Michael797

People are strange when you’re a stranger. And nowhere else is that truer than when people approach you after your loss. In keeping with our policy of public disservice, RH would like to offer up some of the comments we here at the station have heard over the past few weeks, followed by some of the replies we wisely kept to our own damn selves. It is our hope that you won’t relate to any of them. TOP TEN OR SO THINGS FOLKS MIGHT SAY TO THE BEREAVED 1. “It takes time.” - Ok, see you in 20 years; I should be fine by then, right? 2. “God never gives you more than you can handle.” - Yes, he does – that’s exactly WHAT he does. 2a. God did this to test my faith? Tell him I failed big-time. 3. “(Your dear departed) is everywhere now.” - Everywhere except right where I left him, here on earth. 4. “You’ll see him again.” - If you know so much, what was he wearing when he hit the pole? 5. “Want to get drunk?” - Absolutely. Waking up in a dumpster would enrich this situation so much more. 6. “God loves you.” - Yeah, like Glenn Close loved Michael Douglas in Fatal Attraction. 7. “I’ll call you when things have calmed down.” – Given how far you’re about to run to get away from me, a phone call is probably logical. 8. “Sorry for your loss.” - Apology accepted, but you better not ever lose anything of mine again. 9. “God called him home.” - So God can use a telephone, but he doesn’t know shit about email? 10. “Have you thought about adoption?” - No, but I bet your parents did. 11. “There are no words.” - Actually, there are. “Anytime, anywhere, for any reason at all. If you need me, ask me.” NOTE: None of the above applies to widow/ers. They get it. We promise. TTFN from RH.

Original airdate: September 9, 2014 In spite of all better judgment, Radio Hell is back. And today’s transmission is not for the squeamish (or easily bored). Today we take on the very stuff of life itself in our first segment of “Point/No Point.” Today’s topic: Is There a Point? You’re widowed. The other half of your very soul has been snatched from your loving arms. You’ve lost the right to be loved, to be touched, even to be looked at. You’ve become a five-year-old child who somehow got separated from his/her parents at the store. You’re lonely and terrified. But nobody’s calling the courtesy desk to reunite you with your lost lover. In the aftermath, you distract yourself as best you can – but as soon as the distraction ends, all the sorrow comes flooding back as if it never left. You don’t know what to believe anymore. There isn’t a bumper sticker on earth that has the answer to your problem. You’re asking yourself “What’s the point of all the pain, the desolate isolation, the absence of human contact, the sleepless nights?” And that’s a very good question to ask. Is there a point to living after loss, or isn’t there? Does life have a purpose, or is it just a random bunch of stuff that means nothing in the end? Let’s examine your options. POINT: You’ve decided that there is a purpose to life. Your spouse’s death was a test, sort of a purification process. Everybody loses someone eventually; it was simply your turn. Perhaps you believe in a higher power. Your body is like a vehicle that gets your spirit from one place to another. Even if your car becomes totaled in some unfortunate accident, or perhaps simply rusts away from old age, it doesn’t mean you’re done driving. Someday you’ll be reunited with your departed lover. In fact, they’ll be waiting for you in the light. The two of you will get to shoot pool with Ben Franklin while you listen to Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and two of the Beatles (three, if you think John buried Paul) wailing on the stage. You’ll swoon to Sinatra or indulge in debate with Einstein and Newton. All you have to do is stay pure of heart and take better care of yourself. Be patient, and be kind and sympathetic to all your fellow souls. You will find your redemption, and it will be worth the wait. All are equal in the eyes of your Lord. Perhaps you believe that everything happens for a reason. Your bereavement is part of your destiny. You’re spiritual, but you don’t buy the thought of a Gandalf-looking supreme being with a long white robe and beard (or a little old man with a Hofner cigar, for that matter). You were with your spouse to learn about love. Now that you understand what true love is, perhaps you’ll recognize it if it comes again. You’ll take the lessons you learned and use them with someone else. You won’t be alone or lonely for much longer. Fate has more in store for you; all you have to do is be there to receive it. You will be with your lover again, but it will be much more evolved; it will be deeper than what earthbound life allows. Perhaps you believe there’s a point to life, but it’s not redemption. Perhaps you feel that your loss is some sort of punishment, that you’re steeped in bad karma. It is not your lot to be happy in this life anymore; your only hope is in the next one. You’re simply paying off your eternal debt. NO POINT: You’ve decided that there’s nothing after this life. There is neither fate nor destiny. You’re in for the dirt nap, you’re going boots up, you’re worm food, your next stop is the ashtray. So where do you go from widowhood? Perhaps you go through an appropriate period of mourning – then you explode back into life. You decide that your time here really is too short; you have no intention of wandering the earth as a vagrant ghost, always observing but no longer LIVING. After all, nothing ever drops into your lap, does it? It’s life’s cruelest joke; the more you need something, the less likely you are to receive it. There are no miracles. There’s no divine intervention, no rest for the weary. You decide that life must be sought after and taken. Who cares if you make a few mistakes on the way? Who dares to judge you? Nobody! You’ve paid your dues, you’ve stared death in the face and survived. You plan to live again, love again, and make every second count. You’re grateful for the good times, yet you have so much more to share. Your new life begins now. Or perhaps your period of mourning isn’t going away. You really put all your eggs in one basket, didn’t you? Your spouse was everything – and now you have nothing. And you’re completely unprepared for life now; you’re paralyzed by fear. You’re incapable of choosing anything. You suffer in silence as life slips away. You find no redemption, and you’ve stopped looking. Your party is over and you’re stuck with the check. You’re not ok with that, but you’ll never be ok with anything ever again. There is no point to anything anymore. You simply wait for death to take you. Perhaps you decide not to wait. One way or another, you have to make a choice. What do you choose? There WILL be a test. In fact, you’re taking it right now. As always, Radio Hell welcomes opposing viewpoints. Today’s transmission was sponsored by the Society for Octo-Polarity. And special thanks to Jims_Jen for proofreading and acolyte duties.

Sorry for the delays, but - you know, life and stuff. Since this is the first weekend since Ground Zero, we may or may not be doing any live broadcasts for the next few days. But before we put the mp3 player on autopilot, we'll put up a few broadcasts to cover the interim. One is a rerun from way back in September of 2014 when your humble station manager was only about six weeks out; you'll note the complete lack of style, finesse, or anything else that humans sometimes possess. It may inspire some discussion, which is still not a terrible thing. Feel free to post your comments. The other is a blob of fresh snark resulting from recent events. Hopefully, none of it will mean anything to you, but you're free to use any of it as you see fit. From Radio Hell, have a weekend.

Dear Candice, There's sort of an old saying that you can't give out water if your well's run dry. Something like this will drain your well right down to the dirt, and I don't think many of us would have the strength to fill our own wells all by ourselves. At the risk of sounding like an infomercial or something, I do think posting here and reading replies will at least keep you inching forward back into the daylight. But I also think you're going to need someone really close and personal to vent to - someone who, even if they have no idea what you're going through, will at least care enough to watch and listen. If there's nobody in your life who will do that for you, consider getting a professional. Above all, if you're going to open your well up for business again, now would be a good time to ask others to help you fill it. I'll be one of them. Send me a private message if you need to. I'm not Yoda, but I know how to listen. My heart truly goes out to you.

We're back, sort of. As previously mentioned, we were on the road with lots of visitation - including landing at Bud's mom right on top of a crisis. It seems the funeral home had delivered Bud's cremains just minutes before, so we arrived just in time to defuse another major meltdown. Good timing, yes? Anyway, tomorrow is another big day for slightly different reasons. By tomorrow night, we may be reporting the acquisition of a YUGE WORLD-RENOWNED SPONSOR. It should be pretty exciting, so we'll give you more details as soon as we have them. For now, we wish you all a pleasant and nightmare-free evening. Over and out from Radio Hell.

Sorry for delays. The Widz/Bereaved Parents World Tour is hitting the road today cheering up other people. We'll be back later with more random madness. In the meantime, due to popular demand, we're putting Free Bird on a continuous loop. Cyas later.

It's HELL, we have to offend somebody! Ok, not you. Let's go with "Hell West" or something like that. To be honest, I'm having trouble listening to any music right now. Carry on.

Sorry for yours as well, Monique. Playing Free Bird right now just for you. You don't have to listen; we'll play it real quietly.

To those of you who are new here, my heart breaks for you every single day, even though I'm almost three years out. The board will help you just as it helped me way back when. People will say all sorts of things to you (before they vanish out of sight). They mean well. They would love to be the one to "fix" this for you. You know by now that it's not going to be that simple. One of the things I heard most often back then was "It takes time." Heard that one yet? You already know that a second is like a thousand years now, right? Time doesn't mean much when every second is loaded with either shock, agony, anger, or just crippling despair. Back when it all first happened to me, I went to Barnes & Noble and read every book on grief that I could find. Most of them were pretty useless and didn't make me feel better. But there is one thing that made sense, so I thought maybe I'd share it. "It takes time." If that was true, you could crawl into bed for about five years, crawl back out, and all of your pain would magically be gone. Time has nothing to do with what you're going through. Time's only going to be a measurement of how far out you are from when it all happened. Nobody gets to say things to you like "Jeez, it's been a while - aren't you over it yet?" You probably will never get "over it," but you will probably somehow get past it. The only thing that matters about time is this: if it's been six months or a year and you're still in the exact same place where you were when your partner passed, you should probably go get some professional help. That's it. I will say that the widows I met here are the finest people I know. You are surrounded by people who "get it." They're here for you, too. I'm one of them. And bagos. They help, too. When you're ready.

This just in - a vote has been cast for A) Free Bird. Here in Pennsylvania (or what I like to call "North Arkansas"), that song has been played at more funerals than "Amazing Grace." Go check it out on YouTube. Or don't.

You already know where I'm going to go next, don't you? Today's sermon is about stupidity. In the aftermath of Bud's passing, all sorts of issues that everybody's been dragging around for so long are being resolved. I've resolved decades-old crap with my family. People that have rained shit on me for my entire life are being stood up to. Bud's mom has told me that everything she thought she knew seems wrong now (not that it was), and she's reinventing herself. All this great and powerful stuff is being wiped away, presumably for once and for all. Sounds good, right? Nope, it's incredibly fucking stupid. We didn't all become demigods all of a sudden; we didn't inherit magical powers from a spider bite. We're still just human - which means we could've fixed all of this crap all along. It didn't take a tragedy of biblical proportions to make our lives better; we could've just clicked our heels together and dealt with stuff. I propose a new gospel - where everyone learns to go forth and fix their shit before they have to. It could change the course of destinies and save you boatloads of regret if something really mind-boggling happens. Just throwing it out there.

Mind-boggling indeed. As you can see, I'm now a babbling idiot. I feel your pain and can tell that you feel mine. Truly sorry about that.

Approved on many levels. A field trip sorta sounds nice, weather permitting. I'll trust you with texture choices as I'll be through with chewing. Better yet, maybe we can make it a costume party. If you show up dressed as a Hasidic Rebbe, I'll push to get you a seat next to the Big G when it's your turn.

Now we're rolling! Let's do some VIEWER MAIL. Bud's best friend's parents are both Russian Muslim doctors. I met them on Saturday; with tears rolling down their faces, they told me how Bud used to play with their autistic son. Nobody blew up the church on Saturday; maybe you can't fit a bomb in a tailored suit or something. I'll do you one better, QV. I'll change my voting status to "Van full of illegal Muslim transgender Freedom Caucus supporters who don't have health care." That should keep 'em guessing, eh?

We're back. So glad we're all having so much FUN planning my demise. Loyal listeners to the previous incarnations of RH know that this is right about the time when the station tends to have a HEAP BIG GRADE A HISSY FIT. Why? Because we notice that about a hundred pairs of eyeballs are tuning in every day now - and our marketing team sincerely doubts that it's the same five people twenty times a day. That means there are OTHER PEOPLE LISTENING. And that means it's time to OPEN UP THE PHONE LINES and listen to YOU for a change. We know what you're thinking; "There are no words - that's my story and I'm sticking to it." Fair enough, we'll GIVE you some. Here's a poll you can take to let us know how you think we're doing here at dear ol' RH. Just send your responses in a private message (PM) to the station manager and we'll tally the votes. All submissions will be kept confidential. Here comes the poll question: SO... UM... LIKE... REALLY? A. Free Bird! B. You're, like, effed up, 'ight? C. I was looking for the poetry thread. D. Must be Hell, who listens to radio? E. You speak for those of us who don't have voices - and who are too fucked up on Ativan to type. F. Can I come to the funeral so I can make sure you're DEAD? G. Other (please specify): Life is short, so vote today! Hasty lumbago from your fiends at Radio Hell.

If one of the songs is "God, I Hate Shakespeare," approved.

My dearest TS, As long as the fire codes allow it, you may wave whatever you wish. Frankly, "For Good" is kind of made for that anyway. I admit I hope I get to see you waving for the Zappa song. Above all, you don't want to leave any of this crap in the hands of total strangers, do you? Approved!

WARNING: The following transmission is REALLY REALLY MORBID. Please don't read any further if you don't have the stomach for creepy dialogue. Go. Now. Are all the normal people gone? Are we absolutely sure?? For those still here, you know what it's like after the service; everyone vanishes as if you never existed. In that deafening silence, all sorts of goofy thoughts come to mind. It has occurred to me that I've never issued any wishes regarding how I'd like my big day to play out, so I'm going to ask those of you who have insisted on staying on the bus to bear witness to the following directive in the event of my annoyingly overdue demise. It's not written in stone (tomb or otherwise), so feel free to modify as you think is appropriate. I trust you. AFTER I’M GONE – DIRECTIVE OF MICHAEL797 I wish the following to be carried out regarding any services that may take place in the event of my death. 1. There is to be no organized religion of any kind mentioned or implied during the service. Mention of or reference to a Christian god is specifically prohibited. No hymns may be played. Any mention or promotion of the service in an obituary or other public media must state clearly that the service will be non-religious so as to inform/warn possible attendees. Talk of a spiritual/metaphysical nature is fine. Jesus may be mentioned, but not dwelt on. 2. Nothing about the service or the contents of speakers therein should contain information of a financially profitable nature. This directive includes all conditions set forth in Directive 1. 3. Whatever’s left of my body can be discarded as anyone sees fit; either a McDonald’s dumpster or Trump's doorstep seem especially appropriate. Please make sure I’m actually dead first before disposal. 4. I’m not leaving much in the way of audiovisual records, so you’ll have to wing it. Pictures of Bud are plentiful, so maybe someone can find some on my laptop or something to use as a substitute. I'd be happy if he was remembered as well. 5. Below is a suggested agenda of events: a. Song: “Heavenly Bank Account” – Frank Zappa b. Introductory remarks as appropriate about the guy you’re sending off. c. Community joke-telling: I know I didn’t make it easy, since I was spewing out stuff for over sixty years and nearly all of it’s evaporated into space/time. But if you remember anything funny I ever said, please offer it up. I’ll try to whip up some sort of official statement beforehand, but we all know how that goes. d. A lively discussion of where attendees think I wound up is encouraged. Odds are that I couldn’t possibly be in a worse place. e. Closing Songs: “This Is Not an Exit” – American Psycho; “For Good” – Wicked. f. Ingestion of any foodstuffs/beverages/trendy chemicals would make a fitting finale. I promise not to bitch about what you’re consuming. g. Go forth and try not to be as big a fuckup as I was. I’m happy to act as a bad example as long as you learned something from it. You're stuck with it now. How many times did I tell you to get out? You only have yourself to blame, you know.

I'm pleased to be the first to confirm here and swear on my honor to keep the Hell out of the proceedings. Love to you both.

Dear Recent Posters (aka long-time listeners): Congratulations, you've all been promoted to MIDDLE MANAGEMENT! Radio Hell salutes you and wishes you good luck with that. We are confident you will move forward with your positions in the usual, most logical way - by bulk-emailing your resumes to every other goddamn place you can think of. Ok, as promised, here's the recap of yesterday's BIG EVENT. Since this is such a yuge deal, we've chosen to present the highlights to you completely in MIME! We're doing this because: A) Being quite aware that radio is a SOUND-BASED MEDIUM, it seems kind of appropriate for Hell. B) Mostly we're just bored as fuck with monologues. Here we go - listen up! (Mime enters, indicates a big, majestic room, makes awestruck reaction faces) (Change to mime dancing and gesturing like a minstrel show singer, mouthing lyrics with a huge grin, rolling eyes and clapping hands joyously) (Change to mime dropping to his knees and bowing rapidly and deeply over and over) (Change to mime standing perfectly still, frown on face. Begins thumping his chest and pounding his fist into the other hand. Gestures as if lighting bolts are shooting from his fingers) (Change to mime suddenly becoming humble, hunching over and mumbling silently) (Change to mime standing more upright, mouthing words with an apocalyptic look on his face) (Change back to mime dancing like a minstrel, but more enthusiastically and happily. Big finish as he drops to one knee and spreads his arms wide, grinning broadly, gesturing that we can all applaud now) Couldn't you just feel the excitement? Bet you wish you'd brought a beach ball or something. There you have it, now get the fuck out! But special thanks and love to those who were there. Let's not do this again real soon.

(Inspired by hanging with Jenni today): Deep booming voice: I am DEATH! Switching to James Woods-type voice: Hi, how ya doin'? Here, take one of my cards, why don't ya? The card is black (of course) with a cheesy-looking skull and crossbones logo. Embossed in red are the lines: Death P. Schaeffer Bringer of Doom, Destroyer of Worlds. Weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, Funerals Phone:(800) 666-2017 Email:death47539@gmail.com Twitter:@therealdeath #jesuswept #suckstobeyou Like us on Facebook! On the back is the single word "Boo."

This thread sort of leaped out at me, and I'm glad it did. I became widowed 2 1/2 years ago and just lost my only son only last weekend. Now there's nobody to pass whatever legacy I had on to. At the risk of sounding really stupid, I have to learn all over again what that's like. I hope nobody will mind if I watch this thread.

We'll no doubt be back in the middle of the night with more of the meaningless bullshit you've come to expect from RH, including a recap of yesterday's big celebration. For now, here's just a few bits of bullshit to get things going again: 1. Shopping list: Kleenex 2. Some quick math: I was 40 years old when Bud came along. He was around for 19 1/2 years. I'm now the ripe old age of 60 (fortunately, widda doesn't have an age limit). I figure it will only be a few more years until I can maybe see Bud (and Marianne) again, so the numbers are sort of working in my favor. 3. Having said that.... There better be some seriously BIG-ASS REWARD waiting when my time finally comes. If there's really nothing but dirt waiting in the end, I'm going to be REALLY REALLY PISSED. 4. Maybe Bud got off easy. With madmen who place no value whatsoever on human life running the show, it probably won't be long until we ALL get to see Bud. 5. Today's agenda includes checking in on Bud's mom. I know something that she doesn't yet realize - they don't come back. Ever. She'll learn way too soon. Out for now. Go hug a kid.

Yep, it's hell all right. Jenni, so glad we talked. New Girl, you cracked me up at a time when nothing whatsoever is funny. Love to you both. It's a race to the finish line now for Saturday's big do. My eulogy has been cut down to five minutes; basically, I'll be thanking the church for their big infomercial and secretly handing out my email address so folks can contact me. I've been told there won't be time to actually talk to them at the service. We'll be off the air until after Saturday night. So grateful there's a bago waiting. Be nice to each other until then, please. And if you can, send some groovy vibes to my son, because I miss him so very very very very much. Cyas!

I may finally have some idea of how you felt, Maureen. So very sorry to have to reopen the station. Thank you for being here waiting.