F*U*C*K Radio

{Dedicated to Eye of Serpent, who was, indirectly, responsible for prying this one loose. Here’s hoping that, sooner or later, some intrepid hero finds and opens that damned crystal coffin 🙂 It probably would help readers if they were familiar with Warren Bandan, Bubbles and the events from my “I Fought the Law” stories, but this one goes by so quickly it might not matter.}

“Ooooooh, like, I HATE that bitch!!!!”

Steam was coming out of her ears and her pigtails had grown rattles again and were hissing as they moved through the air all on their own. It didn’t happen often, but Bubbles was mad. And not Twiggy, “I can’t get my stockings to line up straight” incensed, but a full Dolly Parton, “You left the toilet seat up AGAIN and I got pee all over my ass,” TRIP.

Last time I saw something like this, Downtown Courthouse #3 ended up in the news and I ended up in a coma. Not something I was looking forward to revisiting, let me tell you.

“Why don’t you just turn the damned thing off.” I replied and reached for the volume knob.

“Don’t you DARE!!!” I could feel the tank on wheels we were riding in shudder – along with Henry and Bailey in the front seat – as the unholy fury of hurricane Bubbles expanded to fill the entire area. I could swear the little Mazda Miata in the lane next to us swerved across two lanes as the little lady behind the wheel fought against the headwind. Or maybe it was just a pothole. You never can tell with the Public Works budget in this part of town. In any case, I pulled my hand back suddenly for fear of getting my knuckles torn off. “I wanna, like, hear what the little nazi says next!”

I don’t know exactly when my little schoolyard lawyer got hooked on talk radio, but there it was. And not just ANY talk radio program, but our local version of the blowhard, know-it-all, “everyone agrees with me and those who don’t aren’t must be elected officials on the public dole,” radio host.

You know, the kind every city has at least one or two of, the kind where you really don’t know if they actually FEEL that way or are just doing it ’cause that’s what the station thinks everyone wants to hear. Kinda like telephone talk porn operators in that way, if you know what I mean, not that I’ve ever needed THAT kind of service.

Our city seemed to be an especially fertile swamp for these Rush Limbaugh wannabees and neverwillbees, but Bubbles’ “favorite” was Dr. Gladys Hemliner, a kind of cross between the Rushmeister and an evil Dr. Laura (unless you consider that repetitive twiceover), who somehow managed to corner the market on morality, decency, spirituality AND somehow had room left over in her soul to be able to tell you exactly how you screwed up on your tuna casserole. In short, just the kind of people I LOVE messing with, except this one was just too funny to take seriously.

Today she was in especially fine form and was punching all of Bubbles’ buttons. Well, OK, not ALL of her buttons, obviously, ’cause most of those now result in really, really cute orgasms, but just the ones that were there before I came along. You know, the dull ones.

Just before the last commercial break, Dr. Gladys had been going on and on about how the local District Attorney’s office was being especially nice and polite to all the perps out there and, though Bailey, as the one who SHOULD have been the most upset was giggling appropriately, Bubbles was slowly but surely growing freckles that weren’t there before and all of ’em had been moving together slowly until her face was now a shade of crimson that glowed so brightly even Henry kept looking in the rear view mirror to make sure it wasn’t a cop trying to pull us over. Or maybe he just liked looking at Bubbles just ’cause. Lord knows, I sure do.

So, anyway, after all the ads about how you can lose weight by swallowing a pill before you go to sleep (and not eating four hours before bedtime, natch), Dr. Gladys comes back on and says she’s just gotten a fax from one of her sources down at City Hall that has her bra straps all twisted around. Well, not really, but you get the general idea. Oh, hell, in the interests of fairness (heh, yeah, right), I’ll let you judge for yourself.

Imagine, if you will, the following as if it’s coming from a willowy, blonde dominatrix with an IQ of 170, degree from Yale, and bullwhip firmly in hand, because that’s the way I always did it. Unless, of course, you happen to LIKE willowy blonde intelligent dominatrixes, in which case imagine Dr. Ruth with the personality of a shark and teeth to match.

“Well, now, ladies and gentlemen, I hold in my well- manicured fingernails a fax I’ve just received from one of my many reliable sources inside City Hall. Now I know I can be irritatingly accurate at times, because that’s why they PAY me, after all, but sometimes it really pains me to be SO on target. This, my friends, is one of those times.

Even I, Dr. Gladys Hemliner, am shocked – and I’m not shocked all that often because it’s hard to be shocked if you’ve come to anticipate these things as easily as I have – but even I am upset and find it hard to believe the pansies and bleeding hearts in this city have sunk to this point. I’ve come to expect it from the liberals in the mainstream press, which is why we’ve not heard more about this particular story, but THAT, my friends, is why I am here. This, my friends is why you people turn to me, and THIS, my friends is why I enjoy the ratings I do.

“It seems that, someone, probably someone not up for reelection, obviously, has decided that it is in the best interests of the citizens of this city – that’s you and me, my friends – SOMEONE has decided that the scum of this city, the absolute WORST filth of this city, the kind of bloody, molesting GRIME that violate those who risk their lives to uphold our laws, SOMEONE has decided that those kinds of malignancies should not be locked up or, better yet, CUT out, but rather SOMEONE has decided that those ugly, simpering, trash heaps of society who rape and molest our city’s finest, our very POLICE OFFICERS should be TURNED LOOSE on the streets of our fair city to, doubtless go on raping and molesting you and yours.”

Whataya know, boys and girls, turns out I was about to be famous. A famous scummy, filthy, bloody molesting grimy, malignant, ugly, simpering trash heap of society, but famous nonetheless.

Bubbles looked at Bailey. Bailey looked at Bubbles. Henry, thankfully, just looked at the road. Slowly, apprehensively, Bailey and Bubbles turned to look at me.

“Hmm” I mused with a smile. “I wonder who the hell SHE’S talking about?”

Well, OK, obviously I thought it was funny, so I found it kinda strange when no one started laughing. The red in Bubbles’ face drained away and she looked more like a mime than anything else – an amazingly cute, young mime with pigtails, miniskirt and white ankle socks that now matched her face. Bailey’s hands went to the dashboard of the SUV and began punching away at a keyboard and suddenly I noticed a panel pop out where there wasn’t a panel before.

Now relegated to background noise, Miss Law and Order Talk Radio Host from Hell continued with her merry rant against the newest threat to kiddies, corporate America, and the Republican way of life, namely little old moi.

“It seems, according to my extremely credible source, ladies and gentlemen, that our own District Attorney’s office has chosen NOT to seek a grand jury indictment against this creep NOT because of lack of evidence but simply because the victim in this case – and I’m not going to give her name here because I AM capable of sympathy to her plight even though she’s obviously not doing the right thing here – has chosen not to come forward and be a credible witness. Now I’m not a lawyer, per se, but I do know a travesty of justice when I see one and this, my friends, is as bad as they come.”

Well, OK, something was certainly a travesty, but blaming it all on poor ex-Officer Hooper didn’t seem fair to me. Of course, I’m not entirely unbiased here, obviously unlike Miss Microphone. But I might have misunderstood her, because at the time I was paying more attention to Bailey than I was the radio. The Assistant District Attorney had finished punching buttons and the popup display suddenly came to life in the form of a map of the city. “What the hell are you doing, Bailey?”

“Punching in the address of the station. You’re going to pay a visit to Dr. Gladys.” It was more a command than a request. She didn’t even look at me.

“Why?”

“We had a deal.” She pulled her hand back from the screen and I noted a flashing blue dot. Damned if this thing didn’t have an autopilot. Well, considering how little Henry had moved during the entire trip, he might have BEEN the autopilot for all I knew. “And the hell if I’m going to let some media Hitlerette ruin it.”

“But I’m going to be FAMOUS!!” I snickered.

“Write a book.”

“Now I can imagine a lot of you out there shaking your heads over this,” continued the Hitlerette, “but my source goes on to say that the original prosecutor assigned to the case AND the initial judge appointed to set bail have RECUSED themselves from the case. I don’t know about you, my loyal listeners, but that sounds to me like some sort of a DEAL…”

OK, it was bad enough to go blaming Hooper, but Bailey and Judge Aunt Peg? Who was next?

“And it only gets BETTER, ladies and gentlemen! Get this! My source goes on to say that this cop rapist’s female hippie city-paid public defender – and I can’t stress this enough, this woman is paid by you and me – she showed up to his bail hearing wearing – and I can’t MAKE things like this up people – a miniskirt and pigtails! Is the city in the habit of hiring Ally McBeal?!”

By now I was wondering who this “source” could have been. Yeah, there were cameras in the courthouse, but George was too embarrassed by his part in it all that he decided to erase all the tapes from that day. I could have believed it might have been him, but the next week he quit Public Service to finally retire in Florida. Oh, well, I guess I’d and ask the mouth herself.

I reluctantly turned to Bubbles to see how she was holding up. To my surprise, the red had come back and she was busy dialing her cell phone. Her fingers were trembling so much she had to dial twice, then finally had the operator do it for her. She got through just about the same time Henry – or the autopilot – pulled up in the parking lot of Radio Station KWIT: The Voice That Never Will.

Well, I thought maybe I could so something about that.

As luck would have it, we got there just before the news break at the half hour. I didn’t know much about the radio broadcasting biz back then, never having much use for it aside from letting me know what my man Eminem and Dre were up to, but I always figured the stations were these huge, behemoth-like buildings with huge antennae sticking out of ’em. Shows what I know.

This place was teeny-tiny, with a little parking lot, one or two satellite dishes on top, and one measly antennae that wouldn’t have reached the fourth floor of the downtown Hilton.

But they DID have a killer sound system broadcasting throughout the station so that, wherever you were, you could hear DR Gladys Hemline, whether you wanted to or not. And at this point in time, I really wanted to.

Because right after the news break, Radio-Free Bubbles was on the air.

“Thanks for the news update, Jim. Just before the break, I was discussing the recent decision by the city NOT to indict our latest cop-rapist because apparently no one in this city has the…heh…BALLS…to do the right thing. I admit this is a strange case because of some of the details that have come to me from one of my numerous, credible sources at City Hall.

One of the strangest details – and I was speaking of this earlier – is that the public defender in this case seems rather…well, unorthodox to say the least. As always on the my show, we, eh, try our best to give both sides of a particular issue and this is no exception. It just so happens that we have now waiting on the line, one Barbara Cramer, who claims to be the very public defender in question.

I say, “appears,” because, well, hehe, you’ll see soon enough. Before I put her on the air, remember that she, and all public defenders, are paid by the taxpayers of the city – that’s you and me. I can’t stress this enough: WE pay this, eh, ladies’ salary so that even the worst scum in our court system are guaranteed, heh, adequate, hehe, representation. And, if I say so myself, this guy got, hehe, pretty much what he deserved.”

Yeah, OK, so fuck you too, I thought, as the guard waved me through the back door. It was a small station, it had a small guard. He didn’t even wear a gun. I mean, what would they do if the place was attacked? And with this particular radio host, I would think that might be a definite possibility. In any case, it didn’t seem like he was too enamored of Dr. Gladys, seeing as he fell asleep just after he let me in and locked the door behind me. Or maybe he’d heard her so often, he was bored silly. Too bad for him – if anything, the next hour was certainly NOT going to be boring.

“OK, Miss Cramer…”

“Bubbles.”

“eh, Bubbles?”

“That’s what everyone calls me.”

“Heh, OK…Bubbles. snicker Welcome to the DR Gladys Hemline show.”

“Oh, like, THANKS, Dr. Gladys. I’m a BIG fan!”

“Oh, really? I wasn’t aware you were allowed radios in school?”

“Tehehe, that’s funny!”

“Not nearly as funny as your voice. Is it real?”

“Hehehe, yes. But you, like, wouldn’t believe HOW often I get asked that.”

“Eh, yes I would. If you don’t mind me asking, Barbara…”

“Bubbles.”

“Bubbles. If you don’t mind me asking, exactly how old ARE you?”

“How old do you WANT me to be?”

I could almost picture Bubbles with her thumb firmly in mouth, little voice breathily squeaking seductively from around it, eyelashes taut and eyes wide…damn, that girl was a work of art.

“Eh…Okaaaaay….”

As I made my way down the main hallway, it seemed most of the other folks in the station were just as bored with Hemline as the guard. The two teens – I guessed they were interns – in the small cafeteria were snoozing, their sandwiches half-eaten. If she had that effect on her listeners, I can’t imagine WHERE her ratings came from.

“So, tell me, eh, Bubbles, you’re supposed to have us actually BELIEVE you’re a state-licensed attorney?”

“Yes, ma’am. As I told your, like, producer…”

“Bruce.”

“Oh, yeah, Brucie. He’s got such a HOT voice.”

“Well, I think that’s the first time THAT subject has ever come up, hahaha…”

Anyone paying any sort of attention to the broadcast could hear ‘Brucie’ laughing along with her and, yeah, I can see where it could have been the first time it came up. But then Bubbles finds talking Irish Setters ‘HOT’ so there’s no accounting for tastes. The station was actually more tiny on the inside than it appeared.

Besides Herr Hemline, there were only three other people in the whole place – Bruce and two production assistants in the sound room. Both the assistants looked about as bored as the rest of the comatose folks in the station but hadn’t quite fallen asleep. Yet.

“Anyway, as I told Brucie, you know, it’s easy to look up my license…”

“And you better believe we did, Honey, our internet hookup is the only reason you’re on the air.”

“Giggle.”

“So…Bubbles. Is it true you wore a miniskirt and pigtails to an arraignment hearing?”

“Yep! It’s, like, the same one I’m wearing right now, too! It’s my absolute FAV!”

“Your absolute, eh, FAV?”

“Yeah. It’s, like, red and green plaid and looks absolutely KILLER with my white blouse that I’ve got, you know, tied around my little boobies and I just LOVE playing with the bow…”

“Well, uh, Bubbles, I think…”

“OOOPSIE!”

“I’m almost afraid to ask what THAT was…”

Well, knowing Bubbles like I do, I didn’t have to. But “Brucie” and the two sound guys were obviously interested because they all suddenly woke up. I figured that alone probably got the program a few dozen more listeners…

“Snif. Uh, my bow came ALL loose…” It sounded like she was gonna cry. Or something.

“Okaaaay, now Bubbles…”

“Sniff. And now my little boobies are all cold. Giggle. Can you, like, say that on the radio?”

“Uh, you just did.”

This was an amazingly important discussion, judging by the attention the crew was giving to it. They didn’t even notice me come in the sound booth. Probably the most fun they’d had in ages. Well, when they weren’t skewering liberals or feminists or whatever Dr. Gladys decided she didn’t like that day. Still, it did seem kind of strange that she was letting Bubbles control the conversation. Very UN-DR. Gladys Hemline. Now that I could get a good look at her, I could see why she was so upset about everything.

If I had to look in the mirror and apply make-up to that face every morning, I’d probably bitch and whine about everything too. She certainly picked the right medium, seeing as her voice was probably the only thing she had going for her. OK, so I guess she wasn’t really downright UGLY, but let’s just say the willowy blonde dominatrix must have been hiding behind the curtain because sitting in the chair in front of the microphone was a short, middle-aged brunette with a hawk nose and more jewelry on one hand than Harold the 5th Street Pimp wears on his entire fucking body.

“Oh, OK,” continued Bubbles, without missing a beat. “I just, you know, thought maybe it was one of those words you can’t say on radio, like CUNT and PUSSY and COCK and FUCK and…”

At which point, Dr. Gladys shot up straight in her chair and looked at her producer and the sound guys, who were, in turn, looking at each other…

…and giggling like they just came out of a strip club on Fraternity Night. So much for six-second delays. I could almost hear five hundred fingers punching buttons on five hundred cell phones all over the city.

For her part, the Jeweled One began looking frantically around the booth for some button or another to push, but not seeming to find the right one. But, like most disasters, this one didn’t stop her from talking. The more I learned about Gladys Hemline, the more I began to think there wasn’t anything on this planet that could make her stop talking. And I really LIKE people who can’t stop talking…

“Uh, Bubbles, please, let’s not go there, OK? I wouldn’t want to have to cut you off.”

“Oh, OK, Dr. Gladys. I’ve just, like, never been, you know, on radio before.” She let out a very smallish, very subtle, and very cute pause before that signature mantra I’ve come to know and love.

“It makes me…hot.”

Brucie and the sound guys (I’ll call ’em Chuck and Buck ’cause I hate using the same names over and over) started slamming their hands against the instrument panels and heeing and hawing and acting pretty much like drunken idiots. I guess life in the Hemline Party was pretty boring if they found this kind of stuff amusing. Like I said before, so many things make Bubbles “hot,” I’m surprised when she can go from Henry’s house to the corner store and back without an orgasm.

“You must lead a pretty boring life, then…” countered Hemline, who was staring wide-eyed at her crew through the glass panel.

“Uh, well, like, I don’t know if I’ve ever been MORE not bored. I mean, don’t you, like, really get off on knowing that you’ve got, you know, all these people out there listening and calling and…ooooh, just thinking about it…”

“Yes, I know, it gets you ‘hot.”

“hhhuuuummmmmmmm…yeah…I’m, like, wet already.”

“Well, I think that’s MORE than…” Dr. Gladys adjusted herself in her chair and continued to look around for that button she just never could seem to find…

“You, like, mean to tell me that you don’t, you know, get off by telling everyone, like, what’s good and what’s bad? Oooooh, just, like, THINKING about having that kind of power… giggle My fingers are all sticky, icky…”

“Well, I really don’t…think much about…” The good doctor grabbed a tissue from a nearby container and dabbed her forehead.

“Ooooh, I don’t know, like, WHAT I’d do if I had, you know, that…kind of power. I’m not a nice little girl. Hehehe, my nips are all hard. How about yours?”

Hemline’s many-jeweled fingers jumped by reflex up to her chest, then quickly dropped back to the instrument panel, still searching in vain for something to push. “Uh, I don’t see…as that’s ANY of your business…”

“But I’m SUCH a big fan, you know! Remember last year when you, like, found out Councilman Garcia was messing around with Judge Shirley?! Ooooh, heh, aaaaaahhhh…. Gawd, I just HAVE to take my panties off now!”

“Well, that wasn’t the…POINT. The point was that she was, you know, giving him three times as many clients as any other attorneys…” She tossed the tissue away and quickly grabbed another.

“So it WASN’T the blow jobs in her office?! Damn…he was such a cutie too!”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“I wish I could have, like, given him blow jobs in his office. Snif. But he, like, had to move to Denver…”

“His choice.” She adjusted a bra strap and shuffled about in her chair again. The tissue tore into little pieces as it ran roughly across her neck, and she threw what was left of it to the floor.

“And remember when you, like, got Assistant Chief Simmons kicked out because he, you know, hung out at The Palace? Ooooh, damn…I got off FOUR times during his press conference!”

Man, I’m glad the incredibly cute and bubbly one was on my side. Even high as a fucking kite and working on her second cum, I’d hate to have her cross-examining ME. She was like the fucking Incredible Hulk of sex. Gladys got this really funny look on her face and I couldn’t help notice a hand go down below her desk. “Now, that…that wasn’t right. I…didn’t care WHAT he did in his free time, the degenerate …fag. But he was…you know…refusing to…prosecute…his uhhhhh FRIENDS.”

“Ohhhh, just thinking about all that…POWER. Sixty- thousand listeners…”

“Seventy-three thousand…” Hemliner corrected without hesitation. I had to laugh out loud at that. Obviously she could still concentrate on the IMPORTANT things. Though I had the strange feeling THIS particular broadcast was probably going to be heard by just a tad few more than that…

“Yeah…uhhhh…damn, I get hotter and hotter just, like, thinking about all those people out there hanging on every…ooooooooooooohhhhhh…and they all wait for YOU to tell them…”

It was obvious to me – and probably to Brucie and Chuck and Buck – by now that Dr. Gladys Hemline had met her match at last. It was major turn on for her to find people who agreed with her and they usually got a lot of airtime. Bubbles agreed with her SO much that they even missed the news break on the hour, which is something radio folks NEVER do except in cases of emergency. But this conversation was SO engrossing to all involved that I guess it qualified as an official emergency. Or something.

Whatever the circumstances, our very own Bubbles was obviously on a roll now, and no one dared interrupt her. In fact, if I were to guess, I’d say Brucie and Chuck and Buck were absolutely mesmerized. DR Gladys Hemline, on the other hand, wasn’t mesmerized as much as she was getting turned on by the whole thing. So turned on, in fact, that she had stopped trying to find that button. Or maybe she HAD found it. I’m not a woman, much less a female talk show host, so I have to guess at these things. But she DID have one hand beneath her desk and I have NO idea what she was looking for down there.

“I just, like, can’t imagine how SEXY it must…be to, you know, have all those people calling in just to, like, talk to you.”

“It’s…well, it’s…hard to…describe…”

For the first time in recent memory, I figured Dr. Gladys Hemline was at a loss for words. Not to worry, though, ’cause Bubbles, ever one to lend a hand, was there to find ’em for her. And Gladys needed a hand just about now, because the two she had were fairly busy. I was kind of tempted to go into the booth to see exactly what kind of plain and boring panties big-shot talk show hosts wore, but this was Bubble’s show and I didn’t want to ruin it.

“Yeah…heh, knowing you can, like, put them…on and…eh…cut them off…whenever you want. And knowing they can’t, you know…do anything about it…you can, like, bring them right up to where, you know…what they want to say…and then…BAM…like, interrupt…”

“God, yes…”

Her eyes were closed now, her lips drawing closer and closer to the microphone, that once powerfull voice dropping down an octave as her breathing almost overpowered the words. She’d given up on the tissue now, which was just as well because the three guys in the sound room would’ve had to have emptied both restrooms to get her enough to soak up what was coming off that forehead and dribbling down that dirty brown hair. Her feet were coiled around the legs of her chair, her legs occasionally sliding up, then tightening and clamping down.

“…Having, like, all those…SHEEP out there, you know, yelling and…screaming…at you and…never having to answer…”

“oh, yes…”

“…And being able to, you know…say ANYTHING…about ANYONE…”

“Oh, God yes…” She leaned closer to the microphone and extended her tongue…

“…And they can’t, like, do ANYTHING…I bet that makes you HOT.”

“…yes…yes…Oh Jeez…HOT…can’t imagine…HOW hot…” Her lips met the felt at the tip and slowly moved up and down one side…

“…remember the time you, like, had Senator Humphries on, you know, about that bribery thing…”

“…oh yeah…YEAH!”

“Gawd, I couldn’t, like, STOP…”

“…couldn’t…STOP…FUCK!” She leaned over the table now, her head resting on it, inches away from the microphone, her body stiffening as she rose from the chair and moved it to one side, all with her legs, because her arms were, well, somewhat busy – modesty, of course, preventing me from describing just HOW busy.

“…when she, like, started crying…”

“OH, GOD!” Her head jerked to one side, suddenly, as one of her legs kicked the chair to the floor and she went into convulsions, bucking up and down, her stomach rubbing violently against the table. “FUCK!FUCK!FUCK!FUCK!!!”

“…uh, Geez, Dr. Gladys? They let you say THAT on the radio?”

For someone who made her living with words, Dr. Hemliner was in a pretty sorry shape. Not only couldn’t she answer, but I doubt she could’ve made it off the floor to get to the microphone, seeing as how badly she was rolling around down there now. Heck, she even rolled out of her skirt, which was a pretty good trick considering at no time did her hands leave her panties. And, yeah, they were plain and white. Story of my life.

“Oh, THAT’s right!” continued Bubbles, oblivious to the good doctor’s condition, “you’re Dr. Gladys Hemliner. You can, like, say ANYTHING.”

From the mouth of babes, I thought as I left the sound room. Brucie had somehow managed to free himself from his stupor enough to get his cock out, the dirty bastard. If he were REALLY smart, he’d have used the time to make sure he had a back-up recording. Probably be worth a fortune on ebay someday…

“Oh, well, like, it’s been nice chatting with you, Doc.” Bubbles was droning on and on as I made my way past the still-snoozing security guard. “Ewwww. I really got to go get, like, cleaned up.”

“If you ever, like, need a good lawyer…” OK, now THAT was funny, I chuckled to myself as I crossed the parking lot – just in time to hear a screeching noise as a studio van pulled up to the main entrance – though I figured with all the money Hemliner had she could afford something better than a “female hippie city-paid public defender in a miniskirt and pigtails.”

Even if she WAS the hottest, cutest one in the whole city.

Which is about what I told her when I got back in the SUV. Even with the AC running full blast, it STILL smelled like a bordello in there – though no one was complaining – as Henry pulled out of the parking lot.

“Yeah,” she smiled as she finished off the box of wetwipes from Bailey’s glove box, “but, like, now I’m FAMOUS!”