I showed up for my first W.O.O.F. show in the basement of a now-long-ago bankrupt college. John Greenhorn is behind the mixing board. He has produced “The Rookie Season” now for years. It is a crazy mix of baseball lore, gun stories and garage rock. He carries a certain gun I am told. That may be because the station is in a dodgy hood known as the “Carjack Capital of the USA.” Or maybe it’s something more complicated involving identity…
He has a bad marriage so avoid ANY reference to marriage, happiness, celebrations, anniversaries, rings, consummation, gowns, champagne, receptions, honeymoons, “Married with Children,” women, wives, sex, “Seven Year Ache,” prenups…
Being from Amsterdam, I think of suitable topics for discussion: “Radar Love,” the THC in Amsterdam weed, “Hocus Pocus,” that “Pulp Fiction” scene about Amsterdam, or that sativa hybrid “Laughing Buddha” … But, be careful, he might flip, thinking entrapment or narc.
Some weeks later, I was 2 minutes late for my show and late is disrespect and disrespect is punishable… and so he felt morally compelled to expose his nine, the way mobsters flash pistols carried in the waistband, under a coat jacket. Certainly a persuasive argument with its devotees.
Holding the nine, he becomes a poet, maybe his eyes do something funny: “The Hi-Point C-9 / is banged up but all mine / It’s knocked up & cheap / and’ll put down the fattest creep / semi-automatic polymer & black / it’s shiny wit’ convincing blowback.”
Yes, this is how he talks or rants on-air, where he is mystical like gun powder is incense.
“Handgun haiku …” My audience of one quips. It’s not funny though.
DJ Mookie one night played Randy Newman’s “God’s Song” as his opening cut. Then made fun of religious rituals on air – the taking of the wafer, things like that.
Greenhorn, preparing for his own show, methodically [cinematically?] removed his leather jacket, placed it on a stool, walked over to DJ Mookie and aimed his nine-double-M at Mookie’s face. “Blam!”
I get a clear picture of that. After all, John’s a Catholic, others might jest. He’d say “good Catholic,” but what is good anymore?
They say he has a full range of all-too-accurate firearm sound effects that punctuate his tales and poems of whatever woe.
“In the perfect noon dread / it burns thru your head / melts you down to smoke / until you’re dearly departed / Your last thoughts / A bad joke / dragged off by the vulture half-hearted …”
Says he means what he says. Says he would shoot you dead. In the heart, then carve out the bullet and read the inscription etched into the lead out loud – on-air. It’s dedicated to you – and me…
He hates lateness. But lateness is not even on top of his list of things hated. Not fully reading and memorizing his full list [it gets longer by the week] tacked to the bulletin board is also up there.