"Far out, man! Our first caller is Sandra from Des Moines. Talk to me, Sandra."
"Hello, Dennis. My vacation is coming up and I can't decide between going to Los Angeles to see The Damned and Pat McGee Band, or San Francisco for The Donnas and Buckcherry."
"Yo, Los Angeles, man. Like, I can relate, you know? The dark and dirty underside of the belly of the beast thing. It's like turning over a rock only to find monstrous maggots eating at the inner lining of the spectral soul of the metropolis. Can you dig it?"
"Does that mean I should go to L.A.?"
"What does anything mean? It's where your head's at, baby! Stick a rusted, jewel-encrusted dagger through my brain and give it a counterclockwise twist. You know, just to make sure I'm done on both sides. Heavy!"
"Of course, Dee Snider is playing in Florida. That would be a nice trip."
"Trip? You want a nice trip? Try a trip to the state of confusion that wraps around my head and squeezes my thoughts until I need a spatula to pry a worthwhile greeting out of my mouth like… like… You wanna party?"
"Well, I don't know, Dennis. I just called to talk to you about Maceo Parker and Destiny's Child."
"And I wanna talk about the entire rat-race of humanity. I wanna talk about falling down on my hands and knees. I wanna bark like a rabid dog in a pre-school. Yeah, I'm foamin' at the jowls, baby!"
"On the other hand, a cross-country road trip would be nice. I could see Stiff Little Fingers and X."
"Now you're thinkin' on gas! Get yourself a hog and ride that sucker! Go out and search for America! Lessee, I've got a road map here, somewhere…"
"But my family thinks I should stay home and help them with their Internet mortuary business."
"Bring 'em on! I'm ready for the slime that crawls up from the sewer and wraps itself around my body until I suffocate from the putrid stench of show biz glamour and fame. Whip me with your insolence and cut me with your self-righteous pity until my arteries spew my precious bodily fluids into the dark, dank cesspool that is humanity. I can take it!"
"So, you really think I should see some shows? Like Mark Chesnutt or Tori Amos?"
"Look, baby, you see what you wanna see. I see enormous wart-encrusted toads leaping out of my sink and attacking my frontal lobes until I scream out in self-inflicted delusional pain."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, Dennis. Your radio show is so enlightening."
"Radio show? What radio show? Am I on the radio, again? You mean, you're not my therapist? Gosh, how I hate it when this happens. Oh, well, our next caller is Satan from Bakersfield. Go ahead, Prince Of Darkness, you're on Tour Chat with Dennis…