So the first thing Mrs. Webster says when I walk in the door is, “Henry, you have a note for yesterday?” I hand it to her and don’t even make it back to my seat before she goes and reads the thing aloud. “Henry was sick yesterday because he had to help me pick beans.” “Signed his dad”

Now I know good and well she knows I wrote it. It’s just a matter now of if she’s going to make me lie and say my dad’s writing hand was broke or something.

So I’m in my desk, pulling books and crap out of a grocery bag when Mrs. Webster says, “Class, we’re going to begin show and tell”…which has NEVER been my favorite assignment. I mean what am I going to do, bring in an empty bottle and say, “this is how come I couldn’t do my homework, because my old man got pickled drunk and spent the whole night rearranging the house to look like a test range.”

No, maybe I’ll bring in a picture of my mother. And tell everybody how she isn’t around anymore because my father wouldn’t believe the doctor when he told him that part of her breast was going to have to come off if she was going to live.”

Well this time I’m ready. See, one thing have way decent we had in the house was the Korean — which my father would kill me for if he ever knew I had so much as breathed on. Only problem was he left early this morning with a truckload of beans and probably won’t be back until…I don’t know, maybe tomorrow.

Now, I remember that we always have show and tell Fridays so after scrounging around the closet; I placed the Korean in a shoe box and brought it along to show the class.

“I have something this morning, this, Miss Webster,” I say real loud and start to go up front. Only Mrs. Webster stops me.

“That’s good to hear, but you remember we go in alphabetical order, and I believe Michael Baxter has something to show us this morning – Michael.”

So fat old Michael Dumb Bunny Baxter goes waddling up to the front of the class. Kid’s got hearing aids in both ears and when he talks it’s like trying to understand a Frenchmen or something, that’s only been speaking English for about three minutes.

One time, I took both hearing aids out of his ears and told him it was going to take him 50 cents to get them back. Only problem was, he couldn’t hear what I was saying and that’s pretty much the problem of the whole class now.

He’s holding up a jar of liquid with something floating in it and he goes something like, “This here is my penis. I had it removed in 4^th grade.”

Frank Neidemeyer gives me a look like, “the hell happened to him?” And some of the kids start to laugh.

“Class, class let’s be sure we understand. What Michael has here is his appendix. Everyone’s born with one. Sometimes they give us problems and they have to be removed in an operation. Thank you Michael for showing us yours.”

This is great, I think. Sort of a warm up for the main attraction. Here’s sorry old Dumb Bunny Baxter with his puny little piece of meat that’s probably not even important. Still, it gets everyone thinking about body parts and here comes Henry Calhoun.

“Henry, you have something for us this morning?”

“Yes m’am.” I say real smooth. Like, okay now that we’re done messing around with the thing in the jar, it’s time for the real show. I bring the box to the front of the room and place it on Mrs. Webster’s desk. I lift the skull out real slow.

“This here is a human head.” I watch Michael Baxter turn pale. “My uncles brought it back from the Korean War as a souvenir. See, this hole in the side of its head…well it was made by a UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BULLET YEE HAW!!!! AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL GOD SHED HIS GRACE ON THEE!!!!!!!”

Mary Beth Winslow’s breakfast comes up so fast, and some of the kid’s start to cry

“HENRY! Get back to your seat this instant,” says Mrs. Webster.

I notice she’s a little whiter herself. So that’s it – I don’t get to answer questions or anything. Ten seconds in what I thought was something I was doing right for a change. Something, I thought would make up for all the times I’d screwed up everything else and it’s like I might as well of brought nothing.

I go back to my seat and shove the Korean underneath and put my head down on my desk. My dad’s right I think, about me being stupid and worthless and no matter how much he beats me, I’ll always be a freak.

Now I’m afraid I’m going to cry unless I think of something else, so I start working on a spit ball. Along with spit I shove a little tobacco in from my pocket. I snap my fingers and point at the jar of paste in Howard Dunlap’s desk. In it goes along with a bite of my Hostess Twinkie from lunch.

I pick out Dumb Bunny Baxter as my target and I stand up to get a good shot. Only Mrs. Webster turns around mid-throw. Now I try to stop it but the whole thing flies apart and flies all over everybody.

Mrs. Webster just stands there looking at me and I know I’ve had it. That I’ll probably go to jail or something. That is, if my father doesn’t kill me for the Korean, which I guess he’s bound to find put about now.

Anyway, I lose it. I throw my notebook on the floor and kick it across the room. I kick my desk and everything starts spilling out of it. Mrs. Webster tells everybody to get out in the hall and for somebody to go get the principal.

So I’m still throwing stuff and screaming…just like my dad… when it’s just me and Mrs. Webster in the room. I see the Korean between us and I go for it. I don’t know whether to throw it at her or at the wall…at her or at the wall and she starts walking towards me. Now, I rear back like I’m going to smash her in the face, only she keeps coming.

And when she’s close enough, she whispers something.

She goes, “Poor baby.”

And here’s the thing, SHE’s the one crying. Just a little bit. Just a single tear.

We’re live outside of Telly and Rosita’s Fix-It Shop surrounded by angry protesters chanting
“The people want to know!
The people need to know:
When Bert sees Ernie does he grow down below?”
The Don’t Ask Don’t Tell Policy on PBS has long been subject to controversy, and now the people are demanding answers.

Last night, a car bomb exploded outside of 5 Sesame Street, where Bert and Ernie have quietly shared an apartment for 29 years.
Zork, a green animated alien puppet lived next door to the suspects in season 17:
“They had what was coming to them. Living in secrecy. Fishing trips. Counting sheep together. I hear them squeaking the rubber ducky ALL NIGHT LONG! It’s time they come forward and admit it!”
Riots set disaster on most of Sesame Street this evening as gay pride supporters clashed with frustrated Sesame Street residents. Singing Fruit Hat Lady Fruta Manzana, shown here, was severely beaten in the mayhem and remains in critical condition at the corner hospital, Peek-a-boo ICU. The Street waits for answers from Bert and Ernie.

After days of violence and demands from the people of Sesame Street, Bert and Ernie are holding a press conference to announce their sexuality. For the first time in two weeks, The Street is silent.
“Bert and I have tried to reason with many of you that demanding a declaration of sexuality from us is immoral.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Bert and I are free to live as we choose: straight! We will be best friends–and only best friends–through the good times and bad.”
“That’s correct.”
“Thank you.” *squeaks ducky*
The culprits have spoken. They are straight. The Street may struggle to understand this concept for some time. We’ll keep you posted on any developments. Today’s program was brought to you by the letters L,O, V, and E and the number 2.

you run for shelter

and thats why you are now here

in my arms

because somewhere behind your now-closed

eyelids it is raining

and the flood is overflowing

one drop at a time

down your rounded cheek and

onto your chin

but you don’t wipe it away

I do

and this is not appropriate behavior for two straight men

This is not appropriate behavior for two straight men.

nine months ago the news became as broken

as I was

and there

in public

you held me

not a hug

you were embracing me

holding me together

you were containing me

your arms keeping guts in like a turniquette

your hands white knuckled on my back

and me leaving saline saliva and snot

on your shoulder

because when men cry

its not pretty

and i was weak kneed after a week of bleeding though shirts leaving stains in the shape of a woman’s name

we were attracting the attention of six lanes of traffic

and two bus stops of public transportation patrons who couldn’t help but think that

this is not appropriate behavior for two straight men

This is not appropriate behavior for two straight men

but she broke me then

emotional pain physically actualized

I could feel her using the needle to inject her name into the left side

of my chest

so that everytime my heart beat blood through capilaries

my entire body was filled with her memory

and i could feel her leaving in my fingertips

and i was wincing for weeks

waiting for relief

but it held on like a short night’s sleep

and you held me then

and now its my thumb doing the windshield wiper sweep across your cheek

and this is not appropriate behavior for two straight men

I’m here because your father isnt emotional enough

and your mother isn’t strong enough

because each exhaled breath feels like a silent scream

and even inhaling feels like letting go

because its a misconception

the presense of a Y chromosome does not inhibit emotion

and you are here in my arms because I want you to know

that I don’t give a fuck about anything or anybody but you right now

and i would stand up to flying rocks from old school jocks

and chauvinists who believe they know more about men than God does

If i thought it would save you right now I would hold you until its over

and this is not appropriate behavior for two straight men

but it fucking should be.

“You’re my bro.”
The magic words
revealing shared ideals
promising future frat parties
Collars popped to a perfect 75 degrees
And backwards hats that smelled like salt water and desperately needed to be washed
That wasn’t me!
I wasn’t a bro!
I didn’t give high fives screaming “wooh” and “yeah!”
During hours of Madden marathons
I didn’t own hair gel of any type
I couldn’t tell you what a jager bomb was
I didn’t drive a truck
Do kegstands
Walk like a bro
or “Talk like a bro”
But Chad flipped my world upside down with those three words
“You’re my bro.”

The day after Chad’s magic words
I went to school
In the same old clothes
With the same old walk
And the same old talk
I saw Chad, deep within a throng of other bros.
I pushed my way through, looked him right in the eyes, lowered my voice 3 or 4 decibels, and barked,
“Yo Chad, whatsup bro?”
Chad reached out with both arms
And pulled me in for a brief, thunderous “brohug”
A hug in which two bros make contact for only a moment
As they pound each other on the back with their fists.
“Wassup, bro?!”
He yelled, pounding my fist.
The throng of bros closed around me.
They were smiling,
Patting me on the shoulder,
Accepting me as one of the bros.
And I realized something
Maybe being a bro wasn’t so bad
Maybe being a bro meant being a part of a family
A family that drank a lot and slept with lots of women
That loved sports and feats of strength
Sort of like an Irish family.
But most importantly,
Your bros had your back.
Your bros were the ones you could count on.
Your bros were your bros.

Go there for all of your PJ.FM related goodness!

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In this episode:

Welcome Mike Beal and Mike DeCriscio!

2 week maybe hiatus

News:
Court Gives Viacom Access to YouTube stats
Ebay Sued
Adobe Developing Flash search results
3G iPhone in stores only

How to:
Dry out a wet cell phone

Internet:
Grooveshark
indenti.ca

Games:
News: Halo 3 free stuff on the 7th
SOCOM on PS3 delayed
New Halo Game for E3

Music:
Los Campesinos

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In this episode:

California Hands-Free Law, Diablo 3, Call of Duty: World at War, btdig.com, swaptree.com, Digsby, Wall-e, The Bucket List DVD, Ninja Gaiden 2, Guitar Hero: Aerosmith, and Scythian.

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On the hitlist for PJ.FM Episode 2
Welcome to Ian McMillan from Ontario, Canada
We promised some things last week that we couldn’t deliver, but we promise next week we will. Also, next week the podcast may be a few days late due to conflicting schedules.

We’re trying out new mic settings. If it works better, email us at pjdotfm@gmail.com

Tech:
Firefox 3 – http://en-us.www.mozilla.com/en-US/
Firefox 3 cake – http://www.arcanology.com/2008/06/17/ie-sends-mozilla-a-new-cake-for-firefox-3/
Send us stories!

Internet:
Muxtape – http://www.muxtape.com/
Muxfind – http://www.muxfind.com/
How to convert to mp3’s in iTunes – http://askbobrankin.com/convert_itunes_to_mp3_format.html
Evernote – http://www.evernote.com/

Video Games:
Relaxing Flash Games
Flow (PS3) – http://intihuatani.usc.edu/cloud/flowing/core.html
Music Catch – http://www.reflexive.com/index.php?PAGE=WebGamePlay&WGID=94
Boomshine – http://www.k2xl.com/games/boomshine/

Games we want to get:
Prince of Persia – http://prince-of-persia.us.ubi.com/

Music:
Cage the Elephant – http://www.youtube.com/user/cagetheelephant.

Dog flashdrive – http://www.ohgizmo.com/2006/12/13/usb-humping-dog-flash-drive/

PJ.FM Podcast #1

Email Us! pjdotfm@gmail.com

Show Notes

Twitter Accounts:

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http://www.plurk.com/user/jgeogh01
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Youtube:

http://www.youtube.com/user/pjrproductions

Band Name Origins:

http://library.thinkquest.org/4626/rock.htm

Guitar Hero 4:

Bands:

http://www.weezer.com/
http://www.vampireweekend.com/

Homepage

On Tony’s fourth birthday, I took him to the movies. Now as soon as we stepped inside, he wanted popcorn, a soda, a hot dog, juju bees, a chocolate bar, nachos, bonbons… and whatever else those big eyes could see.

“Anything else Tony?”
“Gummybears. I need gummybears!”

And believe me they could see a lot.

The picture we saw was the Muppet Movie. You know, the one with Kermit and Miss Piggy? And we had \mean Tony, Tony had, a ball, and for weeks after that he d ask me to sing The rainbow connection to him

“Mikey?”
“ No.”
“ Please?”
“ No Tony! I’ve been singing that song all week! “
“ Please please please!”
“ No Tony! “
“PLEEEEEEAAAAAAASSSSSSSS.”
Okay! okay, but this is the last time you understand?
“Someday you’ ll find it, the rainbow connections, for lovers and dreamers like me. Satisfied?”

He wasn’t. That was almost ten years ago, but it seems like yesterday, you know? Tony turned fourteen this year. Got a full scholarship to Hochkins Preparatory school and then he shot. He just got shot and I can’ t do a thing about it. My baby brother is dying and I can’t do a thing about it.

Dad died the year Tony was born, so as oldest son I was the man of the house–at least when my mother let me be. So I helped bring Tony up. He was a crazy little kid. Always getting me in trouble with mom, but he was smart. When he was three he stared to read. And he decided to start with my Playboys. One day he oh-so-innocently asked my mother.

“ Ma, whats a w-hore?
“ A what?”
“A w-hore.”
“ Where did you get this from?”
“ Mikey.”
“Michael Jeramiah Solamon Smith, in the kitchen now. “

He was the starting quarterback for the Tomahawks– MVP last year. He was walking down the block on his way home from football practice when these drug dealers started shooting at each other. Tony never had a chance to get out of the way. The police said,“Well we’ re sorry, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Wrong place, wrong time? He was shot six times! You know, they caught one of the guys who shot Tony. He’s only thirteen. Thirteen and carrying an Uzi pistol? So he goes home with his mama who swears he’s a good boy and he’s never gonna do it again. And Tony? Tony is in the hospital…… dying.

Tony was always getting me in trouble or messing up my things. I would get so mad at him.
“ Tony! I told you to stay out of my room didn’t I?! Don’t touch my baseball. Don’t steal my cookies. Don’t touch my computer. And don’t touch my magazines!”

And then he would look up at me with those big eyes, which were just made to hold tears.
“ I’m sorry, Mikey.”
“ O.K. Just don’t do it again, understand? You want some cookies or something?

I couldn’t stay mad at him.

“I can’t go Ma.”
“ But he’s asking for you.”
“I’ m not going!”
“He needs you Michael.”
“He needed me when those punks were shooting at him. That’s when he needed me. And I wasn’t there.”
“He needs you now.”
“For what Ma? Another spectator at his death bed?”
“No, so that he’ ll know he will be missed. So that he knows you love him.”
“ I’m not going.”
“Listen, I am tired of you feeling sorry for yourself. Your brother needs you and it’s about time you started acting like it.”

I taught Tony to play football, baseball, basketball, and chess. I taught him how to knot a tie and I even taught him how to cheat at poker. I dressed him up for his first date and taught him to be strong, to be a man, and face the pain… no matter how bad it hurts.

As I stood outside the hospital, I tried to think of any reason why I shouldn’t go inside. Hell! I wanted to remember Tony stealing my cookies, messing up m room throwing footballs–anywhere but here.

When I opened the door I saw Mom and the doctor. The bed looked empty, I thought he had already died. My God, he looked so small in that bed. I couldn’t believe it was him. Then he looked up at me.

“ I guess I really messed up this time huh Mike?”
“Nah, it wasn’t your fault man.”
“Remember that time I ripped up your Spiderman costume?”
“How can I forget?”
“I’m sorry man.”

He was just four years old again, and I just wanted to protect him from the world, but it was too late.

“Mikey? Do you remember the Rainbow Connection?”
“Yeah.”
“Sing it to me.”
“Some day you’ll find it the Rainbow connection for lovers and dreamers like me.”