On The Air

Commissioner Sedro C. Woolley of the Federal Communications Commission was bestirred from his afternoon session of meditative repose by the molasses toned voice of his administrative assistant, Ms. Constance Mae Brew, flowing from his desk intercom.  She always spoke in questions.  By coincidence, Commissioner Woolley had been meditating on what Ms. Brew would look like stark naked or in fishnet stockings with four inch heels. He had also been playing solitaire on his laptop computer.  He was proud of his ability to multi-task even while meditating.

“Suh?  Am I interrupin yall's nap?

“I wasn’t napping. I was conceptualizing. What is it?”

“Mistah Boot is heah, suh?  From the Granola Communications folks? Ah see that he does have an appointmint?”

“Right, right. It’s about that radio station of his down south someplace. Give me two minutes, then send him in.”

Commissioner Woolley was closing his laptop when Mr. Willard Boot, Friend-in-Chief of the Granola Communications Alliance LLC, entered the office.

“Good of you to see me, Commissioner. This will help pay down your karmic debt.”

“No doubt. What’s on your mind?” Woolley said, thinking this visit must be serious, noting that Mr. Boot was wearing what amounted to left wing business attire instead of his usual thrift shop couture. His denim shirt was starched, his khaki pants had actually been pressed, and his Birkenstock sandals were polished to a high sheen. He had even rolled his gray, shoulder length ponytail into a businesslike bun. He got right to the point.

“We’re not happy with the call letters the Commission assigned to our Memphis affiliate," Boot said.

“What’s wrong with them?  We thought WUSS would be a fine station I.D. You could even have a patriotic motto: ’We put the “us” in U.S.’ Get it?”

“We get it and we don’t want it. You know very well that 'wuss' is a pejorative term often uttered by the senselessly cruel and the aggressively ignorant.”

“Are you referring to Republicans?”

“You said it, I didn’t,” Boot huffed. “Sir, may I remind you that right wing broadcasting has taken over the public airwaves since Roger Ailes and his loathsome Faux Network and those Clear Channel loons scuttled out of their caves. Aside from right wing blather, the AM band is jammed with polyglot foreign language programming and nutball evangelists who keep getting arrested in motel rooms with old hookers and young boys.”

“My, my, my, Mr. Boot. For liberal icon you almost sound, how shall I put it, intolerant? Perhaps even, heaven forbid, a teensy bit racist? And you don’t think Faux News is fair and balanced?”

“Don’t patronize me. We support the First Amendment, that inlcudes Faux News, if only in principle. We support mom, as long as she‘s not a teabagger. We would support apple pie if the apples weren’t picked by undocumented workers for less than minimum wage. We would even support baseball if our animal rights faction wasn’t so adamant about banning leather covered baseballs and baseball gloves. But we do not support having one of our stations, a lighthouse of enlightenment on the storm tossed shoals of conservative ignorance, given the loathsome label of  W...U...S...S."

“Oooookay. Do you, uh, have any, like, suggestions?”

“Well,” Boot paused and took a deep breath. “We considered WHIP. Our slogan would be We’re Here In Principle, but it came under a cloud.”

“A cloud.”

“Yes. The same animal rights troublemakers again, Commissioner. Whips are made of leather, and well….”

“Aha.”

“Then we came up with WOOF, A Howl In The Wilderness. But the only howl that brought was from our Menopausals For Motrin faction. They thought it could be an acronym for Women Obsolete Over Forty, and they threatened to call a Lysistrata strike if we adopted it.”

“A what?”

“Greek play. Aristophanes. Women refusing to have sex if their men didn‘t end a war.”

“Well, that could be a blessing in dis….”

Boot interrupted. “So the Menopausals thought WIMP would be more apt,” he said, glumly. “’Women Immolating Mens’ Peckers, A Radio Weinie Roast For Sisterhood Solidarity.’ We agreed with them. In principle, of course.”

“You know, the more you talk, the more appropriate WUSS seem to be as call letters for your station. So, unless you can come up with a better argument by the end of the week, that will be my decision,” the Commissioner said. “Anything else?”

“No, no, nothing else. I guess I have to agree with you, in principle of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Commissioner, I have a meeting with the Flag Burners For Jesus Foundation.”

“Yes, of course. You mustn’t keep them waiting. Ms. Brew will show you out.”

Alone in his office again, Commissioner Woolley opened his laptop and clicked up another round of solitaire. He also resumed meditating about Ms. Brew, this time as a strict schoolteacher who made him stay after class. A few minutes later the voice of Ms. Brew herself leaked from of his intercom like peach flavored syrup.

“Suh?”

“Hm?”

“Y’all can reezoom conceptualizin’ until three-thuty?  Then y’all have anuthah appointmint with Pat Robuhtson?.”

“What does he want now?  Don't tell me he's still upset about Plannned Parenthood buying commercial time next to his 700 Club cash cow."

“No suh.  I buhleeve he wants y’all to revoke Mistuh Boot’s broadcayust lahcense?  Says Mistuh Boot is the Antichrist and is cuttin’ into his ratings?”

“Nice to know we’re doing something right.”

_____________________

Comments:

I laughed out loud reading your story.  Still smiling. -- Sandy

Sandy is my cousin. I pay her in IOUs for good reviews.  MB

Oh wow!  Thanks for honoring my state [Washinton] by using the name of one of our favorite towns...Sedro Wooley... right next to Concrete of course.  -- Canids

And not far from Issaquah, Enumclaw and across Puget Sound from Humptulips. MB

I enjoyed reading this story. I will be writing four columns a year for a suburban newspaper. -- Ken

Congratulations!  MB

Hahahahaha -- Fay

Loved it. -- Nick V.

I was howling, that was so funny! -- Amanda

Good to see the TT back strong. -- Albert A.　

Thanks everyone.  MB