BellGab.com Archive

I'm curious to see what this topic might dredge up.

For no particular reason I was remembering being the proud owner of one of these. For a minute I thought I might be having a false memory because it seems so phallic ludicrous.

I don't know if there's already a thread for this. Just had a huge crazy ass boom in NorCal. Very strange.

Here's a few for starters:

Hillary Clinton releases "tell all" autobiography.

Jodie Foster announces the birth of her first child.

Gainfully employed George Senda is seen driving his new car in Martinez.

George Noory interviews Art Bell on C2C.

Major Ed Dames says "See I told you so!"

My name is Aldous, and I am a dork. I have been using The West Wing television series as an entertainment escape for over ten years. The only DVD box set that I own. My relationship with TWW intensifies or recedes sporadically but never goes away. Recently a new podcast started up which discusses each episode of TWW with much enthusiasm, some criticism, and often brilliance. Yay! More food for my addiction! Co-hosted by Joshua Malina and Hrishi Hirway. Malina played Will Bailey in the series.
http://thewestwingweekly.com/

I first heard this dude interviewed on The Joe Rogan Experience but his podcast has quickly become my go to for yuks. His spoken promos/ads alone are some of the funniest stuff I've ever heard.
http://duncantrussell.com

Dog Is Love

You can't always get what you want but you always get what you don't.

All you need is love, something to smoke, papers, and a lighter.

You're only as smart as you think you're not.

Freedom is expensive.

We all await the Frisbee Messiah. In the meantime, throw 'em if you got 'em!

...those are just the ones from last weekend.

Spring is on it's way
Summer is soon to follow
Art back on the air

Rat eating haterz
Chatting with Art on BellGab
Aldous excited

Horseys make their own porn.

There is no god and everybody who thinks that there is should go to hell.

WRITING IN ALL CAPS MEANS YOU ARE PROBABLY CRAZY.

The dude still abides, online.

SoMe people are weirder than me. So it's ok.

Don't feed the trolls, but if you do, give them something that gives them heartburn or trips them out.

Not all Ausie dudes are gay.

It's not that there's a lot of weirdos on the interwebs, it's that craigslist axe murders take out the wrong people. (Apologies Mr. Clemens for the modernized plagiarism.)

George's Mustache is not a hideous creature as I once thought.  It is a WMD.

There will never be another Lena.

There will never be another Art.

And other stuff what I forget to remember.

I just discovered this podcast- http://themoth.org/
Several episodes in and I'm hooked!

I found one of these in Sacramento. I had no clue what it was. My buddy did the investigating and found this. http://deaddrops.com/
What the hell does it mean? Is it useful? How can it help us bring peace and harmony to the world or at least, have some fun?

Here's a place to stick images and ponderings from your trip to wherever you are or wherever you've been.

I'll go first, since I'm going first.

October 25th, 2013
Location: American River Parkway, Northern California
Boarding the Coast Starlight train tomorrow. 

Trouble with you is the trouble with me. Got two good eyes but we still don't see.

No shit. From my porch now. Stay tuned?

Sometime back I posted a thing about still having friends from some BBS live gatherings in the 90's and how virtual threads can become real life rugs.  Well, the idea of an in person gathering is a subject that I wanted to open up on its own as it comes up in various threads from time to time.  Feel free to throw anything on this wall just to see what sticks and, who knows?  Maybe it will happen.

Here's some stuff to get started.  Maybe sometime in Spring.  But how about instead of Las Vegas, we make it more of a journey?  Kind of like how our relationship with Art, and the show itself has been.  It involves movement of ideas, and time and junk. So let's take a train, the Southwest Chief, say from Albuquerque, to Kingman.  That way we listen to Dark Matter on the train.  Also, the train provides togetherness, but freedom of movement and association as well.  I would definitely be in the club car putting away dabs Blue Moons with the vaguely loveable assholes of this zoo but nice people could congregate where they choose.  We'd pass through The Navajo Nation, let's say on a full moon.  Then Flagstaff for a smoke break.  Arriving in Kingman after midnight, we could take the 3am or more reasonably scheduled Greyhound to sin town.  Maybe another night drive by whatever means chartered bus $ to or through Parumph, while listening to DM, discussions of show following in some dive casino/hotel.  Yes we could invite Art to stop by after work to shoot the shit but I don't want to creep the guy out.

Of course, I'm physiologically in need of certain meds which don't exactly fly in the state of legalized whoring and gambling so I prefer the Seattle or Portland to San Fransisco Starlight Amtrak route.  (Plus, I'm effin bored by and in Vegas) Amtrak is not super cheap, but it's fun, and socially viable.  Possibly, dare I say it, fun? 

PS- Jaz the Munda, I'm in for 50 American on your travel.  Same for Faulkie.

Throwing my sombrero in the ring here for a place to tell messed up, funny, weird, instructive, or transformative tales and possibly, band camp stories.  Come tomorrow, September 16, 2013, the GNS thread will be taken off life support and or but so here’s a place to shAaare (read M. Savage style) your experiences.

Viva Mexico

For a while now I’ve pondered how to roll out the Mexican Prison genre of Burbankia Lore, (Section 11:11 of the Dewey and How Decimal System, as utilized in the Amazing Dope Tales wing of the Cosmic Hard Knocks Library- currently housed in my mind), but it’s too much work.  I’ve never kept a journal.  I did then.  I thought to peruse it for inspiration but declined, thinking I’d be happier remembering flavor over ingredients, insight over detail.

The thing is, Mexico has a Napoleonic justice system, meaning the state has 1 year in which to press charges against a foreign visitor.  In the meantime they house you.  Mexican citizens are lucky enough to have 3 years in which to be charged so Detective Juan Holmes has plenty of time to get the facts in the case straight.  In the meantime you work it out with the guilty and the not yet charged.  But they throw the whole enchilada at the wall just to see what sticks, how shaky you seem, and therefore, what financial negotiations might be fed with souped up picante stew.  I say this as a way of saying that HOW I got to be in a Mexican prison is interesting, but a much larger story than I can attempt to type at a sitting, or than you would want to read.  And it matters not one bit for the sake of a story.

Mexico has changed since the 80’s and 90’s when I lived or traveled there frequently. Employment with cartels surpasses employment with local and federal enforcement and pays better.  But the enforcement dudes were always the lowest, dumbest bastards that justified the nasty images the term Mexican Federale conjures up.  I’ve had lots of adventures with these guys and they roll one way only, well two- crooked and dangerous.  To deal with them properly (when you have to) you must first recognized they are 500+ years into the Stockholm Syndrome, sexually repressed, misogynistic, uninformed, and big baby momma’s boys.  And those are their good points.

Generally you get thrown in jail first, prison later.  The dudes roaming the streets with US gifted trucks and armaments are mostly kids that are usually commandeered by some senior, heavily mustached ass.  The commandante in charge of booking us was busy with hookers and cash and had visible powder residue on his unruly ‘stache.  Mostly he let the incompetent underlings try to deal with the paper game involved but they were more interested in watching Miami Vice on the satellite.  See, this is not even really a cop station, but is a hotel that was taken over by the anti-narcotic gang.  This is convenient when you need a base of operations, your own hotel.

In the basement they set up some barred holding cells.  This was the jail.  So I’m with a crew of indigenous extended family members and my wife and some of our nuclear family.  When traveling you never know when you will be roadblocked and hassled.  Foreigners become targets, vitamins become drogas, and etc.  So there we are, my wife is pregnant and they have her in a separate area where she is safe actually, but this is because I was a real insistent ass to the commandante about her.  So a few days pass and every day I ask the gimp guard, when he comes down, to get the backpacks locked in an adjacent cell so my lady can have her vitamins and womanly things,  Fortunately, local women, friends of ours, were bringing her food and checking on her.  Every day doofus would come down and ignore my request.  I finally yelled some obscenity at him to piss him off and get his boss’s attention. My cellmates got bent out of shape because they chose to remain extremely compliant but I’m not very good at that.  After the guard left there were some hard feelings and rhetoric.  I said “F you guys, I need a joint.”  It just flowed out of my mouth without thinking about how ridiculous it was.  “Where are you planning on getting a joint asshole?” said one of my cellmates.  I told him that I didn’t know but when I did, he was not getting a toke, not a one.  The cell grew smaller.

Next day, the dude comes down again, I call him a MFer, and he gets all pissed and grabs his keys to open the cell and do something.  He does and we’re yelling, shoving, he’s grabbing his sidestick.  The commandante heard us and yells down “Que chingado esta pasando pinche cabrones?”  He huffs down the stairs clearly bothered by the commotion.  “He’s bitching at me to get some shit for his lady boss.”  “Well what the hell does he want?”  “I don’t know some fucking vitamins and clothes or something.”  “Well get the shit asshole, what the hell is your problem?  If she needs her vitamins then get them!!!” (Mexicans are big on vitamins)

So dude is all pissed, opens up the next cell, brings my wife’s backpack into my cell so I can get what she needs out.  But there’s Mexican mota stuck to the bottom of the backpack, they had it in there with “evidence” and it must have been an angel that stuck that on there.  I brush the weed off while I’m messing with the pack, hand him the stuff. 

“Hey” I say to my friend, give me a smoke.  I take out the tobacco, refill, spark up.  All me, no sharing.
The next day they moved us to the state prison.  A city where anything goes, but you can’t leave. Designed for 900, it held 1600.  The bullet pock marks were still on the walls where the Army had quelled a riot a few months before.  You were supposed to have a knife that you checked with the guard when visiting administration offices.  Conjugal visits, to order.  Rent a cell for this since privacy was nearly non-existent.  Dances, where local women came on buses to lighten an inmate’s day.  Furniture and other items were manufactured in there, mostly in the halls outside overcrowded cells.  Beans and corn tortillas twice a day for free.  Other food items, and everything else, for purchase.  Lots of dope.  Lots of natives displaced from their lands.  The only things that were no nos were handguns and hard liquor.  The things is, everyone was already busted so, no prob.
Anyhoo, that’s it for now.  Maybe an intro to some of the stuff that went down, and what I learned from it, when I’m done being nauseous from typing. 

Internet anonymity is great and everything and is a part of the pleasure of doing business on this forum.  It is also the means by which a lot of bullcrap gets ejaculated into the data stream, which is fine by me, but amongst virtual friends such as us, it can result in a certain fogginess of distance.  Inspired by a couple of  (you know who you ares) getting to the point of virtual foot massages, I decided to throw down and let my hair hang in a new thread, giving permission to whomever wisheth, the opportunity to tell us something more about themselves than may gleamed from posts.  Let this thread be where Bgabbers can choose who to PM, meet up with, rub feet, whatever.
I cherish my personal firewalls but here’s my expanded member profile offering:
Somewhere it was said that I’m a dude playing a dude playing a dude.  While this is correct, the dude playing the dude playing the dude has a much stranger life than the dude the dude is playing.  I was raised a young Chicano child until I figured out I was an American.  Dad was instrumental in the civil rights era, especially the formation of the civil rights bill, the United Farm Workers and such.  My summers were spent in the back of a ’66 Impala with Cesar Chavez and 2 of his german shepards, with my mom and dad in the front seat traveling the west.  Very democratic party/socialist type environment.  Surrounded by leftist Hollywood stars, media, cops, threats, and spooks, I saw lots of weird social/political games in day-glo relief, hanging with hipster college kids taking a year off to follow their altruistic yearnings.  I saw strikers beaten by bikers and cops and crooked play on both sides.  It taught me well.
Somehow I ended up befriending many other of the movers of that era, many of my favorite authors and influences.  I somehow, accidently, had face time with the Dalai Llama twice. (Not a Buddhist!?)  In the fashion of a psychedelic Forrest Gump, I also ran with the “in” 60’s mavericks and most of the crew you all would recognize from reading “Acid Dreams”, the story of the Acid Age, the CIA, MkUltra etc etc.  I in fact, was the dude Terence Mckenna asked what I thought about going on the radio with Art.  I said do it.  Danced at many a dead show yes, but a dead head no.  Stephen and Ina May Gaskin (The Farm, Spiritual Midwifery) are my 22 year old son’s spiritual godparents/midwives.  Smoked the spirit molecule with Dr. Leary whose BS I miss. (The motto of the Neo-American church, based at Leary’s Millbrook mansion, was “Victory Over Horseshit”, while bullshit was considered a sacred activity.)  I also spent many nights with drums and coyotes and brothers and sisters on the reservations in sweats and tipis.  Many.  My out their-ness was thus fortunately contained by virtue of the fact that I was raised by and around traditional native people who already have the language and structure in place to accompany the journeying proclivities of a dicky male doing his best to find his place in the cosmos.  I had an article published in one of the first issues of “Shaman’s Drum” magazine and was soon contacted by a person, living indigenous style in Mexico, whose books on shamanism were among my favorites.  I was suddenly pulled into his family of traditional Mexican native people, including my “tata” Don Jose Matsuwa (Rios), the then 90+ yr old medicine person who many have said was Castaneda’s “real” model for Don Juan.  Luckily, was able to be there for his last 6 years on earth.
These were the circumstances where my partner of 25 years and I found each other in deep Mexico.  Our common interests in ethnobotany and the mysteries of life have kept us engaged with these things and each other since.  We started in a VW van, moved to a bus, then to a farm.  We’ve written, published, and edited various material over the years having to do with the incredible stuff that happens on this journey, about our favorite plant allies, and we’ve also had stuff published about us.  Which IS part of why I love the anonymity here.  The Mrs. Says I should be a philosopher or radio host and I tell her that clearly, in my mind, I am.
Son of the Sonoran Desert, I managed an organic vegetable production racket for the S. AZ market for many years and now cultivate my dreams in Northern California.  I’ve never been on facebook or watched breaking bad, American idle, or the sopranos.  Does that make me a bad person?  I travel but hardly go out.  Raised a hunter, I still like my rifles, but haven’t had a shred of meat in, I dunno, 30 yrs?  Therefore, I don’t hunt anymore except I take down inanimate targets for pleasure.  I’m basically a conservative, gay loving, heterosexual, bible thumping, weed smoking, libertarian freek.  We tend a large garden and work hard to raise our kids and be a healthy presence for our 3 beautiful granddaughters.  Our youngest child is a nine year old boy prodigy, my two older boys work with me and live on the back 40 of the compound, a daughter in college, and sadly, my oldest baby girl passed away due to sudden medical tragedy (29 yrs) at the beginning of this year.  It’s been super tough but also super cosmic, having someone you love more than yourself constantly on your mind… true love.
And BTW, aside from my alter ego potty mouth and purposely sometimes bad attitude, I like to consider myself a fairly nice guy who believes it’s all about Love, and babies, and music, good work, good friends.  And yukking it up fer sure.  So there you go amigos y amigas.  Feeling naked.  Your turn.

Has anybody listened to these guys?  They are a California market morning show with no sacred cows. Funny as hell with a style that Bellgabbers would appreciate. 6 to 9 am Pacific, available streaming on KSTE.COM. Check it out.

A thread for those of us who seem no longer young.  You hit your fifties, hopefully your alive or not in jail, you have a couple of hours to spend and maybe a few federal reserve notes put away in your imaginary bank account- whatdya do?  A sports car, travel, a substance, a fling?

I think the whole idea is bullshit.  My fifties are a chance to suck it up and make things right and try to leave the joint in better shape than when I stumbled in the door.  And also, to quit whining already.

So here's a chance for those of you that agree, or not, to share your particular rutting rituals, or lack thereof.
I was given this beauty by an old friend who clearly loves me and who possibly sensed the need for a healthy outlet for the old freek. I couldn't afford it as it's a 3k list price bike.  But living out here at the remote Burbank compound, this is the vehicle to have.  It's a fixed speed with 4 inch wide tires.  Stoopid right?  Electric assist because even as studly as I am, pedaling this thing up any kind of grade is just not going to happen for very far.  600 watt 48 volt battery takes you about 25 hilly dirt road miles with pedaling. Saddlebags make it a nice grocery/work vehicle. But to hell with that, this thing goes anywhere, the beach, the mud flats, through, the woods, etc.  The fatty tires ride comfortably at down to 10 psi making for lovely excursions even over bumpy terrain that's never been rid'.

How awesome is it?  I put earbuds in so that it appears that I can't hear the hikers and others as I pass and they want to stop me and ask me about my bitchin ride.  The wymmin think it's hot and the dudes covet it.  The Monster Truck for Hippies!  A big plus is that the whole Burbank family has started riding together since the Trail Tracker arrived.  This thing plumb hauls ass and is the best life upgrade since I learned how to play the Hokey Pokey cuz that's what it's all about!

Shit, maybe I am having a mid-life crisis actually...

Watching the launch of STS-135, Space Shuttle Atlantis this morning brought back some significant memories.  This is an invite for you to post your shuttle memories.

I never attended a shuttle launch or landing but always hoped to.  Living in the West, it never came about to run and see the few nearby landings at Edwards or White Sands.

An acquaintance of mine worked for a major Aerospace corp. and was in attendance when Columbia blew following liftoff.  He insisted that, according to his insider info., that Morton Thierkal's frozen O-rings were not to blame but that the company took the hit to deflect the larger criticism which would have ensued should the knowledge that basic launch software parameters were to blame.

At the exact moment of the Columbia explosion, I was a witness to a fatal car crash and provided police with the time and circumstances of the accident.  It was not until later that evening that I found out about the larger national tragedy.  It blew my mind when I saw that it happened at the very minute I had given to police as the time of the crash.

On one July 4th, President Reagan gave a speech at Edwards as one of the shuttles took off behind him, piggybacked on a 747, headed to Florida.  A little while later, while tubing down our desert river, we saw the 747 and shuttle in the sky overhead.

Once while camping in a VW van outside of Tucson, we were startled by a huge sound in the air.  We popped out just in time to see a 747 with shuttle on top flying very low overhead as it made a pit stop at the local Air Force base.  That was spectacular!

On a couple of occasions when, due to weather, the shuttle would land at White Sands New Mexico, we would first hear 3 sonic booms at our house, then moments later we would hear 2 sonic booms on live TV as they broadcast the touchdown.

My children and I regularly track the shuttle in the early evenings, just after sunset, when it's possible to see the sun reflecting off the ship.  A couple of years back we saw it as it was undocking from the Space Station and man- that was weird.  The next day at work one of my co-workers was telling me about a UFO he thought he had seen the night before and I had to explain to him that it was 2 IFO's.

It was fun!  Hopefully we'll be able to buy some shuttle 2.0 units from the Chinese in a few years.

All I'm picking up is the imagery of something like a fungus, cottony with cellular fibers, that somehow links to a satellite fungal colony located at the tip of subject's tongue.  A delicately placed spore load at the end of a micro tube inserted into nostril is the only related picture I am getting so that makes me think of intentional placement into the empty petri dish of the Noory brain cavity.

But then again I suck at remote viewing.  What, with the lack of practice and my unwillingness to haphazardly disengage the here/now ego driven attention deficient mind, clearly a byproduct of too much time spent sweeping around the huts of dirt poor shamans, and your basic overall general consensus reality deconstructionism.  So do any of you RV guys and gals out there have a clearer, more helpful read on what we're looking at here in the insufferable problem of the case of George's cranial Mel's Hole?

Why does George suck so excellently?

grafted branch, brown leaves
the root of all evil grows
mustache stained tree, dead

Here's my best projection for the Winter Solstice 2012 C2C broadcast.   The wives and I are interested in reading your versions so please do post!

Ok, so George is burning up the airwaves, thrilling what is estimated to be his largest single-night audience ever with another fantastic Secret Guest, Floating Format show that Tommy and the shills have dreamed up for our listening pleasure. (Us, we've got the radio off but download the podcast the following week, when the space dust wears off.)  First up, Lionel, then Glynis, later joined by Richard See Toadgland, WTF Streiber, and these types of workers in the light.  Then it's, Open Lines! Yeah!  A few triple-screened calls in, (and significantly, right after a commercial for C2C's newest sponsor, Grecian Formula 2012, now with super-conducting highlight additives) it goes like this:

Gorge:  "Next up on the Wild Card Line, hey this is a funny name, AquaGoat, calling from Parumph, Nevada?  How's it going AquaGoaty, what question do you have for us on this historical and some would say, others might disagree with me here, but I think the loyal listeners of this radio program we call Coast To Coast would agree with me when I say... Tommy, didn't I tell you, what, it seems like so long ago now, that we'd be here broadcasting from Somewhere Out There on this historical night?  Hah hah, Tommy's back in the booth just having a great time with his new tube of our latest sponsor's fantastic product.  Remarkable Tommy!  It looks great on you!  Folks if you could see what I'm seeing now you'd just wonder how I can pull this show off without breaking out and hysterically laughing!  We sure do have a great group of guys and gals here that keep on making this whole remarkable show possible, night after night, after night.  Yes we do."

"Anyway, back to you caller!  It says here that you're calling from Parumph?  That's in Nevada right?  Tommy, isn't that where Art used to live?  Well caller that's a strange name, AquaGoat, what kind of name is that, it sounds like you live on a farm.  Hey Tommy, that gives me an idea.  Let me see, since it's our big 2012 show, I'm going to take a big chance here and test my psychic skills right now.  Hmmm... I'm sensing that you wanted to ask me... a question about super-conducting highlight additives, what they are and how to use them and things like that.  Right, am I right caller?"

Suddenly there's a loud click- silence- static.  Then a voice saying, "Discharge!" (Remember that?)  Then the calm and cool voice of Art Bell announces:

"From the High Desert and the home of all the ABs, both 4-legged and 2-legged, its Coast To Coast AM with Art Bell!  Yes, it's me Art Bell, broadcasting from the humble Bell compound in Parumph, Nevada, just over the hills from Area 51!  Sorry for the technical interruption there folks.  Some of you are wondering just what the heck is going on as apparently there was a 2012 sized, reality-bending glitch that just occurred for at least a good portion of my faithful radio audience.  As it has only been a few minutes at most for me here, many of you might be feeling disoriented, having just experienced what must feel to you to have been several years of my radio absence.  Well, the good news is that you're now back in the correct timeline folks, those of you that we lost for a while.  The bad news is that while I was on open lines, a man, who sounded hysterical by the way, called in claiming that he was a disgruntled Area 51 employee or insider of some sort.  This man then went on to, in a very freaked out way, try and get the word out that some very unsavory deals had been cut between those in charge of our national security and what sounded like extra-terrestrial beings.  Now while all this might sound like some type of prank call, nobody here or in my network of tech savvy engineers and Premiere staff, or anybody else that I am aware of, can explain how only our satellite broadcast signal was disrupted at the very moment of that freakish callers apparent demise on the other end of the Wild Card Line.  I am not supposed to say too much about it at the moment but rest assured folks, everything is safe and ok, or at least, apparently, back to normal, if we can call it that.  What apparently just happened was some type of ET takeover of specific dimensional elements of this broadcast signal.  For now I can only tell you that President Paul has ordered our head of Homeland Security and Disclosure, Donald Trump, to create a well-staffed and funded task force to investigate and deal with this matter, this apparent takeover by some not so well intentioned multi-dimensional entity or entities.  I personally apologize for this bizarre hijacking of our broadcast, and many of your timelines, or memories at this point I suppose. You must recall however, that I did ask you this question many times in the past; "Want To Go For A Ride?"

"So folks, glad to have any of you back who were Somewhere Out There, welcome back!  God knows it must be disorienting for you right now.  What a night huh? 

Ok, in a few moments we'll return with two of my favorite guests who have been gracious enough to accept my sudden invitation to come on the show and help explain to us all exactly what extraordinary events just took place here.  So coming right up after this word from C. Crane, it's Michio Kaku and Terence McKenna, both here to discuss wormholes, high strangeness, and this exciting nighttime journey that we call Coast to Coast!  (To the sound of ABBA on the fade out.)

Ok, so it's the day after President's Day, and I still have a little time on my hands...

I thought I'd start this thread in which any CoastGabbers who have yet to cancel (Why have we hung on this long?) their "Insider" subscription can share their Dear John letters with the rest of us.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear C2C,

I am (unfortunately) canceling my Coast Insider subscription because the show has gone from un-miss-able to un-listenable.  Although I do enjoy Ian's and George Knapp's hosting, I am convinced that the regular host does not exhibit the necessary skills for conducting an interview, critical thinking, or reading text in an intelligible manner.  Therefore, I do not feel that the approximately 8 entertaining programs per month provides sufficient value to justify the monthly subscription fee.  This is especially so when there are so many much more entertaining hosts and podcasts available online, many of them at no cost whatsoever.

Although I will likely will continue to listen to Ian's, and the other guest hosted shows via broadcast radio, I am sure that I am only one of many that will choose to leave the radio off during the week.

Best Wishes,

Aldous Burbank

This topic may have been covered previously, but even if so, it's worth pointing out that:

George Noory=

energy or goo
roe orgy gone
goner ergo yo
one gory ogre
ego go ornery
go ye or goner
goon ore grey

Those are my faves.  As for appropro nicknames for fumblebutt, I guess Snnoory and Snorey just take it, although robohost just popped into my head. 

My friends and I used to make up nicknames for guests, depending on how the interview rolled.  Two that I recall are Richard Toadgland and Major Head Games.  How about Lyinghell Fanthorpe and Linda Molten Howl?