Missing Throat Radio.
He was a tall man, a fierce man,
a man of a vaguely Jewish persuasion
who ate entirely too much sausage.
Pussy damn shit fuck.
The ladies, however, loved him.
It is said he could part his hair with his tongue.
With your mom's panties, with your girlfriend's hair,
or your wife's panties.
I heard he could lick a lady's belly button from the inside.
I was gonna take his fucking panties.
Y'all are so fucking nasty.
Welcome to episode 11 of Missing Throat Radio.
Isn't it funny how childhood memories
follow us around throughout the rest of our lives?
Often times I go for walks at the city park.
I used to do it for fitness.
Now I just kinda do it for like a fucking break
for my mental fucking health or something like that.
I think people of a certain age call it their constitutional.
I never really understood what that was.
The first time I heard somebody say
I'm gonna go for my evening constitutional,
I thought they were gonna go take a shit.
I had no fucking idea.
But here I am all these years later
and I find myself yearning to fucking go to the park
regardless of the weather.
Take a few
perform an evening constitutional.
Well two days ago I was sitting on my favorite park bench
underneath the Elm Tree enjoying the shade
and the little bit of breeze.
I just got done walking my two miles
and I was watching the kids play on the fucking jungle gym.
You see memes all the time on the internet
about the fucking metal slide that got to about
fucking 350 degrees in the summer sun.
Kids of the last couple generations are never gonna know
the fucking joy of flying down a fucking slide
that, it's too hot to be on and landing
in a fucking puddle of water at the bottom.
They're never going to experience that and that got me thinking
about the merry go round of doom.
That's what we called it.
There's this tiny little Midwestern town.
In order to protect, to protect the innocent
it will remain nameless.
Now this town doesn't even have a stoplight.
They barely have any stop signs there's no need for them.
It is a town of 150 people
and in the center of that town
like a beacon drawing people towards it
is one of the biggest Lutheran churches you've ever seen.
It's huge.
Membership to this church is 12 to 1500 members
in a town of less than 150 people.
Peritioners come from miles around.
The only other thing of note in this town
is a farmer's exchange.
Not a grocery store, not a hardware store,
not a feed store, but all of the above.
A farmer's exchange, where you can go
and you can pick up a pack of underwear,
you can pick up some toilet paper,
50 pound bags of feed for your livestock,
the street from that church is a school.
Now the school's been there almost as long as the church has.
As a matter of fact, both of them are constructed
out of the same gray limestone.
Both of them have roofs constructed of slate.
The school is kindergarten through eighth grade.
Up until World War II, kindergarten through eighth grade
was all you got in this particular area of the country.
They attended school, they got their basic education
and then they went back to the family farm
to help earn their living.
Behind the school though lies a secret, a secret so foul,
a mechanism of pure horror, pure terror, a machine
that everyone in the area has the own story, I know I certainly do.
I only visited this place once for a family gathering
and I left there after experiencing something so horrifying,
so damaging both physically and psychologically
that I've been carrying the scar from that experience
for almost 40 years.
This mechanism, this machine of terror doesn't look like much.
This marigold round is different. Allow me to explain.
This marigold round wasn't bought from a company that makes marigold rounds
very old German farming community.
And at the time the marigold round of doom was constructed.
The stalwart and pragmatic people who lived in this community
didn't believe in spending money on amusements, on frivolities,
like playground equipment, absolutely not.
Not when they can build it themselves,
and that's exactly what they did.
These people aren't like you and I.
They come from a bag on era, an era of having an idea,
or seeing a thing and thinking to themselves I can make that.
And that's exactly what they did, all of the playground equipment
located in the yard behind the school was constructed by the townspeople.
The jungle gym, the swing set, the tether ball pole,
everything on this playground was constructed by the townspeople,
not bought from a kit. No.
Industrial farmers, tractor mechanics and craftsmen from around the area
came together designed, constructed and mounted playground amusements
to be used at the school.
The swing set looked a little bit rough,
but it functioned like a swing set.
The jungle gym looked a little bit rough, you can tell it was welded together
from pieces of scrap steel that they had laying around,
but it functioned just like a normal looking jungle gym.
But the marigold round, that's a different story entirely.
What those craftsmen, farmers and mechanics managed to construct
when they built that marigold round from scratch was a pieceed
piece of perfect engineering, absolutely perfect in every way,
the platform, the vertical poles, the chains,
of that marigold round. My brother and I had the same thought,
when we walked on that playground we wanted to go nowhere but there,
but my dad said don't let the appearance fool you, it is not a fun happy little marigold round,
it is a mechanism of pure evil, of malevolence and rage.
Well that only peaked our interest more.
– I was a 9 year old boy, my brother was 7.
We walk up to the marigold round and I remember stepping up onto the wooden platform,
feeling how solid it was, despite its appearance, its rigidity appearance,
that it didn't move, it didn't shake, it didn't can't, it didn't lean.
But the simple act of me stepping onto the platform made the marigold round start spinning.
And it didn't turn a little bit, that's the thing, it didn't just start to move and then stop.
Like there was resistance, there was no friction,
there was not enough friction to stop the turning.
And the marligate was on top of the platform, leaning up and over so I could look down into the
mechanism that made the marigold round go round. And what I saw and again I didn't understand what
I was seeing at the time. But all of these years later I know what I was looking at,
I was looking at the axle of a combine that somebody had mounted In concrete in the ground.
And I remember seeing piles of axle grease coming out the top of the fucking mechanism,
where the center wheel was welded. And I remember looking at my brother going this is going to be
awesome. We sat down on opposite sides of the marigold round. One leg kind of wrapped around one
of the vertical poles that we were also holding onto, the other leg draped off so we could kick off
from the ground. So my brother and I on opposite ends of the marigold round anchored firmly to the
vertical poles, were moving faster and faster and faster using only our free legs to propel us
one leg hanging off the side kicking off was enough to get that fucking marigold round moving
really really fast. We were coming to the point where we weren't going to be able to go any faster
anymore but god damn it was fun. It was a marvel of fucking German engineering.
There was no fucking resistance there wasn't enough I should say to slow that god damn thing down
every time we kicked off the ground we went faster and faster and faster the wind whipping in our
fucking hair. We could feel centrifugal force and fucking gravity pulling us out away from the center
of the fucking marigold round. God damn it was fun. It was worth every fucking second
of anticipation. My
My brother and I going around in circles on the marigold round of doom hanging on for
dear life but enjoying every fucking second of its screaming into the fucking ether.
God damn this was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. The people who made this deserve medals.
One of the best feelings in the world when you're nine years old is to be teetering just on the edge
of fucking too much. You know what I mean? When it's just almost too much and again I grew up in a
different time I'm a gen exer. Writing our bikes and making fucking dirt ramps and jumping off a shit
and fucking jumping out of trees and stuff that was the routine. That was every day but man this was
one of the best experiences of my life to this point the fucking marigold round of doom located
behind this little fucking church in the middle of bumble fucking nowhere
nowhere. But as with most things in life then it took a fucking turn. It was too good to last.
Looking back on it now the universe was never going to allow me to be this happy for this long.
I was having the time of my life. The universe was always going to bring a wrecking ball to swing it
at my head. In this particular instance the wrecking ball' took the form of a
fucking six foot tall 14 year old fucking disgusting inbred ginger named Billy. Billy Van
De Camp like the fucking beans Billy Van De Camp was the fucking guy's name. I was nine at
the time I think. I keep saying nine but I'm pretty sure that that's accurate. I was nine years old
at the time so that made Billy to about 14. And at 14 years of age Billy Van De Camp was already
six foot tall a good 200-225 pounds and he was a fucking man. Of pure fucking in-bred redneck
fucking brawn. I like people throw around the fucking word im way too much they
definitely throw around the word redneck too much. But they throw around the
word in the word
in-bred way too much and way too liberally without fucking knowing what an imbred actually is.
There's only two types of imbreds in the fucking world by the way. If you didn't know coming from
the Midwest I'm an authority on imbreding and I'll tell you all about it. There's two types of
fucking imbreds that you can spot at 50 paces. The first one is your standard issue omniscience.
Squat crooked twisted fucking form horribly boleg. One arm longer than the other,.
Gigantic pop high fucking forearms. And the second type of Midwestern imbred is the extraordinarily
tall extraordinarily wide extraordinarily strong fucking ginger with the gigantic fucking
imbreder chin. Will Billy Van De Camp fit that fucking bill to a tee that motherfucker was
as stereotypically fucking Midwestern farm boy imbred as I have anybody I've ever seen.
And he comes fucking sauntering out in his plaid short sleeve button down shirt with the fucking
that. Like you get from the farm store and his fucking wrangler jeans that his giant fucking imbrede
thighs would barely fit into. The standard issue Midwestern ginger fucking imbred is the guy you
call when you need to have a cow lifted up into the back of your pickup truck. Billy Van De Camp in
every way fit that fucking description to a tee at the age of 14. He comes fucking lumbering across
the fucking playground. And I see him every time the merry go round brings me
me around to get a fucking view of the door. I see him getting closer and closer and closer. And he has this
fucking weird bdi not fucking friendly grin on his face. We were told to stay clear of Billy Van De Camp
because he was known. He was a known fucking psycho because incidentally the standard issue fucking
Midwestern ginger imbrede also typically have emotional and behavioral problems. Billy was no fucking
exception. So back to the fucking spinning we're going around on the merry go round as fast as our
little legs could take us which is very fucking fast on the closest thing I've ever seen in my life
to being a machine capable of perpetual motion. And Billy goes hey boys I'll push you. And I remember hearing
that thinking this is not going to be good and then you hear his fucking weird guttural fucking laugh as he
starts grabbing the fucking vertical rails as we go by pulling and pulling and pulling and pushing and pushing
pushing and pushing faster and faster and faster and faster and faster in the screams of delight
and excitement for my brother quickly turned to screams of uncertainty and eventually panic.
He's struggling. He's struggling to fucking hold on. He
is struggling just as hard as I am and we're going faster and faster and faster and faster and faster around
in a fucking circle on the fucking merry go round of doom with giant fucking Billy Van De Camp's red-headed
the fucking vertical pole in the crook of my fucking left elbow with my right hand holding on to my left
. Holding on for fucking dear life listening to Billy laugh like a fucking psycho every time I come around
close to him I'm laying on my side now I'm not even sitting anymore my feet are fucking hanging off
the edge my thighs are hanging off the edge and every fucking revolution is pulling me further and
further further and further out, out away from the center the pole still in the crook of my fucking left
elbow with my right hand losing its grip ever so slowly on my left wrist the speed and the force
and the fucking pole of gravity is eventually going to win. Centrifical force is going to win I can't
hold on forever I'm laying on my belly now my right hand's grip on my left fucking wrist has failed
and I'm holding on to the fucking vertical pole with both hands both arms extended my belly button Commission on the edge of the fucking 2x10 platform my entire bottom
of my head. I can feel my blood being pulled into my feet I can feel my hands getting weaker because of
the lack of blood being able to reach them we're
and I look up over my head to check on my brother just in time to see him look up and catch my eye
Billy screaming maniacally in the background knowing knowing that he is teetering on the edge of two
fucking murders my brother catching my eye and at seven years old he knew exactly what was happening
he looks up at me and he screams at me with this shrill voice that I will never forget as long as I live
and in that moment his fucking grip failed and he went flying literally flying and spinning in the air
like a fucking saucer I only caught a glimpse of him before my grip failed and I went flying
correening I was airborne forever and finally I landed on the fucking asphalt tumbling in a
fucking death roll into my fucking elbow catching the next thing you know I'm tumbling head over fucking
heels my face slam in the fucking asphalt and then my ass and then my feet and then my fucking face
until I finally stop falling broken beaten bludgeoned by the earth laying there on that fucking
asphalt playground my jeans ripped my fucking shirt in tatters the tops of my hands bleeding
I have a fucking head wound but I can't move I lay there in a days and all I can do is fucking
spit I can't even fucking cry I just lay there and drool and spit spit out little bits of rocks and
asphalt and sand spit out little dribbles
well and then I hear shuffling next to me and a fucking heel
with the rest of us it was simply attempted murder from a fucking psycho imbred god damni
14-year-old red-handed fucking weird jaw
the rest of the story if you come from the boomer generation or the genx generation is somewhat predictable
I was found by my mom on the playground in fucking pieces she noticed the bleeding but that wasn't
the same thing I did in the video and I'm so sorry I
I'm so sorry sorry I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I'm so sorry
real accident at his job at the fucking boot factory
and was on disability.
Apparently he was basically fucking bound to a wheelchair.
I'm coming for you.
Like a thief in the night.
Now I can't get your big crippled ass onto a fucking
meridot around to pay you back in kind.
But what I can do is wait for some balmy spring evening when you have all the windows open
in the house.
And you're making use of your attic fan enjoying the fresh air and nature's free air
conditioning belly.
And that's what I'm going to do it.
I'm going to fucking side all up to your bedroom window
about 233 o'clock in the morning.
The best chance that you are deep in a REM cycle around 233 o'clock in the morning.
And in your open window, Billy, the open window to your bedroom.
I will be releasing a cobra.
And then we will just let nature take its course.
I'm coming for you, Billy.
And when that cobra sinks its fangs into your soft, disgusting,
alabaster white fucking inbred, ginger skin.
I hope you hear me chuckling.
Standing outside your window, chuckling as you scream.
As the neurotoxic venom shuts down your nervous system.
And as it's necrotic properties start eating away at your muscles and you're
sin you in your flesh.
I hope you can hear me chuckling, Billy.
Right outside your window, growling your name.
Billy, Billy Vandy Camp.
Do you remember?
Do you remember the day you almost killed Lorenzo?
Consider the dead paid.
I usually do two.
And secondly, I'm really fucking distracted because I changed microphones.
I changed a lot of things actually but the microphone is the most
operative part of this fucking equation.
In my effort to constantly improve the overall sound parts and pieces, things that make this fucking
idiotic podcast what it is, I fucked up.
I think I've fucked up.
I'm not sure yet.
What you heard today in segment one was the maiden voyage of my new microphone,
the road NT USB.
I switched away from the Sure MV 51.
It pained me greatly to fucking turn my back on Sure after all the fucking years.
I've been a loyal Sure fan.
But they kind of turned their back on me first to be honest with you.
Now I listen, I understand you can't fucking keep making a product that nobody wants.
B which is an iconic fucking microphone outside of the world of podcasting.
It was iconic before podcasters found it.
But then Joe Rogan started using it and everybody wants to be Joe Rogan.
So the SM7B obviously doing very well for sure.
Well then they made the MV 7
The MV 7 is the USB version of the SM7B.
That's what they want you to think.
But it's absolutely not the USB version of the SM7B.
It's just not.
It
Even if you use the XLR option on the MV 7,
it still doesn't perform like an SM7.
It just kind of half-ass looks like one.
Okay, okay, I'm getting off on a fucking tangent.
So they have the two most successful podcast microphones.
They have the MV 7 and they have the SM7B.
So they had a line called their motive line,
which was the MV 5, which I have, and the MV 51,
which I also have and I think they had a wireless version.
But who gives a shit about that?
The MV 51 is exactly what I was looking for.
It was perfect in every way.
For me, I could do voice over shit.
I could read audio books into it.
It was great for noise cancellation and noise reduction
and the vocal mode gave me the ability to podcast
and sound as good if not better than someone using a traditional XLR setup
with all the fucking gadgets and gizmos.
That's the quick and dirty version.
Okay, well, as it turns out,
sure having the two most popular fucking podcast mics on the market
in the MV 7 and the SM7B didn't need the fucking MV 51 anymore.
I don't blame them.
Why would you continue to make a product and support a product
that nobody fucking wants?
I get it, I understand.
Why did Olive Garden stop making the Italian scallion appetizer
because nobody fucking wanted it?
I'm not saying that they had to keep it around for me.
But when I reach out to them and say,
hey, the USB connector on the back of this MV 51
is getting just a little bit fucking loose
and it's going to start giving me problems.
Can I send it in for you guys to fix?
And they say no, because they no longer sell that product.
What do you fucking mean?
Okay, so you don't sell that product,
but it's still got your fucking name on it.
Like it's still a sure microphone.
Are you telling me that you won't fix it?
Because you no longer make it.
And they were like, yes.
And they suggested I find some kind of fucking computer repair guy
maybe see if Best Buy will repair it for me.
What the fuck?
So then the thought process still being
le- that wasn't a deal breaker for me.
Still being loyal to sure,
I fucking started looking for another MV 51.
And you just about can't buy them new
anymore from a reputable company.
Because the moment sure stopped supporting them,
they yanked them back off the shelves
and had them send in where they're going to fucking melt them down
and turn them into other microphones.
I don't know exactly how it works.
But you can still find them.
Sure, you can still find them brand new on the internet.
But the reputable companies that we're carrying
in and I'm talking about musicians,
friend, guitar, center,
hell even Walmart.com, target.com,
Amazon, all of these different companies that sold them
no longer sell them.
They have third party vendors that sell them,
you're kind of fucking on your own there.
You know, buy at your own risk.
So I thought okay, well, now what?
The MV 7 obviously doesn't work for me as a matter of fact I fucking got rid of it.
I have no interest in buying an XLR microphone.
I don't want a sure SM7B.
Even though it was my favorite fucking microphone I ever used in radio,
I have no fucking desire to go through all the bullshit and expense of assembling a
fucking traditional XLR microphone to mixer, to
amp, to compressor, to processor, to interface situation.
I don't want to fucking deal with that.
First of all, I'm not gonna spend that kind of money on this
fucking hobby of mine.
And secondly, I just don't want to fucking deal with it.
I would have to fucking construct a room in my house specifically for the
rack full of shit that I would have to have in order to make that XLR
microphone sound the way I want it to.
So that is why I say sure kind of turned their back on me before I turned my back on them.
They shut me out.
They stopped making a product that would work for me.
It's not their fault.
It's not my fault.
It's nobody's fucking fault.
It just is what it is.
But I found myself no longer satisfied with the
real quick for you in episode eight, in episode nine, and then episode 10 confirmed it.
I found that the sound that I was getting out of the MV51 was just a little bit
too fucking dark to cut through the layers of sound effects and background music that I was doing
in order to assist me in telling the fucking story.
I say that in air quotes.
The sound was just a little bit too dark.
I needed something brighter.
So I thought, okay, well, I'll go into my software that I use, which is Reaper for all
the heavy lifting editing and I'll brighten up the sound a little bit so it cuts through the layers
of audio that I have underneath it trying to air quotes tell my story.
I say it again.
Well, it didn't fucking work.
I should say it didn't work very well, not to my liking anyway.
I couldn't make it sound the way I thought it ought to sound.
That puts me in a situation where not only is this microphone,
not on the verge of flaking out, but that connector starting to get a little bit
fucking loose and I'm way too mobile and I move around way too much to have a microphone that's
having connection problems.
That coupled with the fact that I'm not happy with the fucking high-end sound that I'm getting out
of out of that mic.
Well, it had me looking for other options.
John Jeming go told me he's not happy with his roadcaster.
Is that what it's called?
The roadcaster.
What's it called?
The podcaster by road?
Is that what I don't fucking know.
I think it's called the podcast mic.
What the fuck?
Hang on.
I don't want to ask cereal.
Let's just look it up.
Road podcast mic.
Oh, okay.
So it's called the road pod mic.
John Jeming go said he's not happy with it.
He said he doesn't like the way it sounds, so I'm definitely not going to fucking buy it.
However, I that I started researching and then I jumped on X and I actually asked
Road.
Here's my conundrum and I told them the entire fucking story that I just told you
without all the fuck words.
And I said I dabble in voiceovers.
I do the occasional audiobook.
I fucking podcast.
I want to be able to do all three of these things with the same microphone and sound
really fucking good doing it.
And this is the really cool thing about what Road did.
They talked to me about my setup.
They're like, okay, what software are you using?
What computers are you using?
Let's talk about the treatment on your room and all this stuff.
They asked me all these questions, which I answered.
And they said, okay, our suggestion is the road NT USB,
which the road NT is a fucking famous studio mic.
I mean, fucking famous world famous renowned has been for a really long time.
Well, Road decided to make a USB version to try to tap into the market of cheap fucks like me
who want really good fucking studio quality sound but don't have a fucking studio and all
of the fucking gear that goes into it.
Okay, okay, okay, I say, so anyway, I bought the road NT USB.
I feel it important to say that I'm not being compensated for this.
I don't know why because I guess I do know why because what I did was I just
went on a fucking testimonial about how helpful Road was in my process of selecting because I'm
fucking nobody. You know what I mean? I'm John Q.
Fucking podcaster.
There's only four and a half million active podcasts right now on the inner webs.
Who am I? Nobody.
But they took the time to talk to me and sell me on their product.
So I fucking bought it and incidentally it's what I'm talking to you on right now.
But I say all that to say I fucked you over this episode.
First of all, you're only getting one segment and then me talking about gear, right?
But secondly and most importantly, I was so fucking distracted
while I was recording that segment and hell even this one because I'm using new shit and I'm
having to talk into a fucking pop filter because I simply do not have the skill required to operate
this fucking mic. They didn't fucking tell me that. They didn't tell me that the fucking
training wheels are off. Kitty fucking play times over. You're actually going to have to know what
you're doing in order to use this fucking microphone. That should have been on the website like
the first thing you see. Don't buy this if you suck.
So it took me forever to record segment one, which is why you're only getting one segment in
episode 11 because I kept having your re-record and re-record and re-record because all of my
b's and f- fuckin' s-s and everything was two, s-s-s and pop-po, bitchy and b. So anyway,
I'm gonna try to do it. I'm gonna try to do it all. I'm gonna try to do it all. I can't do it.
So I'm gonna try to do it all. So it's gonna be more of a
trying to fucking be stupid and tell dick jokes.
I apologize.
I'll do better next time.
Episode 12 is going to be, I'm not going to say it's going to be epic.
Episode 12 is going to be fairly good.
Episode 12 is, we're going to really fucking not step on our nuts in episode 12.
Okay, we're going to fucking go at least 80%.
An episode 12 of Missing Throughoper Radio.
They can't all be homeruns.
Fuck off.
Alright, well, let's wrap it up.
I hope you enjoy Missing Throughoper Radio overall.
I'm not going to ask you to enjoy this episode because frankly it's not great.
I just explained why.
Get off my ass.
All I can hope though is that you're digging it.
That's at the end of the day that's really all I want.
I've been talking to AI quite a bit about promoting podcasts and the best way to go about
doing it and that's something I'm really going to get fucking interested in once I get
season one in the can.
Once season one is done and wrapped up, I'm really going to fucking spend the time that I
would normally be recording and editing and I think I'm going to spend that time focusing
on the marketing side of Missing Throughoper Radio.
See what we can get done there.
I have some merch on the way and while I'm not going to sell it to you, I will give it
to you.
Once I get the stuff in hand, I'll put it out here on the podcast and say, you know, hey,
give me a shout.
If you're interested in some fucking free gear from Missing Throughoper Radio, give me
a fucking yell.
Slide into my DMs and I'll hook you up.
Free of charge.
Hell, I should be paying you to fucking wear the t-shirt.
Thank you again for joining me for this episode of Missing Throughoper Radio until next time.