my co-workers. They seem perfectly complacent listening to “Margaritaville” for the ten-billionth time. I guess it’s just me; but North Texas radio could drive lesser people over the edge. Everytime some factory worker goes nuts and starts shooting up his job-site I can’t help but wonder if it wasn’t due to being forced to listen to Journey one time too many. Or the delightful Mr.Gumby-ish vocals in “Welcome To the Machine,” the only song you’d think Pink Floyd ever recorded.

Reporting to work each morning I hear the same crap emanating from everyone elses’ radios as I walk in. It’s like I woke up in that GROUNDHOG DAY movie, except this is even more non-comical. But no one else seems fazed by it; everyone has the same poker face while I feel like someone’s hammering nails in my brain.

I can’t afford an IPod. Tried earplugs, but I get tired of having them in my ears in short order. I’ve thought about going out and buying the biggest, baddest, loudest jambox on the market and forcing my co-workers to listen to my music choices for a change but I know how long that would last. (“Hey, I thought everyone liked GG Allin!”)

So for 40 hours a week I grit my teeth while being forced to listen to a nerve-grating blend of “lite rock” “classic rock” and what passes for country music these days. Oh, the horror! The indignity. The non-stop 40-hour insult to my intelligence.

On my return home sometimes it takes a couple of hours of Butthole Surfers, Iggy Pop, and a few Ramones tracks to purge the bad taste in my cranium. Like the radiator in my truck, it needs a good flushing out. As the evening progresses, I can lower the volume with some Thelonious Monk, John Coltrane or Charlie Parker. But as I blissfully drift off to sleep, I know tomorrow the ten hour loop of annoying cacophony will begin again.

Like I really need some mealy-mouthed DJ to remind me it’s 110 in the shade every five minutes. And God forbid they ever discuss the news or anything else in the real world beyond their Beavis and Butthead-like commentary on Hollywood gossip or spreading another completely untrue BS urban legend.

I NEVER listen to the radio in my truck; everyone in North Texas drives like they’re lost, drunk or retarded so I don’t need distractions like the news announcing the gas companies’ monthly hike in prices to further raise my blood pressure. It’s not like they ever play music I can stand listening to, so what’s the point?

Pay for Howard Stern? He wasn’t worth free! Wish someone would tell that to the local DJ’s who all wish they were him (“Come on…hold the phone up to your butt!”)

the commercials almost provide relief from those jackasses..

Crap, crap and more crap… that’s all North Texas radio has to offer. The antithesis of entertainment.

I never buy anything I hear advertised on the radio if possible. Why support it? If I’m forced to listen to your din for 10 hours a day, then f— your sponsors!

Hopefully all those doctors selling lasik surgery I can’t afford, all those floor and foundation repair companies and the rest all lose their collective asses on your overpriced advertising and become so much well-deserved history.

I could endure the shittiest day of work with a smile if I wasn’t forced to listen to your dumb-as-dogshit programming.

May lightning strike your broadcasting towers and remove this blight from our land.


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