The Radio Phone In

The most destructive force in the western world?

I’ve wanted to write something about the radio phone-in for a long time but never had the time or, maybe, lacked the inclination, knowing what I’m about to say is problematic, a tad too strong, or simply undemocratic.

But I don’t see the point in talk radio.

I don’t even see the point of the entire culture of vox populi. I don’t see the point of listening to non-experts opine on subjects they know nothing about. Why listen to dickless blowhards rant about the “isms” they hate, as if the worst “ism” weren’t the cretinism that’s occupying the space between their left and right audio channels? Whatever part of what these bozos say that isn’t misinformation will be hypocrisy dressed up in a sloppy raincoat: the horror of the morning commute when you’re stuck under a wet umbrella listening to the drippy views of the guy at the end of the bus queue who’s pleasuring himself with the thought of a bit of state-sanctioned violence.

They say that power is a drug but, so too, is the thought of exerting power. It’s the masturbatory fantasies of the weak and powerless, stuck in lives where all they have left is the nostalgia of a world that exists only in their imaginations. There’s no liberty they wouldn’t suppress, no capital punishment they wouldn’t inflict, so long as they could bring back Spitfires, crusader knights, Carry On virgins, red telephone boxes, and blue passports.

My days begin the same way. I wake up between 6am and 9am, depending on the kind of night I’ve had and whether I watched a late-night film. If I’m properly awake, I’ll put on the radio and my habit – the habit I fail to break – is to listen to LBC. It’s a habit I want to break because it means I usually start my day listening to that necrotic goblin, Nick Ferrari, who might be the person I like the least in the entire media ecosystem.