Category: News

Dr Ed Elcott here, grateful to the Phil Henry or Hendrie Show (forgive me but I’ve never been shy about admitting that my early 90’s drug use slow roasted* my mind) for giving me the platform needed for the dissemination of the principles of the ELCOTT as articulated in our primary liturgical and scriptural text, The Big Thick One.
I’m always amused and intrigued by certain individuals who, knowing the resurrection of the ELCOTTA was driven by alcoholic college friends in 1991**, assume ELCOTT The Next Step is some kind of radio morning show shock jock routine or the ravings of a syphilitic TV infomercial host with financial problems. I say to those individuals that their meat thermometer should be checked*** for they are surely furnaced.****
Some people say to me “Ed shouldn’t you simply say nothing about your background in adult films?” I reply “Rita Facesit wants to ‘tie a rope around it.*****’ What am I to do? She’s simply ‘draping it over the window sill.******'” No, I am forthcoming about my past. I have been honest and scholarly about ELCOTT’s beginnings in the 19th Century with my great-great grandfather Heavner Elcott. And I have been more than honest about my status as a priesterly in ELCOTT being the result of having my pants pulled down by some fraternity brothers who then elected themselves OverLords because they kept their pants up longer than me. There. You happy? The modern history of ELCOTT The Next Step.
And yet I persevere, knowing that ELCOTT’s message of ego draining******* and mind-wiping******** will keep matches lit.*********
*’slow roasted’ is an Elcottian term that means, in specific brain terms, ‘damaged’
**This has been described and explained in detail in earlier ELCOTT texts.
***You are headed to the Furnace or Hell
****You’re now in the Furnace
*****Damage one’s reputation
******Expose oneself
*******Getting rid of one’s ego at the atomic level in life’s decision-making
********An ELCOTT method by which the memory is emptied of obscene, carnal or pornographic imagery. A very temporary step, one that many Elcottians engage in frequently over a lifetime
*********The soul will be free of lingering doubt and free to evolve just as a lit match cleans the bathroom air of stench and other foul odors.

Yes, I’m quitting coaching before I lose what’s left of my mind. Now, I could go into the wins and losses, the league titles, the lack of league titles, the nosey parents and the cheap creeps that dole out the money like its a rare museum antiquity and they’re doing you a favor just letting you look at it. That’s the part that frosts me. “Here. Here’s your money. Why we’re paying you is anybody’s guess but, sure okay, here’s your money. On second thought….” And then they pull it away for a half-second and then move it toward your out-stretched hand again and then, for a final time pull it away and then, finally, move it close enough for you to grab if you lean forward far enough, almost bending at a forty-five degree angle. You see the time I just wasted describing getting paid in high school football? So I guess I “went into it.”
I’m a teacher, at the basic level. That means I want people to get it right. And yet, I’m so done with standing at a wipe board breaking down a play for 40 kids with fingers two knuckles deep in their noses that I could weep. That’s why I won’t even bother to spell check this next sentence.
I liked playiong for Father MNvQuarters just finde but whebn he busted intto that high pitched sqwueaky Iriosh lilt of his i’d retifreds to the lockere rpom. asnd rjunn my head repatedly ibnto a locked.
There. That felt good. Be watching for my new podcast, ”
Do You Need Your MA-MA!?” Coming soon.

Yes, Mother and I visited Wheeler Resort to relax, take one of Deane’s vaunted “yogo” classes, enjoy the aromatherapy ravine and have a delicious “new meat/vegetable democracy” dinner in The Emerelda Cafe. But when Dr Elcott slid into the driver’s seat next to Mother, ahead of us motoring north, I tensed up and decided to just keep my mouth shut for the 6 hour drive. You see, I like Dr. Elcott just fine but when he butts into me and Mother’s plans, sliding into the driver’s seat, with the left arm out the window and pointing out sites I’ve seen a million times before, I get the creeped out feeling he’s trying to act like “daddy” with me in the backseat and an all-day sucker pushed into my mouth. I’m almost 50, thank you very much. So when we pulled into Novato and stopped at Safeway, Mother and Dr Elcott picked up steaks and potato salad and I went next door to Irving’s for a magazine (yes, okay, it was an adult one, feel better?) and some Twizzler sticks. I had it in mind that I’d relax in my room (mother and I always book two suites, adjoining) reading my magazine and mindlessly eating Twizzlers. Later, that night, I felt as if I’d been probed by an invisible finger and I made the mistake of going on the air and telling Mother. And what happens? The whole thing becomes the subject of a giggle festival on the Hendrie show with everybody assuming I spent the afternoon pounding my d****. So I looked at the pictorials and the back-of-the-magazine ads, reached down for Twizzlers from the bag on the floor and relaxed. And that means Larry spanked the day away? Guess what? I’d rather do that then hang with Mother and Dr Elcott while he gas-bags that Elcott religious claptrap well into the night.

Yea, thank you. I have a request in now to the Phil Hendrie people but I wanted to alert any people that may not be aware yet of my second thoughts and doubts about the show that aired recently with me being interviewed by Phil Hendrie and the others he has. I have now officially requested, through my attorney, Delores Blasingame of Riverside, CA, that the Phil Hendrie Show remove from its archives and the way it plays its shows the show that just aired with me talking about (and I used the term to be relatable but not graphic and dirty) spanking or as I termed it The Spank. (And also Mr Hendrie titled the show, without my permission, “The Spank Chronicles”)
I had no idea that during his so-called pre-show Mr Hendrie would be laughing and giggling and setting me up to be the fool. My attorney assures me that Mr Hendrie laughing when I made the good faith effort to keep the conversation up out of the toilet by referring to m*sturbation as “spank central” or simply “spankland” was a provocation and done to make me angry and fumble up what I was trying to say. Therefore, in accordance with the demand made by my attorney to Mr Hendrie’s attorney, Frankland F Grey Esq that the show in question be deleted from the Phil Hendrie Show archives, so-called, I hereby demands that the show in question be deleted from the Phil Hendrie Show archives and I guess I just said that already. See, this is why I get pointed at and laughed at by Hendrie and them. Its because I try to do things legal and with the right word combos and if I screw up just once Hendrie and them are on me like stink on you-know-what.
Please do not listen to “The Spank Chronicles.” And I know there are people saying ” why are you talking about it? Now people will listen out of curiosity.” My wife April says that and I say to her and to you if you’re one of those people wondering why I done it, or I mean, did it. I say because I want it on the records that Steve Bosell was opposed to this show airing even though at first I didn’t care. And I was doubly opposed to people thinking I was endorsing spankism even though we showed that that one guy died when he couldn’t stop and got caught into a spank loop. Forget I brought it up.

As you know, I had a tattoo removed. The tattoo was spur of the moment, honoring the Chipmunk Squad, a new park and beach patrol that we thought better about and disbanded. But there I was with the ‘munk tat on my ***. It was painful going on. But removal? Pure hell on earth. Like having my skin removed. I know there are some people out there who take great joy in knowing I’m taking a laser to my *** cheek. Well, to you people (and you know who you are)…Weeeee! Have fun.

Many of you have seemed to have formed the wrong opinion of my beautiful and talented wife Marcy, the mother of our..the two of us…son, Josh, named after his paternal grandfather who was, interestingly enough named Kevin but there was no way I was going to name any son of mine Kevin. I’m really digressing to the point of irritating and that’s on me. What I am trying to say is that there is no woman on earth that I raise higher or love more than my wife Marcy, the mother of my son Josh, which I have already pointed out. I’m not very good at writing things. I believe in the spoken word. The conversation. Two men (or women or a mixture of such or the same) bellying up to a bar and getting it said. You know? That’s why this writing stuff, as far as I am concerned, is strictly from hunger. However, since I requested the space and time from the Hendrie people, let me use it wisely. What I want to say, pursuant to the Thursday June 23, 2022 show, is that my wife is not some grunting, slobbering thing, leaning over a bloodied and ragged piece of meat, devouring it like some walker from that Night Of The Living Dead! She was enthusiastically dining on the Porter-Ted, 36 ounces of the best meat you’ve ever shoved toward the back of your throat. Sure she drooled a bit and made noises like she was eating a member of the Alexandria community..,.I better stop. That was an unfortunate reference to The Walking Dead. I’m messing this up. Marcy is a good and pure woman who has supported me and our son through every one of life’s challenges. She scared me when she went after that Porter-Ted like she was just another leg-dragger in a herd of skin jobs. I wish I could write this better. Marcy is a good woman. But she likes our steak. Maybe too much. Maybe to the point of it being unnatural. But she likes it. And she loves me. And, yes, our son Josh (I forgot him, not really but maybe) I don’t write too good but by God I run one hell of a restaurant. Ted’s……………..of Beverly Hills. Come on in for a Ted, today.

A lot of people think that because I’m married to Bobbie Dooley, I don’t have opinions of my own and I don’t have the guts to express them anyway even if I did. Because I don’t have many opinions of my own but I do feel very strongly about one thing. I wrangled a job as a DJ at The Reptile, a new dance club in Perner, one town over from Corona. And I even picked out my DJ name, DJ Stee D and I was gonna play all the big jams of the day. I got me ACRAZE, I got me Don’t Be Shy by Tiesto, all of it. I got it all on my laptop with Thump and Mackie gear. I mean I had it going on and I had a new pair of balloon pants with the tricolored derby, stilt sandals and thong tuxedo. There it is. And then what do you think happened?
Bobbie calls me up and asks me what all the stuff was jammed into the family room/veranda and I told her about me DJing at The Reptile and she goes, oh you can’t do that. You have to carry the Western Estates Homeowners Association flag in before I make my entrance at the HOA meeting and then hit play on the boom box for “Hail To The Chief.” You gotta do it every Friday night. And I told her that she could get Dylan or Seth to do it, our oldest sons, and she goes oh no that’s date night and they need to be out, socializing and going out with girls to connect with their fathers in business and all that horse …..horse droppings. And I lost it and said she looked like a full dork parading in to “Hail To The Chief” and I felt like her little slob leading her in and I admit I was angry.
Well, she went number two all over my dream. And number one. She’s cut me off and ordered me off of Twitter and now Fridays will be me, as usual, walking into the HOA meeting carrying the HOA flag and looking like her punk. And now I don’t even have Twitter to go to and complain. Stay tuned.

Frank Grey here. Whirlwind trip to my old stomping grounds of Miami with the Hendrie Show. Talked with Deke Geberini, a guy I’d been in the club business with back in the day. It was propped up near a swimming pool with a drink I never saw it touch in the hour and a half we talked. Also saw Load Wilson, the Miami Dolphin, one of the few left from the whatever team that was that didn’t lose any. Games that is. Load’s living in Sweet Pine now, down near Avocado City, one of these high-end (pardon my language) retirement communities. While I was doing all of this, Margaret was on the phone screaming it’s guts loose at Orson Hormel at Dicklin Syndicate for screwing something up having to do with it’s column “A Little Bird Told Me.” Bottom line is, we’re back in California, flew out late last night about half past 8. Things here are just as weird as they are in Florida, if not weirder, but there’s my table at Ted’s of Beverly Hills, my favorite restaurant and the guys I play cards with, Nuts Westerly and it’s brother Dates, tv producers. (yea, that’s the gag, Nuts and Dates and if you don’t have Nuts you don’t have Dates. Get it?)

This been a quick trip to Florida on account Kirby boy, Jackies dog, is old and we thought we’d have to baby sit him..or I mean, Mr Hendrie would have to baby sit him because Jackie had jury duty but then when she got there the way they pick juries made it so that Jackie didn’t have to stay and everyone including Jackie got to go home and so this past week we’ve been eating ice cream, or I mean I’ve been eating ice cream and hanging out on Ft Lauderdale Beach