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Gonzo Greg




Brains behind the Big Dumb Show (see that's funny because it's an oxymoron...nevermind.)

Favorite Drink:
Alcohol, the free kind

Greatest Possession:
The last Geno's pizza roll



The Big Dumb Show

The Big Dumb Show is a non-apologetic, four-hour adventure into the psyche of a bunch of f***in' weirdoes. Two of which, claim to be professional broadcasters. The others, well, they listen. And they call. And you can, too. Breaking down the pretentious walls of "media", Gonzo Greg and Don Stuck obliterate the barrier between the people that should have control of the media, and the money-grubbing bastards that actually do. (Not that there's anything bad about being a money-grubbing bastard. Particularly if you might be considering giving me some of the money you "grubbed".) As you make your way to some evil, twisted little job, busting your ass for "the man", Gonzo opens the phones and talks to you about things that are IMPORTANT. Like, boobs. And booze. And boobs.


Gonzo Greg

I was born to hippie parents and spent most of my childhood stuck in the back of a VW Microbus inhaling second-hand pot smoke on the way to folk festivals and love-ins all over New England. (Naked baby in the mud puddle at the original Woodstock? That's me.) When I was about eight, my dad, who owned a motorcycle shop, took me to visit a radio station in Boston so he could buy some radio ads for his alleged "business". There was this long-haired freak, sitting in a studio on the top floor of the tallest building in the city, lights turned down low, smoking a fat joint and listening to music with some slut on his lap. It was at that moment I realized that this was the kind of job I could really be good at.

With my sites firmly set on a career on radio broadcasting, I diligently set about developing a wide array of anti-social behaviors, poor grooming, and profoundly poor study habits all the way through most of high school, which, thanks to a bizarre set of family circumstances, ended up being in Los Angeles. After the obligatory massive teenage parent vs. offspring fight to end all fights, my dad tossed me out on my ass, and I spent my early adult years essentially homeless, living with friends and out on the streets of Hollywood.

Having no place to live sucks. Although, if you're going to do it, do it when you're young, and do it in a warm climate. The upside for me was that the timing was perfect. While my peers were dragging their asses to chemistry class everyday, I was coming home from witnessing the birth of the punk and new wave scene in LA. Black Flag, Circle Jerks, X, The Adolescents, Red Kross, The Dickies ... so many great bands were exploding, and everyone knew that the face of rock music was about to meet with the heel of an angry combat boot.

I eventually returned to an institution of semi-higher learning (Community College) so that I could become an intern at my favorite radio station. I started off as the station's whipping boy, and after several years of getting continually crapped on, I finally got to be the morning DJ. Of course, not before they threw out all my favorite punk music and changed the station to "hair metal".

Anyway ... long story short ... as much as I despised "heavy metal", it did start my career, and it was a great time for meeting hot chicks who liked to f***, so a big "Thank You!" to Motley Crue and all your big-haired brethren. After that, Nirvana broke, music changed back to being cool again, and I ended up working at radio stations all over the country (Philadelphia, Minneapolis, Louisville, San Bernardino, Detroit) before I ended up here in Indianapolis in 2000.

The Basics:

Angelina Jolie, not Pam Anderson.

Jack and Sally, not Tom and Katie.

Batman, not Superman. But Wonder Woman. Oh, yeah!

Ford, not Chevy.

Vodka, not Whiskey.

Black, always.

Converse, not Nike. Even though Nike now owns Converse.

Be unique. Be weird. Be you.

Freedom, baby!

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e-mail gonzo- gonzo@bigdumbshow.com

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