I still try to listen to talk radio when I'm driving but it is nearly always infuriatingly pointless. I have not yet broken my hand with a punch to the dashboard. Where I come from, that’s called winning.
I’ve been re-listening to some of my music discs. I get them from the bookcase in the bedroom where we also keep the cats’ litter boxes. It is in this way that each individual CD jewel case is also a single component of an enormous and highly ineffective air filtration system.
There were too many discs in the car, and I am about to put them back in the cat room, now that their jewel cases have been scraped clean of their powdery grey, tenaciously clinging, floral-scented coating. As you cat owners already know, that coating is a toxic blend of lung-destroying, clumping, clay laced with pulverized fecal matter and aerosolized urine. MMMM, MMMM, GOOD!!!
Anyway, the discs to be returned are, as follows:
(1) Herbie Hancock, “Mwandishi, The Complete Warner Bros. Recordings”;
(2) Radiohead, “In Rainbows”;
(3) Green Day, “21st Century Breakdown”;
(4) The Beatles, “Let it Be”;
(5) The Beatles, “Help!”;
(6) Ray Charles, “The Very Best of Ray Charles”; and finally
(7) Elliott Smith, “Figure 8”.
There you have it!
(Thought you'd want to know.)