Written by Ben Lukow
The back story will be posted soon, it is in the process of being written. In the meantime, here is the eulogy, as heard on last night's show.
I lived as I
died, completely and totally fried to a crisp. A veteran of the radio, my face
was unknown to my few listeners, and so the open casket was a bit of a shock to
the people who had never met me in person.
Born in the corrupt
political city of Ottawa, I was doomed from the start. Being legally blind from
birth never stopped me or condemned me until the day when I grabbed a Maple
Leaf’s jersey and signed my life away. I continued my faithful journey through
life as a humble child, surrounded by crazy people called my family. I also
began to drink from an early on time, which is why much of my past is a fuzzy
blur to me. That is also why aside from an astounding defeat over a snooty arts
high school which shall not be name…cough…Canterbury… cough…I unfortunately
can’t remember much. It was also in high school that I started my lifelong
legacy of the Chicken Show. I learned the tricks of the trade, such as
operating a board while drunk, and censoring a show.
In university, I
began to foster a burgeoning drinking career. No bar bet was too much or too
stupid. I had the world of the drink in my hands. Soon I was able to keep on
the legend that has become the Chicken Show. I started by adding on a new addition
to the show: my faithful co-host, Deep Fried Danny, who for some reason decided
to keep me in constant inebriation, and now I whistle while I walk. Around the
same time, I added in “I Like Pie” Bryan Perkins, the real brain of the
operation, which really speaks to my own level of…oh, who the fuck am I kidding…what
intellect? Then, added just last year, was All White Meat Chicken Nuggets, and
oh what nuggets indeed, Nicole Wolfe. My show was wonderfully stupid, but came
to an end as all but myself left the show at the end of last year when they
graduated. The wife and I just got on a bad footing after Fruit Explosion
night, and Bryan decided to stay in Pennsylvania this year.
Last year I was
also lucky enough to be upgraded from desk tumour to desk staff, fulfilling a lifelong
dream to hold the butt scratcher in my hands yet again. It was also at the desk
that I met the love of my life, the beautiful black goddess Patricia. I fell in
love with hr at first sight, and she with I, although she often resisted my
subtle approaches. But alas she is no longer with us at the desk, she has gone
onto greener pastures, oh Patricia, mine Irish eyes are calling to your fertile
fields. But alas once my I digest.
Lastly, before I
close with a simple poem to my own graces, I must say one thing, Patricia, Eric,
spinny chair, waterbed, butt scratcher! Oh how I enjoyed the events of my life,
Anna, Hannah, or whatever the fuck your name is, my money shall always be
yours, and to my dearest Bryan, although I have moved on and met a new wife,
Matt, I shall always cherish our trip out into Fruit Explosion night.
Oh yes, and Rock
Band has played a large role in my life, and my lack of certain things.
Now an ode to
for the crap I said repeatedly on the radio.
for my half-brained ideas.
for my idiotic bets that typically lost me money in the $50 region.
for the chairs I snapped when sitting down.
for kissing Tara’s ass, and no, I don’t have a thing for Tara.
for the e-mails that weren’t replied to.
for nuts, as in fresh nuts found at the fruit market.
between the two words is for the space between my ears.
for the mystery caller, and the fact that I will never, ever let her go.
for the absence of thought in my decisions.
for the subtle nuances that I missed while talking to women.
Thank you and for
listening, and…CEPC waterbed!