By Bill Dixon
1. For the Love of Everything Holy, Stop Telling Me How to Make Bombs
Stop telling me how easy it is to make a bomb. I spent the afternoon of the Boston Marathon bombing in L.A. traffic, screaming at my radio as they told me just how easily I could make my very own explosive or incendiary device.
“From what we are understanding, the bomb was a simple device made from everyday items you might find in your own kitchen. All you need is ____________, ___________ and a little ____________. The instructions for it can be found very easily with a simple Google search of ____________.”
All you have to say is, “The bomb was made with household materials–frightening, right guys?” You don’t need to break it down for me. While you’re telling me this, some bearded lunatic is in his underwear, covered in Nutella, running around his trailer while talking to a volleyball–”Honey, where’s a pen!? NPR is givin’ recipes!”
2. If You Don’t Know What’s Happening, Shut Up
Helpful Information: Two bombs detonated at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Two fatalities reported; at least two dozen injured.
Less Helpful: Terrorists probably exploded a bomb in Boston; at least two dead, it could be 100, who knows. Also, JFK Library probably got blown up. Reports coming in of Osama Bin Laden’s ghost shoplifting at a South Boston grocery store. He reportedly paid for several items but ate several string cheeses while shopping and shoved the wrappers in his ghost pocket without paying for them. BREAKING NEWS: John King reports that the FBI has Osama Bin Laden’s ghost in custody and it was seven string cheeses.
3. Don’t Tell Me the Name of the Person Who Did it, and Stop Calling Him a Lone Wolf
“There is a good chance that this is a lone wolf we are dealing with” -CNN. Lone wolf? What is he, a fuckin’ superhero? Some asshole who owns a pressure cooker isn’t an X-man, he’s a douche bag.
Also, I have a limited amount of space in my brain and I like to pack that space with valuable things like the time I was 10 years old and went to a sleepover where they were watching the movie Porky’s and I started crying, called my mom and asked her to pick me up because the movie they were watching wasn’t appropriate for me. I also like to keep my brain filled with the fantasy I have of my mom calling me a punk ass bitch and hanging up the phone. These are important things to keep in my brain.
But once they capture or identify the person who shoots up an elementary school or blows up a federal building or kills spectators at a public event, I don’t want to know his name– ever. I want him or her to be forgotten forever. I want the history books scrubbed of their disease and I certainly do not want one single inch of psychic real estate occupied by a coward’s legacy. And finally…
4. Instead of Telling Me About People Who Went On Killing Sprees, Try Telling Me About People Who Go On Living Sprees
I would love to have my regularly scheduled programming interrupted with “BREAKING NEWS: At 9 PM EST, 33-year-old Kenneth Jordan of Jacksonville, Florida was making brownies when he realized he just wanted the batter, so in an unprecedented action, he sat in his living room in his pajamas and ate brownie batter out of a mixing bowl with a big wooden spoon and watched Annie Hall. According to reports, the man then decided to call his estranged father just to tell him he loved him. Finally, the man walked into his front yard, laid down in the grass and spent two hours staring at the stars and inventing his own constellations. Reports are still sketchy, but we have at least three of the constellation’s names: Ken’s Big Ol’ Soup Ladle, Jimi Hendrix and Ken’s Dick.
From what we are understanding, the brownie batter was a simple recipe made from everyday items you might find in your own kitchen.”