Bill Freedman woke up in Bucolic City like he always did; the clock radio clicked on to the familiar sound of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.
He hated listening in the summer, but what could you do? It was the only talk radio he could (barely) stomach.
“Oh great, more reruns,” he thought, as he listened to what was clearly an old conversation about whether bilingualism was necessary in all parts of the country.
The CBC was known for its long hiatuses in original programming during the summer. Some of their regular hosts had longer breaks than most school teachers. Or did he remember hearing something about a lockout of the regular talent? Hard to tell the difference really.
“Wait a minute,” he thought, “that’s Peter Gzowski talking. I’d recognize that affable, cigarette-roughened voice anywhere. Isn’t he DEAD?”
The conversation on the radio was interrupted by a long silence, and then Bill heard his favorite host groan.
It was a disturbing moan that ended upwards, almost as if Gzowski was about to ask one of his trademark, apparently goofy questions that was really a minefield in disguise.
“Peter Gzowski want brains!”
The guest’s screams were horribly truncated, and then Bill heard the sound of crunching, smacking. It was disgusting.
“Now play Life is a Highway,” Gzowski said beteen mouthfuls, and Tom Cochran’s tune drowned out the awful feeding.
As he bopped along to the road anthem, Bill thought the CBC had never been so interesting.