“This is Debbie Dallas here on KRAK FM, where it’s early morning and the only thing that stinking around here is our competition. With me is my co-host Bobby Billens. He’s a little back woods as you all know, but he keeps me entertained, so I keep him around. Got anything to say there Bobby?”

“When did I wake up with this cush job?” Bobby said, and muted his mic to wipe spit from it.

“I know you can’t see it folks, but he just came all over his mic,” Debbie said. “Little premature, wouldn’t you say Bobby?”

“I don’t think you can say that on air,” Bobby said.

Debbie pursed her lips and looked genuinely hurt. “Premature? Or mic?”

“Came.”

“Why not Bobby dear? I mean, I came to work this morning. You should know…you came in after me. You know, I think I might come tomorrow too. To work that is…come to work. You know, you’ll come in after me. Just don’t slip in it.” She tilted her head back and laughed. Bobby honked a bike horn, and twirled a finger to motion that they should move on.

“Yeah, yeah Bobby, I got ya. Get it moving. Don’t stall too much on one thing or another. Be careful you don’t slip in the premature come there.”

Bobby sighed, and looked at me. He made a motion that I should put on the headset near me, and with a shrug I complied.

“Well folks,” Debbie said, and leaned up close to her mic. “It looks like it’s that time of the show again. That time when we don’t put a man on the street to bring you the same boring shi—crap, crap that you hear everywhere else. Nope, we go out and bring the man on the street to you; sort of a man off the streets if you will. Today we have with us a guy, kind scruffy looking to tell you the truth, a guy who goes by the name of—”

She waved her hands in the air, and I leaned forward and spoke into the mic. “Phil.”

“By the name of Phil. Phil works here downtown, or so he says. Ask his co-workers and they’ll tell you different. Did I say scruffy folks? I think I did, but that doesn’t do him justice. He’s got a virtual beaver growing on his face.” She looked over at Bobby. “I can say beaver right?” Bobby nodded. “Coolness, I can say it looks like he was a girl and she got up and left a beaver on his face.”

“You can’t say it like that,” Bobby said.

“I can’t say a girl left a beaver on his face? I didn’t say it was her beaver—“

“That’s even worse.”

I smiled. “Depends. I’m not against beaver on my face.”

Debbie laughed, and Bobby looked at me with a shocked look on his face.

“Woo-Hoo! Folks we have us a gen-u-ine comedian here, and he sounds like a guy I wouldn’t mind taking home after the show,” Debbie said. “What do you say Phil?”

“I’d say, that if I weren’t married, that would be nice. You’re looking kinda cute,” I said.

“Oh, my type of man alright,” Debbie said, and blew a kiss at me.

I hooked a thumb at Bobby. “I was talking to Bobby. I like my women with a little less hips. Like Bobby here.”

Bobby looked at me, a smirk on his face. “I’m a guy.”

“Whoa, sorry man, couldn’t tell with them hips,” I said, and Debbie howled. “Plus, Bobby’s a unisex name, are you sure?”

“Trust me Phil,” Debbie said, and slapped me on the shoulder. “He’s been picked up before, but usually cause of those huge man-boobs. Never the hips.”

“Bobby with a ‘Y’,” Bobby said, and muted our mics. He motioned for me to remove my headset. I removed mine and followed him out the door.

“So,” he said once we were outside the room. “I’ll bet you thought that was pretty goddamn clever, didn’t you?”

I stepped back and leaned on the counter behind me. “Sorry man,” I said. “I thought it was supposed to go like that.”

“Did you think it would end up with me bitch-slapping you out the door?” He raised his hand and the fat under his arm waddled beneath his biceps.

I smiled.

“Usually,” I said. “When one is bitch-slapping another, it’s because the one receiving the slap is the bitch. In this case, I am guessing it would be the bitch doing the slapping.”

“Just get out,” Bobby said, and dropped his skin-tagged arm to his side.

“No problem,” I said, and backed away from him. “Next time you go to get your man off the street, make sure he’s a pushover. You’ll have an easier time than you did with me.”

I turned and watched the glass door close. Bobby stood inside and flipped me off, but in the background, through a small glass pane in the door to the broadcast room, was Debbie jetting her tongue between her fingers, and then she held her hand to her head and mouthed ‘call me’.

I waved, and turned to go. I was fifteen minutes late for work as it was.

[875]