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.