Bill Green Should Clear His Damn Throat Already
By Don Carrigan
My colleague at WCSH in Portland, Bill Green, was recently inducted into the Maine Broadcasting Hall of fame. As a veteran of the business, I can tell you that it may be easy to become satisfied and complacent after such an honor, but it is important to stay hungry. There is always room for improvement, and Bill is certainly no exception. For starters, he should peel off that weak little fake mustache and maybe clear his goddamn throat once in a while.
That’s right. I went there.
That shiny-faced albino motherfucker has a voice that sounds like Chewbacca the Wookie in puberty. How in the hell did he get on TV in the first place?
Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for what Bill has been able to accomplish in the broadcasting industry. He’s done it all – from signing off a broadcast from a kayak all the way to signing off a broadcast from a canoe. You can’t quibble with a résumé like that.
It’s no wonder that the Maine Association of Broadcasters considered him so deserving – unlike myself, a 40-year veteran of the industry who has interviewed statesmen, kings, and captains of industry.
It’s just that where I come from, we don’t put people like him on TV. Not unless they’re wearing an orange jumpsuit because they just got arrested for selling kiddie porn.
Here’s a word of advice for you aspiring young TV reporters out there: if you want to report on the outdoors, you need to pick a completely obvious pseudonym like “Bill Green” for your television personality. Even if you live in West Virginia or someplace, if you hear the words “Bill Green,” you automatically think of the dignified, expert outdoorsman; somebody who could survive in the bush for three weeks with nothing but a Leatherman, all the while remaining too dignified to poach.
Would it ruin his career if I told everyone his real name is Lester Plungy?
“Well, that’s it for this week. I’m Lester Plungy, signing off from yet another kayak again this week. See you next week for another edition of ‘Lester Plungy’s Maine.'”
Don’t let him fool you, folks. He hates watercraft and cries every time he hears a gun fired.
Oh, and don’t get me started on his “mustache.” I guess if you’re going to fake being an outdoor reporter in a place like Maine, you’d better tape something to your upper lip, but did he have to make it so obvious? It goes without saying that it’s not a mustache that one brings to an interview with Bill Cohen or John Baldacci. Mine is the classic Maine “soup-strainer,” thick enough to imbue my face with unsurpassed levels of masculine credibility.
That’s right, Bill. There’s only room for one mustache on this channel, and yours, seeing that it cannot possibly measure up, has got to go.
In closing, I’d just like to say that I look forward to many more years of working alongside Lester (uh, I mean Bill), so long as he doesn’t get in the way of the big boy journalism the rest of us are doing.