Listen…you can hear it...
all the shock jock nonsense, no sense making noise drumming, chest thumping big boys with a microphone jabbing right, left hooks into radio lines in a static fervor pitch, elbowing into airspace with a smug sneer and statistical fabrication.
Got to love stats, they are like that little boy in 3rd grade who followed you around, 3rd grade reverence in his 3rd grade eyes. You can make them do just about anything.
Listeners beware, buyers beware—objects of hate may be bigger than imagined in your rearview mirror. Hindsight being all that it is and all that. Looking back may be a step worse for wear, wearing badges of war torn imaginations igniting thunderous declarations of dishonesty. Crazy how these radio hucksters shucking their evil mythology rely on good old fashion know how to the tune “if someone don’t understand you, say it louder”, and louder and louder still. It’s not a matter of truth, it’s a matter of volume.
You know the drill. We drill them out, tune them out, thinking their linguistic sewage won’t seep into our brain space. But like any toxic sludge it’s got an impact radius and ecological boot print bigger than any bad ass alternative statistics shouting back, or talk show debate with pseudo civil, pressed suit wearing, turn taking hosts who believe they help facilitate “the truth” by making room for “both sides”. They call it objective. I call it ratings making, money making hypnotica.
There are things that are not debatable.
But the shock jocks just get louder, the TV hosts smile wider and CNN keeps us hypnotized and otherwise occupied. And name calling, truth telling illusion busting savants are waved aside with volume control and statistical squabbling. Like spitting in the wind. These epistemological wizards concoct magical illusions with just enough spice to make them seem tangible. Debatable.
And like a street fighter gunning to find a puffed up and pissed off wanna be boxer with a one two punch that telegraphs itself like Christmas lights, all they have to do is parry with a few well placed words and then duck under the one-two with a Cheshire smile that says trust me, I work for you. And even though your gut is rumbling, you chalk it up to the chicken curry and Guinness from last night and keep on listening like an accident you don’t want to know the details about but you can’t stop staring at. Our Manichean shock jocks jerking heads around reality demand debates about the un-debatable because it’s an effective way to spin the truth into the fantastical. And we are living in fantastical times.
The bad news about that is that bad news is not only a better headline, it captivates us, holds our collective attention way better than news about a kitten who walked 20 miles home! A woman who survived being struck by lightening! A pig that called 911! Or, a woman who finds ten thousand dollars and gives it back!
The good news about this is that we can train ourselves to listen to the good news as a reminder that we still need to fight and listen to the bad news to rev us up like Jason Statham, kicking and flipping and knuckle punching to a bad brains song.
And like any good street fighter, we need to train for street fighting, be lean mean no debating machines. Truth is not up for prime time Sprite sponsored Q&A. We need to get back to the basics of philosophical uncertainty. The world is not a safe place; The universe is not here to provide you with whatever you manifest with active visualizations like a one stop shopping deity dispenser. You can’t get shoes by being grateful or a Prada handbag by putting out good vibes. You’ve got to actual work. So, let’s get to work. The radio lines are full; the competition is in shape and is ready to rumble. Let’s go kick some shock jock ass.