[Today I’m reposting the post below, from two years ago, because I’ve started relistening to the Valley Heat podcast (and some of the newer episodes from the companion Good Morning, Burbank show) and nothing has made me laugh more. And I think we all could use some good laughs these days.]
This post was originally published on April 25, 2022…
I’m late to the game on this podcast (sorry, I lead a sheltered life), but Valley Heat is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time.
It’s like A Confederacy of Dunces meets Arrested Development meets Fernwood 2 Night…. Doug’s deadpan delivery, a wacky cast of characters, fun music references, the bogus promo spots, and great theater-of-the-mind audio all combine to create a perfect storm of humor. Every element is note-perfect!
It’s a bit tough to explain because the folks responsible for the podcast have created a whole wacky world within a Burbank, California neighborhood. The protagonist, Doug, ostensibly is trying to crack the case of who is using his garbage can as a drug drop. But really that’s just a doorway to all sorts of shenanigans involving an accident-prone attorney, a house that’s also a nightclub/arcade/pizza parlor/car wash, a mean father-in-law (who also runs a muffler empire), a DEA agent who does stakeouts with his mom, legendary frisbee golf players, mean foosball players, Jan that Movie (listen to learn), and a weaselly optometrist. Speaking of which, here’s Doug talking about his teenage son, who was prescribed transition lenses:
I wound up binge-listening to all the episodes over a weekend and was cracking up the whole time. I don’t know what sort of mind can come up with a Simon & Garfunkel alternate version of the Cheers theme song, but I’m totally here for it!
The Patreon offers bonus episodes, which are equally entertaining. Here’s an excerpt about a new product that sounds perfect… other than the fire hazard: Don’t just trust my judgment on this, trust Eliza Skinner:
Or my buddy Howard:
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have some Jannie Cakes for breakfast…
Howdy folks, “Honest Donny” here, and we’re really excited about the new car dealership I just opened at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in D.C.
It’s easy to find – just look for the big white house! If that doesn’t work, maybe we’ll add one of those floppy people with no backbone. No, not the Republican members of Congress – although I understand your confusion. I mean one of these:
This month, we’ve got a great deal on some electric cars and tanks… er, I mean trucks.
These babies will really protect you when the rioting starts! (The bad kind, not the tourists visits the J6 folks did.)
Now I know in the past I’ve said some disparaging things about electric cars. Like:
“Electric cars are good if you have a towing company.”
And I said electric car makers “are looking to destroy our once great USA. MAY THEY ROT IN HELL.” And that President Joe Biden sold autoworkers “down the river with his ridiculous all Electric Car Hoax.” And promoting electric vehicles “was the idea of the Radical Left Fascists, Marxists, & Communists.”
But that was before I met this fascist. I want you to meet my new manager, Elon.
He’s a great American… well, he’s South African, but potato/po-tah-toe, right? And he’s making these Teslas – it’s a company he founded! (Oh, sorry, actually, he didn’t start the company, he just invested in it, then wrested control from the founders and tried to claim credit for starting it. Hmm, that’s a situation that could never happen with our government.)
Let me tell you more about these beauties… they’re red, of course, to match my tie, and my hat. And Elon took inspiration from the German automakers to design them. You know, he takes a lot of inspiration from Germany… you might even say he spends most of his time doing a German salute.
And if you put these automobiles into self-driving mode, they’ll take control of the wheel and do all the driving, so you can focus on putting on your orange tanner and combing your hair into a nice cotton candy shape that covers your bald spots.
And the tires, they’re fully inflated… because just like with the economy, inflation is good!
I can put you into one of these babies for just $35,000… or five dozen eggs. You’d better lock down this deal before you get locked up for saying anything bad about me.
We also take trade-ins. Just push, pull, or drag Chuck Schumer down here and we’ll give you a real sweetheart deal, without any sort of negotiations at all, just like Chuckie did for me.
And if you buy now, I’ll throw in a free* pair of gold sneakers. (*you’ll just need to pay the fealty fee of $400… it’s standard for deals like this).
Come on down to Honest Donny’s car lot at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. You can take public transportation… wait, I probably defunded that because it’s “woke.” Maybe take a Cybertruck Uber. Unless it’s snowing.
A week ago, a winter storm dumped about 10 inches of snow on our fair city. Friday we got a couple more inches. Much to the delight of an early 90s one-hit-wonder Canadian reggae musician.
And much to my dismay.
I’m not a winter person. Never have been. Maybe it was growing up in Arkansas, which is warmer most of the time… combined with the fact when it DID get cold in the foothills of the Ozarks, our home’s only heat sources were three small propane heaters (one in the living room, one in the back bedroom, one in the bathroom). We couldn’t leave them on all night (for both safety and economic reasons) so when we got up in the morning, we had to strike a match, turn on the gas flow, light that sucker up and huddle around it.
Oh, and the bathroom only had a tub, not a shower. My dad paid a buddy to put one in, but it was installed in a different, uninsulated room at the very back of the house. Sometimes the water coming out of the shower head would turn to icicles (exaggerating a bit, but it sure felt chilly back there).
Never learned to ski. My few attempts were always on Midwestern hills with man-made snow, which turned to ice, which made falling a real treat. And I fell a lot!
But there’s a special place in hell reserved for those folks who say “If it’s already cold, it may as well snow. I like snow. It looks so pretty!”
Yes, it looks pretty for about an hour. Then you realize it’s all over your driveway. And the sidewalks. And the roads. And then turns into a gray, ugly mess that sticks around way too long. (BTW, “gray, ugly mess that sticks around way too long” is what Mrs. Dubbatrubba calls me.)
Yeah, snow in the winter is a real treat. The shoveling. The chance of busting your butt on a patch of ice with every step you take. With dogs, it’s even “prettier” when their pee turns half of your backyard yellow… and their poops are magically preserved in the snow. You never see that on anyone’s Instagram feed.
Oh, and you “just bundle up” people? You can join the “I wish it would snow” people in hell. Yes, layers help you stay warm. But it takes 20 minutes to gear up, and you wind up looking like the little brother in A Christmas Story.
I’ll take shorts, a t-shirt and flip-flops any day of the year. (Yes, I know, I live in the wrong city.)
But the top reason I hate snow is this:
That’s my friend Vinnie’s wife’s car. Or it was her car. She’s OK. They live in Maryland, on a country road. Without snow, it’s two lanes wide. But when snow falls, it turns into single track… and when you turn a corner and there’s a FedEx truck barreling down the 20 m.p.h. lane going 40, there’s not a whole lot you can do.
People don’t wreck nearly as much in plain old “cold.” Snow creates all sorts of extra traffic issues.
I know I shouldn’t complain. Most winters, Cincinnati is pretty unscathed by heavy snowfall. That said, if you’re one of those snow lovers, you’re welcome to come to our house and take as much as you’d like from our driveway and yard. We’ll even throw in the doggie “presents” free of charge!
If you need me, I’ll be hibernating until I can play pickleball again.
You don’t even need a Mission Purse. You just need to take action.
Don’t take it from me, take it from my writing hero:
When you take action, you become the master of your universe.
“It doesn’t matter how good it is, or how bad… ” Damn straight! No one starts out as a master of their craft. It takes a lot of “bad” to get “good.” Don’t be paralyzed by the fear of “not good enough.”
“Action is hope”… and we could use more of that in our universe, to combat the Dark Side.
On Monday (“Festivus!”), I met a couple of friends downtown for happy hour. Because I’m a cheapskate, I parked at a spot off the grid, where there are no parking meters.
When I came back to the car, I found out my “Secret Santa” had left me a lovely present:
“A free upgrade to my car’s air conditioning? You shouldn’t have!”
“And a lovely glass mosaic too! You’re too kind!”
There was absolutely nothing of value visible in the car… and nothing of value in the glove compartment either, as my new friends soon discovered.
(I can’t believe they didn’t want my tire pressure gauge. Or the owner’s manual for a 2009 Honda CR-V. They’ll regret that later.)
Apparently this is the latest m.o. for “window shoppers” (per my new friends in the auto glass replacement business). They don’t have to see anything of value in the car. They just smash a window, quickly fish for goodies, then move on to the next unsuspecting victim. The car thief equivalent of a scratch-off lottery ticket.
So I saved about $9 in parking fees… and am out $250 for a new window. But tbh, it just as easily could’ve happened if I’d parked at a meter. Downtown was pretty much a ghost town that evening. And I’m not going to beat myself up when it’s the would-be thieves who deserve the punishment.
I hope your holiday season wasn’t quite as smashing!
impossibly4332b32374 on Light. Laughter. Grace.: “I’ve got The Wet Engine on my shelf, and think I read about half of it. Time for another look.” Apr 21, 09:15
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