Workout Hell

I just got back from the gym this morning and was subjected to what no man, woman, child or dog should ever need go through. I forgot my ipod and you know what that means. I am now at the mercy of of whatever's on the radio at 6:30 am. And, unfortunately, you know what that's going to be . . . your good old, local morning radio show.

I believe that there's a special place in, well, let's say purgatory since my mom may read this one day, yeah, a special place in purgatory for these people. It will be there that these once-upon-a-time local, yocal radio announcers — 95 percent of whom are named Billy — will be strapped down and forced to listen to incredibly dull conversation for hours. They'll reeeeeally want to hear a song, just one song!!! Even a bad one! Even PART of a bad one! But instead, they'll be forced to hear celebrity news that's so old even your grandma who has alzheimers and has lived in a nursing home for years knows about it. They'll hear really boring details of their own personal lives and will hear spectacularly dumb advice being given out to call-ins. And, of course, there will be extremely annoying and incessant laughter following all of this. This cycle will repeat over and over and over....

Then comes the WORSE part. The worst punishment of all for the local yocal radio announcer who quite possibly might be more in love with the sound of his own voice than an opera singer or politician in the middle of a filibuster.
When they open their mouths to speak they'll hear nothing. Not a peep. Not a sound. nada.

The rest of us will be in heaven jamming out to Nelly, Bon Jovi and Parliament. Non-stop music and no interruptions as there will no no radio announcers to ruin the vibe.