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Author Vincent Coppola

  • Vincent Coppola

 

Neal Boortz: Have Mouth, Will Talk

Neal Boortz's feet are upon his desk. The talk radio host sits , munching animal crackers, under a sign that reads WHO ELECTED HER? The jawbone of an ass, a real one, is mounted on one wall, a bright red Soviet flag on another. Photos, off-color signs — HE DOESN 'T INHALE, HE SUCKS — and goofy posters — Slick Willie, Hooters Guys (a bearded male bimbo holding a plate of chicken wings) are plastered everywhere. This is not an office, it's a boy's room and Boortz, all sly grins and mischief, is an overgrown kid, Mad Magazine's Alfred E. Newman, if you will, in the '90s. Read more

The Party's Over

The tiny dance floor is packed. Guitar riffs flash like lightning from amplifiers three feet above the crush of swaying, sweating dancers. In the men's room, a couple is clumsily trying to have sex standing in the toilet stall next to the overflowing urinal. "Put it there," slurs the dark-haired woman to her obviously smashed partner. Outside, a tourist visiting from Toronto meets an attractive, well-educated woman, a chemist, she tells him. Half an hour later, they are having oral sex in the parking lot alongside someone's parked van. He couldn't remember her name. — Friday night at Carlos McGee's, July 1981 Read more