Tuesday, December 19, 2006


So I was moving all weekend, which of course also meant I was drinking all weekend. Then I come into work today to discover what I already knew - a study has been done showing that people who drink at a party are less likely to get hurt when they fall down than people who are sober. I knew that as soon as my feet went out from under me and a microwave crushed my head between itself and the ground. If I had been sober, that could have HURT!

Not only that, but I feel 30 percent dumber after this weekend, thanks mostly to my somewhat heroic intake of beer. Now another study (these always come out near New Years) suggests that if I take a couple of weeks off (from drinking, not work), then my brain cells will regenerate and I will gain back the smarts! Good to know.

I have always maintained the theory that beer makes you smarter - try to poke holes in this theory: We as humans use only ten percent of our brains. That means when we kill brain cells with beer, 90 percent of those cells we're killing we don't use anyway, and only ten percent of them are useful. 90-10 = 80. That means that every time we drink, we're removing unwanted brain by 80 percent at a time. So every time we drink, our brain becomes 80 percent more efficient, thus making us smarter.

Hello neighbours

Just moved into a new house. My neighbours have always suspected I was some sort of a sexual deviant, now they seem to believe I'm a hardened criminal. I don't know how I'd rather be known. Before now, I used to come home, sit out on my porch, have a beer and smoke a cigarette. Which was fine except on those days when I was dressed as a french maid, or a belly dancer, or a hooker. Turns out the good people of Kanata find that off-putting somehow.

Today they disliked me on a different level, however, as I moved from one end of my parking lot to the other. That meant that I carried most of my stuff by myself. TVs, boxes of movies, CDs, and all those other things a criminal might snag in a break-and-enter. I could see countless old faces peering out from behind their curtains as I struggled across the parking lot carrying an assortment of boxes and furniture. I quickly realized - they actually think I'm stealing this stuff! As though a criminal would find his 11 a.m. burglary to be so successful that he had to make thirty-two trips to get all the stuff he wanted.

The strange looks I got and the strange looks I normally get when dressed as a stripper are nothing, however, to the bizarre looks I get when, as a 250-pound hairy man, I take my new toy poodle out for a walk. Which would just be fairly amusing in an emasculating sort of way if the poodle wasn't named "Muffin". Giving a dog a name like that should be punishable by fine. If people in Kanata can get fined for painting their garage door, building hockey rinks and hanging clothes outside, they should definitely be fined for naming a toy poodle "Muffin". There should also be fines for talking in a baby voice to your cat and leaving your Starbucks cup on the roof of your SUV as you drive away.

Friday, December 15, 2006


I have lost. The leadership race went to Carly in a triumph of sex over slander. Which is fine. Sex can be better than slander. But despite what Kim Mitchell would have you believe, soda can NOT be better than slander. I have saved Carly's "just in case" concession speech to me, which she pre-recorded in the event that I managed to win. In the end, it just means that she will have to do the work associated with being "Commander in Chief", and I will not have to adhere to such a busy schedule. This campaign has taken a lot out of me, but not nearly as much as the phone call I had to make congratulating Carly on her win. That took a lot of effort. I'm taking Monday off.

Debate aftermath

Now our debate is over, and so is the voting. Until the show begins today, I will have no idea who has taken the leadership race. I feel in yesterday's debate, there was no clear winner as such. I do think, however, that there was a clear loser, and it was Carly. Randall and I held our own, and since Randall doesn't want the job, I think that made me the front-runner going into the voting. The one thing that might work against me is that Carly had a full three hours yesterday afternoon to plead her case before the nation, whereas my input had disappeared as soon as the debate was done. We'll see. I'm going to go ahead and assume Doc won't release the results of this leadership race until about 7:40 or so, but I'm reasonably confident that I will take the crown in the end.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Debate today

It's just hours before the big debate to decide the future of our Platinum Nation. Randall Moore is back, having taken yesterday off sick. That way he didn't have to come up with a platform, or make a stance in any way. Which is fine, he clearly doesn't want to do so. But he will be foreced (I can only assume) to take a stance of some kind this morning when the debate begins at 8:15. I'm reasonably confident in my ability to take Carly down verbally, but Randall may prove to be more difficult if he chooses to participate.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Leadership race

Coming down to the wire now, we have precious few days left to come up with a decision. Randall is sticking to his "anyone but me" stance, although he has now named Leonard from Almonte as his running mate. Carly seems to have our producers in her back pocket, as her ad got aired but mine didn't. I have written some new attack ads. Here's hoping that within the coming days we will be airing spots deriding Carly's leg hair and Randall's fondness for prostitutes and his penchant for stealing from children.

Monday, December 11, 2006

Best phone calls ever

There have been a few phone calls I have loved in my time with the Doc and Woody show. One of the best was the man who called up, enraged at the traffic reports that mentioned his street. "If you mention my street in the traffic reports, people will start thinking it's a major thoroughfare, and they'll start using it all the time. You a**h***s!" That one was good...I also loved the one where we were talking about scientology, and how scientologists believe that people have "thetas", that can be plied to ensure that they are more calm and serene in their lives. A lady called up (who really sounded like a man) and lost her BRAIN on us, screaming about not talking about things we don't understand, then slammed down the phone. Having not yet learned to manipulate her thetas. Funny, but not as funny as the subsequent phone call from her husband "that wasn't a dude, man - that was my wife". Something no one else would ever have admitted.

But today's must be top five all-time. The parts we couldn't play on the air were even better than thos we did play on the air. Leonard from Almonte called in response to Randall's commentary about the family who were taking care of an orphaned deer only to have it taken away a few years later by our government ministry. Leonard wasn't just angry, he had a plan. If they were to come to his place, see, to try something like that, he would string 'em up to a tree, and slather their groin with honey so that bears could lick it off. He would open a bottle of rye, so that he could enjoy the show (Randall would enjoy it as well, he was sure). Then (the part that was not aired) he would find some female deer urine from one of the jugs he keeps around the house, and slather THAT all over their behinds, and let the bucks have their way with them. Then he would cut off their hands and spank them or something. Can't remember the rest. All this would be a fairly regular call from the nuts who listen to our show if Leonard didn't sound exactly like the Granny from Beverly Hillbillies.

The lesson here is don't take a wrong turn in the rural areas outside Ottawa. Before you know it, you might be tied to a tree having a three-way with wild animals while a drunken hillbilly drinks rye and watches from the rocking chair on his porch. Don't say I didn't warn you.

New campaign

I expect to find out Monday morning whether I've made the top three. Three candidates will be selected to run for the final leadership race, which culminates on Friday. The top three vote-getters from our original poll will face off in a no-holds-barred political arena until there is one man (or Carly) left standing. As of the last polls, Randall, Carly and I were the top three, although Doc was moving up with his platform of "I'll give you the things you already have". I think I'll have to ramp up the attack ads. I hope Doc makes it into the top three, because I have several ideas about how to attack his credibility and integrity.

Friday, December 8, 2006

Last Chance to vote - round one

I am going to go ahead and assume I will make it through toround two in this leadership race. Even if Carly and Randall make up some serious ground, it appears safe to say I will be in the top three who will make it into round two. Not that my led is insurmountable, just that the contenders behind Carly, Randall and myself have too much ground to make up.

I think the next order of business will be to garner support from those who are forced to drop out at the eleventh hour - Woody seems like the candidate I can most likely convince to throw his votes my way. I have not yet decided how to go about doing so. Perhaps I will promise him beer. That seesm to work. Or maybe a high-ranking position in my caucus. Or both. If I create a title that seems fancy enough, I believe he will jump at the offer. Minister in charge of internal development and public affairs? Minister of kicking ass and chewing gum?

It's a work in progress.

Thursday, December 7, 2006

Race is on

Now the race is in full swing. Woody created a nine-and-a-half minute campaign ad that was cut down to it's 20-second essence by Doc, stating that he will bump up the number of bonus points for Platinum members. Doc created a campaign by promising things that will already take place - bigger Doc and Woody bonus codes in the New Year, a chance to get a free car, and extra points for voting. All already taking place.

Jeff Brown's platform seems to be "Sens Suck", and Carly's is "I can make clever sexual innuendos". So far that has her leading in a big way. Mine is the only platform with integrity, being the "I hate everyone wh isn't me" platform. Randall is also showing some honesty and integrity, I must say, with his "don't vote for me I wouldn't touch this job with a ten foot pole" platform. Whatever. Vote Eric.

Mudslinging - one word or two?

It begins, the agressive campaigning. Carly has, in my view, stooped to the lowest common denominator - ie, Jeff - in coming up with a sleazy, tawdry, and I think reprehensible ad campaign that takes the platinum nation for suckers. She seems to think that making a "sexy" ad in a "sexy" voice is good enough to win over our nation. I give our nation credit for more intelligence, which is why I have chosen the attack ad-mud slinging route.

Yesterday, on the Jeff Brown and Carly show, they kicked things off by making a series of disparaging comments about me. They then invited Adam the Sales Weasel to come on and state his platform. But no one asked me to make an appearance. I had to call in and defend myself. It's difficult to do that when the deck is stacked against you. Jeff and Carly seemed to be forming an alliance based on an "anti-Eric" sentiment. Which is fine, but it leads me to believe that Jeff may be throwing in the towel soon and throwing his support behind Carly, which could really shift the balance of power. I suppose we'll find out soon enough, more of my ads begin running today.

Wednesday, December 6, 2006


MY campaign has begun. My attack ads are running. Well, some of them. Unfortunately, I was not allowed byt the "censors" to suggest that any of my opponents ran fetish websites with livestock, were descendants of Adolph Hitler, sold drugs to children or ate babies. I have re-worded them so they pass the "censors". I will now run on a platform whereby my first act as leader will be to abolish these "censors".

Tuesday, December 5, 2006

Solving the homeless baby problem...one jar at a time

We mentioned the unused baby food again today. Of course, there had to be a listener who wanted us to donate this food for a worthy cause. Her idea was a homeless shelter. For all those homeless babies who are forced to subsist on spoiled milk from dumpsters. I think perhaps this will be the platform on which I run for Leader of the Nation within a Nation. Let's help the babies making it on their own without resorting to crime.

I have decided to embrace the leadership race and throw myself into it, full steam ahead. I think the best way to do this is through attack ads and negative campagining. I anticipated Randall would be the front-runner, but he is trying to get out of it and he says he does not want to win. I said the same originally, but my competitive spirit has been piqued. Now I believe Carly might be the horse to beat in this race. I may focus my negative campaign on her.

Other candidates have been chosen as well, and votes are being counted through the VIP club. Doc, Woody, Jeff Brown and Robin Harper are all in the running, as are Jeff Brown show mainstays Sean the Bus Driver and Billy Buckles. Last-minute entries are Adam the Sales Weasel and Gas Man, who hasn't made an appearance in some time. Although I like Adam best among all our sales people, I plan to pull no punches in my campaign to discredit him. Let the best man (or Carly) win!

Monday, December 4, 2006

Randall eats a pie

We found a pie this morning. A nice-looking, home-baked apple pie of unknown origin. Normally it would fall to me to sample any mystery baked goods around the studio, but I guess Randall was hungry. The pie, I will admit, made me nervous. Not because it was lying around and we didn't know why, but because there was a rather large, suspicious-looking hole in the top. A nice lady phoned to say she had left the pie for Robin Harper on Saturday. Robin then came in and said that he had forgotten to take it with him, but when he returned on Sunday, there was this mystery hole right in the top. Having seen American Pie, Doc and Woody and myself were understandably reticent when it came to tasting said pie, but Randall dove right in. He ate about half in four minutes. Doc later suggested that I should eat some too, since that's the kind of thing I do. I felt that it would be redundant, since we aldready had a guinea pig, and Randall hadn't gone blind, so all seemed fine. Doc is easily angered, however. He seems to think I am not as compliant as I once was, and he has planned something for me to do later this week, and if I refuse the assignment, whatever that may be, I will be fired. Apparently. Thanks Doc.

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Nation within a nation

Yesterday, Doc made what we thought was a rather innocuous comment at the time. If Quebec can be recognized as a "nation within a nation", whatever that means, then how about the classic rock fans that make up our VIP club? Could we not receive the same recognition from Stephen Harper and our Canadian goverment? A few people decided this was a good idea, and I managed to receive some votes for Leader of this new nation. Although I am currently the front-runner, my money's on Randall. Enough people have wanted to vote him Prime Minister of Canada over the past few years that he seems a shoo-in for the posistion. I might run anyway, just so that my beer is free at the leadership convention. The petition is underway. I think a lobby group might have been a better way to go, but a petition speaks loudly. It's on-line at www.chez106.com.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Give promo a vacation

Doc made a good point today. Our promo team might need a vacation. We had planned to make fun of Martin Gerber the next time he got shelled (fortunately, that did not happen against Carolina last night, and we didn't do it). We needed a hockey net, some pucks, a stick, and a pile of Gerber brand baby food. We got the stick, the pucks, the net, and the baby food. This will sit around the studio until the time comes for us to use it. All seemed OK. Then we looked at the baby food. The one thing that made the joke work, the Gerber baby food...was President's Choice. Maybe we need to be more clear when we describe things.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Swimming with no hands

So Doc discovers a story about a man in Cambodia who set the Guiness World Record for handcuffed swimming. Apparently he swam 5.8 kilometres with his hands cuffed behind his back. And it wasn't for any cool reason, either, like he had just escaped from a Cambodian prison or a paddy wagon and needed to swim for his freedom. It was just to break a world record. The fact this record had to be "broken" obviously means that at some point in the past, it had been "set", and is now officially recognized. This leads me to believe that the easiest thing thing in the world would be to get into the Guiness Book. I'm going to set the record for longest distance walked carrying a hot dog between my butt cheeks. Oh, someone already holds that record? OK, I'll set the record for longest distance walked carrying a hot dog between my butt cheeks WHILE balancing an egg on a spoon. Send your people to verify as I walk from my couch to my fridge. And then back to the couch.

Anyway, what it all boiled down to was this - Doc, Woody and Randall all believed that I was incapable of matching even a fraction of this 5.8 km record. I made the assertion that I absolutely could. The wager then became whether I could swim two lengths of a pool while handcuffed. We were searching for a pool that would allow us to do that, when a man from Russell called the show to say we could use his pool. His outdoor pool. It's the middle of November and it's minus-7 in the mornings. This man is obviously a sadist, or maybe a lunatic, or a bit of both. But Doc and Woody are not to be outdone on the sadist scale. (A scale that measures one's enjoyment when seeing pain inflicted on others. I understand it is an arbitrary designation that goes from "Mother Teresa" to "Caligula". Doc and Woody rate somewhere around the "Richard Simmons" level.) So they decide that I am going to do the outdoor swim.

Not that it really makes a difference to them, but the fact of the matter is that doing two lengths of an outdoor pool in handcuffs is no great feat. This will not settle our bet at all. In fact, all it will prove is that it sucks to jump into freezing water through a layer of frozen ice. We already KNOW that. But the bit is no longer about whether I can swim with my hands cuffed or not, it's now about the scream I will make when I jump into the icy pool and flail about. Perhaps this will make for entertaining radio, but nobody is going to LEARN anything. Another problem I have is that this man has clearly winterized his pool sometime two months ago. In the meantime, as always happens with backyard pools, small creatures have wandered by, fallen in, drowned and become tiny little floating corpses, rendering the water full of disease. I assume. Apparently this will also make for great radio, as we now will spend the next seven months watching and waiting to see if I catch, and how long it takes before I succumb to, infectious diptheria. Fun and games boys, fun and games.

So the next day Jason, our promo guy, picks me up and we start out. I'm still not being told where the pool is, and I have come to the conclusion that if it is indeed the outdoor pool, there's no way I'm jumping in. Not that I have anything against the temperature of the water. In fact, the polar bear club in Ottawa sends us email every year asking me to come out with them and take the plunge. Unfortunately, it's always when Doc and Woody are on vacation, and I have to run the show. But I certainly would do it otherwise. The cold wears off. It's the monoencephalodentiatitis that I'm worried about. Jeff Brown calls the show, our boss. Normally, he makes me sign a waiver for EVERYTHING, and won't let me do anything remotely dangerous. You want to be tasered? No. You want to skydive? No. You're going ot be running this morning? Sign a waiver. You're waiting for a bus? Sign a waiver. This morning, is he concerned about my health? No. "Make sure you get it on videotape!" He says. No waiver, no lawyers, nothing. Thanks boss.

So I'm on my way to the pool, wherever it is, with Jason. We get stuck in traffic as a huge accident clogs up Hunt Club for miles around. when we finally get going again, it's a race to where we're going to do the swim. We finally get to the Nepean Sportsplex at about 8:10. The Nepean Sportsplex! Thank God! (It turns out that the reason the swim was done there was not out of any last minute change of heart from Doc and Woody, it was merely that Jason was too lazy to work things out with this other guy and drive all the way out to Russell.) Whatever the reason, I'm thankful and I'm ready to go. Doc and Woody and especially Randall are maintaining that I will not make it two lengths of the pool handcuffed. But despite their disbelief, I knew I could. I played water polo for ten years! I can do this! It turns out it was harder than I thought. Jim and the others at the Sportsplex were worried about me, so they did it in the shallow pool. Still the same size, but that meant I couldn't tread water all the way, I had to swim flat on the surface. Otherwise my feet would touch, and I would slow down and lose my rhythm.

That meant I had to put my face in the water the whole time, leaping up to take breaths every few strokes. This was OK too, but in the end it was the breathing that killed me, not the actual physical exertion. I was pleased to see that the attractive lifeguard working this pool followed me every step of the way, to make sure I didn't drown. Jason followed as well, making sure that every gasp for air that came out of me was sent over the airwaves via cell phone. Super. I did my two lengths, and I was done. I won the bet. I showed those guys. But those guys weren't done. They wanted to move up a rung or two on the sadist scale, from "Richard Simmons" to "Howie Mandel". So they made me swim again. And again. Finally after four laps I gave up, completely out of breath. I wasn't sore at all, I had just lost all the air in my lungs due to my bizarre hopping-for-breath style of handcuffed swimming.

The point here is, I won the bet. And if you ever want to get into the Guiness Book, don't try to break someone else's crappy record for fastest time basting a turkey, create your own. Break new ground. Go for the record in "fastest basting of a turkey while listening to a Barry Manilow live album on a Sony brand stereo system". And if you can do it faster than the guy who did the same while listening to a studio album, well then, you're in the book twice, aren't you?

I'm slowly learning to "blog"...

This is a test, to find out if I am in fact as technologically savvy as I ought to be. What with having no cell phone, no home internet access and no capacity to do simple tasks like programming a VCR. I have been told that "blogging" is easy. I still find myself incapable of typing "blog" without quotation marks. I feel that makes me less nerdy, since using quotation marks indicates my lack of familiarity with the process. Once I lose the quotation marks, however, that will signal the end of the Eric I once was, and announce to the world that I have succumbed to the inevitable pressure of becoming a part of the E-world. Until then, this is my "blog".