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Yeah, you got it folks: It's me again with a little at-ti-tude for all you out here in white-bread land, all you nice people living in the middle of America the beautiful.

Let's see, we're on 92 FM tonight and it feels like a nice, clean little band so far. No one else is using it and the price is right, heh-heh. And yes folks, you've guessed it, tonight I'm as horny as a 10-peckered owl, so stay tuned because this is Hard Harry reminding you to eat your cereal with a fork and do your homework in the dark...

Send me your most pathetic moment, your most anything, as long as it's real. I mean, I want the size, the shape, the feel, the smell. I want blood, sweat, and tears on these letters. I want brains and ectoplasm and cum spilled all over them. Hallelujah!

And now, all my horny listeners, get one hand free because, yes, the eat me beat me lady is back:

I like that. talk hard. I like the idea that a voice can just go somewhere uninvited and just kind of hang out like a dirty thought in a nice, clean mind. To me a thought is like a virus [can you say meme?]. You know, it can just kill all the health thoughts and just take over. That would be serious.

I know that all of my horny listeners would love it if I would call up the eat me beat me lady. But no! Because she never encloses her number. Always the same red paper, the same beautiful black writing. She's probably a lot like me- a legend in her own mind, heh-heh. But you know what, I bet in real life she's probably not that wild. I bet she's kind of shy like so many of us who briskly walk the halls, pretending to be late for some class, pretending to be distracted. Hey, poetry lady, are you really this cool? Are you out there? Are you listening? I feel like I know you, and yet we'll never meet. Ah, so be it...

Consider the life of a teenager. You have parents, teachers telling you what to do. You have movies, magazines, and TV telling you what to do. But you know what you have to do, huh. Your job, your purpose, is to get accepted, get a cute girlfriend, and think up something great to do the rest of your life. What if you're confused and can't imagine a career? What if you're funny-looking and you can't get a girlfriend? No one wants to hear it, but the terrible secret is that being young is sometimes less fun than being dead. Suicide is wrong, but the interesting thing about it is how uncomplicated it seems. There you are, you got all these problems swarming around your brain, and here is one simple, one incredibly simple soluiton. I'm just surprised it doesn't happen every day around here. No, now they're going to say I said offing yourself is simple, but no, no, no, no, it's not simple. There's no teachers, there's no parents, but guess what? There's nothing to do. Fucking boring. Another thing to remember about suicide is that it is not a pretty picture. First of all, you shit your shorts you know. So there you are dead, people are weeping over you, crying, girls you never spoke to are saying, "Why? Why? Why?" and you have a load in your shorts. That's the way I see it. Sue me.

Now, they're saying I shouldn't think stuff like this. They;re saying somthing is wrong with me, that I should be ashamed. Well, I'm sick of being ashamed. Aren't you? I don't mind being dejected and rejected, but I'm not gonna be ashamed about it. At least pain is real. You look around and you see nothing is real, but the pain is real. You know, even this show isn't real. This isn't me; I'm using a voice disguiser. I'm a phony fuck just like my dad, just like anybody. You see, the real me is just as worried as the rest of you. They say I'm disturbed, well of course I'm disturbed. I mean we're all disturbed, and if we're not, why not? Doesn't this blend of blindness and blandness want to make you do something crazy? Then why not do somthing crazy? It makes a hell of a lot more sense than blowing your fucking brains out you know. Go nuts, go crazy, get creative! You got problems? You just chuck'em, nuke'em! They think you're moody? Make 'em think you're cazy, make 'em think you might snap! They think you've got an attitude? You show'em some real attitude! Come on, go nuts, get crazy. Hey, no more Mr. Nice Guy.

I'm calling for every kid to seize the air. Steal it, it belongs to you. Speak out, they can't stop you. Find your voice and use it. Keep this thing going. Pick a name, go on the air. It's your life, take charge of it. Do it, try it, try anything. Spill your guts out, say shit and fuck a million times if you want to, but you decide. Fill the air, steal it. Keep the air alive.

[The above dialog was from the movie Pump Up the Volume (c)1990 New Line Cinema. Reprinted without permission.]

Last Updated October 31, 1995.
©1995 Mycal, All Rights Reserved