“…And when we come back, the Deaf Frat Guy will be here…”
Jesus Christ! It happened! Yesterday, around nine a.m. on morning radio in Los Angeles: Howard Stern’s replacement actually promoted one of his dead air “characters.” Going into a commercial break, he teased a “bit” that actively forces listeners to seek another station-- as if it’s something to look forward to.
Incredibly, the dunderheads behind the Adam Carolla Show think they've hit on a winner with their time-killing ridicule of the powerless (conveniently, this group can't hear the show). They've even launched a “Deaf Frat Guy” website that manages to rip off National Lampoon’s Animal House and classic High School yearbook simultaneously, while including photos like this:
A supposedly comatose young woman, splashed with vomit (and possibly urine), “tagged” by a fellow frat guy at a family reunion. A staged “gag” shot, or a photo sent in by a Carolla fan? It’s worth an investigation.
Howard Stern gave us strippers and lesbians. Adam Carolla vomits on a coed. This is Howard’s revenge for all the years of abuse at the hands of the FCC: the dull, droning loudmouth Adam Carolla and his slugs, including the grating “sportscaster” who beats to death a bubbling “fishtank”/American Idol Dog Pound joke, and a new news girl playing it straight and obedient, giving Carolla the set-up lines to launch his numbing “rants.”
Hey, we may have led the charge, but Tabloid Baby‘s not alone. Rabid entertainment columnist Nikki Finke has joined the cause, bemoaning “what we're stuck with now: Adam Carolla, that unwitty slow-talker who's not just a panderer but also a punishment to listeners.”
But Nikki has discouraging news: “We have ABC's lame late night talk-show host Jimmy Kimmel to damn for Carolla's presence: Mr. Smug is not just the show's creative consultant but he's also the ‘advisor’ -- and I use that term loosely -- to develop new talent and show ideas for Infinity (and make guest appearances on Carolla's program). So I'm told that, as long as Kimmel's contract is ironclad, Carolla stays put.”
Here’s an idea: Let’s give Johnny Wendell a shot.
Johnny is the Boston rocker turned L.A. hipster and music writer who suddenly turned up on L.A. radio one weekend and exploded like a smart bomb over Dullsville. Johnny’s the real blue collar sage, a talker with real wit and facts to back up his outrage. He knows radio, he knows pop culture, he's got real balls, and he doesn’t look down at his audience as a bunch of beer-swilling, belly-bearing yingyangs who denigrate women and foreigners. Johnny makes you laugh and encourages you to think. His monologues might sound like tirades, but they get listeners reaching for the telephone, not the dial. He speaks to listeners because he’s one of us. And he doesn’t wear undershirts in LA.
For the past seven weeks, Johnny has been talking up a storm afternoons on 106.9 Free FM in San Francisco—another station where the Kimmel/Carolla machine has its hooks into the morning hours—and he’s been doing it a whole different way.
Carolla and company are sucking morning radio into a big black hole. Until Howard Stern returns with a packaged, simulcast version of his satellite show, mornings will only get darker.
In New York, they saw the writing on the floor and yanked David Lee Roth when they realized he wasn’t working.
So howzabout giving Johnny Wendell seven weeks in the morning?
Give Carolla and crew the summer off to work up some new “bits” and some interviewing lessons so the show can attract some real guests.
In the meantime, we won’t have to be fumbling with the radio dial on the drive in to work. It's getting dangerous. Carolla could kill someone.