The Night They Drove Old Dick C. Down.
The following recap is for the 6/24/08 installment of The Best Show on WFMU. It documents game-changing developments in the Newbridge Mayubernatorial election, and assorted non-political delights.
"Imus level. We're going to ImusLand tonight. Get ready. We are not going to ImusLand." -- Tom, deciding against a stop at The Mushmouth Ranch
"Good night, unfunnyman." -- Tom, eulogizing the stand-up comedian George Carlin
"Go buy some gum and chew it and then throw it in the park and let the bums, like, find it and try to sell it." -- Craig, the boy who used to live in Cobble Hill, dishing out some bizarro street wisdom
"It's time to start spraying Brooklyn with some weird antidepressant. Calm those people down." -- Tom, proposing a potential palliative for the preposterous palaver
"You can grow little stones on your tonsils. Maybe you really are growing a peach pit, though. Have you, like, gone to this face doctor?" -- Julie from Cincinnati, speculating on Tom's condition
"No, it's good stuff! You should try it. It'll probably get rid of that stuff on your ... polyps." -- Bryce, prescribing DustOff® to clean Tom's throat
"No, man, that song's about the night that Levon Helmet was driving Dick Cavett down from Woodstock to Manhattan." -- Bryce, explaining the plot of The Band's "The Night They Drove Old Dick C. Down"
"I am officially takin' my Dr. Seuss hat that I threw in the ring for the May ... Mayu ... uh ... Let me say it! The ... um ... the ... the Maaay ... the Mayuuuuuuuuuuuu ... Mayubana ... Let me say it! The Mayuuuuuuuuuuuubinatorito .. natorial race, and I'm puttin' it back in my baggy pocket." -- Bryce, leaving the campaign trail for unspecified reasons
"Yes, that's my quadrant right there: lowbrow and brilliant. The slobs! Lunchpail crowd." -- Tom, reserving his spot on New York magazine's Approval Matrix
"Well, I just wanted to tell you that I'm okay and not dead." -- MC Steinberg, reemerging from his happy but unproductive hiatus
"No, I just really want to hear that sax solo." -- Rachel from Kansas City, jonesing for "Jungleland"
"I'm betting that Tad Doyle wouldn't make it if the Seattle Philharmonic was auditioning." -- Tom, questioning the classical training of the grunge God
"Tank, can you rub my tum-tum? Yeah ... no, a little lower. WHAT?! SHUT UP!" -- Horse, guiding his spotter to his pain area
"He posts like it's 20 cents to use a period when he writes. Those are free. Any of those keys are there for you. They all cost the same: zero." -- Tom, reminding a Trembling Eagle about the affordability of punctuation
"Oh, thank goodness. [Crying]. Fix the show. [More crying]. How's school?" -- Tom, welcoming his savior, Bonnie from GA
"As long as he hacks and slices and dices those little brats ... maybe." -- Spike, considering an appearance at the Mike & Spike's Doo-Wop Horror Camp with Special Guest Freddy Krueger
"Oh, upwards to 4,731, but who's counting?" -- Gene Simmons, counting the number of lovers he's taken over the years
"Well, it's black and purple and shiny." -- Gene Simmons, justifying the $492 price tag for his She's So European®, luxury clothesline
"I tell everybody I'm in a rock band. I'm kinda not in a rock band!" -- Norm from Montague, lying to friends and family about his hobby
"Some guy sittin' on one of the horses was tryin' to sell us crack. I kid you not. The worst part: my nephew bought some! My nephew was the one selling it. Well, he was selling cocaine. He was actually mad at the guy selling crack." -- Tom, recounting his harrowing spin on the Coney Island Carousell
"It was the spirit of competition, you creep!" -- Tor Halversom, justifying his son's spiked assault on the opposing team's weakling catcher
"You see him from like the shoulders down, but all of his little friends know it's him, you know. Because he wears his tube socks really high and there's these chocolate stains on his shirt, and the other kids are saying that they're not chocolate stains. Kids can be so cruel. I hate it." -- Tor Halversom, describing the telltale clues in the Time magazine cover photo
"They say that if he keeps eating the way he does, he's gonna need a pastemaker by the time he's 30. It's so sad." -- Tor Halversom, lamenting Little Mike's dietary demons
"I want you to apologize to me. You hurt my feelings, you stupid dumb ape." -- Little Mike Halversom, firing back at Tom for his faulty umpiring
"You sound like a little Zachary Brimstead. Like a little baby Zachary Brimstead." -- Tom, comparing Little Mike's voice to another Newbridge chin-roller
"That kid had it coming to him. He was like Hitler. I can't help it if I was in the zone." -- Little Mike Halversom, revealing the motivation for his air raid
"There's nothing going on. I mean, it's not like it's our fault that the polling stations got flooded ... with chocolate." -- Tor Halversom, denying that the Halversom Chocolate Company was involved in the election postponement
"I'm gonna do the show from a girder, 81 stories above Jersey City in the middle of the night." -- Tom, pushing all in for Hardhat Radio
[TBSOWFMU - 6/24/08 / Full Podmirth / Best Show Gems / Myspace / Fotpedia [RIP?] / Newbridgctionary / Headquarters / S&W / Twitter-S / Twitter-W]
Starz - "Subway Terror"
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The Brats - "OY-905"
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Gumball - "Accelator"
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Brainiac - "I, Fuzzbot"
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Phantom Tollbooth - "Crash Move"
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I Love You - "Hang Straight Up"
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Eleventh Dream Day - "Love to Hate to Love" (live)
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Anthrax - "Celebrated Summer" (Husker Dude cover)
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Now is the time for us to gather together and celebrate those things that we like and think are fun:










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Nestled within the power balladry and sugary stripper anthems of Def Leppard's Hysteria is "Gods Of War", a rare detour into political rock 'n roll music with its artillery fire intro (it's the pop precursor to Metallica's "One"!), Thatcher and Reagan audio snippets, and a futility-of-war philosophy borrowed from original Cold War Kid, Joshua Falken. It also starts off what has become my favorite trio on the album -- while glorious, the singles start to exhibit diminishing returns after hearing them 4,608 times. As Reagan's hawkish warning fades, the vaguely garagey "Don't Shoot Shotgun" returns the titular weapon to its rightful place as sexytime stand-in. The stretch concludes with "Run Riot", a straight-ahead stomper that sets the stage for the album's climax in the form of the title track.

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