"Through all the uncertainty, however, Sturm was ecstatic. He could have shared a studio with a monkey and seven midgets and still been incredibly happy."
What - what - what? And still been incredibly happy? This absurd notion made me consider a hypothetical show called "James, a monkey and seven midgets." (clever title, eh?)
Ratings would be huge. Laughs would be even bigger. Not only would this show resurrect radio, but somehow, also add new life to the newspaper industry. There would be hard hitting "short guy on the wall" journalism, thoughtful critiques of the film "George of the Jungle" and people slipping on banana peels. Howard Stern would beg us to stop broadcasting. Oprah Winfrey would request that we change our time slot, as competing with midgets exposes her inner meanness. Hugh Downs would speak on our behalf at a Lifetime Achievement presentation and then pass away. His last words: "Finally. Peace."
The only tense moment: when poo gets flung. The monkey would express his disgust at my display, accusing me of discriminating his species based on "unfair, (blanking) stereotypes." What would then ensue would be a stare down intense enough to be on the cover of a Wrestlemania DVD. And right before I'd get my face ripped off hypothetically, the seven midgets would begin to dance. They would dance their midget dance while my simian friend and I make amends. And it would be good.
But, for the most part, I cannot really fathom the idea that I wouldn't enjoy running a radio show with a monkey and a bunch of midgets. Everyone's different, I guess.