There's this dance, it's called the Radio Wave, and it's gotta beat that can't be beat. It's for the girls in flounced frocks and boys in shirtless ties and pointed Bruno Maglis. Fluent and fluid movements, cabaret style abandon in two and four time. They like it, and they like it a lot at the Down Beat, the Upstart, the Rock Bottom, and the Hi-Hat.
With the Twisters at the T-table Bar, they go man go. It's a crazy scene down there on Saturday nights. Makes you sweat just anticipating because you can't stop yourself when the Radio Wave hits. Pimple faced rowdies and grinders, the wannabe's and already ams, sauntering in from the periphery, asking the sexy girls to dance. And here's the thing about the Radio Wave: the girls can't say no, man. They just can't say no. I've seen em, even the girls who are too pretty to dance, too pretty to talk to. They're all breasts and legs, ponying up for a pint, whispering to the pretty girls who came with 'em, their bodies smug and resolute, disdainful of everyone but the young handsome banker in his banker suit doing the banker's nod and walk to the Radio Wave.
All they do is look, laugh, and have their own fun... at least that was them until the Radio Wave. Now they are loose, and I mean loose if you know what I mean, dancing with just anyone.
But what a night! Let's go man! The pretty pretty girls are now goddamned altruistic sexual philanthropists, just givin' it away when they dance the Radio Wave.
We conceived of a name. It is the name we go by now. We are the full spectrum Radio Waves. We're everywhere and nowhere, and no one see us comin'. We do good and we do bad, but we do as we please. We are the coolest and the hottest. We are comin' and goin' at the same time. We're a goddamned conflagration, some kind of doppelganger effect gone subdural, if you know what I mean. We wear boots and Levi jeans, our hair greasy and slicked back. We wear it long over our ears, and we don't listen to nobody but us.
Thom shot a man. Thom shot a man for nothing. That's the boy, Thom. Then he sucker kicked him in the ribs after the bastard took his last breath, and like the full spectrum punk he is, Thom goes and does whatever he likes to this guy's old lady!
We are the full spectrum Radio Waves. We rob. We steal. And we beat shit outa helpless old men and little babies and cripples cause it's the baddest, it's the maddest, and no else has ever thought of it. We shoot people, leavin' em with their breeches besmirched, we do. We use our looks, our full spectrum Radio Wave looks, and it beats them down. It beats them every time. Old ladies hand us their money. They give us the wheels off their wheelchairs... all in gratitude and hope.
What a world it is when you are a full spectrum Radio Wave. What a world!
I bought a candy cherry-red kick ass 1955 Radio Wave with cruise control, white sidewall tires, tuck and roll interior, a 357 Hemi, four on the floor, tachometer, a record player playing 45's and 33's and 78's... wax and vinyl... wax and vinyl. Chrome plated Rocket 88 port holes in the fenders just for speed. Got my girl beside me. That's a Radio Wave, that's why you just gotta get one, too.
People are Radio Waving. Strangers, coworkers, and the people you meet, just love to give you a great big Radio Wave when they pass by. It's a revolution. And the Radio Waves are here to stay. They are everywhere. Their wonderful lies and propaganda have taken over our country and half the world. They are ruining lives and committing necessary murder. They keep ruining lives and go on committing murder. They make us angry, and they make us cry. We are visibly shaken. Still, we are happier than we have ever been. They are on television and in our radios. They are under our beds and on our roofs. They are in our hands and on our knees. Radio Waves are in our children's eyes, around their dirty little collars, and integral parts of their futures: omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent, omni this and omni that, just the way it always will be.
Can't you just see it? The comedians drinking beer in the morning and writing their jokes about the phenomenon of Radio Waves, about the new and better world being heralded by Radio Waves so pervasive that late night talk shows and CNN can speak to nothing but. How many Radio Waves to SCREW in a light bulb... Or get this, A Radio Wave walks into a bar, orders a drink... Knock, knock... Radio who?
We survivors are ourselves ablaze, roaring with laughter, rolling on our living room floors, swerving in our automobiles. We're eating it up in the dance clubs and in our rampant unrepentant gangs. It can't be helped. It won't be stopped. It won't go away.
Say it after me!
Radio Waves!
Now, let's all get up and dance!
