This is Elwood Kasem, bringing you long distance requests from our listeners:

Elwood,

            My house has been invaded by flies. I’ve spent all week swatting them with the fly swatter and now I think they’re aware of me because they’re all sitting on my ceiling. I am a short woman, 5’1”, and cannot reach and I think they know this. They laugh and mock me. Tonight I’m buying a pair of boots with suction cups on them. I will walk up the wall, then onto the ceiling where I will swat the little bastards to death. 

            To send me up the wall and upside down, could you play Lionel Richie’s “Dancing on the Ceiling?”

            Thanks,

            Lady X

Dear Mr. Kasem,

            I work at an organ donor clinic in West Memphis, Arkansas. Many people are coming into the office looking for body parts, but, as you probably know, some are hard to come by. Right now I have ten applicants in the next room waiting for a new pair of eyes. Alas, here in West Memphis, inbreeding has led to eyes so crossed they eventually form a single eye in the forehead that needs to be surgically removed. The bad news for them is that I only have one set of eyes. I’m about to go into the room and break the news. Your program is playing in the waiting room, so it would help me a great deal if you could you play “I Only Have Eyes For You” by the Flamingos.

            With much appreciation,

            Dr. Horace Weatherbee , M.D.

Dear Elwood Kasem,

            You may have read about me in the news. I was on an elevator in Houston, Texas when a man got his head caught in the elevator’s closing doors. The elevator jerked up quickly and the man was decapitated. His body lay outside on the floor but his head was in the elevator car with me. For 15 agonizing minutes before I was rescued by firemen, I stared at this man’s face, at once full of expression and yet frozen at the instant of his death. To help me cope with these images, I was hoping you could play “Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell” by Iggy and the Stooges.

                                                            Your fan,

                                                                        The Elevator Lady

Dear Elwood Kasem,

            I have gastrointestinal problems. I shit three times before lunch and the rest of the day I could go at a moment’s notice, like a voodoo lady is poking my voodoo doll’s belly with a bottle of Pepto Bismol. I’m in here so often I’ve started naming each toilet. If you could play “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On” by Jerry Lee Lewis, I think it would make me feel better.

                                                            Sir Shits-A-Lot

Elwood Kasem,

            I don’t know if you gonna get this or read it or like it or play it, but here goes: Me and my buddies, all combat veterans, got some shotguns and we’re going to break up a peace rally in Memphis today. These queer, college boy peaceniks have got it coming to them. Can you play Prince’s “When Doves Cry?” It gets me and the boys in the mood!

                                                Yers,

                                                            Gerald Fortesque

Dear Mr. Elwood Kasem,

            Well, it’s that time of the month again. I use Ultra Lights with wings mostly. Funny thing happened the other day. My religious group chose me this time for the fertility ceremony, so I had to spend all day tied to the roof of the barn naked. Boy it was a windy one. All I could do to get through the day was sing one song over and over. The ceremony has ended but I don’t think I can get the song out of my head until I actually hear it. Could you play “The Wind Beneath My Wings” by Bette Midler?

                                                Love,

                                                            Windy in Wyoming

Yo, Elwizzood Kielbasa,

            Me and my friends always play you in the mornin’, dog! We’re your biggest fans! We play you every time we move those bowels, beeoch! Anyway, last night me and my posse decide we gonna git it on with a eatin’ contest. Now my friend Pedro, we call him Petey Pickle cuz he got a tiny pecker, he says we should go low fat on this one to watch our weight. He gets us these Subway sandwiches and shit. So I’m all, “Let’s get our munch on, beeoch!” So we eatin’ and eatin’ and man, I dunno what my dealy-o was, but during the contest I couldn’t keep it down. My puke bucket was brimmin’ cuz, fo’ shizzle! My boys kept handin’ me Cold Cut Trios, Chicken Pizziolas and what not. Petey Pickle’s all “Eat more, beeoch!” I was pukin’ so much I couldn’t tell him, “Yo, I’m out like sauerkraut!”

            I know he’s listenin’ to you now, so you gotta play “We Don’t Need Another Hero” by Tina Turner off the Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome soundtrack.

            Thanx, Beeoch!

            Jizzared McSubwizzle

Dear Mr. Elwood,

            I work at a shitty company doing boring work. The mere sight of my boss makes me want to do unspeakable acts. I’m quitting someday soon, but I’ll need a good reference from him. Then I can do my unspeakable acts. Please play “Patience” by Guns N’ Roses all day, everyday, until I say it’s ok to stop. If you don’t, I know who you really are and where you live.

            I can’t wait to do unspeakable acts on someone.

            Regards,

            Sicotic Sammy

Dear Elwood Kaysim,

            I’ve heard other listeners write in to talk about strange cult behavior, so I thought I’d find a few sympathetic ears here.

            I was flying from the Fiji Islands to Utah this summer when a huge problem occurred. My religious sect, The Forever Ancient Order of Satanic Cow Herd Worshipers Against Right-Wing Zealots (FAOSCHWARZ), phoned me in Fiji where I was making acquaintances with young men. FAOSCHWARTZ needed a cow heart badly for the summer’s Feast of the Moo-Cow ceremony and demanded that I return with one. Their original heart was devoured by Sammy the Alpha Llama, the mascot of our neighboring sect in Utah, the Worshipers Alpha Llama Masquerading Arduously in Righteous Transcendentalism (WALMART).

            Long story short, my stopover at San Francisco International Airport was a problem: we didn’t pass inspection. The cult is not understanding of such things and my life is basically forfeit. But, since they’re Tony Bennett fans, perhaps if you played “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” they’d make mine a quick death.

            Yours truly,

            FAOSCHWARZ #106 (Billy W.)

Dear Elwood,

            Yeah, so, I’m this faceless DJ in a nu-metal band. I scratch a record during the intro and bridge of every song. During my down time, by which I mean the verses and choruses of every song, I’ve been taking a correspondence course in Clown College because I want to be a lead singer in my own nu-metal band some day. I figure I have the other prerequisites to be one — daddy abandoned me, mommy was a drinker, my stepdad fucked me. I just can’t seem to shake this sadness. If I could just stop crying and act the fool all the time, I could get to be the vocalist and get the real money and attention. Could you please play Smokey Robinson’s “Tears of a Clown?”

            Thanks man,

            Scratchy No-Face of the Twystud Brygayde

E,

            Can’t talk much (stop). Ate crazy cheese/hamburger/brawtwurst combo with no water (stop). Constipated beyond belief (stop). You must play “Push It!” by Salt-N-Pepa (stop it).

                                                                        Constipate Ed

Els,

            Hey, man! You’re the greatest, man! I’m speeding down the highway, doin’ 115 mph as I’m writing this! Ahhh! Goin’ to my doctor’s office to smash his shit up! What does he know about pills that cools MFs like us don’t, right man! I . . .

            Oh, boy, better slow it down. Slow it down. Gotta be calm here. I can’t keep doing this stuff. People see me as a freak. They don’t like me. I’m not normal. Things would be better if I just went away forever.

            Can you play Jimi Hendrix’s “Manic Depression”?

            Thanx,

            Bri Polar