There was no show at all last time, on Friday the 13th of May, O Best Beloved. There was no show because there was no "radio," no podcast-- a double-damned "computer glitch" shattered all our plans and dreams. They came and tore the hard drive out of poor old Sam, the studio computer, and when we got there the pathetic thing lay asprawl, denuded of its guts. And, as it happened, all the ya-hobs and Nimrods were off yukking it up at a by-Our-Lady "chili cook-off" without a thought, a single thought, of offering warning or assistance. Why, I oughta... But this time it happened, yes! we had a show, with studio guest Dr. Penny, later joined by studio guest Rusty Rebar. Those two had a variety of things to say, and-- the political opinions expressed by guests on the show are not to be construed as views endorsed by the titular head thereof, or of any other quondam contributors not present. But, all in all, we did have a good chin-wag about alternative subjects as well. Poetry and pedantry were served. No Absinthe this time, which tends to make the heart grow fonder. Please continue to send in your questions, together with an emolument, and we will endeavor to provide worthy answers, depending on the premium.

IN THIS EPISODE we touch on divers matters, with a conversation among special guests. Jett made an appearance first-- he brought two kinds of Absinthe, among other refreshments. We sipped it, looking into its luminous green depths as we spoke of mysteries of Creation. KrOB came in and directed the ongoing soundscape with his unique skill. He was glad to join us and raise a glass of the glowing, greenish potation, and then easily prevailed upon to enjoy yet another. Suddenly the ravishingly beautiful Sarah Goldie appeared, fresh from a night at the theater, wearing a dazzling low-cut ensemble... as she took her place at the microphone it was only right to salute her with another glass of the emerald liquid. Not long after, Pete Goldie appeared. He had wine but we had an other. Other glass of Absinthe, tha' is. And another one to keep ou' the chill. Jett ol'man, this's prime stuff, prime stuff. What're you doing over there? You look as if y'were a mile away. What inschpiring conversatiumons. This's an Innelecshual Salon, in cashe you didn' know-- exshuse me, thish deserves 'nother glasxh. That Sarah's so, so boo-ful. Where'd Pete and Sarah go? You've got to pashe, to pace yoursel' so's not to make a s-schpectacle'f y'selfph. I know my limits, unnerstand? --an' I'll have jus' one more lit-tle drinky of the old Absinthy. Woops! That was th' microphone, we'll pick it up later. Later. Wash out for thish equipment. Later for that. Itsh very late. Let's have s'more of that, that Absiinsh... Normalize the board. We run a tight ship at thish show.

GUESTS include Dr. Fiasco, who brings along his Patented Soundscape, skymaster Jett, who provides fact-checking during peripatetic entomological discussions and Pete Goldie, distributor of wine --and some bile. Hovering just off-mike, equally meanwhile, were Puzzling Evidence and mighty KrOB, who seized the reins after 1:00 AM. Exotic edulia were consumed, strange vintages poured. And moved by what unknown impulse, our thoughts strayed among certain clades of invertebrates. Dr. Fiasco exhibited uneasiness as we called up multi-legged horrors. But of course, there was more-- much more! So tired... we'll just lie down in this web-like hammock...

And, while you're at it, all you Imps, STOP attacking our Shows with Power Out(r)ages. Yes, at 11:25 PM, They struck again, knocking Us off "the air." Not only did our Podcast crash to an unseemly stop, but also all the lights in the good ol' El Dorado Building went out, along with the lights across the way in Bruno's (a wail of dismay arose from the street) and even the street lights on Mission. Overkill, you guys, overkill. Every time we start reaching the edges of Profound Cosmic Secrets, the Directorate of Hell stops us cold. Haven't you bureaucrats in the Infernal Regions anything better to do? This time, advanced Radio Valencia computational devices expertly repaired the damage on their own. Around 10 minutes later, just as the repair 'bots were scuttling and rolling out the door, we came creakily back to life. "We" in this case being Irritating Horror Host Dr. Howland Owll, St. Michael Peppe and peripatetic Puzzling Evidence. Peppered by pesky Pete Goldie calls, the rest of the sad Show limped home after concluding in the usual way, at the usual time. Note the prophetic Warnings at the very beginning. As ever, Prophecy is never believed until fulfillment. We Still Live!

Shoulda beena paira ragged claws, scuttling across the floora silent seas. But couldn't arrange that, so preserved the social niceties. Clark Ashton Smith's poem, "Desert Dweller" helped us launch. But then we didn't Tread the Shadows of Zothique after all; first Pete Goldie came in for a govoreet-- later, visiting peripatetic Puzzling Evidence was all of that, in his chat. KrOB was on the job, but we didn't hear much from him, by "Bob!" The ending is abrupt and underwhelming. Nothing broke, fuzzed off, dropped out or failed, but the sign-off this time wasn't until a half hour AFTER the podcast's ending, so just this once, you will have to imagine hearing the National Anthem.

In-studio guest Jett taxied in for a perfect three-point landing, and stayed to fuel up. Slightly later, KrOB was also present and accounted for. Using an intricately designed engine combining compression with ignition, which generated thrust for swift forward movement, Jett whizzed at a much higher speed than the standard old, droning piston-engined planes, zooming dizzily from topic to topic.
Quite a lot of ground got covered, though perhaps landforms overly familiar to some. Well, by the end, perhaps a lot of jet fuel had been consumed after all-- but it was worth it ("We don't need no bad drugs!"). With Whitman McGowan, Speedy Alka-Seltzer and the Polaroid Swinger.

Partially turned out from the early Triassic, 251-245 million years ago (rounded off), also known to some as the Scythian Epoch. Because this stage of Earth's history did not last very long, in geological terms, we are only considering it in terms of its two main subdivisions, the Induan and the Olenekian. The show drifts between these. It was a period of great change on the show, as whole new lineages and clades of animals radiated into the empty niches vacated of their original occupiers by the mass extinction which had pervasively eliminated the ecological framework of the departed Permian fauna, and the evolutionary battle for the supremacy of the land was waged. The hot dry Pangaean deserts of the Triassic would witness the competition between the Synapsid proto-mammals (Therapsida) that had dominated the land in earlier cycles and the newly-emerged Archosaurian reptiles (Thecodonts, as we used to call them). And, in the arid climes of the early Mesozoic, the reptiles had an obvious metabolic advantage, despite the superior mechanics of locomotion and guardian care-of-young behavior possessed by these ancient mammals. Bulky beasts bellowed in competition, while Radio commercials of yore emerged from oozy swamps of oblivion. Three age-long hours.

Dr. Fiasco's specially created soundscape underlies most of this episode. Punctuated by wheedling bleats, begging for donations from the Listeners again (for Station Dues time looms), Poetick Recitation and the usual tropes, we also debuted the Brazilian Astronaut's newly engineered additions to Dr. Hal's recorded canon of Italo Calvino's INVISIBLE CITIES. Jett taxied in after a three-point landing, KrOB and Puzzling Evidence hovered discreetly in the anteroom, and St. Michael Peppe came in to add to the dialogue. We ranged afar, from the Triassic and Jurassic to the Classic and Periphrastic, natch. We thank in advance whoever throws in on the bailout, while we look hopefully forward to more such harmony to come.

And a welcome donation from our good friend "Vineet," a Question answered. Power drops, static, distortion-- but K. Carpenter to the rescue. The Brazilian Astronaut also made a rare appearance; we owe him a Bazillion thanks for his additional trouble-shooting. Nice shooting, son. All will come out, in the Laundry, in the Fullness of Time. Noisy studio parties need to be held in the adjacent chamber for best low blood pressure results.

This week Dr. H. Owll entertains a quondam guest, Nose Hair Lint Gland's head honcho Karen Carpenter (the alias of a well-known secret super-scientist). Various callers & contributors receive on-air thanks, & Whittier's reflective poem "Maud Muller" is an early feature, a response to a listener request. Eventually, the arrival of Puzzling Evidence precipitates a narrated showing of the 1934 Clyde Beatty feature THE LOST JUNGLE. In the film, circus impresario & animal trainer Clyde Beatty (not related either to Ned or Warren) heads a rescue party in search of his pneumatic peroxide blonde girlfriend, Ruth, & her hapless father, who get lost-- way lost --looking for an uncharted island, site of the fabled Lost City of Komar. Shipwrecked, she & doddering old Dad deal with ferocious lions and tigers, both, improbably, co-inhabitants of the island, not to mention rebellious, surly sailors. Beatty heads after them for Africa in his dirigible, but, wouldn't you know, it crashes right into the jungles of the island instead. When wandering, jodhpur-clad Clyde locates Ruth, he learns that her father has disappeared. The ensuing search is hindered by greedy gold hunters & wild animal mayhem... Meanwhile, the sinister Sharkey, Sadistic animal handler for the Maitland Circus Giganticus (who alternately resembles Richard Nixon & Bob Hope), is revealed to be jealous of the success of stuck-on-himself star animal tamer curly-haired Clyde Beatty - murderously so, as he has once surreptitiously permitted a hungry lion to be prematurely freed in a cage with Clyde, who at that time escaped being mauled by the width of a nanodiameter. Clyde and his buddy, loathsomely repulsive "comical" sidekick circus PR Man Larry Henderson, of the Adam's apple-prompted bobbing bow tie & other quite unforgivable tropes, having taken the maiden flight of an ill-fated dirigible, destination India, to collect tigers, & Africa, to collect lions, to bring both back & make their lives miserable in circus show biz with cracking whips, discharging revolvers & brandished chairs before the peepers of assorted peanut-chewing rubes & wide-eyed urchins-- these guys, unwise, take slippery Sharkey along for the ride. Spoiler: eventually, before the end, he's lion chow. An unholy din on the soundtrack of roaring, infuriated lions, tigers, cheetahs, bears, bleating camels & stampeding zebras permeates the movie. Dr. H. Owll narrates the proceedings. You know, Dr. H. Owll once went to Clyde's circus as a boy. It was memorable. This was after he (Clyde) went to Komar, & also after he discovered a lost race of winged Bat Men in Africa... Then we watch another picture, Doris Wishman's BAD GIRLS GO TO HELL. In this, men, a sordid bunch of leering rapists, are no damn good. So the show covers all the bases. Perhaps this-- this! is the show for you.

When Oppressions bore Us Down to Earth, heroick Listener & Fellow-Traveler Monsieur Mob MeAttie sended Slack in Simoleon Form; in return He did request of Us that we Address the Origins of the word "Nincompoop." And for a Bit in a largely content-free Show, We did just That. We admire Dr. Johnson's Assertion, in his deserv'dly famous Dictionary, that the Epithet deriveth, in a Sort of Macaronic Latin, from the Original Phrase in that Language, "NoN COMPOs mentis," used in the Law to Express the Condition of being Out of One's Mind. This despite the Fact that any Evidence for the "Poop" part seemeth here lacking to Our own Apprehension. Then, too, Some point to the Old French Word, Nicodeme, or Nicodemus, in the Holy Bible the Pharisee of that Name who Questioned Our Lord so Naively in the Gospel of St John. Thus, videlicet, a Simpleton. Throughout the Centuries, the Pejorative & Opprobrious Association hath compounded, given the Natural Vituperation of fallen Human Nature; cognate Expressions include Idiot, Moron, Goofus, Stupid Fool, Bozo, Jackass, Pin-head, Jack-a-napes, Retard, Dumb-Ass, Jazzbo, Imbecile, Block-head, Ignoramus, Butt-face, Air-head, Dunce, Ninny, Jerk, Cretin, Nit-wit, Dim-wit, Loser, Dork & especially Dolt. In the early Eighteenth Century, the Word existed side-by-side with its Variant, Nickumpoop. The Late John Ciardi, whom We think the best English Translator of Dante's DIVINE COMEDY, said that the Dutch Vernacular Phrase, "Nicht om Poep," meaning "the Female Relative of a Fool," was the Source. Other Authorities classify the Word Origins as simply Unknown. A Vast Crowd then entered; We found it Arduous to Host them, since They felt Little Interest in Joining Us on our Podcast. 'Twas little Else than an Affront, though cloak'd in Conviviality. Nonetheless, They Cavorted & Frolick'd unto the End of the Proceedings, when, & just Prior to Closing of the Session, Monsieur Michael Peppe at last join'd Us for a Brief but Civil Converse.

AND SO it came to pass that the menace of the Cosmic Imbalance was, as ever, at the last nanosecond, averted yet again. Yes! Listener Donations saved the Show from the wickedly sharp scythes of the blood-minded Bean Counters. Goings-on in Eden, in the first mornings of the world, occupied us at first. Then (from SubGenius Headquarters, a special Archival Recording had arrived), new Audio was debuted-- we played it-- right up until the moment Michael Peppe strode into the Studio. And we spoke thereafter of many things in Heaven and Earth. KrOB and Puzzling Evidence hovered, yet each never took up a place behind a microphone. But Peppe fountained forth, and soon the onrushing End overtook us all. No Monster Movie this time, but soon-- soon! we'll travel to unexplored darkest Africa, by dirigible, with Clyde Beatty, to tangle with Bat Men and the like...

We start at "IndyVival," with Dr. H. Owll's famed Speech to the Indianapolis, Indiana SubGeniuses some irreplaceable years ago, back in the day (actually, at night). From the Sacred and Sacrosanct SubGenius Archives. Many are the sown pearls of wisdom cast down before seeking, searching and rooting Suidae, delectable candy Easter Eggs for the taking laid gently within the clean, tall grass of this, our Podcast. If not then disgruntled, they then find Michael J. Peppe's arrival equally toothsome and savory. And so it goeth unto the End of the Show (ca. 2:31 AM)--the relentless fountain ever burbles forth. Many are the Voluminous Pains which have been taken to learn the Fate of the Soul upon Disunion, but men have wax'd most Phantastical in the singular Contrivances of their Corporeal Dissolution. Hear and be warned. Which is it-- the Soul sproing-ing off the end of its elastic tether, or the Body beginning its crumble?

One of our best shows, but... with 48 minutes remaining, we found ourselves suddenly without power in the studio. Something happened-- who knows what? We're always at the mercy of infernal devices opaque to understanding. Perhaps a guest moved his foot and altered the spaghetti tangle of wires and hookups under the desk. Puzzling Evidence worked tirelessly to restore power, but in vain. Dr. H. Owll then re-booted the computer-- out the window. No, seriously, he did try a re-boot-- and yes, the whole shebang did come back online-- what do you know? --but too late to do us any good. Still, up until that point when all audio ceased, one of our most interesting and informative shows, moving from Victor Frankenstein's Undying Monster, with Count Dracula also getting his oar in, on to ordinarily little-heard subject matter, including aspects of Mesoamerican history and ethnobotany. Not to mention the Sacred Toad, Lord Bufo alvarius... Guests were our friend Jett, visiting filmmaker Oliver Quitanilla, who discussed his new movie LITTLE SAINTS: EAT A MUSHROOM, TALK TO GOD, and, providentially, the well-informed artist David Normal. What a symposium on secret magic and cryptic botany! And going great guns, too, until the idiot machines abruptly rung down the curtain. Well, enjoy it for two hours and twelve minutes, anyway.

IN this week's 3 hours, the most distinctive feature is archival audio of Dr. Hal and his late brother, Jeff Robins (obit. 2002) improvising in the manner which distinguishes all such performances. Listening, one also hears Papa Joe Mama (a.k.a.Kurt von Buse Kuersteiner, Obergruppenfuhrer of the Nordland Reich SubGenius Clench) and other voices of yesteryear. Poems of Dylan Thomas. Very Special Effects. This type of talk programming organically formed out of the interplay between the two brothers. Thanks to Puzzling Evidence, we were able to present it in original and unalloyed form. Jeff will always be missed.

Dr. Hal limped home, but the stayers-on didn't leave until the first fingers of dawn massaged the throbbing sky. And this-- this! is what they left behind.

Three hours of Show, and "America's Mussolini," the proto-Fascist toxic tycoon never once referenced. Unique among shows, broadcasts and podcasts. Instead... well, with special studio guest Jett we talked of many things. Old syndicated newspaper comic strip features, for example. And why not? Then two peripatetic beauties, Edie and Sarah, appeared. They came in and slipped into something comfortable. Good old Reloadio Valencia! Then, Puzzling Evidence and KrOB finally appeared, and...

It goes... it goes... goes on. Caveat emptor. But there are those who are never satisfied with moderate length.

A large group of guests are featured; among these are Kiko, Jett, MIchael Peppe, Puzzling Evidence, Spy, Sarah and Editn. Or is that next week? We think, probably both weeks. A heavy downpour outside. Four hours of audio metamorphosis. A larger slice than usual. A production of circumstance. Description thereof previously posted, then removed, by person or persons unknown. This is the succedaneum. Kindly mess not avec the posts. Now, the show Dr. Hal planned with Spy could not come about. We like visitors, even, at times, drop-ins, but we had an unmanageable crowd interrupting us, bumping the microphones and complaining about the hook-up. The fans hated it (we heard later). So... let Dr. Hal know if you plan to show-- you can always go, but he has to know.

SubGenius show mixes from the Gestalt of a generation of radio performers support this episode. And, we hear "The Convergence of the Twain" by Thomas Hardy, somewhat garbled, but these are the breaks. Like, it's HARD to try to run the Board AND recite the blankety-blank poetry at the same time, dig? We mean, YOU try it. A lovely surprise visitor dropped by in the rain, briefly, not on microphone... But eventually, you will hear that Michael Peppe does come in (ferried by silent, non-participating Puzzling Evidence) to carry us through to... the end, and beyond! But-- you won't hear the sign-off; we ran far, far later than we should have... hosting Peppe is like that, and can be distracting... "Only" 3 hours of this stuff seem to have been preserved. See, Night Owls? There's actually some value in STAYING UP to listen as we do the Show. Who needs sleep? When we left the Studio, Puzzling and Peppe were still going strong. We have the technology. They had the stamina. BUT-- there's an actual physical limit to how much flesh and bone can take in the way of these Marathon sessions, you know? We're not getting any younger. Quite the opposite, in fact. And so, to conclude, we took aim, squeeeezed the trigger... and fired, at Shibboleths and Bugaboos-- direct hit! As Davy Crockett said, "Be sure you're right-- then go ahead!"