AM 2200

How vengeful does a hungry AM frequency sound? They blast Lionheart everywhere in Brewington.

Really, it’s not that bad. AM radio may be fading from the everyday soundscape — its crackling signals overshadowed by digital streaming, podcasts — but it still survives in quieter corners, especially online. On an old computer, tucked away in a spare room or garage, you can still pull up scratchy simulcasts and forgotten stations that once filled long drives and late nights. There, through outdated browsers and clunky media players, AM radio lives on as a digital echo of a bygone era, carrying the same music, traffic reports, and wandering late-night voices that defined radio.

Crave the classics. Traffic History Month. Everything you missed. And don’t miss Wyatt McReynolds catching his last shot at fame. The Classic Country Show only had one pilot episode starring the old man. Too bad. Wyatt’s tenure at The Traffic Channel spanned a long time, earning him a reputation as a cornerstone of the network. Known for his meticulous work ethic and deep knowledge of traffic patterns, he was a trusted face on radio and satellite TV. What most people didn’t realize, however, was that Wyatt wasn’t really Wyatt — he was, in fact, Travis Taylor, a former traffic analyst who had assumed the Wyatt persona. With his extensive background in data analytics and a knack for public speaking, Travis, under the name Wyatt, became a beloved figure in the industry. Wyatt had a long history.

A royal rumor might be inspiring straight men to get their asses over to Brewington. Follow the peanuts.

Everyone listens. It’s easy-listening from inside the horse-drawn carriage, the aisles in Beaver Lumber, Dairy Queen, Subway, the library, the brewery, the burger joint way out on the east side of town and literally every home.

AM 2200 didn’t have any cash giveaways, no contests, no jingles promising easy money. The station was broke, but once it played nothing but Johnny Cash on the airwaves. No interruptions — just Cash, like it was a statement.

People liked hearing a foreign voice on the radio because it added a sense of freshness to familiar programs. It offered listeners a perspective that felt worldly, unexpected, and slightly outside their everyday routine.

Back at Buck Burgers in Brewington today where they’ve clearly drunk the Koolaid that COVID still exists and is bad and worth avoiding, with the staff all liquored up in there, so I gave them all my money and in return, they gave me delicious burgers and a shirt. Thanks, Buck Burgers! Certainly worth a buck. I sit down for a second. Drunk from too many cans of Brewington, I put down my book of The Canterbury Tales and start walking. I take to the village square yelling into a bullhorn. I’m way ahead of the times with some old super-strange Nueva rants. Everything old is new.

A big part of lyfe hath just been tryinge to visit all of the places Ich learned about playinge ‘Wher Yn The Worlde ys Carmen Sandiego?’ on the Commodore 64. Who cares about video games when there’s “radio” that makes me so important?

Ever have a radio buddy? Ottis O’Toole and Mike Rogers never got along. They hated sharing the airwaves. Ottis was playing Super Mario and had an idea for Buck to read his favorite book. From the mind of Ottis O’Toole, a two-part bonus episode of The Golden Oldies, featuring the stories “A Dream of Eleven Thousand Cats” and “The Girl with a Tuna Salad Cunt and Cantaloupe Tits” never made it to air, but it might be somewhere on Sirius satellite radio. It sounded stupid-good enough.

Just imagine. It would’ve been thrilling to hear Cricket on the radio (from the agent heroine who had a very public implosion and found herself back in rehab at the Mohawk Treatment Centre). But it ended in misery. Where was the beef? Buck Burgers sold out. Brewington needed more fast food. Lionheart was too big for the small beer town. #BrewingtonCommunity