Ken

"Does anyone know where the love of God goes, when the waves turn the minutes to hours?" Gordon Lightfoot.

(Everyone) Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww Ken.

The Ramones 53rd & 3rd If you think you can, well come on man I was a Green Beret in Vietnam No more of your fairy stories 'Cause I got my other worries 53rd and 3rd Standing on the street 53rd and 3rd I'm tryin' to turn a trick 53rd and 3rd You're the one they never pick 53rd and 3rd Don't it make you feel sick? If you think you can, well come on man I was a Green Beret in Vietnam No more of your fairy stories 'Cause I got my other worries 53rd and 3rd Standing on the street 53rd and 3rd I'm tryin' to turn a trick 53rd and 3rd You're the one they never pick 53rd and 3rd Don't it make you feel sick? Then I took out my razor blade Then I did what God forbade Now the cops are after me But I proved that I'm no sissy 53rd and 3rd Standing on the street 53rd and 3rd I'm tryin' to turn a trick 53rd and 3rd You're the one they never pick 53rd and 3rd Don't it make you feel sick? 53rd & 3rd 53rd & 3rd 53rd & 3rd 53rd & 3rd 53rd & 3rd 53rd & 3rd 53rd & 3rd 53rd & 3rd

Kiss Black Diamond Out on the street for a living Picture’s only begun Got you under their thumb Hit it Out on the streets for a living Picture’s only begun Your day is sorrow and madness Got you under their thumb Whoo, black diamond Whoo, black diamond Darkness will fall on the city It seems to follow you too And though you don’t ask for pity There’s nothin’ that you can do, no, no Whoo, black diamond Whoo, black diamond Out on the streets for a living Picture’s only begun Your day is sorrow and madness Got you under their thumb Whoo, black diamond, yeah Whoo, black diamond

The following is long, and if you aren't into it, it'll probably bore you to tears. It kind of ties 2 passions of mine together in grand style. Diving to depths mentioned here is something along the lines of a super-stunt. I found it fascinating. Ken. From http://www.cambrianfoundation.org The Edmund Fitzgerald 1995 Expedition Date Published: Feb 28th, 2000 Author: Terrence N. Tysall The Edmund Fitzgerald sank on November 10th, 1975, seventeen miles northwest of White Fish Point in Lake Superior. The Fitzgerald, a 729 foot iron-ore carrier, was loaded with 27,300 tons of taconite ore and was headed for Detroit, Michigan. At 2:00 a.m., the Fitzgerald slammed into a severe weather mass. The Fitzgerald's captain tried to avoid the worst of the storm by steering towards the north. The ship held its own for a while, but the pumps, capable of pumping 14,000 gallons per minute, proved inadequate for the tremendous amounts of water pouring in from the rain, snow, and crashing waves. By 3:30 p.m. the Fitzgerald developed a list. Trailing behind the Fitzgerald was another freighter, the 767 foot Arthur M. Anderson, also trying to survive the storm. At 7:10 p.m. Captain McSorley of the Fitzgerald radioed to the Anderson, calmly saying, "We're holding our own." Ten minutes later, the Anderson's radar showed no image of the Fitzgerald. The vessel had vanished. The loss of the Fitzgerald and the entire crew of twenty nine represents one of the most tragic shipwrecks in modern history. I contemplated this loss while standing on a jetty reaching out into Lake Superior. The jetty was shaking from the impact of the colliding waves. I could hardly believe that this was the same body of water that only hours before had reflected, mirror like, the canopy of stars overhead. There would be no diving today. Once again, Gitchegumee, as Lake Superior is known in Indian legend, had taught a human the meaning of the word humility. How did I, a confirmed warm water lover, find himself standing on the shore of the largest of the Great Lakes? Two persons were responsible: Gordon Lightfoot and Mike Zee. Lightfoot's influence was felt first, when he recorded his number one hit in 1977, "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald." As an eleven year old boy, who was already addicted to water and diving, the song fascinated me with its tale of the powerful lake and it's hapless victims. I recall listening to the song, picturing in my young mind a mighty ship being torn asunder by a vicious gale, and the fate of the twenty-nine crewmen. Mike Zee's influence was first felt when I met him in 1992. I was struck by his extreme focus, and drive towards an unspoken goal. Little did I realize the goal he had in mind at that time. Mike decided that 1995 was the year he would touch the Edmund Fitzgerald with his gloved hand as the first SCUBA diver to reach the wreck. No small feat considering the Fitzgerald rests under 540 feet of 36 degree water in Lake Superior. For reasons known only to Mike, he decided to extend to me the undeserved invitation to make the attempt with him. Needless to say, I jumped at the opportunity. After months of planning and Mike's patient attempts to track me down via phone, we arrived at a tentative dive plan. We agreed to meet for this undertaking in the waning days of August. The original plan called for the team to assemble the third week of the month, but last minute delays prevented my departure for a week. Mike journeyed from Chicago, his home town. The rest of the small team traveled from Ontario, Canada; Orlando, Florida; and Ocala, Florida. Mike brought with him the bulk of the gas required for the multiday operation. I brought the two in-water support divers, Ken Furman and Mauro Porcelli. Our long journey from Florida was made in a compact pick-up truck. We survived the trip by having one of us sleep in the bed of the truck, buried in stage bottles and doubles, while the other two drove in relative comfort. We rotated driving duty throughout the 27 hour, nonstop trip. We arrived in the town of Paradise, Michigan, at 3:00 a.m., where we met our gracious hosts for the week, Chris and Debbie of Heidi's Traveler's Motel. These generous people donated the accommodations for the whole team at their own expense. It was during this initial late night meeting that we met Mike's business partner and Captain of the R/V First One, Randy Sullivan of Lake Superior Dive Tours. The first impression I received of Lake Superior was that of a large, calm lake. It looked as if the objective would come off without a hitch, so we chose the first day for a tune-up dive. The main concern for the tune-up dives was getting everyone accustomed to the low water temperatures (36 degrees Fahrenheit). The wreck that Mike chose for the first dive was the S.S. Osbourn, a steamship that sank after a collision. We conducted a complete run through of the Fitzgerald dive, simulating the descent and bottom phases, including support team activities. We learned a great deal from this practice. Upon reaching the Osbourn, it became obvious what Charlie Tulip, Greg Zambeck, Mike, and the other veteran Great Lakes divers had been telling me for years--that the wrecks located in their backyard are absolutely without comparison. I was absolutely awed viewing wrecks sunk in the 1800's with the rigging still in place. To see china, silverware, and other artifacts still resting undisturbed had a profound impact on me. What I didn't know at the time is that the lake had a small demonstration of her famed fury in store for us. Within hours of the completion of our first practice dive, the weather changed the lake from millpond calm to ten foot, close set, steep faced waves, the likes of which I had never before seen. With winds gusting at thirty knots, the goal of our journey seemed as far away as ever. Since there was no chance of diving during this storm, which was only average by Great Lakes standards, we used the opportunity to debrief the tune-up dive and conduct a second simulated dry run of the planned dive, this time in the motel courtyard. This raised a few eyebrows from the other patrons of the motel, but it tightened up the team, and gave everyone a chance to ask questions and offer suggestions. We decided if the weather cleared we would make the first available attempt to reach the Edmund Fitzgerald. When we woke up the next morning, the winds had slowed a little but they were still in the twenty knot range; the chances of diving the Fitzgerald did not look good for the third day in a row. The team, however, gamely decided to make the attempt anyway. We left the dock in marginal conditions and were holding our own until our boat, the First One, rounded White Fish Point. I have no doubt that the boat could have made it to the wreck site, but none of us would have been in any shape to conduct the dive. Suitably humbled, I realized I was unable to fathom what the men on the Fitzgerald had experienced in their final hours. The only hope we had of pulling off the dive was a break in the weather expected the next morning. This would be our last chance, since Randy and the boat were needed elswhere, and I had to leave that next afternoon as well. Gloriously, the next morning, September 1, 1995, was a day made to order. There was a slight breeze out of the west, and bright sunlight dancing off the six-inch waves. Our opportunity had arrived. We were out of the harbor and rounding the point by 9:30 a.m. At 11:00 a.m., we found ourselves seventeen miles from Whitefish Point, floating motionless above the most famous of the Great Lakes Wrecks, the S.S. Edmund Fitzgerald. The team worked quickly until everything was ready for the dive to begin. Randy deftly kept the boat positioned above the wreck, and simultaneously lowered the special deep camera that would confirm our position over the wreck, as well as serve as our descent and ascent line. Mike and I were wearing similar gear configurations consisting of doubles (120 cu.ft. cylinders for Mike, 104 cu.ft. cylinders for me) filled with bottom mix, and an air filled 120 cu.ft. cylinder mounted pyramid triple fashion between our doubles-to be used as our travel gas. On our left we carried a 45 cu.ft. cylinder filled with a transitional mix that we hoped would help us combat counter diffusion problems on ascent. On my right side I decided to carry a spare 80 cu.ft. cylinder of air in the event one of us developed a malfunction in one of our triples. The only other cylinder we carried was our precious Argon for suit inflation. All of the bottom mix regulators were Poseidons. On our triples we carried ScubaPro Mk15 D400's. All decompression bottles carried either Poseidon or ScubaPro regulators. All connectors were DIN style. After entering the water, Mike and I proceeded to the camera line. Randy notified us of the camera location which was just off the bottom next to the port bow of the Fitzgerald. Upon completion of our surface checks, and Ken's studied approval, we turned on our lights, gave the nod, and thumbs down. Initially, we were breathing from the triples on our backs. This was planned for a three minute descent to 250 feet, where we would switch to our bottom mix: trimix 9.6/62 (9.6% Oxygen, 62% Helium, Balance Nitrogen). The first glitch appeared at 180 feet when Mike's ScubaPro regulator began free flowing. Mike reacted cooly by switching on the fly to his bottom mix while I quickly shut the leaking regulator off. We quickly confirmed that we were okay, and that with the extra bottle I was carrying we still had the appropriate gas reserved necessary to continue our descent. Fortunately, as we continued our descent, we were able to reactivate his air regulator for later use. At 250 feet, I switched to bottom mix as well and we continued to fall into the blackness. Mike and I descended face-to-face so we could monitor each other for signs of High Pressure Nervous Syndrome (HPNS). With the approach of 400 feet in depth, the delicate process of slowing our descent began. I personally owe a huge debt of thanks to Jim Bowden, and Dr. Ann Kristovich for sharing their incredible power inflator concept with me. Of course, the depths Mike and I were diving is shallow stuff for those two. When Mike and I first saw the Fitzgerald, our depth was 490 feet. We descended slowly to 530 feet. I illuminated the hull and superstructure with my light. Mike and I slowly made our way along the wreck, being careful not to disturb anything out of respect for the lost crewmen. These first glimpses of the Fitzgerald gave the feeling of extreme darkness, cold, and isolation. Mike and I looked at each other, and then we gently gripped the ghostly rail with both hands. For the first time in almost 20 years, living hands were touching the Edmund Fitzgerald. After exploring for twelve minutes, it was time to say good-bye and begin the long trip back to the surface. The Dr.X software that we chose for the dive gave us two minutes to get to our first decompression stop at 310 feet, where we would switch to our transitional mix (trimix 16/35). Using Sheck Exley's recommended backswitching technique, we hoped the transitional mix would give us a smoother physiologic transition to a lower helium mix. The first gas switch was followed by a 30 feet per minute ascent to our next stop at 210 feet where we switched to air. The deep stops went smoothly, so much so that Mike and I allowed ourselves the luxury of a congratulatory handshake at 180 feet. The next critical step came when the deep support diver, Ken Furman, would meet us 25 minutes into the dive with our EANx 40 (40% Oxygen, 60% Nitrogen). Waiting as if it were just another tune-up dive, Ken immediately helped Mike attach his nitrox to his right side and settle into the next phase of decompression. Ken then relieved me of my extra air bottle and gave me my EANx 40 as well. Ken returned to the surface to don an extra bottle of EANx40 to have ready in the event of equipment failure. This was accomplished in record time followed by Ken floating effortlessly above us, watching. It was shortly after our ascent to our 80-foot stop that Mike's nitrox regulator decided to grenade. Mike and Ken reacted so quickly and smoothly that it was a lesson just to watch. Ken had Mike's bottles switched so quickly that we lost only a minute from our run time. Ken then went to the surface to get another EANx 40 cylinder. (Yes, we had four ready to go--remember those "what-ifs"). It was while Ken was on the surface that my nitrox regulator decided to freeze and free flow. I began to doubt the wisdom of the earlier congratulatory handshake. After shutting down the free flow, I signaled the surface via the underwater camera with which Randy was watching us. Ken grabbed the other EANx bottle and headed back down, this time with Mauro. Presumably, the two of them arrived at our location thinking that Mike and I were incapable of decompressing without embarrasing ourselves. I had managed to temporarily solve my problem by breathing directly from the nitrox cylinder valve. I opened the valve and sipped some nitrox when I needed to inhale and then immediately closed it while exhaling. By the time we arrived in the balmy 40 degree water of the shallower stops, the regulator had thawed enough for me to open the valve and the regulator functioned flawlessly from that point forward. Meanwhile, Mauro and Randy had deployed the surface-supplied oxygen so we could begin the final phase of the decompression. We took air breaks every 25 minutes to limit our Central Nervous System (CNS) exposure. Mauro then took over baby-sitting duty, relieving Mike and myself of our extra stage bottles to make our longer decompressions stops more comfortable. One of the handy things about hanging in the lake was that when you got thirsty, at least you had water readily available to drink. Once we had completed the required stops, Mike and I slowly surfaced, where Ken and Mauro helped is remove our triples in the water with as little exertion as possible. Then, we added our own safety factor by breathing oxygen for thirty more minutes while lazily floating on the surface. Reflecting back on the dive, I am left with a couple of impressions and thoughts. The first is that of gratitude: gratitude for Mike asking me to accompany him, gratitude for surviving a dive where sucking gas from a cylinder valve became necessary, and especially gratitude for Ken, Mauro, and Randy who made the dive possible with their expert support. I've thought often of the Fitzgerald since the dive. The mighty ship seems lonely in the cold dark water beneath Lake Superior. It is astonishing to think that an enormous ship like the Fitzgerald can be sunk by a storm on a lake. Gordon Lightfoot was right when he said that Superior never gives up her dead.

Hi everyone. I have just came back from the most extraordinary weekend I've spent in a long time. 4 days of non-stop diving in the beautiful city of Brockville, Ontario, along the St. Lawrence Seaway. It was shipwreck Heaven. We dove the Keystorm (in U.S. waters), and it was completely breathtaking. The bow of the wreck sits only 20 feet below the surface, the stern is 120 feet down. I had been looking forward to seeing the prop, and I wasn't disappointed. The night dive (required for the next level of dive certificate, Advanced Open Water) was totally intimidating. A red strobe was tied to my tank and I asked about it's purpose. I was told it made body recovery easier. Slipping below the surface and all you can see are the beams of lights from your other dive-mates, and their tank-strobes. Other than that, it was really friggin' dark. Once we got to the wreck (the Gaskin, over 100 years old. We had dove it earlier that day so I was familiar with the ship's orientation) I was surprised at the sheer number of fish that weren't there during the day. Turns out the night dive wasn't as scary or as intimidating as I had originally believed. The last dive we had done today was a drift, or current dive. The charter captain set us down on a wreck we had already dove, and instructed us to bypass it and head for the wall it was tucked up against. My partner for this dive was a Saudi neurologist, Aisha, and her and I had a blast. The depth along this wall ranged from the surface all the way down to 210 feet (unattainable to us). We hung around the 85 to 110 foot mark and the current was screaming. We must have drifted almost a mile before our air supply told us that we had better head up to the surface. . Sorry guys. I had to share. It was just that exciting... I am off for a good night sleep. Always, Ken.

Musical interlude part two! Hit it, Garret! "Gonna get me a shotgun and kill all the whiteys I see Gonna get me a shotgun and kill all the whiteys I see When I kill all the whiteys I see, then whitey, he won't bother me........... Gonna get me a shotgun and kill all the whiteys I see!"

Chris Farley doing Bennett Brower. The Weekend Update commentary guy that used to talk about all his shortcomings and put them into quotes with his fingers. That sketch, was friggin' hysterical. That is the kind of stuff that makes milk shoot out of your nose when you hear it. Chris had guts and loads of heart. When the sketch called for him to whip off his shirt next to Patrick Swaze during that Chippendales sketch, that couldn't have been easy. He knew people would be laughing at his gross physique but he did it for the laugh. That was guts. And I think I almost had a brain hemmorhage laughing when he played one of the Wilson Philips girls. Chis Farley was probably one of the most brilliant stars to shoot off the SNL screen. His was one of the few superstar deaths that caused real sadness. Anyone notice that Adam Sandler has become flat as 4 day old Coca Cola left out in the sun? Me too. Every quotation that follows, Farley did with his fingers. And the first time I saw it I almost died laughing. Damn I miss you Chris. A commentary by Bennet Brower. That's right, Bennet Brower here with another commentary. Didn't think that the suits would have me back, perhaps. Thought they'd have my derriere replaced by one of those cookie cutter store mannequins! Well, Maybe I'm not "the norm". I'm not "camera friendly". I don't "wear clothes that fit me". I'm not "a heartbreaker". I haven't "had sex with a woman", I don't "know how that works", I guess I don't "fall in line", I'm not "hygenic", I don't "wipe properly", I lack "style", I have no "charisma" or "self-esteem", I don't "own a toothbrush" or "let my scabs heal" I can't "reach all the parts of my body" , when I sleep, I "sweat profusely", but, I guess the "powers that be" will keep signing my paycheque at least until John and Jane Q. Viewer start to go for the remote so they can watch commentators who DON'T "frighten children", and don't "eat their own dandruff", and don't "pop their whiteheads with a compass they used in highschool". Thank you Kevin!

Announcer: And now, another episode of "Samurai Delicatessen". Mr. Dantley: [enters deli ] Uh, can I have a sandwich, please? [ Samurai holds his sword across the counter, yelling, then points at the "Take a Number Please" sign with his sword. Mr. Dantley pulls a number, as the Samurai yells various numbers. Finally, Mr. Dantley's number is called. ] Mr. Dantley: Yes. [ hands over his number ] I'd like to have a combination cold-cut sandwich. [ Samurai shouts ] Sure. Very lean on the corned beef. Sure. And a cream soda. All right. [ Samurai busts the bread open with his head, then slices some cold cuts with sword ] I'm sure glad I found you open. You know, most of the places are closed this late. Uh, can I have some Thousand Island dressing on that, please? [ Samurai complies ] I guess you can hardly wait for that ol' Super Bowl tomorrow, huh? You know, I like Dallas, but I'm going to bet on the Steelers. The way I see it, if Bradshaw is hot tomorrow, and Franco Harris really gets the ball and runs.. could I have a little, uh, a little sliced tomato on that, please? [ Samurai slices a tomato in mid-air with his sword ] Anyway, like I said, if they let Harris handle the ball, if they keep it on the ground for a while and really move up there in that first quarter, no major injuries.. [ Samurai slides Mr. Dantley's sandwich across the counter ] Hey, listen, you do really fantastic work. That is gorgeous! Can you do me one little favor? Could you trim away some of the fat? I distinctly said, "No fat." There's a lot of fat hanging off it. [ Samurai shouts in disgust ] I, I really meant no fat and it's, uh, it's.. [ Samurai prepares to stab himself with his sword ] Hey! Oh, no, no! Wait a minute. Ah, don't take it personally. It's okay. Look, I probably.. I, I probably shouldn't be eating that anyway because it's filled with spices, it gives me heartburn. Oh, what the hell. You only live once. I'll deal with the pain later. [ Samurai withdraws his sword ] Would it be, uh.. would it be too much to ask if you could cut it in half? [ Samurai screams, pulls out his sword, then carefully cuts the sandwich in half ] That's absolutely beautiful. Thank you very much. That's terrific. Ah, one other thing. Do you think you could break a twenty? [ Samurai shouts, and slams his sword on the $20 bill, smashing the counter to bits ] [ fade to black ]

It's the little things that make the difference.... Here is Korey making all the difference in the world...

That, for me was the one that scared me the worst. Brilliant brilliant film. Hitchcock was genius.

(Hoarse whisper), Oh, Peachy, I'd love for you to come down... I have prepared a room for you, I hope you like it. It has a lovely bathroom where you can take a nice hot shower.... Boo. Ken.

The leaves are changing color, and it's noticeably cooler in the mornings. Local roadside fruitstands have started showing flashes of orange through the late tomatos. The dollar stores have begun to bring out the low-grade Halloween costumes and cheap trinket decorations. The air has a zing from the nearby apple orchards. Dear God, the transformation is beginning. The painful transformation. When a young man's fancy turns to things on the dark side. The pull is powerful and I am helpless to the calling of the full moon.... . He wants to come out and play, and I am not sure I can stop him..... This Is Halloween From "The Nightmare Before Christmas SHADOW Boys and girls of every age Wouldn't you like to see something strange? SIAMESE SHADOW Come with us and you will see This, our town of Halloween PUMPKIN PATCH CHORUS This is Halloween, this is Halloween Pumpkins scream in the dead of night GHOSTS This is Halloween, everybody make a scene Trick or treat till the neighbors gonna die of fright It's our town, everybody scream In this town of Halloween CREATURE UNDER BED I am the one hiding under your bed Teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing red MAN UNDER THE STAIRS I am the one hiding under your stairs Fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair CORPSE CHORUS This is Halloween, this is Halloween VAMPIRES Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! In this town we call home Everyone hail to the pumpkin song MAYOR In this town, don't we love it now? Everybody's waiting for the next surprise CORPSE CHORUS Round that corner, man hiding in the trash can Something's waiting now to pounce, and how you'll scream HARLEQUIN DEMON, WEREWOLF, AND MELTING MAN Scream! This is Halloween Red 'n' black, slimy green WEREWOLF Aren't you scared? WITCHES Well, that's just fine Say it once, say it twice Take the chance and roll the dice Ride with the moon in the dead of night HANGING TREE Everybody scream, everybody scream HANGED MEN In our town of Halloween CLOWN I am the clown with the tear-away face Here in a flash and gone without a trace SECOND GHOUL I am the "who" when you call, "Who's there?" I am the wind blowing through your hair OOGIE BOOGIE SHADOW I am the shadow on the moon at night Filling your dreams to the brim with fright CORPSE CHORUS This is Halloween, this is Halloween Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! CHILD CORPSE TRIO Tender lumplings everywhere Life's no fun without a good scare PARENT CORPSES That's our job, but we're not mean In our town of Halloween CORPSE CHORUS In this town MAYOR Don't we love it now? MAYOR WITH CORPSE CHORUS Everyone's waiting for the next surprise CORPSE CHORUS Skeleton Jack might catch you in the back And scream like a banshee Make you jump out of your skin This is Halloween, everyone scream Won't ya please make way for a very special guy Our man Jack is king of the pumpkin patch Everyone hail to the Pumpkin King now EVERYONE This is Halloween, this is Halloween Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! CORPSE CHILD TRIO In this town we call home Everyone hail to the pumpkin song EVERYONE La la-la la, Halloween! Halloween! Oh yeah, ps. Everyone change the batteries in your smoke detectors. Thanks. Ken.

This was so cutting edge when it was aired it was unbelieveable. This is from a time when SNL was actually cool and cared about pushing the envelope. Howard Stern WISHES he could be this shocking and funny... Racist Word Association Interview Interviewer.....Chevy Chase Mr. Wilson.....Richard Pryor Interviewer: Alright, Mr. Wilson, you've done just fine on the Rorshact.. your papers are in good order.. your file's fine.. no difficulties with your motor skills.. And I think you're probably ready for this job. We've got one more psychological test we always do here. It's just a Word Association. I'll throw you out a few words - anything that comes to your mind, just throw back at me, okay? It's kind of an arbitrary thing. Like, if I say "dog", you'd say..? Mr. Wilson: "Tree". Interviewer: "Tree". [ nods head, prepares the test papers ] "Dog". Mr. Wilson: "Tree". Interviewer: "Fast". Mr. Wilson: "Slow". Interviewer: "Rain". Mr. Wilson: "Snow". Interviewer: "White". Mr. Wilson: "Black". Interviewer: "Bean". Mr. Wilson: "Pod". Interviewer: [ casually ] "Negro". Mr. Wilson: "Whitey". Interviewer: "Tarbaby". Mr. Wilson: [ silent, sure he didn't hear what he thinks he heard ] What'd you say? Interviewer: [ repeating ] "Tarbaby". Mr. Wilson: "Ofay". Interviewer: "Colored". Mr. Wilson: "Redneck". Interviewer: "Junglebunny". Mr. Wilson: [ starting to get angry ] "Peckerwood!" Interviewer: "Burrhead". Mr. Wilson: [ defensive ] "Cracker!" Interviewer: [ aggressive ] "Spearchucker". Mr. Wilson: "White trash!" Interviewer: "Jungle Bunny!" Mr. Wilson: [ upset ] "Honky!" Interviewer: "Spade! Mr. Wilson: [ really upset ] "Honky Honky!" Interviewer: [ relentless ] "Ni***r!" Mr. Wilson: [ immediate ] "Dead honky!" [ face starts to twitch ] Interviewer: [ quickly wraps the interview up ] Okay, Mr. Wilson, I think you're qualified for this job. How about a starting salary of $5,000? Mr. Wilson: Your momma! Interviewer: [ fumbling ] Uh.. $7,500 a year? Mr. Wilson: Your grandmomma! Interviewer: [ desperate ] $15,000, Mr. Wilson. You'll be the highest paid janitor in America. Just, don't.. don't hurt me, please.. Mr. Wilson: Okay. Interviewer: [ relieved ] Okay. Mr. Wilson: You want me to start now? Interviewer: Oh, no, no.. that's alright. I'll clean all this up. Take a couple of weeks off, you look tired. [ fade ]

"And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, it is the distinct pleasure of the management to present to you the evenings star attraction. Here they are! Back! After their exclusive three year tour of Europe, Scandinavia, and the sub-continent. Won't you welcome, from Calumet City, Illinois, the show band, of Joliet Jake, and Elwood Blues. The Blues Brothers!".

Roseanne Roseannadanna always read a letter from "Mr. Richard Feder". Richard Feder was actually Gilda's brother-in-law. Ken.

Ah Gilda, I miss you still.... Chevy: Weekend Update recognizes its obligation to present the responsible opposing viewpoint to our Editorials. Here with an Editorial Reply is Miss Emily Litella. Emily: Whats all this fuss I keep hearing about violins on television? Now why don't parents want their children to see violins on television? Why, I thought the Leonard Burnstein concerts were just lovely. Now, if they only show the violins after 11:00 at night, the little babies will all be asleep. And they wont learn any music appreciation. Why, they'll end up wanting to play guitar, and bongo drums. And go to Africa and join these rock and roll outfits. And they wont drink milk! (Slams fist on desk.) I say there should be more violins on television! (Chevy taps her on the shoulder.) and less game shows! Its terrible! the way they...what, what?! Chevy: Miss. Litella, that was violence on television. Not violins. Violence. Emily: Oh, well thats different. Chevy: Yes. Emily smiling: Nevermind

I am not sure I'd sign up. Sure, a short trip! Ken.

Pat Dailey, kind of a regional wonder, has a great song about covers. It's unique in that it is from the perspective of a bar troubadour weary of singing other's songs. Pat plays the party bars in Key West and Put-In-Bay, Ohio (trust me, a place that has to be seen to be believed. Boaters Heaven), with names like Sloppy Joes and Frosty's. Hit it, Pat. "Y'know, one night I was up here tunin' and this girl, she comes up to me, and she say's "Hey man... Know any Buffett?", Y'think she took any time, look in my face, look in my eyes, say to herself 'this son-of-a-bi*ch has been around, he's got some miles on him, I bet he's wrote some songs about his life and times!'. Shi* no. 'Hey man, know any Buffett?'. So I made a decision right there. I could go out, buy every one of Jimmy Buffett's records, learn every one of his songs. Or I could write some of mine. What do you think I did? Let me play this sucker for you...." Songwriter's Lament Pat Dailey Jimmy Buffett made it big, playin' down in Key West, but I doubt, that I ever will. 'Cause my hair ain't that blonde, and my skin ain't that tanned. And I never been, to Margaritaville. 'Cause every guitar player in the Keys sounds just like Jimmy. And all the girls in the bar, are wonderin' where he is. And if you ask me to play you some Buffett, well I'm afraid that you'll just have to stuff it. When Jimmy starts playin' my songs, I'll start playin' his. Was the same thing when I played down in Texas. "Play Willie!" all the rednecks would yell. No matter what I would play, I could still hear 'em say, "If you don't play Willie, you can just go to Hell" 'Cause every guitar player in Texas, sounds just like Willie. And all the girls in the bars are wonderin' where he is. And if you don't play the Red Headed Stranger, well, in Texas your life is in danger. When Willie starts playin' my songs, I'll start playin' his.. Ah, it's been goin' on forever... 'Cause in the Rockies, they would ask, for John Denver. And in Chicago, it's Goodman and Prine. But how many bars, must I play my guitars, before they start askin' for mine? 'Cause every guitar player in the world, sounds just like someone. But you never know who, until you know he is. So if it's Jimmy or Willie you see, won't you pass this along, from me. When he, starts playin' my songs, I'll start playin' his. If it's Jimmy or Willie you see, won't you pass this along, please, from me. When he, sings Pat Dailey songs, I'll start singin' his. And I hope he gets tired of my songs, 'cause I'm sure tired of his....." Ken.

I'll tell you another thing I have come to realize over the years. A lot of the nicer resorts have swim up bars. No one ever leaves to go pee......

Chapman was carrying the book. Immediately after shooting Lennon he sat down and began to read it. Evil, evil man. Evil. Ken.

You made a good choice Brad. Ken.

Wise, wise choice Brad. You see, Shawna, Shawna can only offer you, amore... . I, well, I offer more. I offer you a moray . Choose wisely.... Which would you rather have? Unbridled passion, or an eel that can rip your arm off? Ken.

Brad, the girl isn't pacing herself....she'll hurl long long before, well, before. I'll include you on the afternoon fishing charter?

At Tunney's, Antigua. Everyone is welcome! After lunch we'll spend the afternoon snorkelling and diving in and around the reef. Maybe Brad and Shawna can walk out to the end of the sand spit but right now, Martin has prepared fresh grouper and conch just the way you like it. . Wash it all down with a couple of ice cold Balashi, the beer of these parts. Eventually, the day will have to come to an end, but for now, let's just enjoy the day. See you there?