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A deep, official sounding voice booms out from the speakers around the park this evening. It's Logan's best attempt at the Mickey Cops' usual tones, with a little Darth Vader mixed in.

Citizens of Disneyland, your attention please. The time has come to reveal the reason you have all been gathered together. We require very little of you. Only YOUR SOULS.

Red Right Hand, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds.

In his normal voice: Would anybody be surprised? Really.

So, is it just me, or has this equipment just been sitting here forever all dusty and alone for no good reason? Don't cry, little radio room. I'm here. And oh, the things I can do to you. Frankenstein Valentine, Andras Jones.

Uh. This is Logan Echolls, by the way. So all of you know who to blame. Hey, there's a phone here! Do the phones work? Does anyone know? There's a dial tone. Anybody wanna try to call in? There's a number here I think must be the extension - this one is, uh, "420." Heh. So. Phone lines are open! Possibly!

Oh, hey, by the way, big shoutout to all the new arrivals. Those of you who haven't already disappeared. The New Kid, The Old 97's.

The Union Forever, The White Stripes.

I hear you, Charles Foster Kane. Even if it hardly applies when I'm stuck in a place where I have nothing whatsoever to do. Except, of course, have fun. In the warm...alternate dimension's sun. California Sun, The Ramones.

It's sort of weird, looking at the music library here. There's mine, Cayce's, who else's? This investigation is further complicated by the fact that my last two girlfriends were always monkeying around with my iPod. Uh...Regina Spektor...okay, with this title, I've definitely got to listen to this. Poor Little Rich Boy.

...ladies and gentlemen, Artists I Will Never Be Playing Again.

Seriously, though, there's stuff here that I know for a fact is mine, but I have no memory of why I imported it or what it sounds like. Like this - Hired by the King, Neung Phak. Yes, I did choose that just so I could say the name.

Or like, okay, here's On Vacation, The Robot Ate Me. The funny thing about that one's that it's from a 2 CD set where the first part's all his edgy stuff about Jesus and concentration camps and fecal matter, and the second half's all the insincere pop he despises and only wrote to make money. Guess which half of the album doesn't suck like a seventy year old whore with her dentures out? And what does that teach us about artistic sincerity, children?

Yeah, okay, that was probably of interest to exactly me. And yet you sat through it. You're such a lovely audience. I'd like to take you home with me. Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Beatles.

Oh! Hey, Su - if you're listening, remember way back forever ago, the whole "bring it on" about Really Appalling Song Lyrics? Here you go. The Penis Song, Momus.

Yeah. I apologize. That last word was way out of line. Anyway.

I'm Waiting For the Man, The Velvet Underground.

That takes me back. In a bad way. All those lost weekends, those poor donkeys...

Love In a Trashcan, The Raveonettes. For you, Mars, wherever you are. (People who make astronomical remarks will earn my undying mild irritation.)

Breathe Me, Sia.

Okay, that's about enough of that, don't you think? Yeah, me too.

Lover I Don't Have to Love, Bettie Serveert.

On the Nickel, Tom Waits.

And on a final note of "This is as close as I get to being schmaltzy..."

Blessing, One Ring Zero.


Posted, baby.

Come on, people, call in. I must've offended someone...

((Contains language and, um, references. I'm very, very sorry, people. Once I got him going he wouldn't shut up.))

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poorlittlerichboy

January 2010

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