Mar. 9th 2000, 1:45 P.M.
Teterboro Airport
Grey clouds rolling in, overcast skies threaten me, raindrops exploding. My idle mind
drifts into weather related haikus as I approach Teterboro and see a line of Citation 10's
and Gulfstream IV's lined up on the runway. Knowing the patience level of the I-Man, I
anticipate some long, ugly moments on the tarmac. He arrives, buoyant, in a positively
bubbly mood...an unanticipated circumstance that has me thinking that he is either A- In
the first stages of mind melt, or B-Drinking again. Happily, it is neither; he is just in
a good mood. Quickly, I check my calendar... it's a little earlier than normal for the
annual good mood, but am convinced that is what it is.
2:03 P.M. Inside the Gulfstream IV
As we sit on the runway, our flight attendant listens raptly to Larry relaying the story
of the prostate exam he experienced earlier today as part of his pre-surgical check up in
preparation for his hip operation. Why a man wearing rubber gloves reaching for the stars
in Larry's nether regions should be part of a pre-op exam for hip surgery is beyond me,
Larry said it was "Actually quite enjoyable". I assume, (nay, hope) that he's
referring to the gregariousness of the doctor, and not the sensory experience itself.
Apparently, the doctor found Larry's joke about the proctologist, ('Read the card! Read
the card!) quite amusing...enough to share with Larry the list of the strangest foreign
objects he's retrieved over the years from patients' rectums. It's a lengthy, albeit
fascinating, roster, including such bizarre entries as lightbulbs, Christmas trees and
small kittens. For the first time in my life I do not regret my decision to bypass Medical
School.
2:07 P.M.Runway 3
As expected, Imus' impatience reveals itself to the unsuspecting pilots, and before anyone
knows what is happening, the I-Jet is taxiing up onto the grass alongside the runway,
passing, (on the right, mind you) all the other jets in the queue. We cut the line, and
effectively, 40 minutes off our travel time.
2:05 P.M. In the air
Take off is rocky, as due to the abundance of air traffic in the Teterboro flight path, as
well as that off nearby Newark and Laguardia airports, the Tower requires us to maintain a
relatively low altitude. I'm sure it's in the interest in safety, although, I am somewhat
concerned that the 30 feet we are presently cruising won't be enough to clear the
cathedral I can see about half a mile ahead of us. Fortunately, the pilot is a true
professional, and the tower gives us the clearance to attain our cruising altitude,
allowing us plenty of room to miss the steeple...by my untrained eye, at least 12 to 14
feet.
2:15 P.M. Somewhere over New Jersey
The ascent is the bumpiest I've ever experienced. We are bouncing around violently, and,
although I'm not normally a nervous flier, begin saying a rosary as I am convinced I am
about to die. I reflect on the tragic irony that the last thing I will see is Imus' face,
and the last thing I hear will be Larry's doctor's revelation about the kitten extraction.
I promise God that I will never again purchase Hotel Room Porno Movies, if he will just
simply spare me this heinous fate.
Suddenly, the air becomes smooth, and a rainbow appears to the left of the aircraft. I
thank my maker for delivering me from my violent and most untimely end, but also suggest
he could've come up with something a little cleverer than that worn out cliché of an
image.
The flight takes 40 minutes, just long enough for me to consume a rump roast and a few
oilcans of Fosters I've smuggled onto the aircraft, as I respect the I-Man's request there
be no alcohol on board. Drinking them in the lavatory isn't nearly as bad as you might
imagine, however, as one of the 'perks' of Executive Jet aircraft are the fur-lined toilet
seats. I don't spend too much time sitting there, as I do have an addictive type of
personality, and can very easily see where I could get hooked on these things. Which would
only prove to be an embarrassment to my family and myself...having to buy pants with extra
material in the back just to accommodate the extra added...'attachment'.
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5:01 P.M. The Sheraton Waterside Hotel, Downtown
Norfolk
Check into the room, tired from the long flight. I know it's only been 40 minutes, but
they're 'Imus Minutes' which is the equivalent of dog years. Each 60 seconds spent in his
presence seems like an hour. The ride from the airport was only '15 Minutes' according to
what the radio station personnel told our program director Mark Chernoff, but there is
also a mathematical equation for that as well. '15 Minutes' in a limo to a hotel anywhere
outside of New York, is almost a half an hour. Even longer, knowing the tirade that will
no doubt erupt when the I-Man finally gets out of the car to vent the anger at his being
lied to about the amount of time it takes to travel in a 'foreign city'.
It's a lovely place, the Sheraton Waterside, with beautifully appointed rooms, ours facing
the Elizabeth River, in which sits a proud Navy Battleship. Not the most romantic of
views, but I do feel safe. I have a problem with my key card, and Bernard offers to let me
hang out in his room until the bellman returns with a key card that works. We peruse the
onscreen menu of available pay per view films, and can't decide which Porn Movie to choose
to help pass the time. I know I promised God I wouldn't, but this isn't really my room,
therefore, I'm not actually making the purchase. I call my manager, Gary, and read him the
list of the titles. He suggests either 'Inspect Her Gadget' or 'Lawrence Of Her Labia', as
he's read the book, but I am in no mood for plot, and neither is Bernie, so we settle on
'Best of Crack Whore Slut Fest '99'. Just as the film is about to begin, the Bellman
arrives with my key. Damn.
6:18 P.M. Room 1024
The phone rings. "It's Imus. Have any paper, fatso?" I inform him I just bought
a pack downstairs at the smoke shop in the lobby, until I realize he means paper for his
Ink Jet Printer. I hastily run next door to the little mall and find a dollar store where
I am, thankfully, able to procure a ream. I dash back up to his suite, having achieved the
errand in merely 3 minutes. "What the hell took you so long?" he bellows through
the crack in the door, as he is unwilling to undue the chain. I spend the next 12 minutes
attempting to pass the 350 sheets through the aforementioned slot, while he returns to the
smaller of the two living rooms in his suite to continue yelling at the Concierge Desk
Attendant on the phone for not providing a 'sound machine' with enough choices of 'running
water' sounds. After succeeding in making both her and her supervisor cry, he agrees to
allow me to stand next to his bed to make the water sounds while he sleeps. Oh, they'll be
water sounds all right. Almost virtual reality, I can guarantee.
7:30 P.M. The Riverside Bar
I meet Larry for dinner, where he is deep in conversation with a man named 'Mike' who is
an autograph collector. So avid a one, he is almost professional in his proficiency,
having designed and created his own 'Signing Wallet' upon which he places Casino Chips to
be signed, and then later mounted in a hermetically sealed display case he has in his
home. Larry has signed two of the chips, however when Mike asks me for my autograph, it is
on a strip of plain white paper, approximately two inches wide and five inches in length.
I realize I've just charged his bar tab to my room. Bastard.
7:46. P.M. Joe's Crab Shack Norfolk Virginia
Having already scoped out the 'Food Court' in the mall next to the hotel, I conclude our
best choices for dinner are either The Outback Steakhouse or 'Hooters'. Larry is not in
the mood for meat or Buffalo Chicken wings so I agree to dine with him at "Joe's Crab
Shack" which is one of those chain 'theme restaurants' that is a cross between a Red
Lobster, and a Fraternity Clambake at Duke University. It is a raucous type of place where
the staff members provide a 'conga line' every hour or so. I try to time the meal so we
are 'between shows'. I fail miserably. Larry has succeeded in engrossing the bartender in
his doctor's gruesome 'Foreign Object Retrieval' stories. After sharing the tidbit about
the kitten, the bartender offers that once, when he was in Med School, he witnessed a case
where a 'Hobby Horse' was removed from the sphincter of a High School Fullback. I don't
know what disturbs me more, the fact that this man witnessed such an event, or that he was
once a Medical School Student and is now serving me tap beer.
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9:17 P.M. "Jillian's" Norfolk, Virginia
After I've finished my "Cluster Fest" consisting of frozen crab legs, done in
three different styles, and Larry's downed his cheeseburger, (so glad he convinced me to
go to a seafood restaurant) we move upstairs to a place called "Jillians" which
is an enormous place, featuring three or four different restaurants, a huge bar, a
billiard room, and a game room the size of two football fields, in which every conceivable
form of video game, shooting gallery, skee ball, pop a shot and driving simulator can be
found. It's like an indoor, adult version of Disney World. I am eager to try out the
Virtual Reality "Battle Tech" game, in which, eight of us, concealed in our own
separate robot pods, engage in open battle with one another. The beady eyed, pocket
protector wearing shmoo with the overbite is Curtis, our attendant, who attempts to
explain the game, getting about as excited as I'm sure General Patton did before one of
his runs after Rommel. After watching a brief introductory video, the sound of which is
inaudible due to the deafening noise of the drunken revelers that surround us, we begin
the game. It's an exhilarating experience, a cross between the greatest Nintendo game
you've ever played and one of those paintball war game deals. I come in second, behind
"Gurg The Slayer", who, as it turns out, is our host Curtis. He eagerly narrates
a scene by scene blow by blow video replay of our match, in which he, as the yellow robot
with the Vulcan Symbol spray painted on the side, virtually lays waste to every one of us,
numerous times. In fact, I spend more time being blown up than actually playing the game.
"See this 'bot here?" he preens; "If you ever see this guy, say your
prayers...that's me...and I'm your worst nightmare" I don't think he's aware of just
how true his statement is.
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Part 3
Mar. 10th, 2000 5:03 A.M.
There are simply no words to describe the feeling one gets, seated in front of a teeming
throng of Hampton Roads' finest citizens at this ungodly hour of the morning. I realize
that this is a naval town, and as such there are inherently limited entertainment options
available, but watching the five of us put on a radio show can't possibly the 'event' they
are treating it as. We enlist the aid of one of the local News Anchors to peform the role
of 'Hillary Clinton' in the 'Imus in Washington Bit', as Larry's impression of her is not
as dead on as the rest of his repetoire, and the estrogen pills I've been taking to help
me get in touch with my feminine side haven't really raised the pitch of my voice as much
as they've increased the size of my breasts. This looks like it could be a recurring
practice...fish some unsuspecting female out of the audience for her 15 minutes of fame,
then throw her back into the pit of perpetual obscurity.
We're doing the show from some convention center type place, where, apparently, there's
some type of convention going on, although I'm not sure what kind of convention it is.
There are various booths set up, one displaying the wonders of spray foam insulation,
another for a community college, still another offering free samples of some kind of
'Nacho Flavored Crunchy Soy Protein'. It's either a local business exhibition, or the
Science Fair from hell. I decide it's the latter when I recognize 'Curtis' our Battle Tech
Host from the night before.
11:35 A.M. Norfolk Airport
It seems like only yesterday we were on the plane, and as I think about it, I realize it
actually was. Time flies. Soon we will too. I'm a little apprehensive after the previous
experience, but I'm convinced the return trip can't possibly be as eventful. I think the
flight attendant is different from the one we had yesterday, as she's displaying an
inordinate amount of interest in Larry's story about his prostate exam. She relates to us
that she used to be an emergency room nurse, and once helped a doctor remove a dinette set
from the anal cavity of a Jehovah's Witness. I thank her for sharing, close my eyes, and
wait for the calming effects of the handful of Valium I've just swallowed to take effect.
I drift off to sleep, and dream of household items being pulled from my bum like clowns
out of a Volkswagen.