Armed with my DX7 and my Tascam 244, I was able to do a lot more easily some of the stuff I used to do with my friends in high school on my dad’s Wollensak reel to reel. This one is a combination of parts of two. The first is sort of ridicule of a group of radio hosts on an AM station. All I had to do was find some audio with the beginning of the music for Jaws, record little snippets of the radio hosts, and then add the rest. The second was from a longer fake commercial for Permalloy, a kind of burial vault. It started with bright sunshiny music and environmental effects like thunderstorms and wind with a voice-over talking about how nice it is to spend eternity all snug, safe and sound, in your Permalloy Burial Vault and ends with “But it could be worse” followed by dialog of chipmunks talking,
Chipmunk 1: “Hey, look! It’s a fresh one”
Chipmunk 2: “You know what that means!”
Together: “Bones!”
Chipmunk 1: “Race you!”
Chipmunk 2: “You’re on!”
SFX: The take off racing sound, followed by skidding to a halt and digging sounds, ending with a THUNK of coming up against something really solid.
Chipmunk 2: “Aw nuts!”
Chipmunk 1: “What’s the matter?”
Chipmunk 2: “My claws! It’s—it’s…Permalloy!”
Chipmunk 1: “Looks like you chipped a Dale. Heh heh. You’re right! It IS Permalloy! We’d never get through this stuff in a million years. Well, you know what they say.”
SFX: Jingle intro
Chipmunk 1 singing: “De harder de nut, de sweeter de kernel”
Chipmunk 2 singing: “So protect your nuts in something eternal.”
Chipmunk 1 singing: “Don’t settle for less like the hoi polloi.”
Together singing: “Sarcophagize yourselves in Permalloy!”
Chipmunk 2 singing: “Nabisco”
Chipmunk 1: “We’re Beatrice”
Chipmunk 2: “Yeah!”
_________
Okay, well, I may as well put up the scripts for the other fake commercials I wrote back in the 80s and early 90s.
The first is a parody of a really stupid commercial for a security company that featured voice-overs by people who just got robbed: the solution? Of course, the frigging security company. So I wrote one with much the same format but my company was POP, Inc. Personal Organ Protection, Inc. The best in endo-security.
The second is a parody of that Kodak slogan “One to keep and one to share” but for a company, InstaClone, that specializes in cloning with a twist: it will separate all the good characteristics for the one to keep from all the bad characteristics for the one to share.
The third is AIDS 101 featuring Icky and Stinky in the Tunnel of Doom and the problem of just where those sex-ed classes are going to find condoms for the pre-adolescents. Solution: Super-Hero Action Stemware.
The fourth is the story, 100% Organic, for a new food craze discovered once interstellar exploration took off after physicist Dr. Dickie Poultroon discovered the concept of “blowing the stacks.”
The fourth is for a new laxative product called Electro-Lax by Dr. Stools, available in AC and DC and a variety of designer colors, but I’ll have to look through old hard drives for that one.
P. O. P., INC.
SFX: Knock on bedroom door. Two adult voices respond with startled gasps.
SON (tremulous voice) Mom? Dad?
DAD: (Weirdly conversational and lucid for someone who has just been awakened in the middle of the night) Come on in, Timmy. Mom and I heard your screaming. That sure was a bad dream.
SON: (Sheepish dread) I, uh, dreamed that robots from outer space came down and zapped us underwater pirates.
MOM: (Hi-Wally-hi-Beaver-want-some-cookies-and-milk voice) You didn’t like that, did you? Flip on the light, hon.
SFX: light switch and more gasps
DAD: What happened?
SON: There’s blood all over!
MOM: We’ve been robbed! I’m calling the brain police.
ANNOUNCER:
This call could have been prevented if only this family had contracted for endosecurity with POP, Inc., the nation’s largest and best personal organ protection plan.
MOM: We’ve been cleaned out! Our spleens--my ovaries!
DAD: (Background aside) I think it was the gynecologist that got those, Peg. But you’re right, it was robbery!
ANNOUNCER:
Nationally over one in five households is raided each year for cheap transplants. One in twenty is hit so hard that it doesn’t have a leg left to stand on. But this doesn’t have to happen to you.
SFX: Hand slapping abdominal flesh.
MOM: They got my hepatic portal! (pause, then horrid, groaning sigh)
SFX: Sheets and blankets being whisked back.
MOM: Bob! Your jewels! All gone!
SON: They even took my you-know-what, Dad.
ANNOUNCER:
In a dog-eat-dog world, you’ve got to rely on the best to ensure your family’s internal security. Personal organ protection is only a phone call away. Call now for a free (and relatively painless) in-home organ audit for the entire family. Just dial 1-800-POP-IT-UP.
MOM: Zufa [pronounced zoofa] and Randon next door were right about endosecurity. [Dad is saying Zoofa? Zoofa?] I’m calling POP right now.
DAD: (Fading fast) I think you’d better call an ambulance right now.
MOM: This isn’t going to happen again.
SFX: push button phone and ringing
DAD: No, not if we die which, judging from the length of this commercial we don’t seem to be doing very well.
SON: Wrong commercial, Dad.
ANNOUNCER:
Call now and ask for our free publication, Organs at Risk.
SFX: Phone ringing in room ambiance
ZUFA: (with some kind of accent) Randon? The phone. But before you get that, (laughs throatily) I think I’ll have another slice of that liver and, uh, pass me those, um, baby oysters.
_______
INSTACLONE: One to Keep and One to Share
SCENE: Dad and Mom in a car picking up their smart-ass, just-adolescent son from arrogant, terribly wealthy, old-maid, great-aunt's palatial estate somewhere in rural New Jersey.
ANNOUNCER: (In the voice of the nutty scientist type on The Simpsons: nerdily adenoidal) Has this ever happened to you?
GREAT AUNT: (witheringly condescending in a bitch Aunt Bea voice, with pained affection) Jimmy-- and... uh...(heavy contempt) Lois. If you should have any other business difficulties, please don't hesitate to leave young Kevin with me. (sparkly) That boy is my joie de vivre.
DAD & MOM: (SFX: thought reverb, co-thinking despairingly) He's the joy of your life?
GREAT AUNT: Perhaps over the Christmas holidays. I'll send Chadwick with the Bentley. They seem to have taken quite a shine to each other. (titters joyfully) You know, wax on, wax off! Like in that movie.
DAD & MOM: (SFX: thought reverb) Are we talking the same kid?
GREAT AUNT: Goodbye, dear Kevin.
KEVIN: (really sweet voice) Auf Wiedersehen, liebe Tante.
GREAT AUNT: (delighted swooning shriek) Ooooh!
SFX: Adieu chat—buh-bye, we'll call soon, can't ever thank you enough, take care—ending with start of car ignition and two doors slamming.
DAD & MOM: Shut your door, Kevin. (SFX: thought reverb) Auf Wieder—?
SFX: Single car door slamming loudly cuts off parents' thoughts
KEVIN: Whatta bitch!
MOM: (shocked voice) Kevin! Don't speak of Great Aunt Belsen that way.
DAD: (equally shocked) You know how much she thinks of us!
KEVIN: (snotty sarcasm) Oh, yeah? Well, she thinks you were a fool to leave Great Uncle's law firm to set up Compu-Trol Flight Simulators.
ANNOUNCER: (Simpsons' Nutty Scientist (N.S.)) Sounds like this family could use a new-age solution to an age-old problem—
SEXY BLOND: (In a breathy, I'm-always-here-to-please-you, 1-900 sex-voice) Instaclone!
KEVIN: She said she hopes you give her something other than a cheeseball this Christmas.
SEXY BLOND: Instaclone!
ANNOUNCER: Yes, Instaclone—for that difficult-to-please loved one.
KEVIN: She said she's already got enough of 'em in the freezer to make a small moon!
DAD: (SFX: thought reverb) Outer space wouldn't be far enough.
MOM: (SFX: thought reverb) Trouble is, there's no booster rocket big enough to—
KEVIN: (sulky petulance) And she said that I was the only good thing to come out of your marriage and perhaps its only redeeming virtue!
DAD & MOM: (Shocked voices out loud) She said that?
ANNOUNCER: (Enthusiastic N.S. ) There's only one gift that can solve so many problems you'll call it the final solution. (switching into N.S. proud lecturer's voice)
Instaclone's automatic phase realignment and exclusive personality retrofitting gives you that complete control you've come to expect in life, whether you're making a simple copy or a temporary, full bio-transfer to eliminate behavioral distortions in the original.
KEVIN: She said she's going to amend her will and name me sole heir!
SFX: Car screeching to a halt.
KEVIN: She said I'm gonna get half the estate this Christmas!
SEXY BLOND: Instaclone!
SFX: Sound of car rapidly accelerating away
ANNOUNCER: (breathlessly urgent) Instaclone—there's not a moment to lose!
(SFX: car acceleration crossfading to... )
SFX: Insistent phone ringing over Hawaiian guitar, suburban, domestic-heaven, Leave It to Beaver music
DAD: (luxuriously relaxed voice) Kevin? Oh, Ke-vin.
KEVIN: (Sweetness-and-light, eager to please, and slightly out of breath) Yes, sir? I just finished waxing the cars and mowing the lawn. I'll weed the garden while the clothes are drying, then I'll start on the boat. Would you like a back rub or a deep tissue massage and some freshly squeezed lemonade before I start supper? (pensively excited) I thought we'd start out with pork teriyaki and snow peas and then—
DAD: Just get the phone, please, Kevin.
KEVIN: (Enthusiastically, clicking heels) Yes, sir! (SFX: answers phone with exceedingly polite and clear personal assistant voice) Phillips' Maui residence. (pauses with phone yak distinctly but unintelligibly overheard) It's for you, sir. I believe it's Great Aunt Belsen.
DAD: (happily melodious) Hello?
SFX: Telephone EQ: Tinny sounds of breaking furniture and glassware in background.
GREAT AUNT: (Horribly distraught) James, you come here immediately and take Kevin home. He's been AB-so-LUTE-ly HOR-rible! The servants have all fled for their lives (then in a somewhat pensive, though perplexed, aside) except for Chadwick, who seems to be crying alone in the bathroom—anyway, Kevin just chased off my attorney with a pick ax and then turned to me and said, 'Hey, bitch! Guess which one you got!'"
DAD: (feigned consternation) But Kevin's right here, Aunt.
GREAT AUNT: How dare you tell me that!
DAD: (In Zaphod Beeblebrox's "Sling open the hatch, computer" inflection from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy #3 Magrathea episode) Say hello to Great Aunt Belsen, Kevin.
GREAT AUNT: The little wretch just went out into the kitchen.
KEVIN: (sweetly) Hello, Great Aunt.
GREAT AUNT: Here comes the little snotfaced brat—(screams loudly)
KEVIN: (Tender concern) You don't sound very well, Great Aunt.
GREAT AUNT: —you—put—that—down! Put it down, I tell you!
KEVIN: Are you sure you're feeling all right?
GREAT AUNT: Stay back! Stay—
SFX: Phone cuts to dial tone
KEVIN: (pauses) Well..., (with regret) Auf Wiedersehen (SFX: slowly hangs up phone). I think she got cut off, sir.
DAD: (sighs) Poor old girl. Probably has a lot on her mind. Now—(cheerily) about that backrub; no, wait. I think I’m in the mood for a deep tissue massage.
SFX: (Domestic-heaven music brought up)
SEXY BLOND: Instaclone!
ANNOUNCER: (N.S., dramatically pleased) Instaclone--One to keep and one to share! Dial 1-800-ITS4YOU
_________
ICKY AND STINKY IN: THE TUNNEL OF DOOM
SFX: Action music horn stab
MAGIC JOHNSON: Hi, this is Magic Johnson. Stay tuned for a special offer after this public service announcement.
AIDS 101
SFX: Projector being shut off, cheesy music dying away, chairs squeaking, feet shuffling.
TEACHER: Lights please. (vocal blend of Valley Girl and Barbara Mikulski. Even better, the marketing girl from the B-Ark in #6 of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by the BBC Radiophonic Workshop, the one who says, “Which is precisely what we need to know, I mean, do people want a fire that can be fitted nasally?”)
SFX: lights switched on
TEACHER: As you have just seen, there are some sexual practices that are riskier than others in the transmission of the AIDS virus. Our purpose here is neither to condone nor to condemn, but to describe. While not everyone enjoys oral intercourse, anal penetration, rimming, or fisting, a few simple procedures, such as you have just seen demonstrated, can serve to minimize the risk.
Remember, in the case of AIDS, what you don’t know can kill you.
Okay, some of you have submitted a few questions. Let me just get my glasses on.
SFX: Paper rustling, shuffling through a stack of notes
TEACHER: (Perky, in a J. Elfman sort of way)
Okay—here’s one. “Is a spermicide with Nonoxyl-9 recommended in conjunction with condom use?” And a very excellent question it is. The answer up until a short while ago was 'yes.’ Well, now, it's 'no'. I would suggest checking back again in a few months to see what the experts say then. And you’ve indicated you have a follow-up question?
STUDENT: (heavy eight-year-old sarcasm) Yeah--where am I gonna find one my size?
SFX: Action music--the beginning of Born to Be Wild
ANNOUNCER: (voice like Dan Akroyd pitching the Bass-o- Matic) Boys, how many times have you asked your Health and Hygiene teacher this very question?
CHORUS: A big group saying, “Yo, man. All the tine (sic).” “I ask her every day.” etc., in a jumble of dissatisfied answers.
ANNOUNCER: And did you EVER get a satisfactory answer?
CHORUS: A big in-unison shouted "NO!"
SFX: End Born to Be Wild on "NO!" with a record needle getting knocked out of the groove, sliding across the record and finally into the martial action music below. (See transition to Let's Make the Water Turn Black on We're Only in It for the Money by Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention)
ANNOUNCER: (smugly sarcastic)
So much for academia. Well, leave it to business to come to your emotional rescue.
(SFX: Martial action music such as at the beginning of Stripes as Bill Murray watches an Army commercial while getting his boots polished)
Be the first on your block to collect and trade Super Hero Action Stemwear.
SFX: (Continued action music, battle sounds, grunts of grunts in Army training, being-all-that-they-can-be, and an excited chorus of the above voices) “Yeah, man!” “All right!” “Yeah, I want that! ”
ANNOUNCER: (a low, mean, growly voice) It’s Upper and Lower GI Joe.
SFX: Crack of a bat and cheers
ANNOUNCER: (Howard Cosell voice) You’ll never strike out with Babe Root.
SFX: (Old horror film music and cut of Gene Wilder from Young Frankenstein, “It...is...alive!”)
ANNOUNCER: (In the rapid fire voice at the end of typical car commercial talking tax, tag, title, and yearly APR)
“Featuring suture marks and fully-functioning mini-electrodes--jumper cables sold separately.”
SFX: (Massive electrical discharge followed by Cartman saying, “That is so sweet!”, and similar approval by others of the chorus)
SFX: (Electrical discharge reverb dissolves into New-Age rendition of Bless the Beasts and the Children)
ANNOUNCER: (in a soft coo) And for the environmentally sensitive, the Al Gore collection of lizards, lilies, trouser trout, and chicken hawks, complete with lifelike fins, talons, and claws.
MAGIC JOHNSON: And as part of your “My First Point Guard Kit”, the first thousand callers will also receive a free 8-to-10 Magic Pack, so-called for each of the years I hope I have left, endorsed by the National Committee for Aids Education and personally autographed by President Bill--Slick Willie--Clinton, your AIDS education president.
PRESIDENT CLINTON: This special-issue Glow-Worm stemwear features top-grade athletic latex with No-Slip Super-Grip treads, velcro fasteners, and a pump just like us pros use to increase our hang time. I’ve tried ‘em myself and they’re GRRREAT! And the glow-in-the-dark reminder “Just say 'NO!' to unsafe sex” will give a whole new meaning to my predecessor’s “thousand points of light’.
MAGIC JOHNSON: And remember, kids, with AIDS there’s no such thing as a MAGIC johnson.
SFX: (Heavy chugging metal transition chord and loud rock back beat--the snare can be a sampled shotgun)
ANNOUNCER: (gravelly voice like Saturday Pro Wrestle-Mania) Order now and get as a special bonus the latest video of Icky and Stinky Gerbil in—
SFX: (heavy reverb)
ANNOUNCER: —The Tunnel of Doom—
SFX: (end reverb)
ANNOUNCER: —where you’ll hear them say:
SFX: (Both Icky and Stinky done as pitch-shifted rodentia, using the vocal characteristics of Abbot and Costello)
ICKY: (Costello) Something tells me we’re not in Afghanistan any more, Stinky.
STINKY: (Bud’s sad voice of reminiscence) Ahh, the holes there were dry and sandy.
ICKY: Yeah, whereas here they’re named Sandy and smell like an oubliette.
STINKY: Have you been reading Bill Buckley again?
SFX: (heavy chugging metal chord transposed up half a step --the same chugging--duh duh--dih duh duh--brought up to volume on downbeat of transposition and then faded back for next block of dialog--sforzando kind of thing)
ANNOUNCER: —where they’ll finally come to terms with their situation.
ICKY: Hey, Stinky.
STINKY: What, Icky?
ICKY: (in the sad, wistful voice of Costello) Do you think we’ll ever see the light at the end of the tunnel?
STINKY: Not if they send that python in after us. Still, one lives in hope—say, (excitedly) what’s that glow around the bend? Could that be it?
ICKY: Ah— (initial hope turns crestfallen) nope, it’s just a standard-issue twelve-battery police flashlight.
SFX: (foghorn with heavy reverb followed by final action music phrase)
ANNOUNCER: (done with vocal characteristics of Beavis and Butthead announcer saying, “Stay tuned when Beavis discovers a mysterious growth in his pants ”)
Super-Hero Action Stemwear for super-hero fun.
MAGIC JOHNSON: Call 1-800-PRO LUCK and tell ‘em Uncle Magic sent you. If that line’s busy, just dial 1-800-DRIBBLE.
ANNOUNCER: Celebrity voices impersonated.
__________
100% ORGANIC
It is the year 2856. Thanks to Dr. Dickie Poultroon and her concept of "blowing the stacks", intergalactic travel is the norm. Each year hundreds of new worlds are opened to colonization or membership in the Earth-based Federation.
In one system, a remarkable creature has been discovered. Subsisting on nuts, berries, and native grains abounding on the fertile plains of the third planet, this small being produces a dropping which, when dried in the sun, looks very like a fruit granola cookie.
So much like one, in fact, that it was not until several weeks after landing that the crew finally figured out that it was not another of their number who happened to leave these delicious morsels lying around. This led to a careful nighttime investigation and discovery, using infrared, that they had touched down on the edge of a colony of these little creatures.
After several days of nausea and bemoaning the many such "cookies" each had consumed throughout the previous weeks, the crew realized that they had suffered no ill effects at all. In fact, in spite of their nausea-induced fast, they enjoyed better health than they had during the lengthy time they had been in space and on their carefully balanced diets. They sensed they were on the edge of something really important. Not only were they in top physical shape, but they were possessed of a gentle euphoria as well. They not only were healthy, they felt healthy.
After a few unsuccessful tries, several of the crew brought themselves to try the cookie-like droppings once again. In no time the entire crew had abandoned their scientifically-designed nutri-foams, pastes, and pellets and were feeding on the cookies as though they were the most natural food in the world. After all, it was 100% organic.
In a short while they discovered that the droppings which produced the headiest euphoria were the most dense and those with the highest caloric content and most loaded with fruits and nuts. Their mission came to an end and they left; but with them they took a ship loaded with those delicious crusty droppings. Back at base, they made an official and rather uninspired report and then promptly established exclusive trade rights for the planet.
They first attempted to move their cargo as cookies baked by the inhabitants. It was a wild success. In a short time, from one end of the Federation to the other, could be found aficionados willing to pay fantastic prices for the finest. In only a slightly longer time, the original crew all became independently wealthy.
Because of a former employee, envious of their successful enterprise and disgruntled over having been eliminated from it, the truth came out. It was, of course, a period of tremendous upheaval. And then, quietly, as with the first crew, came the realization that nothing bad at all had befallen those who had partaken of the crunchy little feasts. In fact, they enjoyed better health than ever. They, too, noticed the pleasantly euphoric side effects. Not only were they in top physical shape, they felt it, as well.
Now the big push was on. Although the families of the original crew still held exclusive rights, the great food corporations moved in. For a while they tinkered with in-vitro production of a synthetic animal, but its output invariably tasted like Spam. They named it Kake and donated it to famine relief to relieve themselves of corporate taxes and then set off to find convergent species of the same creature on planets of neighboring systems.
And discover them, they did. Many terrific varieties of both high euphoric and nutritional content were located and marketed over the following generation. Although everyone knew what these cookies really were, that fact was usually left unsaid or even unconsidered, in much the same way that people drank cold milk, not chilled high-fat mammary gland secretions. Up to that time, even the most daring of the food corporations had classified them only as "drop cookies.”
As the market grew and competition increased, it was inevitable that the services of the great advertising agencies would be called into play. As always, they figured the best approach towards boosting existing sales was to appeal to the taboo, to the buyer's unresolved childish fixations. Within months, the most intensive sales campaign ever witnessed was going strong.
The first and most successful campaign was, of course, Eat Shit!©, followed by a dietetic version named No-Shit!©. Many others slogans and names followed, "I'd die for a do-do,” "CaCa Puffs,” and "Crapper Jacks" among them.
After several years, calling the creature's little confection for what it really was finally become the norm. It was to be expected, in light of this, that current language would begin to reflect the consumer's change of attitude. Whole new areas of meaning opened up as a formerly taboo metaphor was finally reunited with its referent.
It had long since been discovered by the original crew that the delicacy could be baked and stored for long periods while retaining full nutritional and euphoric value. It became a staple on long intergalactic voyages. As a result of the language shift, the crew on these journeys dropped the archaic term "hard tack" and substituted for it the much more sensible "tough shit.” And cookie jar was no longer cookie jar; no, it was now a "crock of shit.”
All the time the great food corporations had been staking out new territories of cookie production, a fringe group was engaged in a search of a different kind. The euphoric effects had long since been noted and regulated by the Federation Commission on inEbriating Substances (FECES). As a consequence, a thriving black market had developed in response to consumer demand.
Once again government had criminalized nature, diverted taxable income into a non-taxable enterprise, and managed to assure its own employees life-time job security for generations to come trying to stamp out a situation which was basically of its own creation.
People met in dark alleys and abandoned buildings making promises of scoring some "really heavy shit.” It was only to be expected that the females of the species produced the really mind-bending feces. Within a short time people could be overhead telling their dealers, "Now, I’m warning you. Don't gimme no bullshit!"
Yes, they became very discriminating, these users, and special names were reserved for them. Connoisseurs were known as "shitheads.” And, in a gourmet/gourmand sort of distinction, those obsessed with the biggest, though not best, buzz were described as just "having shit for brains.”
When the users got together to "eat shit,” for it was a social activity, and finally got off, they were said to be "up shit creek,” as evidenced by their "shit eating grin.” A novice was someone who "didn't know shit" and a person who overdosed was "full of shit.”
No stratum of society and discourse was left unaffected. Heartless misers "didn't give a shit" and about the starving masses said, "Let them eat Kake.” Hostesses of high society cocktail parties (a term yet to come into its own) [though, maybe P Diddy actually did that], circulated among their guests bearing silver platters of cookies resting on individual lace doilies and inviting their guests to "Please, take a shit." Parents cautioned their children about strangers, "Don't take shit from nobody.”
Terms of endearment became commonplace, such as the one often employed on honeymoons. When asked by his wife if he really, really, really liked the breakfast she had prepared, he picked an eggshell out of his teeth, bit gingerly into the burned toast, and said tenderly, "Honey, it tastes like shit."
And so, by the end of the 3rd millennium, the structure of language had been so altered by the unknowing but beloved efforts of certain vegetarian creatures than an entire area of formerly taboo language had now gained quite an air of respectability, not to mention literal truth, and health food finally became what it had always been called.
Fake Commercials