What the f…! Did you see that, Mitch? I tried to swear just then and nothing came out! How the f…. am I going to make it in this…. this… ?? D… ! It happened again! This can only mean one thing. We’re being EDITED FOR TELEVISION!
Sorry for all the yelling and gesticulation (though you probably didn’t see the latter). You always seem to catch me at a bad time. In any case, as you can see, some alien intelligence appears to be manipulating our speech in real-time. When I say “alien intelligence”, I probably should be saying “corporate overlords,” as in the ne’erdowells who run our label, Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc. It’s a lot more likely that they are behind this sanitization of our every utterance. You have to ask yourself, after all … who benefits? Who else? Motherf…ers! (Oooh, man, that’s irksome.)
I am told that the gosh-darned blaggards (See: now I’m self editing. This is how tyranny starts!) are looking to put us on tour, but only if we clean up our behavior a bit. Hegemonic is dead set against obscenity of any kind, unless the obscenities in question are being perpetrated upon the bodies of trade union leaders or disobedient peasants who dwell by some geographical accident on top of the company’s most coveted mineral reserves. Shooting, garoting, and the like have their place (namely, 
in the toolbox of their security contractors). But there’s no excuse for foul language… This is a FAMILY company!
They must have gotten word that the Curiosity Rover has actually turned up an opportunity or two for us on Mars, thanks to Mitch Macaphee’s timely intervention through use of advanced telemetry. Nothing a record company like more than free advance work (except perhaps free other work). Anyway, looks like we might be heading to the red planet once we get this album Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick mixed and in the can. They say Mars looks a lot like west Texas this time of year. Neither is the kind of place to raise your kids. And there’s no one there to raise them if… well, you know.
Oh, great. Now Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is humming “Rocket Man” in the mistaken belief that I was asking him to. Jesus F… ing Christ on a bike!
Oh, hello. Just watching the Curiosity rover on Mars. No, we’re not glued to the NASA web site staring at the same low rez images everyone else is poring over. God, no. When you have friends in the world of science, that gets you access, my good fellow. Big Green, of course, has an official mad science advisor in the form of Mitch Macaphee, inventor of Marvin (my personal robot assistant) and thrice honored diplomate of the international college of lunatic physicists. When he heard about this Mars rover at a recent loony conference, he built himself a little home made telemetry device that allows him to … well … take command of the Mars rover. (“Oh, no you didn’t!” we said. But oh, yes he did. )
What do you say to someone who sleeps six and a half days a week? WAKE UP! That might work. I’ve got a little problem in that direction, I admit. It’s prompted me to ask Mitch Macaphee to install some kind of alarm clock function in Marvin (my personal robot assistant). He gave me a look that would melt iron, but w.t.f. – why shouldn’t I expect a sophisticated robot to have a level of functionality one might expect from a ten dollar wristwatch? (Mitch told me to go out and buy a ten dollar wristwatch, actually. He has a point.)