Kookshow, Chapter 2 – Obsession

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(6-25)

 

 

After making my video confession about having a crush on Kookshow Baby, this episode faded quickly in memory. Because she was a character known only through broadcasts over the Cult Radio A-Go-Go platform, I did not linger on my impulsive confession. Like most of the videos recorded outside, while enjoying adult refreshments, it became simply a blip on the timeline. An odd detour from more important work. I went back to other writing projects, and even pondered composing new music. Something I had been wanting to do for several years, without the discipline to make this task bear fruit. Playing guitar was now a difficult chore, due to various forms of disability that had affected my life routine. In my head, melodies continued to appear. Yet translating those bursts of inspiration into recordable work was challenging. I found it easier to tap at the keyboard. Though the desire to sing and play remained strong.

 

I might have forgotten the radio belle completely, except for occasional dreams about meeting her in person. These flights of fantasy were strangely detailed and authentic. They permeated my consciousness, coming more and more frequently with the passage of weeks and months. Almost as if she were reaching out over the vast, psychic continuum to make contact. Each time that I beheld her curvy, long-legged profile, adorned in homespun, yet titillating garments, I flushed with shyness. Something that was impossible to explain, being long past an age of innocence. She had the quick wit and savvy of a feral feline, born into a world where women might be preyed upon, if not for their own resourcefulness. I liked that she was strong, but gentle. It made me think of frontier days, when family survival depended on vigilance, and determination.

 

Eventually, I remembered Tiffany DuFoe mentioning that appearances by this mysterious figure had been saved in a collection of shows, online. During a restless night in the summer, while fretting over heat and humidity, I sat at my desk and looked up the Internet Archive website. Strangely, being barely awake actually helped this process.

 

“Hold on to yer britches, y’all... cuz it’s pret-near time for... Trailer Trash A-Go-Go! That’s right y’all! I’m a-takin’ over! It’s time for Kookshow Baby’s Trailer Trash A Go-Go! Hey y’all, it’s your very own favorite little Kookshow Baby here! That’s right, it’s your favorite southern girl of the south, that’s here with the premiere episode of Trailer Trash A-Go-Go, for Cult TV A-Go-Go. One that I’m sure is gonna be the first of many here on this net-television station thingy... whatever they call it. Now, being a strong, independent woman as I am, and of course being a scream queen who is known for her brains and not just her, umm, other parts... if you do know what I mean, I have decided to decline the technical assistance that Terry and Tiffany from Cult Radio have offered to give me... but you know, I don’t think I have to worry about it, ‘cause y’all know that scream queens are immensely intelligent. I’m sure I can figure this whole interweb thing out...”

 

Still drifting through a fog of post-slumber, cranial incapacitation, I pecked weakly at the keys, while scrolling through search engines of all kinds. Kookshow? Kookshow Baby? Kookshow the Trailer Trash Queen? Kookshow, Friend of the DuFoes? Kookshow on the Radio? Kookshow A-Go-Go? Kookshow the Enchanting, Hayseed Hottie? Kookshow, the Undiscovered, Hee Haw Honey? None of these terms produced any results, other than what I had already discovered. I felt frustrated, and empty. My heart had begun to ache. A vibe not felt in many, many years.

 

Finally, I vocalized the agony that gripped my soul. Yowling with a tone of desperation that seemed to bubble up from the pit of my mortal self, like lava flowing over the rocky sides of an awakening volcano.

 

“WHO THE HELL IS KOOKSHOW BABYYYYYYYYYYY?”

 

Upon returning to the previous site where I had landed, more of the giggly, effusive charm that caught my attention appeared. I hung on her every word. Her voice tickled my ears.

 

“Hey y’all, it’s me your little ol’ Kookshow Baby! I’ll bet y’all didn’t think you were gonna hear back from me this soon! Of course, y’all are loyal, Cult Radio A-Go-Go listeners. And if y’all have been listenin’ then you know I joined you just about, hmm, two months ago... I didn’t think that Terry and Tiffany from Cult Radio were gonna let me come back this soon. Oh, but guess what, apparently they decided that it was such good feedback... that maybe this little Kookshow is gonna get to come back more frequently...”

 

Dozing in my office chair, I slipped into a netherworld of wild images, floating in the ether. I remembered taking an airplane flight to Las Vegas, for my second honeymoon. Something that was wholly more satisfying than the actual marriage experience that followed. I saw visions of a deceased, great aunt who had lived in Apple Valley, California, where she was a hospital administrator. And a lost uncle, who had ditched the family brood over 25 years before. I knew he lived outside of San Francisco, and had often sent cards and letters to any address that seemed relevant, without getting a reply. But now, a new sense of immediacy had taken hold. I wanted to board a wide-winged, silver bird, and fly west. To the gold coast, and someone that I barely knew by any measure. A kindred spirit, who I reckoned was steeped in pop culture, movies, music, and art, like myself. A seeker of treasures, of tales, of unsolved riddles and forgotten fame. Someone who found observational humor in everyday experiences, like Lenny Bruce, George Carlin, or Jerry Seinfeld. But with the flair of Phyllis Diller, or the catty courage of Joan Rivers.

 

Mentally, my gray matter filled in blank pages left by fate. What I did not know about Kookshow Baby, I imagined from whole cloth. Like a redneck tailor, repurposing a T-shirt and denim trousers with a set of shears, until they framed the body of a budding, internet star. A woman gifted with grace of the sort found in blue-collar neighborhoods like my own. A village of mobile homes, in the northeast corner of Ohio. Where speaking freely was a gift not taken for granted. Where basic elements of living retained their worth. Where an outcast, disabled and alone, could flourish amid the social wreckage.

 

Meeting Kookshow, I guessed, would be like joining with my other half. A part of myself unknown until now. It was a gamble that saner minds might have found risky, and ill-advised.

 

But one that I was now prepared to take.