This post is brought to you by...some cool folks...alien nation

I love radio. If I haven't made that clear enough, it's the most fun I've had in the sports business.

I love having sponsors. I love doing Vitamin Water time checks in the Bud Light studios while using my Miller Lite laptop.

We have such terrific sponsorships and partnerships. They reach customers they would never get otherwise; we get to stay on the air.

Then there are those national commercials....

At least they are educational.

I know that I am a pig if I don't wear Trojan condoms, whether I am actually in need of them or not. That I can make millions on the Internet by buying and selling stuff that I never have to see, store, or even pay for. In fact, my computer does the work while I just collect my money!!!

And that thanks to the No. 1 Swedish weight loss drug, if I am a 50-year-old woman, I can get back in a bikini. (And maybe have need for the Trojan condoms).

My favorite, however, is a commercial about depression. The woman in it is afraid to leave her house. In fact, at one point, she says, "I was afraid to live. I was afraid to die."

Well, which is it? Make up your mind, lady. I frankly hope you choose the latter.

However, nothing beats the infomercial that leads into the Sunday show. I have learned that with Organic Super Reds, my entire life will change. My prostate will benefit. My sex life would benefit (if I had one and needed the Trojans). My athletic prowess would benefit.

In fact, they are so effective, that they are endorsed by a "world-champion athlete."

The first time I heard it, I got excited. Was it Tiger Woods? Peyton Manning? Tracii Lords?

No. It was an 80-year-old handball "champion." He wrote a nice thank you letter before he won the age group championship in Australia, saying that Organic Super Reds had recently changed his life. (I wonder just how many 80-plus players there were in his age group. But I digress).

It's nice to know the 80-year-old's prostate is good. And that his sex life is benefiting.

I just hope he's not a pig and uses his Trojans.

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Coming soon: My buddy Bernie visited Tombstone and took some great pictures. Bernie is one of the coolest breezes you'll ever met. As a Tombstone junkie, I'm jealous. But I have reconstructed a fake gun battle to the photos and it will pop up on the blog soon (as soon as I figure out how to post it correctly). I'll also show you why Chuck Savage is an all around racing fiend. (That's another radio tease).

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Some of my favorite people on HR are the Aussies. (And Kiwis; you better make sure you differentiate. That's like Aggies and Longhorns -- or Michigan/Ohio State for you Texas-challenged folks).

They are fun-loving folks, especially on a Friday night. (Friday morning my time). They are all funny, charming, and especially entertaining after a few glasses of wine. (Or more than a few).

They LOVE rugby. It's fun watching the conversations. I now know what people from other countries feel like when we get into in-depth discussions of the zone blocking scheme, the intricacies of the cover-2 and most effective use of the zone blitz. Or if someone from another country was listening to C-squared talk fantasy football with me.

I get completely lost, but I now know that League is huge, perhaps the most popular sport in Australia. Sonny Bill's defection to France was devastating. How such a big Aussie star could steal off in the middle of the night...it makes Brett Favre possibly playing for the Bears or Vikings look like nothing.

(Dude has AWESOME tattoos, by the way. Sonny Bill. Not Brett).

The Aussie crew is a lot of fun. (And yes, I gave them all nicknames, even though they don't know it.) Whoo Roo Greg, David the horse god, Trent the cool breeze, Claire the jumper, Karla the Kiwi, Cam the super model, Super Sue, Way Kool Kerri, Mighty Mickyla and Lauren the Monty Python freak have taught me a lot about Australia and New Zealand. And entertained me many times.

Then there is Nikki and her mom, out of this world Helen.

Nikki is going to school to be a teacher. But she is also a manager of a 10-and-under rugby team. And apparently a darned good one. It got me thinking of female coaches in men's sports.

I mean, this is not something we do in America. Yes, Goldie Hawn did coach football in Wildcats. And they did win the title. But wasn't that really Wesley Snipes? Wasn't he the real reason they won?That and Woody Harrelson's unselfishness?

Then there was that awful Whoopie Goldberg basketball movie. I can't even remember the name of it.

Anyway, props to the Aussies, and to Nikki. You guys always make me laugh.

Now what can we do about this Sonny Bill situation?

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Sunday's non-sports topic was best and worst aliens. My mom wanted to call in with John Travolta in Battlefield Earth as her favorite, but she wasn't able to get in. (FYI: Her husband just had triple bypass surgery, among other stuff. Get well soon dude).

Just because of that, I won't rip her for Travolta, but...

Anyway, my five best aliens:

1) Predator
2) The Silver Surfer
3) The Transformers (the new ones, not the originals)
4) Alf
5) Alien

Five worst:

1) Mork
2) John Travolta's girlfriend in Battlefield Earth
3) John Travolta
4) E.T.
5) Sam Cassell.

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Private memo to Hu: Look, I got through a whole post without mentioning Val...

Good cause; Elevator talk

If you heard the Main Event Tuesday night, you heard our interview with Jacob Zalewsky, a remarkable young man who suffers from Cerebral Palsy.

He is hosting a charity poker tournament at Hollywood Park on Sunday, Aug. 3. Those of you in the LA area (or anywhere on the West Coast, for that matter) please check out his Web site at allinforcp.com

Hollywood Park is minutes from LAX, so it's an easy day trip.

Jacob just blew us away on the show; I can't imagine a better cause. We are going to have him on the Front Page on Sunday, along with his good friend, Sam Simon, co-creator of The Simpsons. Please listen, and please support this cause. Our interview with Jacob will be up on podcast shortly at www.975theticket.com

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If you are a longtime reader of this blog (OK, it hasn't been around that long)...you know I've had some weird experiences on the elevator at the radio station.

I had another good one yesterday.

I had run to get a Kolache between updates and got on the elevator with three women; two very young-looking girls, probably early 20s, and one older woman in her 50s.

The older lady was talking, presumably to the others, as we got on the elevator. She was waiting for her phone to ring. Her uncle was having hernia surgery and she was surprised she hadn't heard anything.

As she was talking, however, she started looking at me, like she was talking to me, too.

Then she said she was upset she hadn't heard from her vet.

Her poor, 15-year-old beagle had been having problems.

"She has had diarrhea constantly," my new best friend said. "She has been spraying all over the living room. At least it's easy to clean up because it is so watery."

She looked at me with a matter-of-fact, sideways glance. "What can you do? She's 15."

I nodded in agreement and looked at her two young comrades for support, but they had become engrossed in their own conversation and slipped as far away from the lady as the elevator would allow.

Beagle Lady kept expecting me to say something. When I didn't, she picked right up again, talking about the smell of the dog when she, uh...fired. How she got the dog, how the dog was more likely to have an episode five minutes after she ate, and how...well, she's 15.

All three got off the elevator on the sixth floor, in perhaps the longest six-floor ride of my life. (We are on 7). As they got off the elevator, she continued the conversation, giving me a friendly nod as she got off the elevator, and apparently returning her attention to the two young ladies. She was saying how yellow it appeared when the dog took her pills.

I had never seen her before, and maybe I will never see her again. But I miss Beagle Lady. I wonder what the vet said. I wonder if Coco will be OK.

And...oh yeah...what about Uncle Paul?

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Please help out our show sponsors...www.smokeringcigars.com
If you are in the Clear Lake area, please get your stogies here and drop by and tell them we sent you.

Also make sure you visit our friends at Sam Houston Race Park (www.shrp.com)

And Matty the Superstar finally has his blog going at mattwwdean.blogspot.com

Coming next at Freddys World: Some details on a couple cool folks; Why our buddy Nikki can be my coach any day (but only if I move to Australia) ; more gratuitous references to Virtual Val and more strangers' dogs with diahrrea.

Goodbye to another friend; Die Danica Die; Dark Knight is awesome!

If you heard the Sunday show, you heard my take on Neil Hohlfeld, the former Chronicle writer and editor who passed away much too young this past weekend. Neil was just 56 years old. Too damned young.

A lot of the Chron's writers have written tributes about what Neil meant to them on their blogs. Richard Justice wrote a very nice obit in Sunday's paper. He also told some nice Neil stories on his blog.

Here's the obit Richard wrote: http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/headline/sports/5897137.html

I knew Neil for as long as anyone at the Chronicle. I worked with him in several different capacities. More than once, I had to put him in a job he didn't want to do. And each time, he handled it like a champ. He also knew it wasn't always my choice.

What he did best was baseball. Neil was an expert. Like Tracy Ringolsby. Like Tim Kurkjian.
Fortunately, baseball fans got a chance to see him again doing analysis on Fox Sports with Greg Lucas after many of the Astros games.

Neil knew the game. He understood the intricacies.

When he covered it, he was a guy you looked forward to reading each morning. Like Harry Shattuck. Like John McClain with the NFL. Frankly, there aren't many left here.

The Internet, radio, TV, ESPN...Fans don't read beat writers anymore. Most of the people who cover the major sports now do it because it's glamorous; not because they understand the game. They do it for selfish reasons.

Deep down, Neil wanted to cover baseball more than anything. Not for glamor; he simply loved it. He knew it. One of my few regrets is I didn't fight harder to keep him doing it. Thankfully, Fox got him back in the game.

We'll miss you, Neil.

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Thanks to Jerome Solomon for thinking enough of me to call and let me know about Neil. No one else at the Chron did. Jerome is a terrific dude. I have much love for Jerome. However, I have nothing too positive to say about many people there who I used to respect. I've been pretty nice since I left, but the gloves are going to come off soon. You better pick up your games, both as journalists and human beings.

Nice guy Freddy is about to be retired once and for all.

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Speaking of which...

Does anybody else wish Milka Duno had punched Danica Patrick squarely in the face? I'm sick of Danica, the self-proclaimed greatest driver in the world. She's annoying. She's a hothead. She is about 1/10th as good as she thinks she is. And Danica, you aren't hot, either.

A nice, fiery, disfiguring crash would be fine with me. I hate to wish anything bad on anyone...well, no I don't. Good luck with that crash.

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Nickname update: Uncle Freddy is still the leader, although I am intrigued by Freddy KGB. Keep trying...

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If you haven't seen the Dark Knight...what the hell is wrong with you? Heath Ledger is transcendent, Christian Bale is underrated...the plot is dark, psychotic and moving. It is filled with subtleties and nuances. I still think Batman Begins was the greatest comic book movie ever made, followed closely by Spider Man 2, but this one could easily eclipse both. I have to see it a few more times to pick up some of the things that I missed the first time, but if you haven't seen it, I have four thoughts:

1) Heath Ledger deserves an Oscar. Anyone else wins, and the idiots who pick it are complete losers.
2) The one negative was the woman who replaced Katie Holmes as Rachel Dawes. I know Holmes has become a Tom Cruz freak show, but you can't replace her with a poor copy that can't act. Ugh. Memo to Maggie Gillynhall: You brought the whole movie down!
Come back, Katie! Leave Tom! I'll forgive you, really!
3) To the two or three critics who actually panned it -- you have NO credibility. May you drown in your own blood.
4) There are so many very talented actors in small roles...you have to stay on top of it or you miss them. Anthony Michael Hall, Michael Jai White, Eric Roberts...all of them had small but memorable roles. (Although can you watch anything with Anthony Michael Hall and not see him holding up Molly Ringworm's panties?)

And Eric Roberts..."They took my thummmmmmbbbb, Chaaaa-llllie!" (Bonus points if you get that movie reference)

Michael Jai White...boy, he has come a long way since Toxic Avenger II.

Ledger, however, is the real star. His insanity is infectious. I wanted to go paint my face and whack people with reckless abandon. I love movies that are psychological thrillers; deep down, this is what the movie is really about.

We all wear masks. We are all insane. How far we push it is what separates us from the Joker. And Batman.

And Toxic Avenger.

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Football season will officially be here on Friday when the Texans hit the field for minicamp. There is no greater sport; nothing that highlights beautifully controlled violence more than football. Other than the fact that the Cowboys continue to live and breathe, football season is the GREATEST time of year.

Reminds me of an old joke...

A small boy was lost, so he went up to a policeman and said, "I've lost my dad!"

The officer said, "Well, what's he like?"

The little boy replied, "Beer and football!"

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Wow, I made it through a full post without mentioning Chris C (who came up with Uncle Freddy. He defies all of you to top that), Val, Hu, Sandy, Min, Em, Nate, Terry, or Dana. Or Bernie. Or Trish. Or hot bald women (Natalie Portman!) or The Main Event (Tuesday night, 7 p.m.) or the Front Page (8-10 a.m. Saturday/Sunday) at www.975theticket.com

Damn, I'm getting too predictable.

An unkind cut; take that, pal; stay tuned; my name is...

I didn’t get a haircut today.

I know – that REALLY makes you want to read this, doesn’t it?

Indulge me.

I go to this old school barber shop near Casa del Faour; been going there since I moved into the area in the early 1990s. It was run by an old Cherokee Indian.

It was what a barber shop was supposed to be; not a salon or a Supercuts. A real barbershop. Complete with the pole and the 1950s posters of guys with perfect hair.

I’ve survived three barbers there. My first was a nice old Russian lady who died of a heart attack. Then there was another elderly lady who passed on shortly after.

The old Cherokee took over my head after them. It was his place, and it took me a while to get on his list. I finally figured out that you had to go there a long time before he would cut your hair.

I didn’t know his name. But he would wave me over every time I came in. We didn’t talk much (I know, big shock that I could be quiet).

But he always knew I wanted it over the ears, tapered in the back, leave the top alone because it was getting thin. I never had to say a word after telling him once.

He also knew I would always tip $3 on a $12 haircut. So after a while, if I gave him a $20, he would just give me back $5. No questions asked.

(He was taken aback the one time I told him to shave it all off for Terry. Longest conversation we ever had. At the end he just said he would see me in two months. He seemed happy with the reason, though).

I even started taking Will. He got to go straight to the Cherokee; no waiting period for him.

The last time I saw the old man, he labored. He had to stop two or three times. He said he had “lung problems” and was pretty far along, and sorry it was so slow. I was in a hurry, but I didn’t say a word, as usual. I just smiled. And this time I left him the whole $20.

When I drove by today, I saw the “closed” sign. It looked empty, dusty. No one had been there for a few days.

I didn’t need to be told why it was closed.

I won’t find another place like that. I’ll wind up at a Supercuts, or someplace close and convenient.

I will miss that old Cherokee. It’s those people who give sanity to your life.

It’s Jose at Yao’s, who knows exactly what Matt and I want when we sit down and has it waiting on us every Tuesday before we go on the air.

It’s Goose at Sam’s, who listens to the show and knows when I want Jack vs. beer and never has to ask.

It’s the waitress at Hunan Hut who brings me Diet Coke and Hot and Sour soup before I reach the table.

It’s Luis at Escalante’s, who knows I want fajita salad every time, with lime peanut on the side.

It’s the security guard who smiles and asks how I am every day.

Those people are important. They give life sanity. They give us little places to call home.

They make up a community, even in a big city like Houston.

I’m going to let my hair grow out for a while now. Who knows, maybe he is just sick?

I know better. But I am saving the tip money in case I get one more haircut.

And one more chance to ask his name.

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Ok, now that I have depressed everyone...

Don't you love people who complain about getting free stuff? In the old days, it would drive me nuts when my colleagues would bitch about the press box food. You aren't paying for it, gang. Unless it's crawling with roaches, maggots or politicians, don't whine.

I have seen people whine about the dumbest things. Like where to sit in a press box. Even saw two former colleagues almost come to blows over a freaking seat in a press box.

It's not just us, though. We have radio giveaways, and give people koozies, and they say, "can I get a shirt?"

Do you see any shirts? We have koozies. Here. Take it. Thanks for listening.

My favorite was an appearance we did with 1560 at the racetrack. They were nice enough to make us a plate of food; lots of really good chicken wraps. It was awesome stuff. They also brought about 20 cokes. And it was just me and Nuno.

People kept coming up to the table and asking us if the food was free. While we are on the air. We kept saying no.

After the show, as we were breaking down the equipment, about 20 people descended on the food like Aggies to a freshly sheared sheep. (For non Texas folks, let's go with, "they descended on the food like flies on fresh manure”…For Aggies, oh, come on, I’m joking).

It was embarrassing. They ate everything in a matter of seconds.

By the time we turned around, all that was left was a few crumbs on a napkin.

And one guy bitching that the food was too "soggy." Not only was it free, but you stole it, chief.

Next time, he gets press box food.

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Another great guy with a great blog is Raheel Ramzanali. Here's the link.... http://www.kingofsports.blogspot.com/

Raheel makes me laugh.

There are so many talented radio people in this city. The guys at 1560, Marc Vandermeer over at 610...I am also a fan of people like Robert Hinsley and Adam Wechsler, guys I don’t know that well...But there are some very good people that don't get enough credit. Raheel, like my man David Nuno (congrats on the twins, big guy!) is a multitalented guy who will be a big star some day. Frankie the Bull, Chance McClain...those guys are all awesome. I know we are all competing, but I have nothing but respect for them.

(Yeah, the General most of all).

I’ve become a big fan of Dave Tepper, Chuck Savage and Julie Takahashi at the new place. And Carl Dukes is a pro. And my respect for El Deano and Picachu is a matter of public record.

I don't know what the future holds. A part of me misses newspapers and thinks they are worth saving. But I'm having a blast doing this, too, and I love where I am.

Stay tuned to all of us.

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OK gang, I really need a new nickname. Virtual Val does not like Uncle Freddy, so stick a fork in it. It's dead. Even though Val is virtual and is thousands of miles away, what she says on this blog goes.

I have the most clever and intelligent friends in the world. One of you should have a perfect nickname for me.

(Memo to Hu, Sandy, Min, Dana -- I have a few pretzels* riding on you guys...don't let me down. Otherwise I am going to have to rely on El Deano. He's the 4-5 favorite).

Winner gets full credit on several multimedia outlets... And no poker nicknames since I am in temporary retirement again.

*-pretzel is our radio euphemism for “dollar” when we discuss potentially illegal wagers.

Cough, cough; This post brought to you by Nyquil; Always look on the bright side of life

Yeah, yeah. I know. Way behind on posts. Been sick as a dog the last few days. Like an idiot, I tried to fight through it. Thanks to my man Dave for forcing me to stay home for a day. As with everything in life, I tend to go until I break.

The bad news is in radio, a cold can be damned near fatal. Not having a voice is a bit of a problem. Once people notice how bad you sound, it's time to take a break.

Our Tuesday show was pre-empted by the All-Star game, which was probably a good thing. (Except for poor Adrian P. who had to work the board for all 15 innings. Sorry for jinxing you with that extra innings comment, buddy!)

Thanks to Matty the superstar for covering for me.

Also, forgot to mention my man C-squared's birthday last week. My bad, bro. His is the 8th, too. Won't happen again.

Anyway, I'm resting comfortably and should be back on the air any day now. In the interim, here's a movie pop quiz: Which city gets nuked in Independence Day?

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Football season officially starts July 25 when Texans camp opens. Life begins anew! Can't wait. There is no better sport or better time than football season. Sorry, if I ramble a little...I have been chugging Nyquil shots for two days, so I am all over the place. (I blame Val. That's my new excuse for everything. No sleep? Val's fault. Canada invades the U.S.? It's on you, Val).

I also blame you for the following story...

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We told best/worst plane stories on Sunday's show, and we got off on some tangents and I never got to tell my best one. And as we were goofing off on HR and doing Life of Brian quotes with the Aussies and it reminded me, so here it is...

I was coming back from the Derby one year, and the weather was horrible. Tornadoes all over the Midwest....The flight was delayed several hours. Needless to say, I spent that time in the bar "prepping" for the flight along with a couple other folks on the same flight who I didn't know until that afternoon. They turned out to be hyper cool, and in fact one of them was sitting next to me -- on the very last row of the plane. (Memo: when it comes to turbulence, the back of the plane is always the worst).

By the time we got on the flight, we were all a little, um, Jacked up. We kept going on the plane, of course. (Bad idea, the seat belt lights were on for a loooooooong time).

When we finally did get off the ground, it quickly turned into the worst flight ever. Lots of bouncing around. At one point, the flying waitresses went into full panic mode and disappeared (thankfully they gave us our drink orders first). People were legitimately scared. The pilot came on, apologized and said air traffic control had made a mistake putting us up in the mess and please just sit tight. You could hear alarms going off in the cockpit. Lights flickered.

The plane bucked over on its side, briefly, and had I been sober at all, I would have been scared to death.

So we started tell stories about flights worse than this one, each trying to top the other. But when the plane went nearly sideways again, that ceased to work.

The people across from us were wimpering. There was an old lady with tears running down her cheeks. The drunks on the plane decided to try to make people laugh.

I don't remember who started it, but one of us started singing "Always look on the Bright Side of Life" from the ending of Life of Brian.

Then people started joining in. Before we knew it, we had a sing a long going. The old lady even stopped crying.

A few minutes later, we managed to clear the storm. The flight leveled out, and we were good the rest of the way. They started singing other songs, and it turned into a party. Continental was nice enough to provide free drinks after the experience, and everyone took advantage, except for me, believe it or not. By then I had fallen asleep (or passed out, depending on your definition).

The moral is there's nothing that a little Monty Python can't fix.

Thank God we didn't get to The Meaning of Life. The trip might have ended differently....

Let's see where we take this; I love you! Really!

Just free-riffing a little today to see where this goes. I didn't get to bounce any of these off Virtual Val, so if they suck, blame her....

If you missed the Sunday show, you missed our pal Hu singing a duet of Barbie girl with Matty D. Funny stuff. The topic was the most annoying songs of all time.

My personal top five:

5) Achy Breaky Heart, Billy Ray Cyrus.

4) This Kiss, Faith Hill.

3) Party all the Time, Eddie Murphy

2) Who Let the Dogs out? The Baja Men

1) The Barney Song

I had never heard the Barbie song and was properly berated. I don't how I missed it, but I am damned glad I did.

Saturday we did the best lies ever told.

The top five sports liars:

5) We had Brett Favre, but that was really just tied to the news of the week. Pete Rose gets the spot for real.

4) Rafael Palmeiro. "I have never used steroids. Period."

3) Michael Vick. "Who let the dogs out?"

2) Nick Saban. (Pick any of his job changes)

1) Roger Clemens. Too easy. And keep your slider away from the 15-year-olds big fella.

The top five all time liars:

5) Richard Nixon. "I am not a crook."

4) Any of the world-class plagiarists. Jayson Blair, NY Times, Janet Cooke, Washington Post, Stephen Glass. They are all the same evil creature.

3) Big Bad Bill Clinton. "I did not have sexual relations with that woman." Give that man a cigar.

2) O.J. Simpson. But hey, if it doesn't fit, you must acquit.

1) Enron. This is Houston after all. The impact will be felt for decades. RIP, Ken Lay. Or not.

Then the top five lies of all time:

5 -- The check's in the mail.

4 -- This is the first time I have ever done this.

3 -- I've never been this drunk before

2 -- I'll never get this drunk again.

1 -- I love you!

Thanks to everyone who contributed!
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Check out my man Sean's blog at http://sportskolache.blogspot.com

Dude is hilarious. If there is a funnier human being on the planet, I don't know him. (Well, Val is up there, but she doesn't have a blog. I will just have to keep stealing her stuff and pretending like it's mine. Remember, good artists borrow; great artists steal).

You might know him as the Smack Off master on the Rome show. He also does a great sports talk show on 1560 from 2-6 p.m.

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Birthday greetings for the following folks: Will The Thrill Faour, 10, Wednesday July 9; Min the Master, Tuesday July 8; and Perfect Kelly, also Tuesday July 8. The latter two do their best to keep me sane. (Will does his best to push me the other way). Min should be a comedian and Kelly is just an all around cool breeze.

Will is a great kid. Can't believe he is already 10 years old. Pretty proud of the little dude (and his sister). They have handled the turmoil of the last year like world champs. Happy birthday big man.

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The most depressing feeling in the world is the few minutes after you get knocked out of a big poker tournament. It's like a death. I honestly have never felt anything else like it. Even if you made a deep run, it's still a miserable, somebody-tortured-and-killed-my-dog feeling.

It was even more depressing not making it to the Series this year. It was doubly deflating to get the text from Matt that he went busto. So if I was a little grumpy this past weekend, that's why. This whole weekend felt like those few moments after I get knocked out.

(Props to Matt for the best line of the weekend. The buy-in was 10k; we had a $1 bet on the Wimbledon men's final. He texted me and said: "Hey, I only lost $9,999 today! Nadal won!")

Memo to any potential future ex wives: There are two times to avoid me at all costs; after a UH football loss and when I get knocked out of a tournament. I am as pleasant as a rabid porcupine with a fierce freaking headache and an ex-wife on his ass.

In fact, that lie list above? When I got knocked out of the main event in 2006, it spawned all five...

5 -- "Hey, IRS...the check is in the mail."

4 -- "This is the first time I have gotten this pissed. I've never reacted like this before."

3 -- "Yeah, I am a little lit, but I was depressed. I have never had this much to drink before."

2 -- (Next morning). "Ugggghhh....I will never drink this much again."

1 -- To whoever knocked me out: "I love you."

A Diva day; the agony of de-feet; what's in a name?

First, a quick warning:

The Front Page team is highjacking the Murphy show from 5-7 p.m. Central on Thursday. Catch the stream at www.975theticket.com. This is our drive time debut, so watch out world. I promise we will have our A-list material.

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I had lunch with a dear friend today. Not really news, I know, until you read who it is. Well, just go to her blog. (http://blogs.chron.com/cancerdiva). You will find out all you need to know about her. She is a superstar, she is doing well, and we had lost touch the past couple months. That won't happen again.

She made it past the 24 months, and I predict she is going to make some people look stupid. I'm going public that I am calling her every Sunday from now on and we're having lunch as often as she is up for it. (My goal it to get her so drunk she throws up on Bev, not because she is cancer sick, but because Freddy got her drunk. That's just how I roll.)

I love Terry very much. She is one of the few things I miss about that hell hole where we used to work. Please go to her blog. I wouldn't put it past some of the soulless scum I used to work with that her blog is probably in jeopardy. (Go shoot a puppy in the head while you are at it, jerks. You know who you are).

Anyway, it was a good day. She looks great and was acting like herself again.

If you are feeling down about something stupid....just read it. You'll love her too.

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(Memo: This one has the Virtual Val seal of approval).

If you have been around me enough, you know I hate feet.

I consider them God's greatest mistake. (Well, not crazy about exes, either, but that is somewhat self-inflicted).

I HATE men's feet especially. If you are wearing sandals and your grubby, scuzzy toes are sticking out, expect me to go all Exorcist on your ass and spew in multicolor.

And if you wear sandals with socks...well, you are frankly the dork of the century.

Oh yeah, back to feet.

They stink. They are ugly. Decorate them all you want, ladies. I won't love you for your feet. And if you want a toe sucker, well...Freddy don't roll that way.

I mean, I am down with God. God is my man. But what was he thinking with feet? Was that the last thing he made and he was just tired?

Why not hooves? Hooves would work. Some nice, well painted hooves, ladies? How about paws? Paws would be nice. Cuddly on a cold night?

I hate feet as much as I love bald women. I need a bald, alien woman with paws.

No wonder I live alone.

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If you listen to the show, you know I give everybody nicknames. They always stick. There's Matt "The Superstar" Dean, aka "Matty D," aka "El Deano." (I actually like El Deano, but he gave that to himself. Freddy don't allow that). There's also Adrian "Picachu" Santana, aka "the Grenade." (We just dropped this on him, because we say something funny, and it takes him 10 seconds to respond). We also have the Phone god and the Phone dog.

I am in the process of giving all my HR buddies nicknames and naming fake horses after them. There's Virtual Val, Little Sister Em, Perfect Kelly, Double D, Nate the Snake...Trust me, these are all perfect. I will have everybody named before you know it.
Regardless, I got an email from a listener who wanted to know a) how I determined nicknames, and b) what mine was.

I'll answer b first. I am sometimes "Uncle Freddy." My man C-squared gave me that one at poker. It's OK. I also like Evil Freddy, but that is more of a persona. I honestly need a good one.

I am still debating, but I have to approve it. Sorry, that's just how I roll. You guys are welcome to try.

As far as where nicknames come from...

I wish there was an ABC...They just pop into my head. (Cancer Diva was mine, too). Then my inner conscious tells me it's perfect. It's a gift. Sorry.

But my rough guidelines are it should a) be true but sarcastic, funny but flattering, tied to something obscure that will haunt that person forever in a good or bad way.

(After the elephant woman experience I almost made myself the Elephant Man, but it didn't quite work).

All this is a long way of saying I need a new nickname.

And nothing about feet.