I was back in Philly recently for a few days and thought I'd
look up some old friends.
     "Hot L Baltimore!?" said Camille, "you must be out of your
mind.  Soap broke much more prime time ground than Hot L
Baltimore ever did."
     "I'm not arguing that, Camille.  I'm talking aesthetics.  Hot
L Baltimore was a better show.  If it had lasted as long as
Soap..."
     "But remember when Burt was invisible..."  She dissolved
into giggles.
     "Hey, is there still a hit left in there?  Finish it."
     It had been a while since I'd partied with Paglia, but she
*did* get the best dope.  Sure, you had to *talk* to her, but
Hell, I'd live.
     "Hey Camille, guess who I saw the other night, in this bar on
Santa Monica?"
     "Um, Brad Hall?"
     "Good guess, but no."
     "Ann Jillian?"
     "That's two."
     "Well, they *were* two."
     "Nice," I said.  "Real nice."
     "Hey, it's a living."
     "Well, it wasn't her.  Think radio."
     "Rick Dees?"
     "All right, I'll tell you how it went.  I walk into this bar
on Santa Monica, musta been around midnight when I see this older,
bearded guy who looked vaguely familiar, all hunched over his
drink, not wanting to talk to anyone..."
     "You, off course, intruded."
     "Hell yeah.  I was already ripped.  I sit next to him and get
a beer and a shot.  I say to him some sort of bullshit like,
'Long Fucking Day' and he just grunts like he doesn't want to
say anything but it's already too late.  That voice--it's
unmistakable..."
     "Who, who was it?"  Camille rolled up a nice fatty and lit it.
     "The next thing I know, I'm in 7th grade, it's Sunday night,
and I'm huddled around the radio with my best friend when we
hear...'under the smogberry trees..."
     "DR. D!"
     "Yup.  Dr. Demento.  And he was not at all happy."
     "Well, he sucks."
     "True, but he's also bitter, so I figure I'll fuck with him. 
     "Dr. D!  Man, you were a hero to me.  I grew up listening to
you.  I even got the free Bubblicious and the autographed photo
because you played my request."
     "What song?" he said.
     "30000 Pounds of Bananas.  I figured you'd play it since it
wasn't hugely popular but it was way cool."
     "Guess you were right.," he said.  
     Camille passed the joint and I took a hit that threatened all
humanity.
     "Now I could tell he was troubled.  He didn't want to talk
about the show; didn't want to talk to an old fan; something was
definitely up."
     "Yeah," said Camille.  "He's over.  You think maybe that has
something to do with it?"
     "No.  I knew what it was and I went for it."
     "What?" said Camille.
     "I say to him, 'It's Weird Al, isn't it?'"
     "Ouch," said Camille.
     "Dr. D. broke his shot glass in his hand--"
     "That's not possible."
     "The bartender stitched him up and he never stopped drinking."
     "God, I wish I were a man."
     "You say something, Camille?"
     "No, no.  Go on."
     "Well, he just goes off."
     "Spike Jones, Tom Lehrer," he says, "These guys had talent. 
They were artists.  Al's nothing--less than nothing.  He
couldn't write an original novelty song to save his life."
     "But is Tom Lehrer a multimillionaire?"
     "He's dead," said the Doc.
     "He died?" I said.
     "I think so.  He went back to teaching math and tapping young
boys and he died."
     "No shit."
     "But my point is still moot!" he said, with misguided
emphasis.
     "Shaving Cream--now *that's* novelty.  Timeless.  Perfection. 
Hell, even 'They're coming to take me away' will outlast
'Another one rides the bus'."  When was the last time you heard
that, huh?  Huh?"
     "Hey Doc, have a valium, man.  It's cool.  Speaking of They're
coming to take me away, whatever happened to Napoleon the 14th?"
     "Well, he's doing time for grand theft auto and it was
Damascus anyhow."
     "Nope.  Napoleon."
     He stood up.  "Don't fuck with me.  It was Damascus."
     "All right, all right.  Just chill.  So what's Damascus been
up to?"
     "Last I heard he was cleaning pools.  Kinda like Bobby Fischer
after Reykjavik."
     "Fischer installed cable.  Now we think he's in Hungary with
the Polgars."
     "Bullshit.  He cleaned pools.  He still does."
     "Doc.  He pocketed 5 mil after the Spassky rematch.  I really
doubt--"
     "I *made* Weird Al!.  When did he ever get airplay?  My show! 
MY show.  Man!!"
     He tossed back another shot and nursed his bloody hand.
     We looked out of the bar to the car wash across the street. 
It was 2 in the morning and there were people out there washing
their cars.   Datsuns, Buicks.  
     "I could write a song parody.  I have, you know.  Haven't in
a while.  No new ideas."
     I peeled the label from my bottle of Bud and looked out at the
car wash.  

RICHH
--all I wanna do is eat a little Crow before I die