May 27, 2004
Had a good day balancing writing with artwork. Actually did several (okay, three) drawings in my office at True West. I was prodded into doing something because my sales manager Mike Melrose came in, pointed at the art desk and said, “I predict the only thing that will happen on that art desk is another flat space to pile stuff on.” This pissed me off so badly I immediately went over and drew a jackass with these words hovering above his long ears, “I guess I was the Ass when I said BBB wouldn’t do any drawings here.”

This freed me to do more work. Amazing. I really respond well to anger. It’s my driver, my octane booster. I’m sure I’ll pay for it in the end, but it beats the alternative: actually being motivated. Ha.

Speaking of Melrose and being pissed off, he and I met a potential new sales person at a French cafeteria style place on Tatum and Shea yesterday. We were there to try and woo her to coming to work for us, and while extolling the many benefits of working at True West, my past came back to haunt me. In the middle of a potential salary windy, she says, “I am a fan of Howard Stern’s but I must say, he has nothing on what you did on the old Jones & Boze show.” Of course Melrose starts egging her on. “I don’t believe it. What did he do that could possibly top Stern?” And the woman says with a smile, “I used to listen to him with my friends at Coronado High. One time he wore a Depends diaper into a McDonald’s and ordered water until he could soil him self on the air.”

I’d like to say it’s not as bad as it sounds, but it’s actually worse. As I remember it, we were talking on the air about growing old and I was being kidded, actually roasted on a spit, by my teammates, Jeanne Sedello and David K. Jones, that I was over 40 (imagine!) and would soon be wearing Depends. That led to a discussion about what is the practical end to that scenario, and someone offered that you could actually urinate while in line at McDonald’s and you wouldn’t have to get out of line.

The next thing you know, a listener has brought by a box of Depends, I’m putting them on (under my pants) and we are off to the nearest McDonald’s (Hayden and Camelback?). Jeanne is with me and she is always egging me on, laughing too loud, blowing my cover. I’ve got one of those early cell phones that looks like a Korean walkie talkie unit and I’m standing in line with a noticeable bulge in my pants, both front and back.

Stairway to Heaven is ending for the second time that day, and David K. comes to me live, “Well what’s happening now Boze?” “Well, I’m standing in line, but. . .. I can’t pee.” It was true. I couldn’t let go. A classic case of urinary hesitancy. I got to the front of the line, holding that big phone with a bulge in my pants and the McCounter order taker says, “Welcome to McDonald’s can I take your order?” And I say, “Could I have a large water?”

Two breaks later, I still haven’t wet myself. The crew at McDonald’s can’t quite figure out why I’m there, I’ve drunk about five glasses of super-sized water, and finally at about 8:45 (fifteen minutes before the end of the show), I excitedly say, “Houston, we have H2O in the cockpit.” The crowd in the restaurant still didn’t know what was going on, but Jeanne cheered. People in their cars pulled over to call their friends. When I got back to the station everyone hugged me and slapped my ass. “Way to wet yourself Boze,” they said, over and over.

She took the job. I don’t know why.

“I know what you're thinking. Did he fire six shots or only five? Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I've kinda lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, Punk?
—Dirty Harryy