Years ago, I used to listen to a radio “Shock Jock,” as they were called, named Bubba the Love Sponge. His show was probably the most entertaining way to spend the morning drive anywhere in Central Florida, and even in other states where his show was syndicated. It was borderline crude and blessed with gratuitous amounts of controversial topics, often skirting the line best displayed by cable TV and HBO. It was refreshing in its own way. All the things that may or may not have been important were discussed, but they were talked about in a way that made sense and at least made you think a little about a topic, sometimes making a listener more interested in something thought to be obscenely boring at first.
Then some pitchfork wielding soccer mom brigade accidentally flipped on the radio and listened to the show for a minute, and to their horror, their teenage children enjoyed the show. And of course, no good parent would ever dream of letting their child think for themselves or find interest in anything that was not written on the 30-year plan set forth at birth by the parents for him to go to med school, marry a nice Catholic girl and live in the house next door with a white picket fence.
God forbid the kid show interest in anything that delved into the moral gray area between normal people and the zealots that follow faith with blinders.
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