Category: News

Have you ever been so hungry that you…if you already bought baby food on account of you got a baby…ate baby food because you were out of actual food? These are the questions that I’ll be asking on my new podcast “I Got Questions.”
Have you ever wondered if there is anywhere on the Sun we could land a space ship (I almost wrote ‘space shop’ which is also an interesting thought: Do we have space ships or are they really just space shops where we’re tinkering our way into deep space) and begin some basic exploration of the Sun and its different areas? I have. Have you ever asked yourself, as I have, if you could go to the Shroud of Turin, get some DNA and…wait for it…clone Jesus! (the answer to that one is,. no you can’t on account of the fact that the Shroud of Turin is a hoax and a gag! Yea, bet you didn’t think about that one? A monk or some guy, whoever, decided to roll around in a sheet, leave his…or her…well, wait, it wouldn’t had have been a her because you’d see the outline of breastes..mark on it and tried to fake out whoever seen it) Have you ever wondered why …..I mean there’s millions of questions that you or even I could ask. And we’ll ask them on “I’m Jeff Dowdder…And I Got Questions.” But I don’t know when because I can’t get Mr Hendrie on the phone.

This is Don Berman reporting. Flooding, high winds, torrential rains, surf that would freak the shorts off of a Corky Carroll or Hobie Alter…. yes it was all part of a horrifying January here in Southern California, one we all hope will not be repeated anytime soon. How about not until next January. Eh? Huh? Yah, that’s right. This is Don Berman reporting and I can assure you, that when it comes to covering the weather, the entire Channel 19 news staff…..will probably be taking a coffee break because, while we are available to do the one-shots from flooded barns or someone’s house sailing out to sea, Goldie Showers and the entire Channel 19 weather team…Rick Wett, Miranda Blowhouse, Charles Hotly and Gary Flood…are all over it like a bad smell. And by that I mean they’re good at what they do. Because even a bad smell serves its purpose. It’s how I know L. Ron Martin has arrived for work in the morning. Hahaha. Joking of course, L. Ron. You know I bow to you and your organized crime connections… I mean your organizational teamwork and skills. This is Don Berman reporting.

Hi Ted Bell here. I can’t remember exactly if I did one of these little philhendrieshow.com posts. I know many others have been asked to do them. Not sure if I was. Oh well, I suppose two things will happen. I’ll be reminded that yes, I indeed was invited to write one and I just forgot. Or I’ll be informed that no I wasn’t, that this is the first time and, you know, have fun Ted, and I’ll be sitting out here like some monkey who’s the after-thought invite to the party, showing up wearing a bowtie that’s too tight and holding an inappropriate gift like a, I don’t know, a vibrator or some asinine thing like that. Let me stop right there. I’m off point and probably talking too much about myself. And yet I wanted to talk about myself, about overcoming the disastrous promotions, the Easter Ted (the biggest stiff in the history of our restaurant) Ted-O-Ween (what a stiff that was)…just every bad idea you could have promotionally, I had. You know how I dealt with it? You really want to know? This will sound mental but I’m not a destructive or violent person. I internalize. Everything that goes wrong I take it out on myself. How did I deal with the disaster of 2022’s promotions? You know what, I can’t tell you because some of you know my wife Marcy and may contact her and try to get her to sign the papers on me. But here’s a clue. It took 3 rolls of paper towels and two cans of Fabreeze to make my Mercedes something I’d want to drive again.
This whole thing was a mistake. Have a good year.

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.