The Night is Large* and so are the Night Owls!


A community inconvenience under the tag of a radio show hosted by Anakin Lindemann.

Good morning, listeners. Though I know not what is so good about this morning. There is nothing good about it. Nothing bad about it. Nothing about it is extravagant or interesting. Nothing. But then again, the first page of our radio host guide “Hosting for dummies” says that a pleasant greeting sets a pleasant tone. How right they are!

And this is my co-host Leah. Hello Leah, welcome to our show The Night is Large and so are the Night Owls!

Leah? Say hello to our listeners. Tell them your story.


Can you hear me?

Listeners, can you hear Leah?

Can you see Leah?

Of course you can’t!

Can I see Leah?

Is Leah really there?

Am I really here?

Are we all really here?

Or are we astral projections of the dreams of a greater spirit?

Do you exist? Do I?

What now?

Are we a simulation?


And we are back. Sorry for that.

Too much effort on the human brain and it becomes idiotic. Like a television.

Thoughts aside, let’s get to the news, dear listeners.

In our humble town, nothing really happens. Except the occasional theft or murder. A kidnapping or two. Some rapes across the board. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Though I do remember one snippet that Leah mentioned this morning. About a giant and her experience as his prisoner.

It goes something like this.

So Leah was captured by this ugly giant with a swollen nose. She wanted to break free. So she challenges the giant.

“I can do something that you can’t do.”

“And what would that be, you piece of scrumptious meat?”

“I will tell you on one condition.”

“Go ahead.”

“If I can name one such thing that I can do and you just can’t, then you set me free.”


“Ok here goes. I can…”


“I can look up into your nose! But you can’t look into mine!”

The giant tried again and again but was unable to look into Leah’s nose due to his swollen nose and heavy eyebrows.

Leah ran free towards our humble town.

I saw her this morning. When she told me this.

Where is she now?


And now, a potty break conveniently euphemised into a note from our sponsor, Nemo’s Pizzeria.

(Italian voiceover) Come to Nemo’s for a lovely night out with your special someone, some Italian wine with stinky Parmesan and the remnants of Italian diaspora post a rape through a culinary wall.

We cater to birthdays, take-outs, deliveries, and The Prince.

Arrivederci! Come to Nemo’s this Sunday for a free portrait with Machiavelli and a shampoo bottle filled with olive oil!

And I am back for that’s what I get paid for. Interesting scribbles invade the walls of the Little Ladies’ Room along with the smell of vanilla and unicorn stool. One such scribble caught my eye-a Marcel Proust quote. Women, stay away from French writers will you? That’s how I get by. The quote was

“Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.”

(Marcel Proust)

This guy should have written playschool syllabi.

To break the monotony of my voice and the subsequent blast of your eardrums that would be blamed on me rather than on the Metallica that they feast on, a note from our sponsor IKEA, for we love to entertain laziness and an abundance of easy-to-assemble metrosexual furniture!

“The listeners of the radio show would appreciate our brevity in this audio manual to assemble BILLY, the bookcase. It is adorable. Its colour, shape and size will seduce you; force you into creating the hypothetical need for a new bookshelf. Open the box in which it comes in its minimalistic packaging. Pick up the zip-lock bag full of tiny screws that pose threat to your soft feet.

Ask yourself, what is this screw for? Why is it here? The most likely answer would be, because it fits. It makes sense. It ultimately is a part, and a very important one at that, of your shelf. Because that’s what you want to do-screw the piece of wood.

We at IKEA challenge you to think otherwise. Go ahead. Drop the screw on the floor and spend an hour trying to find it. It is all a part of the self-service experience that we at IKEA wish for every customer of ours.

Once you are done playing around with the screws with sore feet and a sweaty top, we encourage you to remove all the wood blocks from the cardboard minimalistic packaging and look at the detailed instruction manual. Each and every part has been meticulously sketched for you to assemble all on your lonesome or with a bored friend.

Thank you for purchasing BILLY. Have a nice day!”

I need that bookcase!

And now for your favourite section: Ponder away; in which I put forward a question for you and you send in all your answers and comments which I will read through because I find them amusing!

Last week’s question was: dear listeners, why do you think we have three square meals a day?

And the best answer that you, our listeners, gave us was-

Because three round meals a day would be difficult to swallow!

Today’s question on Ponder away: If the plural of mouse is mice, wouldn’t the plural of spouse be spice?

Do call in with your comments, opinions and location so that we can send our team of thieves to steal your beautiful Thanksgiving silverware.

And now, the Poem of the Day!

Today’s poem is by J. A. Lindon, and it goes something like this.

“As I was passing near the jail

I met a man, but hurried by.

His face was ghastly, grimly pale.

He had a gun.  I wondered why

He had. A gun?  I wondered… why,

His face was *ghastly*!  Grimly pale,

I met a man, but hurried by,

as I was passing near the jail.”


So listeners, our show has, fortunately or unfortunately, reached its end. I have to say goodbye now. It’s such a pity. I was enjoying this! But then again, c’est la vie!

Strike a conversation on conservation! Or discuss how Elton John gets older and older but his hair gets younger and younger! Talk about absurd science projects that involve dropping test-tubes and demonstrating gravity! Yap on and on, for there is no tax on speech. Yet.

Goodbye, dear listeners. And good luck.

This is Anakin Lindemann, signing off.

“Mark Twain’s son was a writer. They called him Choo-choo” (Jingle)

*The title is a tribute to Martin Gardner, one of my favourite authors and philosophers.

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