Mr. Stern, as his fans know, is born for radio: his on-air character is an unwashed basement figure, best kept out of sight -- a haggard masturbator and morbid misanthrope who must hang out with deformed and desperate men because he can hardly perform with women. The fact that the pinup girls who come on his show now seem to want to have sex with him is, in his telling, evidence only of the women's ambition and depravity.This is a bit florid, but, yeah, that's why I used to listen (I tuned out after he went through a pretty creepy period right after September 11th, 2001). I've always felt there are two groups of Stern fans -- there are the "desperate men" types who listen for the chance to hear some stripper's measurements described, and then there are guys like me and Razor who (correct me if I'm wrong, Bill) get off on the "character" described above because it's sort of an acknowledgment or expiation of the things we most dislike about ourselves. I don't think it's a more intellectual way of appreciating the show -- the urge towards self-effacement is about as visceral as the desire to hear about titties on the radio. At least, it is for me.
The Stern character simply hates his guests and co-hosts as he hates himself; he's a mean little pornography-addicted freak whose self-loathing reverses itself only in fits of equally grotesque narcissism, as when he flashes his listeners with a dirty raincoat by disclosing disgusting secrets about himself. But his relentlessly loser style makes him seem honest, and wins him a privileged relationship with the truth; fans believe what he says -- about everything from politics to back pain to etiquette. He has hewn his character brilliantly.
I'm not gonna pay 13 bucks a month for it, though.
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