Volume 2, Issue 17 August 3 - August 16, 2000

Willie B. Hung is the Rain Man of radio. And he's a hick. And he's probably going to kick my ass. The morning DJ, D-Mac, comes down and lets me in. Willie is busy running the show it seems. I meet Stoudt, the other morning DJ, in the studio. Sure enough Willie is there manning several pieces of equipment at once. He takes calls recording some of them for playback later and adjusts levels on the main board. There is another machine to his right (I have no idea what it does) and two computer screens, one on either side of him. He is a frenzy of button pushing and talking. And, amazingly, he watches television almost the entire time.

There is an obvious camaraderie in the studio. D-Mac and Willie trade most of the banter. Stoudt is quieter as he spends time circling salient points in the sports pages. At one point, right in the middle of a sentence, everyone whips off their headphones. "And we're off the air," says D-Mac. Calls are made, equipment is checked, and it seems as if the fire in Golden is the culprit. They continue to take calls for playback later.

I'm fascinated by Willie. He seems to effortlessly manipulate the system. Touching the screens, flipping switches, answering calls on several phones, and, always, the television. This man is in charge. He knows exactly what to do next, although most is ad libbed, precious little is scripted.

The problem is resolved and suddenly they are back on the air. Headphones are donned and the banter kicks right in. It's as if nothing had happened. They slide right back into their roles. Willie at the helm, smiling.

Willie B.'s real name is Stephen Meade Jr. His father, Stephen Meade Sr., was a raging alcoholic. He and his father fought a lot and young Steve ended up in the hospital more than once. Willie stopped calling himself Steve when he was 15 or 16 and thus the birth of Willie B. Hung.

It was a nightmare … so I was like ‘don't nobody call me Steve.' My mom even calls me Willie. It was just some painful joke that a 15-year-old came up with in an attempt to distance himself from an abusive father.

Willie B. was born in Kentucky in November 1968, and grew up on a farm in Winchester, a town that even today has a population of less than 17,000. When he was in the seventh grade, a teacher asked all the students to go to the library card catalogue and pick out a card for a book that was about what they wanted to be when they grew up. Willie looked under D for DJ. The teacher told him to pick a real job. All of Willie's family has technical jobs computers and engineering and the like.

My dad wanted me to be an engineer but I can't hardly add 20 and 12 together. A life in radio was not what his family had in mind.

So here's a list of possible ways to make a name for yourself, Willie-style. Ride a roller coaster for two days straight to raise money for Hurricane Andrew victims. Skydive to raise money for a youth organization. Stay on the air for five days until the local hockey team wins a game. Attempt to break the world record for staying on air and succeed with 610 hours straight beating the old record by 126 hours. Freeze yourself in a block of ice for days and have a famous rock band cut you out. Throw a chicken off a roof.

Willie at the helm, smiling

THE COCK CROWS

Denver District Attorney Bill Ritter, Jr. has charged a Denver radio announcer with cruelty to animals in connection with a promotional stunt that involved throwing a live chicken from a building. The incident occurred February 1, 2000 at the KBPI studios at 4695 S. Monaco Parkway.

According to a complaint filed by the Denver Dumb Friends League, Stephen Meade allegedly encouraged listeners to bring small animals to the radio station to be released across Interstate 25. Meade allegedly told listeners there would be an early spring if the animals survived, but there would be six more weeks of winter if they did not.

According to the complaint, a listener brought a chicken to the radio station and Meade allegedly polled listeners about whether the chicken would survive being thrown from the second floor of KBPI's building. Meade allegedly told an intern to throw the chicken from the second floor and then again from the third floor as Meade broadcast the results.

An employee of the Denver Dumb Friends League who was listening to the broadcast rescued the chicken. The chicken survived, but was injured.

Stephen Meade (DOB: 11-20-68), also known as Willie B, was charged yesterday (June 29, 2000) with one count of cruelty to animals (M1). He is scheduled to appear in Denver County Court, Room 11S, on August 1, 2000 at 8 a.m.

The presumptive range for sentencing for a Class 1 misdemeanor is 6 to 18 months in jail and a fine ranging from $500 to $5000.

*The filing of a criminal charge is merely a formal accusation that an individual(s) committed a crime(s) under Colorado laws. A defendant is presumed innocent until and unless proven guilty. See Colo. RPC 3.6

According to Jan Klepinger, Director of Community Relations for the Denver Dumb Friends League (DDFL), the events, which actually took place on February 3, went as follows. The son of a DDFL employee was listening to the KBPI broadcast when Willie B. was doing his annual Groundhog's Day stunt. The employee rushed to the scene in time to witness the throwing of a chicken from the third story of the KPBI building. Willie was urging listeners to take bets on whether the chicken would survive. She ran up and grabbed the chicken, ran away with it, and took it to her veterinarian.

The chicken was then taken to the DDFL vets who also examined the bird. The bird was found to have bruises and to be in shock. The chicken has been in protective custody at an undisclosed location ever since and the DDFL has named her Angel.

According to Willie B., the story is more like this. He was conducting his annual Groundhog Day stunt, which he has been doing for three or four years, wherein he supposedly lets a prairie dog run across the highway to see how much more winter we can expect. Although they actually do catch a prairie dog, never has he actually done this it's all just a stunt. This year the prairie dogs were too smart and they couldn't catch any. They invited listeners to bring in animals to let loose across the highway instead. One arrived with a chicken and the new stunt was born. His intern released the chicken from the second story of the building and it was unharmed. He further went on to state that although a chicken does not fly, per se, they are capable of a sort of flight and on the farm he grew up on, they certainly knew that chickens could be thrown quite a distance without any harm being done to them.

The court will now decide how exactly to interpret the cruelty to animals statute (#18-9-202) and decide if Willie has knowingly or with criminal negligence caused harm to the chicken. The statute is, of course, vague, and according to one lawyer consulted, no case is black and white and you can be certain that if they decide to go to trial, the outcome is far from sure. To complicate matters, a chicken is technically considered livestock and can therefore be governed by a slightly different set of rules than your average house pet.

An interesting side note is found in the annotation to the statute. In 1896 (yes, 1896), in Waters vs. People, the courts decided that the aim of this section (18- 9-202) is not only to protect these animals, but to conserve public morals, both of which are undoubtedly proper subjects of legislation.

Again, Klepinger, The contest KBPI conducted served no purpose but to encourage young people to be involved in brutal behaviors, which are likely to lead to further acts of violence against animals and possibly humans. Violence, whether socially condoned, or directed at humans or animals, invariably breeds more violence. Research has shown that there is a definite link between cruelty to animals and human violence.

At first the charge may seem silly, even absurdly so. But the DDFL (and, in a way the 1896 court) is making a contention that is hard to argue with when one digs deeper. Consider this: Rob Ressler, cofounder of the FBI's psychological-profiling program made famous in Silence of the Lambs offers cruelty toward other children or animals as one of the markers that occur with most serial killers. According to the Latham Letter published by the Latham Foundation which specializes in the study of and the education about humane treatment of animals and the animal/human bond this well-documented phenomenon is called simply The Link.

The Letter continues by giving a checklist of school shootings over the period 1997-1999. In October 1997, Luke Woodham stabbed his mother to death, then took a rifle to school and shot nine students, killing two. December 1997, Michael Carneal fired on classmates at a prayer circle, wounding five and killing three. May 1998, Kip Kinkel allegedly murdered both of his parents, then moved on to the school cafeteria where he wounded 22 and killed two. And, of course, Littleton 1999, Klebold and Harris. The connection between all of these children? Cruelty to animals.

In 1964, famed anthropologist Margaret Mead warned, the most dangerous thing that can happen to a child is to kill or torture an animal and get away with it.

The DDFL is very serious about its mission. Take, for example, the case of Oso. Oso is a Saint Bernard that made head-lines in 1997 when his owner (or guardian in Boulder) left him outside where Oso suffered from heatstroke, sunburn, and maggot infestation, amongst other ailments. Earl Armstrong, the owner in question, was sentenced to 180 days of hard time with 150 days suspended. Armstrong did his 30 days and then was required to do 250 hours of community service, which the DDFL managed to have attached to the zoo. Armstrong then proceeded to prove himself further neglectful by forgetting his service debt. The DDFL made sure that the proper authorities were notified and Armstrong went back to jail to finish the rest of his 180- day sentence. That's right. Six months in the big house the minimum jail term proscribed for a Class 1 misdemeanor.

Sandra Youngman is Chief Investigator for the DDFL. She's a Class 3 Peace Officer, which means that she has been commissioned by the Department of Agriculture to investigate alleged cases of cruelty to animals and to issue suspected offenders into court known as the power to issue a summons. She is also dedicated to her job and to the animals she protects. Compassion for all life is an important issue because in this world today, people don't have respect for people. It's more than a chicken, it's a living thing, says Youngman. We need to make a statement.

Part of the reality that she confronts is where is the line drawn between fake stunt and actual event. DJs are constantly using this theater of the mind to their advantage, so to speak, by the sheer fact that we cannot see what they actually do. The question for Youngman is, are they really doing this? Now we don't know. Willie once encouraged a listener to put a cat in the dryer and put the phone up to it so the audience could hear it go thud and cry. Why would someone urge someone to do that? How much other stuff is true?

It's just a goofy radio stunt to get everyone worked up, says Willie. And the next thing you know, stations from L.A. to New York are talking about Willie. His brother heard it on the air in Minnesota. When asked about the press and the hype that it's generated, Willie responds contritely, It's not bad, but it's not like I condone throwing chickens off of buildings. I guess it's not bad, you know, but if I get branded cruel to animals, I'd rather have zero press than that kind of press. ‘Cause I got two dogs, a cat, fish, fuckin' tarantulas. It's like fuckin' Ace Ventura in my house.

This part is basically too good to be true when you frame it in publicity terms. The DA who is in charge of the case? Phil Parrott. The judge who may end up hearing it? Judge Bird. As Willie says, How can you not laugh at that shit? And of course, the guys at KBPI will probably have something to say about the trial as it approaches. It's too fuckin' goofy not to.

SCREAMING THROUGH THE NOISE

In the retail world, they proclaim the mantra location, location, location. The media equivalent is, of course, ratings, ratings, ratings, and in an ever increasingly homogenized radio landscape (see Go-Go Issue 12) it will become tougher and tougher to stand out to get those ratings.

In another two years, according to Willie, there's going to be, like, three companies that own every station in the country. Three companies squeezing formats out of the grinder in an effort to reduce production costs and increase profits. But this would seem to be a downward spiral if ever there was one.

Picture this: You are a DJ struggling to keep a job. Across the country are hundreds, if not more, DJs trying to do the same. Because of corporate mergers there are basically six types of stations adult contemporary, classical, active rock, alternative, Top 40, and country all run by very few people beholden to stock holders. Since everyone within their little niche is being forced to follow the same format as everyone else in their niche and even across niches it is extremely difficult to make a name for yourself in order to keep the job you have, let alone get more money. What's a DJ to do? Why, get 15-year-olds to disrobe of course. Shock Jocks rule, and the average DJ had better think of something quick or start flipping burgers.

Now hand wringers will be saying what is the world coming to? … but let's think back to the television show WKRP in Cincinnati. It's WKRP circa 1979, and they decide to give lucky people turkeys by letting them fly out of a helicopter as a Thanksgiving publicity stunt. However, no one has thought about the fact that domestic turkeys can't fly. Turkeys are hitting the ground like sacks of wet cement, newsman Les Nesman reported. (Sound like any chickens you know?) Not long after that show aired, Advertising Age, an industry magazine, discovered that it was actually based on an event in Texas. The slight difference being that the Dallas crew launched the turkeys from a speeding truck.

An article in the L.A. Times from 1979 had the following to say regarding the incident. Is this any way for a $3 billion business to behave? Apparently it is, at least when the stunt comes off. Using giveaway contests, a selection of exactly the right music, all the news in 22 minutes or personable talk show hosts, radio stations around the country have built the biggest audiences in their history. And in radio, audiences mean money.

In 1998 in the Las Vegas Sun, Mark Thompson, half of the popular Mark and Brian Show from L.A., had the following to say about stunts, We've learned over the years, the dumber, the better. If it makes absolutely no sense to do it, good. Lou, Willie's assistant and a DJ at KBPI, catches the mood of the demographic perfectly when she says, the 18-34-year old males … they love to go outside the box. Like, to get the shock value thing about it. They love it if you push the boundaries a little bit and he's [Willie] great at that. And that's very appealing to our demographic of listeners.

Rover, from The Peak, agrees, You have to pick something that the general listen- er will go ‘holy shit, I can't believe they're doing this.' It has to be something people will remember. Media types call this the water cooler effect. If someone will stand around the cooler and talk about something they have heard on the radio that morning, then the stunt has worked. It's advertising that doesn't have to be figured into anyone's budget. But when is too far, too far?

Rover claims to basically do whatever he thinks is funny to him. Rarely is a stunt stopped because of the possible consequences, unless, that is, he has to consult his boss to prepare for he stunt. A stunt in which they were going to shoot the producer on air with him wearing a bullet proof vest was cancelled in just this way. And as for things going over the edge? You have to assume that people have a reasonable amount of intelligence, says Rover. We believe in paying the consequences later.

About stunts, Willie says, I like doing stuff like that. It kind of helps build your image a little bit. A little bit, indeed. But is it a desire to crush the competition or is it something else.

Talking about the freezing stunt Willie says, I'm the kind of guy who's like, ‘Fuck that, I can do that.' The next thing I know they're like, we got it all set up for you and I'm like, ‘arrgh.' I'm, fuckin' so much of an ‘okay, if I said I'm gonna do it, I'll do it' kind of guy, so I'm like ‘uh, okay.' And then I'm like ‘fuck.' Believe me my first few hours into it man, I'm like, ‘this fuckin' sucks.'

FREE WILLIE

There's an old expression that goes, don't let your mouth write checks your ass can't cash. Seems Willie never heard that one. But there's a subtler undercurrent to all of Willie's stunts. Imagine, if you will, being locked in ice for days, barely able to move, not able to even read, nothing to do really anything but, as Willie puts it, count the minutes. Could you take it? I imagine a hard core meditator using this as a sort of retreat, but a meditator Willie is decidedly not. The on-air marathon had a different and sadder dimension. Just as he was about to start, his wife announced that she would not be home when he finished. She was divorc-ing him. Without that, Willie says he never would have been able to break the record. It gave him something to set his mind on to get him through.

Why is it that someone with enough will power to stay on air long enough to need intravenous infusions because he was in a conscious coma can't control his other urges?

When he was 15 just at the time he was changing his name Willie decided to take his case to the professionals. Every day on his way to school on his bike, he would ride past the local radio station, WFMI, and ask owner Bud Walters for a job. One day in a fit, Bud told Willie, when I told you to come back later I meant later like months, years from now! Willie went back the next day. Finally Bud cracked and gave Willie his first radio job dubbing spots for the ABC Commercial Network and reading liner cards for horse radio 1380 AM, WHRS.

All through high school he worked for Bud and by the summer of his junior year he was doing the overnight shift. When school came around he moved to the 7 p.m. to 12 a.m. shift and he was a hit. But where he really shined was in picking music.

My knack is probably music. I'm pretty good, I'm not gonna say I'm really good at anything, but I'm pretty good at picking hits out and pretty much every station I've ever worked at I've been a music director. I started when I was like 16. I'd sit in the boss' office and be like, ‘that's gonna be a hit.' And, you know, the boss would be like, ‘no way, no way' and it would turn out being a hit, you know. And he was like ‘hey how would you like to be assistant music director' and I was 16, and I was, like, ‘hell yeah.'

Then reality hit when Willie went off to college. For three years Willie went through the same process over again working three jobs, doing the overnight but by his junior year, he had again worked into the 7 p.m. to midnight slot. Although, according to Willie, pretty much the only thing he did in college was attend speech therapy class to rid himself of that Kentucky drawl. I spent three years trying to get rid of it. They did ridiculous stuff [in class], like, put a nickel between your teeth and read newspaper articles into a tape recorder until it was audible.

Then he received a job offer in Charlotte, N.C., that was too good to pass up and he dropped out of college. He worked for a year at that station and then moved on to another. During one of the first stages in the corporate merging craze, that station was taken over and Willie and a friend decided to start their own. Hence The End was born in Charlotte, a station and format that can still be heard today, although under different call letters. His next move was to Orlando, Fla., then Tampa to Jacor station the Power Pig. And Willie's life with Jacor now Clear Channel was born.

Jacor was the industry leader of in your face, aggressive kind of stuff on the radio. They've always been the black sheep of radio, said Willie, but then it became … we went from being an okay-rated com-pany to being the fastest growing radio company in the country. Just a monster really. Then the big merger was Jacor and Clear Channel. Eight years ago he made the jump to the west when Jacor offered him a job with pay cut in Denver.

WILLIE VS.ROVER

The situation went something like this: Rover and Willie were trading jabs on the air and they escalated. One night the two were at the same restaurant and Willie lifted Rover out of his seat and asked him to step outside if he wanted to talk shit about him. Details differ depending on whom you ask, but the end result was the restraining order.

He's called the police two or three times because he thought I was going to kick his ass, says Willie. I'm from the old school, you know, if I talk shit about somebody that means, ‘okay, if they throw me, then I gotta step up.' Lou from KBPI says it best in a discussion with Willie, Sometimes he says stuff that's mean and he doesn't even realize it. He doesn't mean to be mean. I think you were born without that thing that filters sometimes before you say something … because I don't think it connects before it comes out of your mouth how to, like, censor those things.

A side note, with interesting and salient commentary by Willie, was the proposed sale of The Peak to the Mexican Broadcasting Company (MBC). Not a bad move if you're trying to eliminate the competition. It turns out, however, that Clear Channel actually owns approximately 23 percent of MBC and so the Department of Justice blocked the sale. They have since sold the station to Emmis and plans are still uncertain as to what format the new station will play.

Willie has an opinion, I'd actually like to see them have another Top 40 in this market, just because it needs one. I think it would be awesome, ‘cause there's like three or four stations that play the same shit we do. KBPI always does really well … we're like number one or two with 18- 34 [year olds]. It always does really good despite all that, you know the competition. And I like competition.

There is one truth that both Rover and Willie agree on: you can't bullshit the listeners for long. If you, like, lie to your listeners and put up a big front, and try to be one way when you're actually another way; it may work for six months or eight months or whatever, said Willie, but it's not going to be long after that that they catch on. And they realize that it's all a fucking hoax and it's just a front, and they are pretty quick to pick up on what kind of real person you are.

Here's Willie according to Willie from his KBPI homepage:

Okay Ninjas ... this is simple. I was asked to write a bio, so here we go. I like sex, motocross racing, women, and snowboarding. I'm an undercover pimp, I cut the top off my car, and my intern's name is ‘Bitch!' I don't mind telling you that I'm also the Guinness Book Record Holder for the ‘Longest On-Air Broadcast!' Check out all the 411 on my Marathon page!

Willie does genuinely seem to be what he appears to be. He often invites listeners to go four wheeling, to concerts, or to his house to work on his yard. How many people can say they had 40 people volunteer to come over and help them sod their yard? Willie can. He announced on the air that he needed help and the people came. In payment, Willie drove to a fast food place and picked up cheeseburgers and fries for everyone.

Willie has a fused wrist, nine surgeries on his upper body, a couple on his ankles, a hernia from boxing, a shoulder which has been dislocated more than once, and the list goes on. I'm gonna be a fucked up old man, he laughed. You know how it is, doing the shit you do that makes you happy, you fucking wreck yourself every once in a while. But when I'm sitting there 80 in a rocking chair and can't move, I guess it'll be worth it. Willie again laughs only this time with an uneasy edge. I'll have some good memories if I don't have Alzheimer's.

Willie describes himself as the lowest common denominator DJ. He claims to know nothing about politics or nothin' and to never watch the news. His big thrill is to see how far his truck can leave a black mark on the pavement from burning rubber. Within the past three weeks, he's thrown a bowling ball from a vehicle doing 80 miles an hour just to see what would happen. He has a truck called the Defecator and he's building its sidekick, the Urinator.

THE DEFECATOR "Willie backs the car into a hot water heater and then a large industrial refrigerator. The crowd roars with each smash."

He's also the Music Director and Assistant Program Director for KBPI, which means that technically, he's all the other DJs' boss. He decides what music they play, he deals with programming issues, and he even settles complaints from listeners if needed.

For years, Willie asked for a morning shift. He had successfully been doing nights always number one or two in the ratings but wanted to move into that coveted morning drive slot. When his shot finally came, however, he balked slightly and opted to keep both shifts. My night people, the people who listen at night, I love. I think they're the shit. When he came to me. I was like, ‘uh, yeah,' but at the same time I don't want to give up the people who have been so good to me and loyal to me.

But don't expect that to last long. It's the listener loyalty question. DJs work hard at carving out their niche and making that all-important name. It's one of those things where if you've been doing something so fuckin' long you're almost, like, scared to leave it because you're secure with it. My night people, they kind of know me and I kind of know them. So, as much as I'm afraid of losing them, I'm afraid to leave them. It's one of those things where I rely on them and hopefully they rely on me a little bit.

But it appears that yet again Willie has conquered another challenge as the ratings for the morning show continue to rise. It was, like, ninth when I joined and it's, like, second or third right now.

HOME OF THE BRAVE

I arrive slightly late for the 7 p.m. start of Willie's night show. I hear Lou on the air as I drive up saying that Willie's on his way. I call up using the call box and just then Willie runs up. "Got here in 13 minutes," he says. Which seems quite a feat considering he was probably 20 plus minutes away. "I was on my bike."

It's FSU Friday, which stands for Fuck Shit Up Friday, and Willie has a special treat for his listeners and viewers I find out because tonight he will begin the process of destroying a 1981 Lincoln Mark VI. He seems especially giddy with the prospect.

Willie kicks open the door to the studio and the show begins for real. As soon as Willie's voice hits the air the phones start lighting up. People who have stuff to bring to wreck, people requesting songs, or those who just want to speak to Willie. Willie and Lou trade banter and play songs the usual radio stuff for about 45 minutes and then it's time.

We head downstairs and on the way I ask Willie how many people he thinks will be out there. "There's usually about ten or so right at eight, and then it grows from there," he said. And sure enough there are people waiting in the studio parking lot when we emerge. Willie gives a "whassup" and everyone responds dutifully. People begin popping up from cars and trucks in the parking lot. There are 20 by my count.

Willie starts up the car and tests it out. He proclaims that the car is "phat" and proceeds to bust out the window with a sledgehammer since the windows don't work. Already he is grinning like a boy who has just found his dad's porno collection.

The evening is an orgy of destruction. A woman, obviously a regular, has brought a broom for clean-up. There are several small children present, including two in strollers. One child spends the evening with his hands clasped to his ears. There are several couples, plenty of mullets, and many trucks. One younger woman asks Willie to sign her chest and she lifts up her shirt. Several men come running. He says "sure" and signs just above her bra. Her friend a male gives her a high five.

Willie backs the car into a hot water heater and then a large industrial refrigerator. The crowd roars with each smash. A girl picks up a piece of fridge and pretends to stab another kid with it. He seems to enjoy it. Someone yells out, "Yeah, white trash!" Another asks if he can sit inside the fridge while Willie drags it around the parking lot. Willie says no. A kid, whose friend is inexplicably wearing an industrial ventilator on his face, yells out, "nothin' to do in Littleton my ass!"

Willie smashes the fridge and it goes flying yet again. Someone yells out, "this shit is about America, man!" The response is quick, "Yeah! You own it and you can smash it!" The car hits the fridge again. "That's America!"

THEATER OF THE MIND

The whole game of radio is whatever you make in your head, you know. As long as you don't let it be more than what it is. It's just what you make of it. I can go in, and radio's like what I do on the air and the creativity and all that stuff. It's all theater of the mind. If I'm doing a bit, they can't see it so the thing is to make it go across and make them try to visualize it in their head. The bits that I do and stuff I do, like FSU, they hear the stuff hit the ground and shatter and shit. When you hear that you can kind of visualize what it looks like. It's easy stuff to see in your head. That to me is the great thing about radio. I don't think there's a lot of pressure in this job. You could be working in an office job.

Somehow, I can't help thinking of Primal Fear, that Richard Gere and Edward Norton movie where Norton plays a supposedly innocent little choir boy who has been manipulated by the evil system and gone insane. Only after Gere has gotten him off does he reveal the truth that he is, in fact, the one doing all of the manipulating. He is a monster and he has turned Gere into his pawn.

Does Willie have some hidden agenda to conquer all of radio a la Stern? Or is he just some sort of idiot savant of radio that just can't help but be successful? Is he a truly a good ol' boy? Or this a convenient way to disguise lofty ambitions? Here's one way to decide. Spend some time with him yourself. Go to a concert with him in Detroit. Go four wheeling in Left Hand Canyon. Sit in while he's on the air something he often allows listeners to do.

The answer probably lies somewhere down south in a 15-year old's mind as he lies in a hospital bed dreaming of a better life. Or perhaps in a man's mind as he smashes up a car for no other reason then it's fun, and it will sound good on radio. Hell, it's got to be better than the difficult situation some people call reality. .