A friend wrote to me, this morning, and asked what I thought about Imus. She’s a singer/songwriter living in Nashville, but she grew up listening to great radio on the Eastern seaboard and, knowing my media background, wanted to hear my take on the fracas.
Physically, Don Imus has that rugged Jack Palance look, if he’s wearing his customary cowboy hat. Verbally, he’s always had that tough-talking cowboy swagger reminiscent of our nookyuler president. I have only caught short segments of the scathing talk-radio legend over the years, so I can’t write the definitive Imus Primer. I have laughed at some of his jibes and winced at others. You should read my take on certain language in one of my previous posts entitled Sticks-n-Stones, however, before continuing.
I have made many verbal gaffes in my radio career and will probably make more. I’m human and foot-in-mouth disease seems to be part of our genome. I would like to think that most people are attempting to be funny, entertaining or informative and not simply mean. My own harsh language on my blog may be considered by many to be mean-spirited, hateful and derogatory, plus a thousand other things since I cannot control people’s interpretations.
Years ago, after listening to one of Imus’ comedy bits from a record – vinyl, oooh, I’m old – I was rolling on the floor so hard from laughing at it, that I stole the bit and used it on my own morning show the next day. I called up a local fast food franchise and pretended to be a National Guard officer bringing a few thousand troops through the area on our way to a field training exercise. We needed meals ’cause we were on wheels and wanted to just whip through drive-through, so I needed to call in advance since it was such a large order. Can you see where this is going?
The poor drive-through cashier was a bit flustered at being the one to have to deal with so many burgers with such a confusing jumble of condiments, but she held up well under my military demeanor as I barked our order to her. Long story short, I had recorded this woman without her permission and, obviously, did not let her in on the joke. That was the joke. She was a nervous wreck, however, after I played it back on the air – again, without her permission. My few moments of “funny” had humiliated her. In my defense, I did call back and tell her not to cook that huge order.
I about lost my job over that practical joke, but it taught me a lesson. Humor is usually at someone else’s expense. Some people will not find it funny, especially those on whom you’re pulling the prank. Consider Borat, which I’ve not seen. I had to write a long letter of apology to the woman and her employer, plus apologize on the air. All of this, I did, gladly, because I realized the error of my poor judgment, merely for the sake of a couple yucks.
I was 25 years old, at the time. I wasn’t drunk and I didn’t go into rehab. I was a young, immature, loud-mouthed punk on the radio, but I was a good person and would like to think that I still am. I am appreciative that I was given another chance, allowed to apologize and move forward. To this day, my former morning show in that market still holds the highest ratings for its time slot. People will forgive and forget, if you are sincere in your apology and your subsequent actions show that you’ve learned your lesson.
Now, I still feel that the drive-through cashier should have known not to take a 3,000 burger Happy Meal order and might oughta check with management, at least. After my prank, maybe certain policies were implemented to ensure such silliness wouldn’t take advantage of the system. It’s like the computer hacker who hacks the Pentagon mainframe, then becomes a Department of Defense security expert and troubleshooter. I’m not trying to spin my version of Imus’ joke in a way that makes it smell any better, but roses do bloom from piles of shit.
I am in no way defending Don Imus’ comment about the Rutgers’ women’s basketball team, though I used his comment as a joke – in my opinion – on yesterday’s post called Blog’s Got Legs. That which is funny to some will not be considered funny to others. I can be particularly vile when attacking politicians, their bonehead policies and various Pop Tart bimbos in the media. Sacred cows should be barbecued and eaten. They are contributing to the greenhouse effect and I’m only trying to save the planet.
Old white fathead fucktards are some of my favorite targets for innumerable reasons. However, as long as black rappers are calling their women bitches and hos, then I consider the Al Sharptons and Jesse Jacksons of the world to be opportunistic hypocrites jumping on the media firetruck as it careens dangerously on the nation’s streets trying to piss out the latest conflagration. Check your hoses, gentlemen, and make sure you don’t have kerosene in your tank.
Everything I say or write is my opinion, only. It isn’t god’s word or some cosmic absolute. I believe in Free Speech, but realize that many mindless sheep are mesmerized by the oratory skills of some media figures. Go figure. Listen, sheep, wake the fuck up and stop letting every little breeze blow you to one side or the other of the meadow. If sheep are not led to new pasture, however, they will mindlessly starve themselves to death. Sheep are stupid, that way.
If the Rutger’s women’s basketball team is going to let one old white guy’s misogynistic gum-flapping take them out of their game, then they don’t have what it takes to win on the court, anyway. This doesn’t excuse Imus, but it points to the fact that too many people are not living in reality.
Some people misspeak. They don’t deserve crucifixion. Lighten the fuck up and grow some thicker skin, whatever its color. They are just words. If words hurt you, then you’re weak. What will you do when your team’s fans get pissed off at some bad pass or poor shot and let fly a few choice tirades during the playoffs? Sports fans can be some of the most cruel at their game, even killing one another when their religious zeal o’ercomes rationale.
I applaud the young ladies’ decorum and professionalism while handling this overblown media matter. Some of their wranglers should not be catering to the media frenzy, for it feeds a firestorm of mob mentality run amok. The team’s coach could just as easily have said, “Hey, some ol’ white guy’s buckin’ for ratings. Play ball.”
I believe Imus should be in hot water. He needs a wake up call, as well, and it will send a message to many others that a civil society does not appreciate racist, misogynistic and defamatory talk. He needs to be castigated, but not castrated. However, be very careful about stifling Free Speech and forcing people to change their opinions. Then, you’re just the pot calling the kettle black and jumping out of the frying pan into the fire.
Fining Imus by suspending him for two weeks is nothing but a vacation, for him. He’s got more money than the NAACP, most likely, and it will only be a ratings boost. Taking him off the air, entirely, is too harsh and the punishment does not fit the crime. It is only by his actions that you can tell if he is truly contrite and sincere about changing his personae, so fine him $250,000 or any amount relative to making his wallet wince as much as those offended by his words, then listen to how he behaves in the months ahead. Another infraction and double the fine. A third infraction – fire him.
As long as there are people like Imus, Stern and Rush Limbaugh desiring to be media kings, they will dance along the razor’s edge of what is considered appropriate and that which is deemed blatantly offensive. Sometimes, an ill wind will blow one of them into the Abyss of Oh, Shit! and you’ll never hear them hit bottom. Or foot-n-mouth disease will slowly rot away their ratings until they fade from the limelight and someone shovels lime in their face.
I don’t listen to Howard Stern, Don Imus or Rush Limbaugh. Most popular rap music is too angry and mean-spirited, as well, plus I can’t understand their poetry and I can’t stand hearing the depths of depravity some black artists sink to in telling their stories, pitiful as they may be. Any artist has a right to feel, create and paint a picture for others to reflect upon, but glorifying violence, hatred, racism, gangsterism, sexism, jingoism or a million other isms that make them millions of dollars – is the root of all this evil in our society. These people don’t need recording contracts, they need therapy.
And the fat daddy fat cats sitting at the top of the heaps of these media conglomerates are the ones who truly rake in the bucks because of your pain. They laugh all the way to the bank when one of their superstars slips and falls from the heavens, burning up upon reentry into a reality where the rest of us reside. The ink on the headlines hasn’t even dried before they’re popping out another pantyless tart to take the fallen’s place from between the fat green moneyed cheeks of Hollywood high-tower pop-culture ass toasters.
Stop buying, watching and listening to all this violent media. Do you know what your children are reading, watching and listening to? Are you consuming porn and gangster rap while force-feeding your babies Disney? As long as you mythologize and idolize the gangster culture, don’t act so surprised when your babies get shot. When you clean up your language and abuse of each other, then you may cast further stones at Don Imus. He may be part of the problem, but he isn’t the whole problem. Imus is just the tip of the iceberg. Maybe this global warming will be a good thing, after all.
The Kat
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