My favorite radio station? Not this one . . .

A couple of radio contest stories . . .

I called in to this radio station which was playing the opening couple of notes to David Bowie’s Let’s Dance, and I won. So when the DJ is signing me off, he hits me with the obligatory “What’s your favorite radio station”  question . . . and I had no idea.

It was a pop music station and I just happened to catch this music trivia, but I don’t listen to pop stations so when he asks me, there is this hesitation on my part. Actually it was more like Helen Keller in a library, and the DJ is ready to throw me away and blame it on fried satellites or the ghost of Wolfman Jack or something.

I quickly turned my radio dial off and then back on to find the signal number and came back with “106.7 of course!” I don’t remember the actual signal number but I do remember adding the “of course”, mostly just to piss off the DJ.

Well, it worked because when I got my CD’s a few days later, it was all used crap the studio was probably getting rid of as part of their conversion process. I took great pride in that.

Another time . . . I had called into this station.  The question was about Roy Orbison’s inspiration for the song Pretty Woman, which I knew to be his wife. So I got in and ‘won’ a fresh off the presses copy of Bowling for Soup. I had no idea in hell who that was. So we’re still on the air and I tell the DJ I don’t want it.

He’s got this nervous laughter that sounds like a cross between Norman Bates and Kathy Bates, and my first thought is why didn’t he just cut me loose? But no, he’s trying to sell me on this band I know nothing about. So I figure I’m going to play with the free time I’ve been granted.

I said something to the effect that Bowling for Soup sounded like something Michael Moore would write if he was homeless. And finally, mercifully . . the DJ cuts me loose.

I called back out of curiosity, but mostly because it was a long trip and I was figuring on humoring myself across the dial anyhow. I explained my situation to the screener, who sounded as if he’d just polished off a Xanax milkshake.

“Are you kidding?” was the reply.

I assured him I wasn’t kidding. My thing was this- the station gets bucco free shit, they write off everything from coffee to condoms. Certainly they could substitute for an Orbison fan.

“Well, it’s Bowling for Soup or nothing.” Is his answer.

“I guess it’s no soup for me then, huh?” . . because I had to. It was a wide open shot and I took it.



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