Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Dishing With Dea: April gossip galore!

From Radio Paranoia
Dishing With Dea

Hello, darlings! Guise has left me to my own devices while he dashes off to Berserkistan or some such place to advise a new programme director on news coverage of recent unpleasantness. Seems they've lost their last three to abduction, firebombing and defection to comparative safety in Libya. Must keep things in perspective, mustn't we?

And that naughty Brownie is late again with his "Fester" finale. Something about on a tout essayé. But, honestly, darlings, we very much doubt he's tried everything. We saw him pass up a chance at a liaison with the cutest Siamese twins - acrobats! no less, formerly of Cirque du Soleil - while carousing with Fifi in Marseille. Oh, that Fifi. She shows up in the oddest places. (Often in the arms of ravishing women, so we hear! Shhh...)

Meanwhile, we'll share a few snippets that have come across the wire since last we dished with you.

According to GH of DXLD (11-16, 20 Apr 2011), AB reports a confirmation that our dear friend at WEAK was indeed knocked up by the FCC this February last. All confirmed by Ragnar's podcast as well. We'd already heard it through the vines almost immediately, all very hush-hush you know, and kept quite mum 'til it was resolved. Apparently just a verbal warning, no NAL, and we're glad of that. Still, he's done and we're quite shattered by the whole affair. He was (and still is) a true blue friend of free radio and shall be missed.

Speaking of which, do we sense the devious hands of K in this recent piquant bit of humour on memegenerator.net? Seems some rascal is trying to make AB famouse, hmm? Alas, memgen is down at the moment, apparently a mudkip infection, but we did capture a hint from Google. If any of our treasured readers manages to snare a copy of the "Courage Dwight" variation for AB, please do share!

And speaking of famouse, we're told that naughty K inadvertently made an owie when he made an outie of another pirate during the summer 2008 pirate war! Yes, indeed, apparently in his state of miff and hiiiggghhh spirits he exposed another operator by real name and address? No!?! Li'l Dea, say it isn't so! Yesss, darlings, per AB, an audio recording has K ranting about having access to real names and home addresses obtained from an ebay shipping list for CB memorabilia, during which fit of pique he exposed another pirate. We certainly hope it's all a terrible misunderstanding. When we know more, so shall you, dear ones. Meanwhile, K, take heed the words of Falstaff, himself a sometime carouser and braggart: The better part of valor is discretion. One never knows for certain who is a fellow airwave buccaneer, so...

Finally, dear ones, our sources at Fabulous Rabbit Neverland tell us that CB promises to swear off his addiction to dirty socks, but implores please-please-puhLEEZ don't blame LW or PM for his misdeeds. Well, Dea is nothing if not forgiving and oh-so understanding of creative geniuses. Little long-eared maniac, we still adore you. Now, scurry off to the vet for your myxomatosis booster before we change our minds.

'Til next time, darlings, keep the ionosphere warm for us!

Dea Fauxnette is a sight-impaired but sharp-eared correspondent for Tales of Radio Paranoia. Don't try to sneak anything past her. She heard you coming before you got started.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Pretty Good Friday

Reblogging socks sucks. Normally we would avoid merely copying someone else's content unless it was copypasta done ironically. Because we love irony in the same way a hipster loves PBR ironically. Oh, shhhiii... never mind, forget we said that. GF and BNtP are waaay too old to be hipsters (we're told the maximum age for a hipster is 27). And we prefer MB quart cans.

Anyway, RP is ankle-deep in dirty socks, trying to finger out a way to blog about how sockpuppets are the Cancer Killing the FRN* while either: (a) making it funny; or, (b) ranting about it in a way that's so obviously a parody that almost everyone would realize it's parody. Almost everyone. We already know CB will never find it funny, that's a given. We're pretty sure that the only thing CB finds funny, other than himself, is South Park audio bits, and we agree with him on that.

Meanwhile, tip to the wise: When debating really important shit that nobody cares about issues on the FRN, keep in mind that ComBun's known sockpuppets include Official Pus Press Release, Mosby, Thumper and Bouncer, and probably Beans (although Beans and Officious Pus Release may be share-puppets accessible to more than one person). Gargle "bobsmith6955@yahoo.com" on the web and on usenet and the connections become obvious. So follow Father Poet's lead and cut through the bullshit - demand to speak directly to His Hareness or not at all. Be part of the Cure That Is Saving the FRN. (But don't worry about "saving free radio." Free radio does just fine all around the world without any websites, including a vanity site like the FRN.)

The Sockpuppets' Last Supper

Sockpuppets on the radio: Entertaining.
Sockpuppets on the interbutt: Doing it wrong.
Sockpuppets at supper: Feed a dozen for the price of one.

*Updated 4/24/11 for clarification:
"The cancer that is killing (X)" is just a web catchphrase referring to whatever and whomever is blameworthy for the perceived decline in quality of (X = insert your formerly favorite site/cause here).

Common culprits responsible for the cancer include, but are not limited to:

Mostly you.

While digging through the interbutts searching for sockpuppet art to steal and remix to give ourselves the illusion of being immodestly clever, we found this post from an Underpants Gnome demonstrating the real challenges faced by free radio stations around the world.

From the HF Underpants...

Real Radio Wars

"These reports make the past decade of U.S. shortwave "pirate wars" seem petty and insignificant, driven by egos rather than genuine issues related to free speech and liberty."

Thanks to "bun" on IRC #pirateradio, which routinely proves itself to be a haven for genuine camaraderie and regard for free radio, despite the efforts of some to paint a warped and distorted picture of the channel.

FM 93 Dilbar Radio in Charsadda, Pakistan bombed
Suspected militants blew up parts of the privately-owned radio station FM 93 Dilbar Radio at about 1:30 a.m. on April 20, 2011 after planting explosives around the building housing the station. Radio Dilbar is located in the town of Charsadda, 120 kilometres southeast of Peshawar in Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa province, and broadcasts a mix of news and music.

According to press reports, unknown persons planted powerful explosive material around the station; two rooms and the boundary wall of the radio station were completely destroyed and some equipment was also damaged in the blast. Two technical staff members and two security guards were present at the time of the blast but no injuries or loss of life were reported.

Shahryar Shah, station manager of Radio Dilbar, told Pakistan Press Foundation (PPF) that the radio station had temporarily stopped transmission for 18 hours, but had resumed transmission later that evening. Shah said they had not received any threats, but suggested that the attackers were the same militants who had earlier targeted District Coordination Offices (DCO) and schools in Charsadda.

Police officer Shafiullah Khan said no one had claimed responsibility for the attack. Members of the Gandhara Union of Journalists condemned the blast at the radio station, calling it an attack on the media. They also criticized local police for failing to prevent it and for not providing protection to media institutions.

Source: Pakistan Press Foundation (PPF)

Unidentified arsonists set fire to the home of Teresa Reyes and Radio Faluma
Bimetu director Alfredo López at midnight on 7 April, 2011

Also: http://hondurashumanrights.wordpress.com/

Unidentified arsonists set fire to the home of Teresa Reyes and Radio Faluma Bimetu director Alfredo López at midnight on 7 April, in the latest in a long list of attacks on the personnel and installations of this community radio station (known in Spanish as Radio Coco Dulce), based in Triunfo de la Cruz, in the Atlantic coast municipality of Tela.

The mouthpiece of the country’s Garifuna (Afro-Honduran) community, Radio Coco Dulce has been attacked repeatedly since the June 2009 coup d’état. The attacks have intensified since the start of 2010, when its premises were ransacked and torched, but they have never been properly investigated and remain unpunished.

Reporters Without Borders and the World Association of Community Radio Broadcasters (AMARC-ALC) reiterate their appeal to the Honduran authorities to lose no time in investigating the recent attacks on the station’s members. The international community must urge the Honduran government to protect all of this community radio station’s rights, including the right to free expression.

Harassment of Radio Coco Dulce resumed again during last January’s local elections, when several of its members were threatened or were the target of unjustified criminal proceedings, although the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights has asked Honduras to take precautionary measures to protect its members.

Radio Coco Dulce has always defended the rights of Triunfo’s Garifuna community, including the right to keep its coastal land, which has been threatened by expropriation for major tourism development projects by a group of local politicians and entrepreneurs.

The frequent attacks on Radio Coco Dulce members and the failure to punish the threats and acts of violence against it constitute a serious violation of the Triunfo community’s right to free expression and reflect a desire of the part of the local authorities to silence the station.

Sad anniversary for La Voz de Zacate Grande

It is in this climate of heightened tension that La Voz de Zacate Grande, a community radio station on the Pacific Coast island of Zacate Grande, will be marking the first anniversary of its creation tomorrow.

A week ago, the prosecutor’s office in the nearby town of Amapala ordered the capture of eight leaders of the local peasant organization ADEPZA, of which La Voz de Zacate Grande is the mouthpiece. Several of those named in the arrest order are contributors to the radio station and the charges, which are several months old, directly concern its activities.

The authorities appear to be reluctant carry out the arrests on Zacate Grande island for fear that the local population will demonstrate in support of the station’s contributors, who are however liable to be arrested whenever they leave the island, above all when they report to the court in Amapala, which they are supposed to do every two weeks.

A meeting of community radio stations is to be held today to mark the anniversary.

Reporters Without Borders and the World Association of Community Radio Broadcasters - Latin America and the Caribbean (AMARC-ALC) call on the Honduran authorities to stop the harassment of community radio stations and to respect their right to free speech. They also urge the authorities to take whatever security measures are necessary to ensure that there are no problems at tomorrow’s AMARC meeting in Honduras.

Published on Wednesday 13 April 2011.

No Audio/Video/Blog of the Now this weekend. Believe it or nuts, we suggest you tune in to WBNY's Easter weekend broadcasts and try to snag some bunny love. Even if CB has forked up the interweb with suckerpuppets, many of his shows are entertaining and his current Easter basket QSL packages are spiffy swag, which one day will mark this era as among the most colorful in pirate radio history.
Frequencies to monitor: 6240khz, 6375khz, 6900khz, 6913khz, 6930khz, 6940khz, 6950khz, all in glorious AM, but 10 watts or less so be sure to extend those rabbit ears fully into the upright and crazy position.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

And nothing of value was lost

We love irony. So it was only fitting that as soon as we began Tales of Radio Paranoia, aping Encyclopedia Dramatica's style of ironic subtext in embedded links, ED would fold its cards, its tents and find a new home. (Moar liek a nursing home, amirite?)

Asked about the unexpected makeover from popshock ED to the Oprah-esque "OhInternet", founder Sherrod DeGrippo said, "Veni, vidi, Vichy."

At its best ED took aim at internet narcissism and hit it square in the nuts. In so doing it embraced those nuts like the FRN hugs Commander Bunny's generous QSL packages and celebrated everything ManBearPig promised but failed to deliver with Hyperwhatever over 100 years ago: metahumor, intertextuality and abusing the pipes like never before.

At its worst ED fed into the illness of sociopaths who couldn't tell the difference between the internet and real life (just kidding, there is no difference... for you). Fortunately, unlike ED founder Girlvinyl's 2006 experience with being physically threatened, shortwave pirate radio is free of such unpleasantness. Well, relatively free anyway. If you don't count the summer of 2008 "pirate war." And the 2009 WBNY "pirate feud" show. And the 2010 WBNY "pirate feud" show. And the early 2011 WBNY anti-NRS feud and Beansy's plaintive wails to stp hrrrngg poots. And... well, you get the drift.

But we digress.

At its most mediocre - which became the norm over the past couple of years - ED devolved from documenting chantard deviance with wicked wit to being an adolescent trophy room for increasingly unfunny /b/tard raids and whatever forced meme had caught the fancy of your 14 year old nephew and his imaginary friends. Sorta like the bunnyfolk and their imaginary friends. Genius and madness often go hand in hand, in the same way that a teenager's penis often goes hand-in-hand. Or CB's penis-in-sock.

At its most sublime, ED played a role in celebrating Boxxy, the purest example of "WTF? This is so annoy... hmm... she's mesmerizing... can't... stop... looking..." zeitgeist ever to clog the tubes.

And always, Encyclopedia Dramatica reminded us to not take the internet so seriously. That was a good thing.

Aww, fuckit. Like the Fabulous Rabbit Nuthuggers, ED was never good.

Video of the Now: This guy finally wins the internet.
Update 5/1/11: ED is back, sorta... a mirror site has archived some content. Encyclopedia Dramatica mirror site

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Radio Paranoia Sunday Funnies

Guise Faux is snoozing late. Our own li'l Dea Fauxnette is posting today's column. She doesn't see too well so pretend these are good, m'kay?

Tales of Radio Paranoia Sunday Funnies

This one goes out to father Poet. Testify, Father, testify! Darn those socks!

(With apologies to John Cox for our remix of his original cartoon. Darned pirates. No respect for copyrights.)

This one's for Ragnar, who seems like a dog person. No good deed goes unpunished, buddy!

And last but not least, for Peerless Leader himself. There's no bawwwness like show bawwwness.

L'il Dea ain't no h8r, who luvs ya baybee, c u l8r!

Friday, April 15, 2011

Dream a little dream of CB

I had a dream... was originally inserted into the "Fugue dreams" blog entry, but seemed to digress too far afield. It's related thematically, but seems less cluttered in a separate post. Apologies to our readers (both of you) for any confusion.

Anyway, we said to ourselves, "Selves," because GF suffers from referring to ourselves in the plural third person, which makes us almost as inFURiatingly pretentious as the bunny sock-mafia (emphasis on the fur) - "selves," we said, "one day, Commander Bunny will find this blog. And if he hasn't already blown a gasket and leaked varmint sauce all over the internets, let's insert a disclaimer, shall we?: All things considered, we luv da bunnyman's work.

Hard to believe, hmm? After all, look at the snark content of Tales of Radio Paranoia. Sure sounds like a h8r, amirite?

But occasionally CB can be brilliant... when the puppet master doesn't confuse himself with the puppet, and start acting like Anthony Hopkins in Magic, or Cliff Robertson in The Dummy (classic Twilight Zone).

When the bunnyman is at his best - which means, not pretending a 10 watt AM signal makes him King Of All Pirate Radio, and not alienating everyone who's actually independent minded enough to call him on his bullshit about using a basketful of dirty socks to f4g up the For Rabbit Nuthuggers - some of his audio editing voodoo is freaking brilliant. It influenced some of our own programming style - ironic, considering that one of RP's remixes seemed to provoke his latent fear of unanticipated social encounters with other species. But we'll cover that in another Tale of Radio Paranoia.

Meanwhile, give a listen to the WBNY short from 2007, I Had A Dream, 8:30 minutes of rabitty goodness, the sorta weirdness we luv. There's probably a streaming audio version on the Internet Archives, but the URL eludes us at the moment. If anyone else knows, please post it in a comment or e-mail us.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Fugue dreams

I had a dream. When I woke before dawn today all I could remember was a word: Fugue. While I don't believe that every dream is significant, that's an oddly specific word or symbolic element to recall.

1 a: a musical composition in which one or two themes are repeated or imitated by successively entering voices and contrapuntally developed in a continuous interweaving of the voice parts.
Hmm... interesting, but not necessarily significant, at least not in terms of coming up with blog filler. Probably just heard it in my sleep since I often doze off with the overnight classical station playing. But the implication of a recurring theme seems to resonate with us.

1 b: something that resembles a fugue especially in interweaving repetitive elements
Ah, now we're getting somewhere...

2: a disturbed state of consciousness in which the one affected seems to perform acts in full awareness but upon recovery cannot recollect the acts performed.

Psychiatry: A pathological amnesiac condition during which one is apparently conscious of one's actions but has no recollection of them after returning to a normal state. This condition, usually resulting from severe mental stress, may persist for as long as several months.

(From Wikipedia): Dissociative fugue usually involves unplanned travel or wandering, and is sometimes accompanied by the establishment of a new identity.

Oh, I see what you did there, noggin. Trying to remind me to get back to some of the topics proposed in the first Tales of Radio Paranoia entry:
Alrighty then, the Fest story is coming along nicely, almost done, still waiting for BNtP's fourth and final entry in the Fester trilogy.

Stations getting The Knock from the FCC... hmm... this one may need to wait, at least regarding specifics. At least one station operator with whom we've discussed the incident prefers not to identify itself in conjunction with any public reports about the investigation. For now let's just say that RP is aware of three U.S. shortwave pirate station operators being visited by the FCC during the past year. Reportedly all three received what the agency calls a "verbal warning" (technically an oral warning, according to the descriptions given by affected operators, but we're parsing linguistics here with the government). Since that type of warning does not appear in the publicly available records on the FCC website, the site is not entirely useful as an indicator of current agency activity. From what we've been able to discern from studying recent records, the FCC only refers to "verbal warnings" in retrospect as part of their affidavits when pursuing official actions such as Notices of Apparent Liability, and forfeitures (which is how the FCC describes citations that include monetary penalties). RP may attempt a Freedom Of Information Act request to see if we can shake loose any information regarding these verbal warnings, but we are not hopeful. Field notes and internal memos are notoriously difficult to obtain via FOIA from any federal regulatory agency, unless the requesting party is involved in legal representation of the party.

Leporidae dissembling... the recurring theme of dissociative identity disorder is tempting to pursue but, eh, been there, done that. Still don't have the t-shirt, however. RP doubts His Hareness will see the humor in our blog. But if he does, we'd like a large.

Wars and rumors of wars! Yes, that's a good 'un. We'll tackle it soon. It's about time to offer an alternative perspective on the infamous Summer 2008 pirate war as well. So far we've refrained from publishing anything specific, here or elsewhere, out of consideration for three particular individuals who were subjected to some rather unpleasant attentions between the summer and fall of 2008.

And the most recent snit - which involved a grotesque confabulation by the lagomorph in response to relatively mild satire drifting downward from the North - makes the topic relevant again. The continued theme of piratical bunnyfolk labeling enemies as "child molesters" goes far beyond mere hyperbole, slander or libel. It seems to hint at some deep seated anxieties. At the very least it should not go unchallenged by reasonable people. Not that RP counts itself among those reasonable people. But you might qualify.

A recent alt.pirate.radio newsgroup post seems to be an attempt to put some perspective on the most recent spat:
"At this point, who said what or provoked whomever else really just
doesn't fucking matter..." --(Marconi's Ghost)
But we're inclined to agree with John Poet of The Crystal Ship, who countered that at this point attempting to smooth over or downplay the most recent spat between His Hareness and our Canadians friends amounts to the unacceptable compromise of "...a 'false moral equivalance'..."

To be continued.

By the way, as always, feel free to check off the Zeitgeist as LOL, meh or Fail, as you wish (beneath every blog entry). Points are not being scored and we have no idea who checks which box. It's only there for your amusement. Likewise, feel free to comment anonymously or via your Google or other account, whichever you prefer. If you have suggestions for blog articles or material to contribute, feel free to e-mail us.

Music video of the now: Dissociative Fugue by composer Stretta. In particular we liked his comments regarding collaborative projects and Creative Commons.

Book of the now: The Narcissist's Confabulated Life, by Dr. Sam Vaknin. "Moreover, he imposes his personal mythology on his nearest and dearest. Spouse, children, colleagues, friends, neighbors - sometimes even perfect strangers - must abide by the narcissist's narrative or face his wrath. The narcissist countenances no disagreement, alternative points of view, or criticism. To him, confabulation IS reality.

"We dare not confront or expose him, despite the outlandishness of his claims, the improbability of his stories, the implausibility of his alleged accomplishments and conquests. We simply turn the other cheek, or meekly avert our eyes, often embarrassed.

"Moreover, the narcissist makes clear, from the very beginning, that it is his way or the highway. His aggression - even violent streak - are close to the surface. He may be charming in a first encounter - but even then there are telltale signs of pent-up abuse. His interlocutors sense this impending threat and avoid conflict by acquiescing with the narcissist's fairy tales. Thus he imposes his private universe and virtual reality on his milieu - sometimes with disastrous consequences."

(Quoted in good faith cooperation with the author's stated conditions.)

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Fester, Part 3: Furpocalypse Now!

After a couple of weeks in rehab to recover from over-Festing indulgence, Brown Nose the Pirate returns to file what he describes as part 3 of 4 in his Winter SWL Fest 2011 trilogy.

RP wonders whether he was released too soon.

"We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar"
--The Hollow Men, T.S. Eliot

A big guy with an even bigger head wearing a cheese hat opens the door. For some reason I'm thinking Riff Raff from Rocky Horror, only gone to pot. Maybe it's the slack white hair and overhanging forehead. "Enter freely and of your own will," he says without any hint of welcome, "and leave behind your happiness, eh?"

I don't wanna seem too suspicious so I take in the room, casually, over his shoulder. The light's dim, greenish, and I can't see clearly, just shapes moving around. I move toward the threshold for a better look and walk into, I dunno, like a wall of soft putty. I tap my palm against it. It makes a hollow plonk with a low reverberation, like an untuned kettle drum. Transparent stuff, like glycerin, but the view through it is warped and twisted. I squint at Riff Raff.

Riff Raff snorts and says "I can't help you. If you want to enter the rabbit hole, you're on your own."

I poke the stuff with a finger. Won't quite go through, but feels like it might with a pen or knife. I don't have either one on me. Thanks, TSA, can't carry anything sharper than a crayon on flights now. I'm fishing through my jacket pockets and find a small piece of plastic card with some wires. I pull it out - a Tiny Tenna. Hadn't worked in years since the wires all pulled loose from the sloppy solder joints. Thought I'd thrown it away. I use the edge of the raw circuit board to slice open the pwdre sêr, enough to slip in one hand. The wound is trying to close so I let go of the Tiny Tenna and use both hands to pull apart an aperture and slip through as the slit closes with a flubbering bloomp sound. The Tiny Tenna is stuck in the goo, leaving a gash in the portal. Just as well, first time the piece of crap was useful.

A couple of Scrats - Mosby and Thumper on their collars - dart past my ankles, shinny up the portal and vomit up ectoplasm to patch the gash. That's what I just crawled through? Again I feel the tequila and beer doing the backstroke up my throat.

"Take these," says Riff Raff, shoving beer and cigarettes toward me.

"I don't smoke," I say, trying to wave him off but he pushes them into my hands anyway.

"Then don't inhale," he growls, "but you'll want 'em to kill the stink. This hutch hasn't been cleaned all w

Soon's I grab the brew and smokes he's reaching up into a hole in his cheese hat and pulls out a pad of paper and thrusts it toward me.

"What's this?" I mutter, turning the pad around, trying to read in the dim green light.

"Signal reports. Official WBNY signal reports."

"They're already filled out," I say, flipping through the pad. "Every one of 'em. 'SIO-555. Beautiful AM signal! Perfect audio! Brilliant programming! No one does it like Commander Bunny!'" Only thing not filled out are the check boxes next to the dozens of relays listed. "The dates and times are already filled out for these relays. They haven't even been aired yet." I point to the pads.

Riff Raff snorts dismissively. "Just fill 'em out and turn them in. Don't make trouble. Just check the boxes. Don't make things worse for me here, awright? Don't be a smartass. Just work with me." He stalks back toward the door.

"Hey, where is he?" I call toward his back, but Riff Raff is gone. I don't see anyone else I recognize.
I'm thinking I knew the risks, or imagined I knew. But the thing I felt the most, much stronger than fear, was the desire to confront him.

I look around and try to get a fix on the huge, dark, hazy room. I can see animals milling around, some in small packs, all on hind legs. Furries. Fucking place was full of 'em. I'm wishing Boomer was here. Only sane furry I knew of in the whole pirate radio scene. And even he was crazy, had a rep as a demolition expert, homemade grenades or some crazy shit.

A wild-eyed hippie with a grizzled beard scuttles toward me from across the room, three or four Nikons dangling from his neck and shoulders, clattering together, his ponytail flailing behind him from beneath a paisley bandanna tied around his head. "Hey, friend! Hey, hey, howya doin', howya doin', now watch out for those socks... on the floor! on the floor! Right, and watch out, those goddam Scrats bite, I tell ya, worst case of rabies and mxyomatosis you'll ever see. Hey, I'm Zoidberg, a Decapodian, Decapod DXer, photojournalist, and you got the cigarettes and beer and that's what I've been dreaming of, they won't give ya shit in here unless you're a furry, I dunno how you got so lucky," he speed talks as I hand over the smokes and brew.

As my eyes adjust to the dim light I can see bodies on the floor. Headless bodies, at the base of short antennas. A head impaled atop each antenna. Hotel note paper stuffed into their mouths, with "Nasty signal report!!!" scrawled on the notes. "Ruining it!" on another. "Nasty attacks!" "Destroying pirate radio!!!" Crude drawings of apes sketched on the death warrants.

CB is close. He's real close. I can't see him yet but I can feel him.

"The heads," Zoidberg mumbles, sounding embarrassed. "At the heads, you're looking. He even put Fansome's head up there. I, uh - sometimes he goes too far, you know - he's the first one to admit it! Well, I mean, not him, per se, but, umm... Pat, you know, Pat always... smooths things out after CB, y'know..."

"Fansome's not dead," I say.

"Yes, he is, I mean look, the head, the sign..."

"Take my word for it," I say, "he's not dead. He's not a human. He's more of a ca... anyway, that's not his body," I kick the body, and straw pops out. I look closer at the impaled heads and tap one - hollow. Fake. All the bodies, fake. Straw men.

"Remember us — if at all — not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men."

"Who are all these peop... furries?" I ask, looking around the room.

"His children, all his children, far as the eye can see. They think you're here to attack, umm... destroy... nasty, uh, y'know, um, ruin, ah, ruin it... all... and, uh... I hope that isn't true," he's babbling. Guy sounds like he's reciting a script, political talking points, and not doing a good job at it. I'd heard this Zoidberg character was smart but right now he seems like another buzzed up publicity flack.

"I'm just here to talk with him," I say. "He asked for me, so..."

"Hey, man, you don't talk to the Commander. You listen to him. CB has enlarged my mind... well, my QSL collection, anyway. He's a poet-warrior in the classic sense that, um, Bill O'Reilly is a pleasant guy or Tiger Woods is a faithful husband. I mean sometimes he'll, uh, well, you'll say 'Hey, I heard your show last night', right? And he'll just walk right by you, and he won't even notice you, no QSL, nothing. And suddenly he'll grab you, and he'll access your IP information and expose your identity and home address, call you a child molester, insult your family, and he'll say 'Do you know that "you" is the middle word in "ruin" and "ass" is the middle word in "nasty" and "hole" is the middle word in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. Get it? YOU... ASS... HOLE.'

"I mean I'm no, I can't - I'm a little DXer, I'm a little DXer, he's, he's a great rabbit. I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across floors of silent seas, whoop-whoop-whooping in search of a stink gland..."

"Shut the fuck up," I suggest. "If you talk again I'll punch you in the nuts."

I shrug off the sense of dread and move toward the center of the room. It smells like slow death in here, myxomatosis, madness. The floor is covered with urine soaked cedar shavings, droppings that look like brown M&Ms... and socks. Everywhere. Dirty socks. I nudge one with my toe. It sticks to my boot like it's covered in jizz. I bend down to look... fucksake, it is covered in jizz. I stagger backward, scrubbing my boot toe in the cedar shavings to wipe off the stuff, and step on another sock, this one stiff and stained.

"STOP KICKING MY FRIENDS!" a voice booms from a darkened corner across the room. I can just make out a pair of long ears through the dim haze.

"The socks, man, watch the socks, why don't you!" Zoidberg yells. "They're his friends... his best pseu... his friends... they speak, um, for him, you know? They help him communicate complex messages, uh... about his... superior philosophy and..." He trails off to gather his thoughts, then grabs one off the floor and holds it out at claw's length.

"Look! This is one of his favorites, see, it's still wet and sticky, he's used it a lot lately to rub out, umm, work out some, uh, complex problems about the FCC and government shutdowns and... radio... free speech, and... stuff."

"PUT BILLO DOWN!" roars the voice from across the room.

"Hrrrng poots!!!" comes a muffled voice from my left.

I pivot left, bumping my knee into someone's extended leg. It's covered in gauze... the whole body is covered in gauze, stained, soaked in yellow-green and suddenly I recognize the stench. Pus. Festering wounds. Seen it before, the last Great Pirate War of 2008, the one that never seemed to end.

"HRRRNGG POOOTSSS!!!" the mummy man wails.

"What's with him," I ask Zoidberg. He covers up his crotch with a camera bag. "Go ahead, I'm not going to punch you in the nuts."

"RF burns," he says. "Worst case anyone's ever seen. Can't be around a transmitter more than 10 watts now. He thinks that's huge power, thinks it can be heard at SIO-555 all around the world, but don't try to tell him any different. He's dying of terminal butthurt from it."

"Ppp hrrrng poots..." the mummy mumbles.

"What's he saying?" I ask.

"'Stop hurting the pirates!' It's pretty much all he says. Nobody knows beans about what he means by it. Pieces of him fall off, maybe?"

"Hey, hey," Zoidberg calls to a passing furry. "Fluff up his beanbag chair, get those beans arranged better to make him comfortable, why don't you? You gotta get the beans just right or he'll whine and cry all the time, try to hit you when you're just talking with the guy. Hey!" yells Zoidberg, way too loud, "Beans bag pus covered grouchy mummy guy, it's been years since medical school, so remind me: Butthurt in your species, fatal or non-fatal?"

While he's distracted by the mummy man I notice a zombie Elvis impersonator shuffling toward the door. I grab him by the arm. The arm comes off, still clutching a tote bag full of WBNY pogey bait. He stares transfixed at the QSL swag.

"Hey, Elvis, Evil Elvis," I whisper. He looks at me and grins. At least I think he's grinning... hard to tell with zombies - no lips.

"I need a favor, buddy," I say, and hand him my iPhone, loaded with a custom BCS app. "These are the co-ordinates for an air strike from Canada. If you don't see me back downstairs at the bar in one hour, call it in. The code is Furpocalypse, coordinates 6925. That's the order for the Canadians to drop a massive payload of butthurt trollbombs and begin the Psy-Fudd campaign. Can you do that? There might be a pennant in this for you."

Evil Elvis just grins and nods. Or maybe his last neck sinew just popped loose, I can't tell. I hand him his arm, still attached to the WBNY tote bag. "Sorry about that, buddy, you can probably glue that back on."

Evil Elvis shuffles toward the ectoplasm portal and just melts right through. There are advantages to being mostly dead.

(To be continued - Part 4 of the Fester trilogy.)

Video of the Now: Sick of sockpuppets? You won't be after Sifl & Olly declare monkey love to be crescent fresh! But Bouncer? Not cress.

Friday, April 8, 2011

Military sockpuppets? In my social media?

Just as RP was preparing to wash a load of socks from the premier shortwave pirate radio website (and darn a few that need mending) we bumbled upon a recent news report about the U.S. military using sockpuppets to influence opinion in social media.

"Its something we have talked about here and on other sites since 2006....the deliberate manipulation of opinion on fansite by use of sockpuppets."
--Some guy on some other website we don't care about.

Finally, something constructive for pirate radio's own Darth Sidious to do besides talking to his own laundry on the Fabulous Rabbit Nutwack. Emporer Palpatine was famed for diplomacy in regional political affairs and should do well as a consultant for the military in the subtle art of creating multiple virtual personalities to create the illusion of consensus... as long as each sockpuppet can get by with a vocabulary that consists mostly of the terms "nasty", "attack", "ruining" and variations on the theme of primate descriptors ("slack-jawed, lip-drooling, knuckle-dragging").

RP is, of course, available to consult in matters of paranoia.

Coming soon: RP's vary pwn article on sockpuppets infesting piratical malfeasance. Names shall be named. Teeth shall be gnashed. Fortunately for rabbits, they grow back.

Sockpuppets everywhere! Feeling manipulated? It's because you are being manipulated. Just say no, because the more you "NO!"...

For an entertaining peek under the laundry into the world of dirty socks, read about the saga of SlimVirgin on Wikipedia, battles with the Overstock CEO Patrick Byrne, and related wiki articles on naked short selling. While there are many perspectives on the saga, none is more entertaining than the Encyclopedia Dramatica article, which also cites some useful external sources. (Caution: thick skin and a healthy sense of humor required to grok the ironic use of racism and antisemitism on ED. But if you've gotten this far reading Tales of Radio Paranoia, we're assuming you're as thick-skulled as we are.)

And, to be fair (What? Fairness? In my blah-blah-blah?), here's SlimVirgin's own perspective and rebuttal to some of the accusations.

As this site aptly put it: "Wikipedia is an on-line community that is a curious cross between a conventional encyclopedia, USENET, and a fantasy role-playing game."

And what does this have to do with pirate radio? Soon, childrens, soon.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Pirates of LazyTown

While pondering our recent bout with troll's remorse by consulting with the 4chanizens of /adv/ (because the best place to seek advice about antisocial behavior is among fellow trolls, amirite?)*, we visited /mu/ and /tv/ for the first time since last year and were reminded that many Anons are very creative folks.

If you don't lurk there often you probably have a negative impression of Anonymous as portrayed in mainstream news media, which tends to focus only on the more aggressive trolling of some /b/tards on raids. But Anons are often amusing, intelligent, inspiring and occasionally even challenging in debate (toughens ones sensitive hide against trolling and gratuitous negativity). It's particularly fascinating when you consider the effort they put into participation that will never gain them any individual attention or a cult following, and which will vanish into the 404 ether within a day at most. In some ways it's like shortwave pirate radio: the noise can make it difficult to sort out complex messages; and unless it's recorded, it vanishes into a haze of speculative anecdotes that occasionally misinterpret the zeitgeist.

We followed an extensive meta-humor thread on /tv/ Monday morning that was hilarious. It consisted of one Anon uploading a couple dozen spoof movie summaries written in the style of comedian Yakov Smirnoff's broken Russo-English ("In Soviet Russia, radio listen to YOU"), while the rest of us looked on in appreciative amusement. A couple of fractured tales about the Beatles battling ABBA were also very funny. We swiped this one, a spoof of the children's already creepy and bizarre TV show LazyTown, as internet pirates:

We are the Pirates

All the people of LazyTown were make a lazy.

Suddenly, Pirates made their danube across the ocean!

"Don't make your lazies!" shout Captain Pirate, "Join us in our piratings!"

The Pirates jumped into LazyTown and began to Pirate!

"It's nice to make pirate!" say Stephanie, and she turned to a Pirate!

Soon, all the Lazys stopped making their lazy and turned to Pirates!

The Pirates all went over to Computer.

"Of Computer to a new type of piratings!" say Sportacus, and he insert a disc through the Computer and began to extract the internets!

"Is goodly to extract many internets!" say Stephanie, and she made a stealing from many movies!

The music notes began to danube around, as the pirates owned the whole of internets!

Suddenly, the internet companies noticed that the internet was being made extracted!

"Our internets are being extracted from LazyTown!" boam the people who want to go internets.

The internets made 404 of their error.

The people were annoy at no internets, and made a sending nuke to LazyTown.

"Maybe we should have not made our stealings their detection!" shout Captain Pirate, as the nuke to collide LazyTown and a boom.

-by Anonymous (LazyTown photo remix by BNtP)

Audio of the now: On /mu/ we found an original music critique thread that included a few links relevant to our interests: experimental audio and sound collages. In particular we liked the industrial noise collages in Pray, Repent, Receive by solo artist Cretin Dilettante (aka Dustin Sheehan). This sort of thing isn't for every listener, but if you appreciate the sound design that goes into the soundtracks for movies and some dramatic TV shows (imagine the foley and sound design work of a David Lynch film minus Angelo Badalamenti's music) you'll probably enjoy it. We also liked the more accessible musical sensibility in Anklebiter by daszwolftehaus. It's his only piece currently on SoundCloud but we hope he'll pursue more of this melding of music and ambient noise.

Video of the now: At Lazytown, YOU ARE A PIRATE!!!

*/adv/ was split about 50/50 on whether RP should ease up off the bunnyman. We'll see. Pretty much depends on the bunny mob's own fondness for melodrama, which is often too lulzy to ignore.

Friday, April 1, 2011

Troll's Remorse

"Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream..."
Julius Caesar - II.i

Who knew that Guise Faux might have a conscience? Certainly not I.

But just as RP was going to press with a ruthless April Fools' Day Tale of Radio Paranoia, a burnt offering certain to please baby Ishtar on the eve of her birthday... we suffered a pang of regret.

And not only regret - for one insane moment we even considered deleting the entire blog, or at least hiding it for awhile. What could be important enough for a lifelong, unrepentant, born and bred under a bridge troll to reconsider his genetic avocation? Therein lies a tale too convoluted to tell with any coherence in a single blog entry. So we opt for obtuse brevity, thinking aloud.

Long story short, after a March of much madness, we've learned indirectly through a rat's maze of channels that one of our favorite subjects of satire - and, to be fair, also a source of constructive inspiration - the Mad March Hare, is more seriously ill than we'd realized. Extraordinary individuals who accomplish great things are often very flawed. And in his thrashings, blusters and appeals to the heavens, we are reminded of that ode to ancient warriors:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Paradoxically we are also reminded of the risk involved in hesitating to strike when the time is right - now, half past the Ides of March Hare - when a valiant but potentially dangerous foe is reeling along the ropes, when failure to grasp the victory may be seen not only as foolish weakness but as unwanted pity, an insult to a wounded warrior who'd rather go down fighting.

Because part of the motivation for our Tales of Radio Paranoia is not merely satire - and certainly not mean-spirited hubris - but constructive commentary in the guise of parody, we hesitate for at least a moment to reflect upon the human being beneath the masked character who no longer seems to know where his armor ends and his fragile skin begins.

So, for now, Crusader Rabbit, the stage is yours. Use it well.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Blog of the now: "Confession of a long-time internet troll," from Fearless Blogging, an interesting concept in blogging - anonymous and open to all. (The article is interesting to RP because it differs from our concept of trolling, which is subtle, never openly abusive and intended only to motivate others to choose their own responses.)

Video of the now: "Do You Fear Sleep?" by The Moscow Coup Attempt with Vera Ostrova vocals. Not new, but one of the best musical backgrounds for the popular San Francisco Market Street 1905-1906 film. Not many views on any TMCA video and most of them are fascinating, melding radio sounds with ambient electronica. Be the first from your dreary cubicle prison to bore your coworkers talking about it.


Letters, we get letters, we get stacks and stacks of letters.

A. Tales of Radio Paranoia is a commentary about radio in the form of parody and satire. Topics/targets may or may not include some of the often-ignored niche realms of pirate, clandestine and non-commercial radio, particularly those with a political, cultural or mysterious slant.

Q. Aren't you...
A. Milhouse? No, we are not and never will be a meme. But we are often mistaken for him/her/it, and are flattered/baffled/disappointed that you would think so highly/unkindly/not at all of us.

Q. Did you remix my audio without my permission?
A. Possibly. Was it offensive? If so, that was probably us. If you liked the remix, it was probably someone else who actually knew what they were doing.

Q. Why do you hate pirate radio?
A. We don't. We love pirate radio. It's the most fun we can have with your pants on. Unless you're Charlie Sheen. We believe it's strong enough to withstand humorous scrutiny of its foibles and parodies of its quirks. Also, after we're done with your pants they should be autoclaved.

Q. You're just that malcontent we banned/chased away.
A. That describes several dozen people. But, no, that's not us. We're still in ur base pwning ur d00ds.

Q. Why are you hurting the pirates?
A. We're not. Carefully remove the log from your eye, the stone from your shoe, the gigantic bug from your rectum and apply soothing ointment between your cheeks. There. A little lower... lower... that's it. Isn't that better? This will usually relieve the self-inflicted butthurt you are mistaking for personal malice directed by outside influences. Now go wash your hands.

Q. You're a nasty, slack-jawed, lip-drooling, knuckle-dragging...
A. Oh, you sweet talker, we bet you say that to all the girls.

Q. So who/what is Radio Paranoia?
A. Radio Paranoia is not so much an entity as it is the manifestation of a collective consciousness of iconoclasts in the classical sense, seeking to restore the integrity of fringe radio through rejection of the icons and idols set up as false gods. Also, propagation stinks, you're using only 10 watts so we can't hear you, and we're bored.

Q. Okay, now I know who you are, you're...
A. Nope, wrong again. But we asked him/her to take credit/blame for this blog in order to sow confusion/love for our amusement/bemusement.

Q. So who is Guise Faux?
A. Guise Faux is a troll role, not an individual. It is the role of the currently designated scribe for this collective, mainly because the other bastards were too lazy to write after drinking all the beer during the editorial meeting. However we do rely upon an unorganized community of contributors for ideas, topics and materials. You may be one of them. In fact, if you're bothering to read this, you probably already are. You may have contributed material covertly through private channels or overtly through public channels.

Q. Hey, so you screencapped my forum post or private e-mail and Photoshopped it just to make me look stupid?
A. Nope. We did it to make you funnier.

Q. This is just some of that "We are Anonymous, we are legion, expect us" bullshit to cover up for one neckbeard in his mom's basement.
A. No. We're closer to namefags, detested by true Anon. But we do have over 9000 penises. Also, GET OUT OF MY MIND, EVIL MONKEY!!!

Q. Did you just edit my last question to suit your agenda?
A. No.

Q. I'm pretty sure I wrote something els
A. No, you didn't.

Q. Dammit, I know I wro
A. Nope. Moving on...

Q. This is just rhetorical bullshit to cover for one embittered shallow, slack-jawed, lip-drooling, knuckle-dragging, under-achieving, self-loathing...
A. Whoa, take a breath there, sparky...

Q. ...ruinous evil ruiner slandering, ruining and defaming good pir...
A. Pardon our interruption and thank you for calling and boring the fuck out of us sharing, but, no, this is dialectical bullshit in which we pretend to anticipate all of your questions and reactions and then manipulate your subsequent reactions and conclusions by pretending to have answered every possible question and objection you may have. If we do it correctly, you are not even aware that you have been manipulated and you would then be asked to fill out an equally manipulative survey purported to gauge your satisfaction with our FAQ, which we would then use to selectively either declare success or to ignore in our continued pursuit of our original agenda without regard to your input. Either way we would claim our agenda was supported by the masses, while marginalizing any dissenters as malcontents, thereby intimidating most people into silence. The one silly bastard who dares to voice dissent will be publicly exposed, humiliated, declared an enemy of the state (i.e., "good pirates") and exiled to a city of refuge. Those who were already living in the cities of refuge will be declared enemies of the state by association (i.e., IRC... all the millions of you, you... ruiners, blasphemers and... hot, hot, well toned DXers). The rest of you who were spared this humiliation would then be grateful you did not speak up and risk the same judgment. We would then praise you for being "good pirates" because you were faithful and loyal to an agenda which you never were fully informed of in the first place and might not have supported if you understood it but no longer care because you quit reading this FAQ several minutes ago so you could go masturbate. Your left hand is in your crotch right now. Caught ya, didn't we.

Thank you for your generous and constructive participation. In return we will send you a large bribe in the form of QSL cards for signals you never heard, along with coffee mugs laced with soporifics, refrigerator magnets containing surveillance devices and a t-shirt declaring you to be our property and a tote bag to carry it all in on your way to our comfortably furnished asylum. Oh, yes, and a pennant for Evil Elvis. Have a nice, quiet stay... over there... no, not there, that's reserved for my cronies... nope, that spot is for my sockpuppets... a little farther back, I can still hear you... back-back-back... nope, I can still see you... a little more... keep going until you experience this falling sensation followed by a cold, wet, splashing and drowning sort of sensation and/or sudden stop followed by a brief crushing sensation... okay. That's a good pirate.

Tales of Radio Paranoia staff
Guise Faux - Chief Editor, Propagandist & Instigator
Dea Fauxnette - Associate Editor, Rumours & Graphics
General Shun - DXing Professional Extraordinaire

Hareleg Nuns - World of Rabbitry DXing Adviser
Brown Nose the Pirate - Freelance Substance Abuser
Lauren Sheng - Illustrator
Ewe D. Monica - Adviser on Bliss, Nirvana & Asha
Pheme Ossa - Senior Discordian & Women's Issues Correspondent
Rude Salis - Le Chat Noir
Matt Sludge - The Sludge Report

Tales of Radio Paranoia welcomes your radio-relevant tips, gossip, suggestions and comments that are too scurrilous, scandalous or otherwise unfit for print on any respectable journal.

You may comment anonymously on any Tale of Radio Paranoia blog entry, or e-mail us with your comments. Because of the concerns for confidentiality, privacy and/or anonymity in the unlicensed free/pirate radio scene, we strongly suggest you use gmail or another e-mail service that does not include IP information in the headers which might be used to reveal your geographic location.

Whilst we strive to accommodate frank and uncensored comments on our obviously controversial articles, we may delete comments that fail to sufficiently amuse us.