“Whey-hey, and welcome motherfuckers!
You’ve just tuned in to Radio Riot F.M.
The newest, greatest pirate radio station in town
and I’m your host, The Chickenshit Turkey.
After our first song, we’re going to be doing the weather forecast.
By the time that’s finished I want some of you to have called in for a chat,
a request or something like that.
Hey, can you dig my shit man, I’m a motherfucking poet.
Anyway, here’s our phone number, it’s 01639 8264.
And remember calls cost between 38 and 40 pence a minute,
so if your parents don’t approve of those kinds of prices kids,
you’ll just have to wait until they nip off for a shite.
Well, here we go with the first song of the show and it’s….
wait for it.
‘Paranoid’ by Black-Fucking-Sabbath.
Yeah alright, you’re just too much, Ozzy baby.
Just too motherfucking much!”
“Whey-hey, The Chickenshit Turkey here again and you’ve just been listening to the Sabbath. Gonna kick straight into the weather forecast now, so here goes.
There’s motherfucking rain and wind and shit, every-fucking-where today.
So stay in the god damn house, O.K. cocksuckers?
Because that shit’ll kill ya!
Can you dig what I’m saying fuckface, eh?
Everybody stay in and get pissed right up, yeah alright.
That’s unless your motherfucking arse is ugly.
If your motherfucking arse is ugly, get out there, you deserve the motherfucking rain and wind and shit.
I hope it gets ya Medusa fuckers good, real good!”
R-r-r-r-ing, ring, R-r-r-r-ing, ring.
“Hey, there’s our first phone call of the show.
Yo, motherfucker, you’re on air with The Chickenshit Turkey,
What can I do for you?”
“Hi, this is Tony. I’d like to make a request!”
“Oh yeah, Tony, what kind of fucking request do you want, eh. What do you think I am, motherfucking psychic?”
“No, no, sorry Mr Turkey!”
“Hey, don’t you Mr fucking Turkey me, it’s The Chickenshit Turkey, Jesus H Christ, what’s up with you motherfuckers out there?”
“Well, I’m sorry Chickenshit Turkey. I was just trying to be polite!”
“Listen, Tool, or whatever the fuck you said your name was, just get on with the request, you twat!”
“Oh, O.k. well, I’d like to request ‘The Lady In Red’ by Chris De Burg, for me and my fiancée Judy, it’s our song!”
“You fucking what? Your song? Wait a minute, is that her I can hear giggling in the back round?”
“Yes, yes it is!”
“Hey, she sounds quite horny, although not quite fulfilled. Say, is she in need of a few extra inches, cos she fucking sounds like she’s missing ‘em?
I could always come over and brush out those cobwebs which you can’t reach, eh, what you think, Tool?”
“What, is that it, just a simple fucking no?”
“Well, listen here Tool, you motherfucker, I was just trying to be helpful, I bet she looks like a bulldog chewing a wasp anyway. And as for your pathetic request, man I spit on it, man I fucking piss on it, ‘The Lady in Red’, shit, I’d rather fuck cacti than play that bunch of fucking vomit on this station.
You’ve got absolutely no fucking taste whatsoever and the only treatment that I would advise for this is a suicide pact between you and your stinking mattress. What’s her name again?
Broody, or something stupid like that, isn’t it, but I’m feeling charitable today so I’ll play something for the two of you dirty bastards anyway!”
“O.K. listeners, this next fucker’s for Tool and Broody.
And it’s…..wait for it.
‘Smack My Bitch Up’ by The Prodigy.
So I’ll see you at the other side of that, O.K. fuckers.
And remember kids.
Alcohol is not funny.
I repeat (Belch!)
Alcohol is not funny.
Unless you add some cocaine.
See you all in a couple of minutes.