The Passing of Ozzy and My Super Irritating Week

Misenthrope, radio.

Pissie, piss-mongering, fucking piss-pot of the damned.

Misenthrope, radio.

International cream-corn fuck-hedory.

Misenthrope, radio.

Simply a dirty Jew.

Misenthrope, radio.

And as the young man knew full well,

chicken-fried steak couldn't fuck back.

All it could do was be delicious.

Misenthrope, radio starts now.

Welcome to episode eight of Misenthrope, radio.

You know, I don't really do current events on this podcast.

I don't know if you've noticed or not.

I kind of envisioned Misenthrope, radio as not only therapy for me

to keep me from losing my fucking mind,

but also as kind of a place where you can go where everybody knows your name.

And there always glad you came.

A show you can download to kind of escape from fucking reality

and maybe take a little bit of a cruise through unreality.

Because the suckiness of the real fucking world is everywhere you turn.

It's everywhere you look.

There's no safe fucking place to hide anymore.

Not even on Twitter or X or whatever they call it.

I'm gonna call it Twitter.

If his mama named him Twitter, I'm gonna call him Twitter.

Twitter, television, late-night TV, Saturday Night Live.

Look, there's no fucking place to go.

There's no place to go now just to kind of fucking escape from the dog

shit that

I'm gonna do something I don't normally do.

In the case of Ozzy Osborne, I'm gonna talk about current events.

I can't think of a single artist that I would do this for.

And that sounds really fucking arrogant to say like, who am I?

You know what I mean?

He was Ozzy fucking Osborne.

Who am I to say I wouldn't do a tribute for any other artist, but I wouldn't.

If that comes across as country and egotistical,

it is not meant that way at all.

It's just like I tried to explain at the very beginning,

I have definite ideas about what Missing Throat Radio should and should not be

talking about the passing of a musician was never going to make its way

onto Missing Throat Radio.

Or so I thought until Ozzy Osborne passed.

And I didn't even realize how much it would kick me in the fucking dick

until I read this story.

And you saw the way you went out.

He sucked it up, fucking tamped down all of the pain and the fucking shaking

and all of the bullshit and all of the indignities that he had to go through

at the end of his life and got up on that fucking stage one more time

with his friends and performed for his fans.

Sure they turned it into a charity thing and made a whole bunch of money

for some really worthy causes.

Sure it was an opportunity for artists to pay tribute to Ozzy and Black Sabbath.

That was kind of a cool thing too.

But the main attraction don't get that fucked up was Ozzy and Geeser, Tony and Bill

getting on stage one last time and doing it.

Ozzy was relegated to a chair, a very opulent chair to be sure,

but he was relegated to a chair and you could see he didn't have long.

It was one of the most gangster fucking things I've ever seen.

Think about this for a moment.

Name another fucking artist who would get on stage at the very end of their

life and go hard as a motherfucker like he did just to say goodbye to his fans.

It's fucking cool.

I mean, it really is.

I'm not going to turn this into a drippy fucking veg cry fest over Ozzy Osborne.

All I'm going to say is this 1991 when the no more tears album came out.

I know you're Ozzy and Black Sabbath purists are going to point to specific records

earlier on and say that that's especially a fuck all that.

I don't care about that.

We can fucking measure Dix and talk about what influence and all of that fucking

bullshit later.

What I'm telling you is that for me in 1991 when the no more tears album came out.

I didn't fucking have anything or any one.

All I fucking had was music.

I had bad friends.

I was a fucking unfuckable nerd and music is all I fucking had.

That album that CD was fucking important to me.

The no more tears album.

That was one of the CDs that got me through that fucking year.

That was a fucking awful year.

Okay, that's enough emotion.

I'm going to do something right now that I'm not supposed to do.

It's something that I thought I would never do on missing through a radio.

And I'm definitely not supposed to fucking do it as a podcaster.

I'm going to play a song in its entirety.

And if I get in trouble, then I get in trouble.

This is Ozzy Osborne and his band performing at a live show.

As an encore, I believe my mom coming home.

Off and no more tears album.

Yeah, that's what you're going to sing along with me, man.

Okay, it's a song called, my love I'm going home.

Time's a strange, here I come.

But time flies, it seems to be.

You could have been a better friend to me.

You told me lies, but I can't stand to say goodbye.

I could have been a better friend to me.

Rest in peace, sir.

Ozzy Osborne, the Prince of Darkness.

Thank you.

Holy shit, it's the devil.

I don't know of a respectful way to ask this, but what the fuck are you doing here?

Prince of fucking Darkness indeed.

What?

Ozzy?

Yeah, he went by the Prince of Darkness.

Prince of fucking Darkness, as if.

Satan, what are you talking about?

Everybody wants to be in a Prince of fucking Darkness until the going gets a little bit tough.

And then they go off and find Jesus.

What?

Are you talking about him getting right with God before he passed away?

Do you have a fucking problem with that?

Do I have a problem with it?

I've been feeding him bitches and cocaine since the 70s.

He was working in a fucking meat packing plant when I found him.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's right.

He was working in a fucking meat packing plant, blowing up Calvin China's like balloons and kicking them all over the inside of the facility.

I found him, realized his potential and set him on the path of rock and roll startup.

So, okay, Satan, I understand that you're trying to take credit for the success of Ozzy Osborne.

Can anybody deny that black Sabbath wasn't entirely mine?

I spoon fed him bitches.

I spoon fed him cocaine.

I spoon fed him inspiration.

I encouraged him to go out on his own and leave those fucking Sabbath losers behind.

And you are talking about taking fucking lemons and making lemonade when he tried to kill Sharon.

I helped him pin his greatest hit.

The closest he's ever come to mainstream success.

It was all me.

Okay, but what's the bottom line here, Lucifer?

Are you saying that you're asked her that he got right with Jesus before he died?

What I'm saying is I did my part.

He wanted fame, he wanted start on, he wanted bitches, he wanted drugs, he wanted an opulent lifestyle,

he wanted everyone to love him even though he couldn't carry a tune in a fucking bucket.

I did that.

Me.

And when it came time to pay me what I was owed, he ran away to Jesus.

Dad fucking damn it.

If I can't catch a break.

Sure I've got all your garden variety fucking losers.

I've got the people who fucking abuse children and skip out on child support.

I get all those.

But I really wanted Ozzy.

I feel like I deserved Ozzy.

I had Ozzy come and I did the legwork.

I acted in good faith.

I played my fucking part and he fucked me.

He fucked me right at the end.

This is bullshit.

Dad damn it.

Okay.

Sure, I understand where you're coming from.

But look at it from the perspective of just a mere mortal human if you can for a minute.

Go ahead.

I'm all fucking used.

Let me just put it this way.

There is honestly nothing more terrifying than the thought of spending an eternity being

flayed and fucking tormented in hell.

Oh, dad damn it.

Here we go.

No, no, no, no you had your shot.

Now give me give me a minute to explain.

The great thing about being a Christian as Ozzy was towards the end of his life.

The great thing.

The great thing about being a Christian as Ozzy was towards the end of his life is you're

just one prayer away from being redeemed and having your I think and it's the quote is

something like having your sins thrown throne as far as the east is from the west.

So with that knowledge in hand, can you really blame him for getting right with the

Lord before passing away if the alternative is his sole eternal soul by the way going to

you and being tormented for all eternity?

No, I mean, yeah, I guess I see what you're saying, but I acted honorably and in my defense

why on hell does definitely suck.

It's not the lava and flame suck scape that everyone thinks it is.

Okay, yeah, but that's not what it says in the Bible.

The fucking Bible how the hell would they know they've never even been there anyway fuck all

this shit.

I'm going on a coast to coast media blitz Lorenzo.

I'm going to tell everyone who will listen that I got fucking screwed.

I gave that motherfucker everything he asked for.

And you know what I didn't give him what I protected him from and think about this.

He's been fucking random bitches since the 70s.

I didn't give him hobbies.

He did not get hobbies.

I held up my fucking into the Morgan.

I did my job and I deserved that fucking soul.

That's all I'm saying.

I'm tired of you to fuck last minute redemption.

Fuck you.

So I mean, when you put it like that, I guess you were owed.

Oh, I was owed and I am fucking furious.

I'm never going to get over this.

This is just as bad as Elvis.

Elvis, are you saying you didn't get Elvis either?

Fuck no.

As he was dying on the toilet, he fucking had one hand braced on the wall, one hand braced

on the side of the toilet and he looked up with sweat pouring down his face and I was crawling

up the fucking pipes.

I was crawling up the pipes almost to his asshole and I was going to reach up that big fucking

greasy rock and roll ass and get that soul.

And he cried out his last fucking words and nobody knows this because they weren't there

but I was.

No shit.

What were his last words?

What were Elvis's last words?

His last words were God forgive me.

Fuck.

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

I just turned around and went right back down the hill.

I am tired of getting fucked by these musicians.

I'm getting out of the entertainment business altogether.

These guys can fucking sink or swim on their own.

I'm going to focus on the politicians.

Last minute redemption wouldn't even cross their fucking minds.

Okay, well shit.

I feel like I should ask you some questions.

I mean, how many opportunities am I going to have to interview the devil?

No, no questions.

Fuck off.

On my way to someone more popular.

Love you Lorenzo.

Love you love you show.

I'll see you in about 18 years.

Wait, what?

18 years?

What?

No, no, no, no, no, no, don't fucking leave.

What do you mean 18 years?

What do you mean 18 years?

Son of a bitch.

18 years.

Fucking hell.

Thanks, Satan.

Asshole.

I'll be 68.

Fucking, I don't want to die at 68.

I thought I'd at.

At least make it to 75.

I've been fairly healthy most of my life.

Anyway.

And I was working.

Back in the day when I was in radio, I noticed everything all the time.

And I made notes of everything.

And I would talk about stuff.

And I would extrapolate and roll things over in my fucking mind.

And no detail ever got past me.

And it was fucking maddening a lot of times.

Because I notice everything.

All the time.

Incidentally, radio people make the worst fucking podcasters.

Have you ever heard a podcast that was done by a radio person that didn't suck?

I don't understand it.

My personal theory is that radio people can't handle a blank canvas.

Well, you know what I mean?

Sitting down and hitting the record button without something prompting you or some kind

of format clock to tell you what to say and when to say it just completely blows their

fucking mind.

But they think, oh, I've got a radio voice.

I can fucking talk.

It'll be great.

And all my fucking fans will follow me over here onto the podcast side.

Done really worked that way.

And I think they're finding that out.

So hopefully all the radio people will just fuck off.

Get out of the way.

Well, that I went in the Navy and then I joined the civilian sector.

And I've gotten bored and I decided I'm really going to fucking lean into that casting

thing.

So I flipped that fucking switch in my head where I notice everything again now.

And a lot of the problems that I have and things that I run into and stuff that fucking

really really irritates me are things that are not really that big a deal.

Most folks wouldn't even fucking notice them because they've got their fucking blinders

on.

But again, that switch has been flipped in my head.

And now I notice everything again, whether I want to or not.

For example, the other day I was trying to have a nice lunch at Arby's and I walk in

that's just one fucking guy and his wife at the fucking counter.

No big deal.

Arby's is never crazy.

Busy.

It's like you go to McDonald's.

You can wait 20 minutes just to have somebody even look your direction.

Right?

If they fucking have people working at the counters at all.

More often than not now, these McDonald's and Taco Bells, you can just go fuck yourself.

Use our mobile key ask thing or use the app.

Eat a dick.

We're not even trying to talk to you.

Arby's hasn't got there yet.

Arby's still has somebody working the counter and I love me some fucking Arby's.

I mean, they have the fucking meats.

Enough said.

So I walk in there and I'm thinking French dip.

That's what I'm going with today.

I'm going with the French dip and I want the curly fries and a large unsweet tea and

I'm going to get no fewer than five cups of their fucking sauces.

I like two horsey sauces.

I want one Arby sauce that three pepper hot sauce that they have, which is incidentally the

best hot sauce.

I've ever had and then the other one will be a fucking surprise of no idea.

Maybe it's honey mustard.

I don't know.

We'll see.

Maybe it could just be ketchup.

I'm running through all this shit in my mind as I go in there.

Right?

And I'm standing there behind this couple and I notice the guy and I look him up and down

real quick.

He's wearing a pink t-shirt.

He's wearing jeans shorts and he's wearing strappy sandals and I go,個 shit.

And then I get to look in his head and I realize this guy is probably late fifties.

Weak chin, narrow shoulders, small arms, small sweaty looking hands, no visible tattoos,

neatly manicured, very thin beard.

Fuck me.

This is not what I need today.

And he didn't disappoint.

I'm going to call him Stanley.

I don't know that that's his name but he looks like a Stanley.

But the man that I just described to you did Stanley just pop in your fucking head

because Stanley popped in mind and Stanley was always going to be a problem.

He was never going to not be a problem everywhere he goes.

Stanley's a fucking problem.

So as I'm standing there and I give Stanley the up and down again the strappy fucking

sandals, no visible tattoos, narrow shoulders, close cropped but slightly unkempt full head

of hair.

Old thin fucking beard that runs across his weak jaw, very prevalent Adam Zappel, pink

shirt, jean shorts.

As I'm taking in Stanley, I realize that this conversation that he's having with the

question on the fucking Arby's menu.

So I'm drinking in the fucking scene with my eyes and my mind is churning and extrapolating

and then I quiet all that down because I gotta know what's going on.

Why the hell is this order taking so long?

Is he ordering for a football team that I'm unaware of?

You know what exactly is going on with Stanley and the wife that is taking so long at this

fucking counter?

So I take a step forward and I kind of turn to the side so I can listen in on the conversation.

And what I hear is pretty much what you would expect a Stanley to be doing at an Arby's

counter.

Stanley needs to know from whence the beef came.

Stanley needs to know how the beef is prepared.

Stanley needs to know if it's sous vide or if it is roasted or what, how exactly Arby's

is preparing their roast beef sandwiches and then he needs to know about triglycerides

and monopeptides.

Stanley's gotta know about the molecular composition of Arby's roast beef before he feels comfortable

enough to order himself a fucking sandwich.

Stanley's wife is just standing to the side watching the scene play out as Stanley Peppers,

the young lady behind the counter and really tests her knowledge of the menu.

The young lady by the way couldn't have been a day over 18 and she eventually has enough

of Stanley and is obviously very flustered and she has never had to deal with the line of

questioning like this before and why fucking would she?

Why would she?

Why would she have to deal with this?

It's a fucking Arby's, okay?

We're at a fucking Arby's Stanley.

So eventually she says hang on just a minute and she goes and gets her manager.

Stanley is only too happy to wait for the manager.

The manager comes up, Stanley gives her the quick up and down and honestly in his defense

there's a whole lot of this woman to see and Stanley starts coming at her about the protein

content of Arby's roast beef and is it actually roast beef and if it is roast beef what part

of the cow are we using?

Why is there no fat ribbon?

He wants to know everything about the fucking Arby's roast beef sandwich and as I'm standing

there watching this fucking scene play out I'm growing more irritated and more irritated

and more irritated I've lost interest in listening to Stanley Pepper the fucking management

with questions my interest in the entire process has waned and now my mind is starting to move

down the pathway to murder.

When I start envisioning all the ways in my mind that I can fucking kill Stanley right

there in that line.

The line that began as Stanley his wife and I is now going all the way out the fucking

door because Stanley is incapable of just ordering a goddamn sandwich and going and sitting

down.

You fucking narrow-shouldered pussy and I finally settle on chainsaw in my mind while I'm

waiting for Stanley to fucking get around to finally ordering his food.

I have gone back out to the fucking toolbox and my truck reached in pulled by fucking chainsaw

out primed it lit it off come back inside everyone else in line sees what's getting

ready to happen and they fucking scatter that please empties out in less than ten seconds

and I just begin carving fucking Stanley into small manageable pieces right in front of

the shocked fucking restaurant staff and his god damn wife and about the time I'm ready

to turn and take a step and go out to my truck to retrieve my chainsaw.

Stanley finally places his order, quickly pays and thankfully fucks off to the dining

room.

Crisis thankfully averted.

The next source of irritation and as it turns out near miss came at another restaurant actually

later on in the week I was at a Chinese buffet.

I don't know about where you're from but where I'm from Chinese buffets are a big thing and

when I say big thing I mean big people go to them in a dining room that should be able

to sit 200 it really only sits about 50 wide backs.

These wide back sausage finger motherfuckers just pile in there every single one of them even

the worst fucking Chinese buffet joint is gonna have a fucking line of people standing at

that fucking feed trough.

Anyway I was at a Chinese buffet being a man of some size myself I love me a good trough

and again here is where the fact that I now notice everything is fucking my life up.

I'm standing there waiting to get to the fried rice now what I like to do is I like

to put a thin layer of fried rice along the bottom and then go to each one of the entrees

and side dishes and pile them on top into a great big mound of air quotes Chinese food

and then sit down with chopsticks and you know delicately eat one piece at a time off

the top until I'm down to the rice which has been thoroughly seasoned and inundated with

the melange of fucking sauces from all of the different things that I piled on top of

it.

That's how I like to enjoy my Chinese buffet so I'm standing there waiting to get to the

fried rice and that's when I noticed the people ahead of me it's this lady this care

worn fucking lady and a knee length jeans skirt floral print blouse and flip flops a little

bit heavy set but not fat by any stretch of the imagination she has her unkempt hair

and an unkempt pile on top of her unkempt head she is scurrying and harried half hunched

over running around behind what can only be described as a little bastard this fucking

kid can't be a day over six years old and he is running up and down the fucking buffet

line sticking his hand in each one of the entrees and pulling bits of whatever he might

want out of it and depositing it on the plate that she's holding that sucks right that

so now the rest of us are put into a position when we walk up to the

mougu guy pan that we watch that little cock sucker just put his fucking dick beater in the middle of

do we flatly refuse to take any food out of that pan it's a Chinese restaurant after all

ran by actual Chinese people these motherfuckers are not going to change that pan out until it's gone

you can go fuck yourself and your hygiene standards that's not racial insensitivity that is a

fucking fact and you know it because their idea of what's hygienic and our idea of what's hygienic

are way fucking different polar opposites you walk in the back of a Chinese restaurant right now

there is a very good chance that there's going to be some fucking old lady with no bra a sundress

on a no panties sitting on the floor cutting fucking chicken with a cleaver it's not a bad bet

so you have a choice are you gonna flatly refuse to eat the mougu guy pan knowing that it will not

be replaced or are you just gonna fucking take the spoon and just kind of go along the outside edge

of it well that's obviously what everyone is doing right they're just kind of following behind

this little cock sucker and tiptoeing through the fucking carnage okay so that sucks but that's not

what really got me cranked up what really got me upset was the look the look on that harried fucking

exasperryd mother's face when she made eye contact with me she looks up at me her little fucking bastard

child is scurrying towards me with fucking food all over his hands she's following behind him

hunched over with his plate as he's depositing shit onto it with his hands and the look that she

gives me nearly sent me spiraling into a murderous fucking rage and you've seen the look I know you have

everyone seen the look the moment she gave me the look I'm getting ready to describe to you I

knew that I'd seen it before I'd seen it hundreds of times before on the faces of harried mothers

and pussy whipped fucking house husbands I've seen it over and over and over again this bitch was

just the latest in a long line the look is this she was hunched over she looked up at me with these

care worn eyes almost pleading but also amused this half smile on her face one of her shoulders

kind of shrugged and her head tilted a little bit to the side that look right there is meant to say

what are you gonna do it takes a village right he won't be this small forever I do what I can

we're just getting through it down here pal the look of the perpetual victim like it's not her fault

that this little cuckseckers running up and down the fucking food trough putting his hand in all of

the food that everyone has to eat and I stopped in my fucking tracks I don't know how long I stood

there I saw that fucking look in my mind just started rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling through

all of the fucking times I've seen that look on somebody's fucking face when the person that they're

with is doing something outside of what is considered to be okay I've seen that fucking look over

and over and over and over and over again in my mind is just fucking rolling through and it's

like a fucking slide

shit back in my the fucker I don't know how long I stood there playing out the death of this woman

in my head but I stood there a while I stood there long enough for her and her little bastard to

have disappeared off somewhere and all of the people that I had been watching fill their plates were

gone I stood there in a fucking psychotic days for I have no idea how long a long fucking time while

the scene of me murdering that fucking worthless bitch played out in my fucking head so yeah it's been

an irritating week in a lot of ways those two examples that I gave Stanley the fucking pussy at

Arby's and the harried fucking perpetual victim mom at the buffet line were just the most easily

relatable the most easily quantifiable it's like you hear the story about Stanley you hear the story

about the mom you may or may not want to actually act out a murder scene when you encounter people

like this I don't know how fucking common that is if you don't a whatever man to each their own for me

I envision murdering them but I think you can relate the rest of the shit is not as easy to quantify

anyway I could go on all day I'm not gonna fucking ramble on anymore let's just go ahead and close

this bitch out now show notes I'm really worried about going back and listening to that Aussie bit

a gotta be honest with you I'm concerned because Aussie Osborne was very important to me and you

know the Satan thing that I did there in the Aussie Osborne bit was supposed to just be kind of silly

and ridiculous not necessarily funny but at least a little bit entertaining but I don't want it to

come across as disrespectful I'm a fucking huge Aussie fan nothing but respect for him nothing but

respect for his family and I would never want to do anything to make any of those people feel bad

not that they'd ever hear it let's just I mean let's be honest but I don't want to disrespect

Aussie Osborne that's that's not the that's not the intention I think he had a pretty good sense

of humor seem to anyway based on you know what you what you see on TV you never know if that's how

I don't know but I don't I don't want

don't want to be disrespectful that's not all I was trying to do anyway thank you for joining us

and for speaking in the news and for speaking in the news and I don't know what to do

for so why not do something that's not that's not what we have to do outside of a

church inside the show inside this kind of things that are in the news and I don't know I can't

I don't want to be disrespectful, that's not what I was trying to do.

Anyway, thank you for joining me for episode 8 of Missing Throat Radio.

I hope you're digging this show.

I'm not going to tell you to leave a review.

JimiNgos says they're useless.

I don't know if they are or not.

I'm not going to tell you to leave a review.

I don't know.

I'm not going to tell you to bring a friend along.

I just hope that you're enjoying the show.

It's like, obviously, I think that nobody should be podcasting except for me.

But at the end of the day, I just really want you to enjoy it.

And if you do and want to drop me a line and let me know, that would be awesome.

Alright, punching out.

Until next time.