From the Green Room: A Disturbing Development

Every once in awhile there’s a cringe-worthy, uncomfortable, creepy moment that goes out live, on the air.  One such happened this morning, when the gentleman who owns the radio station on which we are syndicated out in Northern Wisconsin, came on the program to talk about the days when he used to babysit for Warner Wolf.  The only problem is, Warner doesn’t remember this guy, and after a strangely tense interview, I’m actually afraid.  Very afraid.

I think this could be a problem. One of those that winds up with a forensics team searching an apartment with a black light looking for spatter patterns, and jars containing human heads discovered underneath the sink.  None of the facts this guy recalls appear to be true.  For instance, Warner asked him if when he babysat he noticed the family dog.  The man replied no.  Surprising, because one gets the feeling that this guy hears dogs talking to him all the time…telling him to do things.  Bad things.  Very, very bad things.

From the Green Room: Paula Deen's Passover Suprise

Hey Y’all!  Passover’s here, and why is this night different from every other night?  Pork chops.  Here’s my traife safe, bacon and shrimp stuffed delights that will put the curl back in your payis…and the best part is, you won’t get shpilkes trying to make ‘em cos’ they’re as easy as can be!

Take three dozen jumbo shrimp, tails on, roll ‘em in a bissel shtickle of matzoh meal, kosher salt, and crushed pork rinds, deep fry them for forty five minutes, drain ‘em, then put ‘em in a food processor and whip them into a fine paste.  Throw that into a bowl and mix in three cups of Cheetos, four pounds of crisp, crumbled bacon, three 24 ounce jars of pitted olives, 47 sticks of buddah, and a six pack of room temperature Diet Sprite.  Take eight, four inch thick, boneless pork chops, and re-bone ‘em with a ham hock, then, with a bricklayers trowel, lay in a good two or three cups of the shrimp-bacon-olive-Cheeto-Diet Sprite stuffing into each chop, and glaze ‘em with a Manischewitz wine reduction. Stick ‘em under a broiler, about a minute each side, cos’ you want your pork to be rare and a little runny.

Your family will plotz when they bite into these little piggy pouches of shrimpy, bacony, goodness.  Serve ‘em with a little homemade gefilte fish, made with some chopped anchovies and shredded coffee filters.

After the break: my Easter Jesus Loaf and Fishes Knishes.  Baruch atau adenoy elloohainu y’all! Have a zissen Pesach! 


From the Green Room: An Intervention with Connell

I think it may be time to stage an intervention for Connell McShane. 

Connell, whose nickname among the Money Honeys here at Fox is “Hottie McBusiness,” is abnormally fixated on his hair.  More than any straight man should ever be.  The I-Man fusses over his, but that’s an exercise tantamount to painting a racing stripe on a pig, or putting lipstick on a turd, whatever that rhetorical expression is, and besides, it’s really a moot point, as most of the time he wears a cowboy hat.   But next to Jersey Shore’s “The Situation” nobody obsesses over his locks like Money McShane.  Except maybe Marv Albert… although technically, that toupee of his doesn’t really qualify as ‘hair’, as the only thing keeping it from being considered a helmet is a chin strap.

Now, I am secure enough in my own sexuality to say that Connell is a naturally handsome man, in a wholesome, clean cut, boyish way; almost what you’d expect a fully grown Richie Cunningham to look like.  But for a couple weeks now, he’s been rocking a demi-mohawk; not a look that many men can pull off, outside of British Rugby Hooligans and the odd 80s Punk Rocker.  It actually looks great on Connell, but it does require a considerable amount of maintenance.  Chris, our Hairdresser here in Studio G, has to apply copious amounts of pomade to the McShane Mane each morning, so as to achieve the “lift” necessary to complete the look.  I haven’t seen that much product since a community theatre production of “Grease.”  She ladles it on with a trowel, smoothes and spikes it, and then he stands in front of the makeup mirror for about forty five minutes “Juhjhing,” a term for “fussing with,” made famous back when “Queer Eye For The Straight Guy” was still on the air.   Connell is a “Juhjhing” maniac.  He spends more time “Juhjhing” than he actually spends on camera delivering the Fox Business updates.

Now, although he vehemently denies it, there is also some speculation that Connell got some highlights done.  There’s a definite sun-kissed thing going on there that didn’t happen naturally, if only for the fact that A) this is not California, and B) the sun came out about four minutes the entire weekend.  I would bet anything that sometime Saturday afternoon, Connell was in a chair at the salon wearing that rubber head condom thing with all the holes in it, sitting patiently as the stylist pulled follicles through the openings and painted them with a streak brush. 

So I think we need to call Hairdresser to the Stars, Jose Eber to come over, sit Connell down here in the greenroom, and tell him that he needs to get some help. 

Although, come to think of it, Mr. Eber also wears a cowboy hat. 

From the Green Room: Rob's Confession

Charles Gasparino was waiting in the Green Room when I got here.  Why he was here so early, I’m not exactly sure, but part of me thinks he may have come straight from a swamp in the Meadowlands where he had to "Take care of some business."

He scares me. 

Tony says he’s the kind of guy you could hear saying, "That’s enough…now answer the question."  I, on the other hand, hear him saying, "Tell me the truth, and I swear on my children I won’t shoot you in the face."

I realize that my perception of our In-Studio Guests may be somewhat skewed, as I’m not the most open-minded person early in the morning.  In fact, I deeply regret my assessment of Tony Hendra looking like the guy behind the counter at the adult book store asking if you need another roll of quarters for the Peep Show.  I’m not a judgmental person by nature, but after 23 years of training in the world’s greatest master class on how to make peoples’ lives miserable, I simply cannot be engaged in conversation with anyone without exploiting the shortest distance between shaking their hands and finding whatever their personal shortcomings may be.

It’s almost a Pavlovian response.  I just saw Chris Wallace’s promo photo for his upcoming appearance at 7:30 and almost immediately I thought:  "Wow.  Nice head.  What are you?  An NCAA Basketball team mascot?"

Which is why I found myself acting like someone who had just chugged a half-gallon of Hater-Ade when I saw Imus’s Ugg Boots.  Somewhere, a 14-year old girl is walking around barefoot.  I’m worried about him. I think that between his brave battle against prostate cancer and the high altitude at the ranch, he’s lost his effing mind.  It was one thing to sport the cowboy boots that looked, as Tony said, like he’d "yanked them off Dora the Explorer’s feet."  But what he’s wearing today makes him look like a Sherpa taking a group for a climb through the Himalayas.

Miley Cyrus wouldn’t wear those things. 

I think an intervention may be necessary upon his return to the studio next week.

Maybe we could get Charles Gasparino to…give him a little "talking to."


From the Green Room: Spring Break!

Today the I-Man began a week of broadcasts from Ribera New Mexico at the Imus Cattle Ranch for Kids With Cancer. Or, as we on the staff like to call it, “Spring Break.”  There is something about him having to contact us via email or cell phone or intercom in order to harangue, belittle and berate us that brings a modicum of joy to the day.  Plus, at 1,740 miles away, he can’t hear us when we mumble about him being a “cranky ass old fool.”  Although, truth be told, as headphone damaged as his hearing is, he doesn’t really hear us even when we’re standing right in front of him; but at least we don’t have to see the veins popping in his neck when he loses it.    

The only glitch that might have spoiled the pudding was a little delay on the TV side, which resulted in the guests seem as though they were interrupting the I-Man during the interviews.  Actually, if it wasn’t for the fact that our Stage Manager Nat gave us the‘heads up on the technical difficulty, I would’ve just assumed that they, like us, were just sick of listening to him talk and felt the need to jump in just to get a word in edgewise.  

We’re a little concerned about his breathing, though one wonders why a man who has chronic emphysema and serious lung issues would ever think that spending three-and-a-half months at almost 7,000 feet above sea level was a good idea.  That’s tantamount to somebody hiring Governor David Patterson as an air traffic controller, or Mel Tillis to man a suicide hotline.  

The fact remains that the show is just not the same without the Great Man’s physical presence in the room.  There is definitely something missing.  

Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing.  Excuse me, I have to go back into the studio to tap the next keg.