What the f…! Did you see that, Mitch? I tried to swear just then and nothing came out! How the f…. am I going to make it in this…. this… ?? D… ! It happened again! This can only mean one thing. We’re being EDITED FOR TELEVISION!
Sorry for all the yelling and gesticulation (though you probably didn’t see the latter). You always seem to catch me at a bad time. In any case, as you can see, some alien intelligence appears to be manipulating our speech in real-time. When I say “alien intelligence”, I probably should be saying “corporate overlords,” as in the ne’erdowells who run our label, Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc. It’s a lot more likely that they are behind this sanitization of our every utterance. You have to ask yourself, after all … who benefits? Who else? Motherf…ers! (Oooh, man, that’s irksome.)
I am told that the gosh-darned blaggards (See: now I’m self editing. This is how tyranny starts!) are looking to put us on tour, but only if we clean up our behavior a bit. Hegemonic is dead set against obscenity of any kind, unless the obscenities in question are being perpetrated upon the bodies of trade union leaders or disobedient peasants who dwell by some geographical accident on top of the company’s most coveted mineral reserves. Shooting, garoting, and the like have their place (namely, 
in the toolbox of their security contractors). But there’s no excuse for foul language… This is a FAMILY company!
They must have gotten word that the Curiosity Rover has actually turned up an opportunity or two for us on Mars, thanks to Mitch Macaphee’s timely intervention through use of advanced telemetry. Nothing a record company like more than free advance work (except perhaps free other work). Anyway, looks like we might be heading to the red planet once we get this album Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick mixed and in the can. They say Mars looks a lot like west Texas this time of year. Neither is the kind of place to raise your kids. And there’s no one there to raise them if… well, you know.
Oh, great. Now Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is humming “Rocket Man” in the mistaken belief that I was asking him to. Jesus F… ing Christ on a bike!
Oh, hello. Just watching the Curiosity rover on Mars. No, we’re not glued to the NASA web site staring at the same low rez images everyone else is poring over. God, no. When you have friends in the world of science, that gets you access, my good fellow. Big Green, of course, has an official mad science advisor in the form of Mitch Macaphee, inventor of Marvin (my personal robot assistant) and thrice honored diplomate of the international college of lunatic physicists. When he heard about this Mars rover at a recent loony conference, he built himself a little home made telemetry device that allows him to … well … take command of the Mars rover. (“Oh, no you didn’t!” we said. But oh, yes he did. )
What do you say to someone who sleeps six and a half days a week? WAKE UP! That might work. I’ve got a little problem in that direction, I admit. It’s prompted me to ask Mitch Macaphee to install some kind of alarm clock function in Marvin (my personal robot assistant). He gave me a look that would melt iron, but w.t.f. – why shouldn’t I expect a sophisticated robot to have a level of functionality one might expect from a ten dollar wristwatch? (Mitch told me to go out and buy a ten dollar wristwatch, actually. He has a point.)
Oh, hello. Didn’t see you there, peering in from the void of cyberspace. Just working my way through some technical issues relating to our upcoming album, Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick. Getting into the minutiae with our mad science advisor, Mitch Macaphee, who will actually be making the records this time out. Yes, we do have a corporate label – Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc., a.k.a. Hegephonic Records – but they are kind of a “hands off” outfit (unless you owe them money; then it’s another story … one involving off duty military personnel, typically …. I’ll stop there).
Oh, hi. Just got done cobbling together this month’s episode of 
Sheesh. Another dejected look. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has now officially joined the ranks of the disgruntled. That makes about nine of us, if you count both Lincolns. We are in the dog days and, apparently, the doldrums of summer here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill in beautiful upstate New York, and I can tell you personally, nobody’s happy around these parts. I blame our persistent lack of gainful employment. Most band entourages, as you know, can occupy themselves with the somewhat questionable benefits of touring. Big Green, though, has not done a tour yet this year, and I fear that fact is beginning to wear on us all.
Oh… hey, man. Caught me, once again, in the midst of lecturing the help. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) refers to it derisively as “reprogramming”, but you know better. All I asked him to do was to purchase his own cowboy gear – that’s all. Is that so unreasonable? Am I expected to pay for everything around here? What the hell – I’m the “job creator”, right? I’m the one using “air quotes” left and right. Haven’t I done my part in this employer-robot assistant relationship? Huh?
Yeah, hey howdy. Welcome back to the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill in beautiful upstate New York, where the winters are cold and the derricks run day and night, pulverizing the shale that supports the very ground we walk on to squeeze every last iota of value out of the battered slag that is America. Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, our once and future corporate overlords, are working this little piece of borrowed real estate like it’s Irian Jaya and they’re Freeport McMoran. But…. I digress. Always like to start on a bright note. Now on to more serious matters.
Things have been kind of noisy around the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, actually. Pretty hard to finish a podcast with all that clanging, drilling, truck traffic, occasional machine gun, etc. What, with Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm now using our adopted home as a platform for hydrofracking, I suppose I should expect as much. Some might think hydrofracking and music production aren’t necessarily compatible, but that’s …. well, that’s just plain ignorant and insensitive. To some people’s ears, the sound of extractive enterprise is melodious and enchanting. And the smell … just like flowers.
No, today’s not contrary Wednesday. It’s contrary every freaking day here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, our adopted home. I’m spouting that stuff about global warming in hopes of ingratiating ourselves to a potential corporate sponsor. Who, you may ask? Well, it’s someone Big Green worked with before – Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc., king of the extractive industries. Tearing Earth a new Asshole since 1953™. From the tar sands of Alberta to the gold mines of Irian Jaya to the fracking fields of Pennsylvania, the name Hegemonic has been synonymous with … well, with making big piles of money out of big piles of slag. Who better to shake down for some cash, right?