S
Scooter Lesley
Guest
While visiting one of my buddies, at his local pawn shop, ogglin' some of the prime handguns that had rolled off of their pawn,...something weezel this way comes. Across the threshold, entering the shop, male or female, they all seem to have that twitchy little stride. A Clear Channel salesperson, armed with all the shameless fodder it takes to sell advertising. Now, before I get into anything really funny, let me point-out dummm-ass mistake #1: When the economy is bad, pawn shops are ranking it in. As the sales weezel went into park, and assumed the preaching stance, from behind a podium that none of us could see, the pitch begain. My buddy had no intention of buying any advertising, but gave me a nod, as he allowed the weezel to continue. I too listened, as I continued to purruze the pistols...I guess we can all agree that it was a good thing that none of'em were loaded. The offer was made at a low, introductory rate, for a flight of spots on THE ROAD. Since, John, the owner, has Sat Radio in his pick-up,...you're right, he did not know what THE ROAD was. Still, yet to carve a notch out of his quota, the sermon continued. It was not my intention to say anything or scare the (sensored word) outta Reverend Addy, but when this description was spouted, I had to weigh-in: It's one of our "Prime Coice" stations. Premium music...the best Classic Rock, serve by the best National Air Talent. John said, sorry, I'm just not interested. So, with the 38 still in my hand I said, I have one question: What good does it do to have your alleged best National Air Talent, when all they do is read index cards? All I can figure is that he must've been late for his next call????????