[color=lightgray]Hathaway crept upright in his creaky leather seat, as upright as two bum legs would support. On occasion, he would wobble side to side, rocking to and fro while his rippling arms steadied the rest of his odd 180-pound self in his rickshaw wheelchair. He'd hobble himself up to the corner of his plastic-topped desk - an equally rickety decoration which oozed a constant secretion of musty, synthetic incense into the oscillations of the single rust-and-black fan which turned to his every nostril's movement - and slowly steady himself along the well-nicked corners of his work station. As the old Lieutenant settled his wobbly disposition along his nicked lectern, each biting little scrape, chip, and scratch dug so well into his resting forearms that even the abrasion-hewn skin of a mercenary could not resist but hold each and every minute incision along the counter's coarse contours. And there, while he sat in the misty mugginess that was the New York Waste's morning, in a musty office, in a simply malignant wheelchair which he had no choice but to accept his confinement, Hathaway only looked to the misery...and smiled.

	The bi-luminescent reds filled the corners of the corners of the room as he flipped the dashboard-array of buzzers and buttons to his side. Like a piano, Hathaway played each switch in orchestral rehearsal, only pausing to tap the boom upon the top of his desk's microphone. The echoing dust resounded with each tap. It even shook his arms a little. The station, then, was set, and so too was the stage.[/color]

	[color=ff073a][b]"LIVE"[/b][/color][color=lightgray], the lights flashed. [/color]

	[color=Indianred][b]"Goooooooood morning wastelanders!"[/b][/color] [color=lightgray]Hathaway chortled. He lost his legs, of course, but if even a landmine could not instill the definition of "humility" unto the man, little aside from God Himself could. And that was not - by the word of the Sisters in town - for lack of Him trying.[/color]

	[color=Indianred][b]"This is [i]your[/i] one-and-only Cap'n Cripples, callin' in fer' duty! Aaaand what do we have today? Well, folks, looks like we've got 'ere just another [i]fan-tastic[/i] mornin' in wonderful Almont: Shit. Just shit. But, guess what, it's my job to talk lotsa' shit, because the world's just kinda' shit. Sometimes, it's good shit. Usually, it's bad shit. But, shit's shit, and your Cap'n Cripples 'ere is [i]the[/i] Shit-talkin' Shit of the wastes? And, ya' know what [i]that means[/i], don'tcha?"[/b][/color]

	[color=indianred][b]"It's time for..."[/b][/color]

	[color=lightgray]The airwaves vibrated with his deep sigh, until the Wasteland could taste the back of his throat over the radio waves.[/color]

	[color=indianred][b]"The God Damn News."[/b][/color]

	[color=lightgray]A few taps resonated along the broadcast. Muffles broadly scattered along, the sound of a few pages turning, just as soon broken by the breach of the static silence. The microscopic sound of a switch deadened across, and Hathaway took to his signal as he cleared his throat.[/color]

	[color=indianred][b]"[i]Idiots Block The George![/i] Well people, some idiot didn't know how to tie any of his damn logs down to his raft, and now, we've got ourselves a brand new shitty dam over at The '87 and George. And until someone dredges up that lumber from back up, if yer' lookin to travel up to 'Beck, get some good boots and clean out your socks, 'cause we're hoofin' it until that shit gets cleaned back up. Seriously, who the hell can't make a god damn knot?! It ain't god damn Robobrain hackin'!"[/b][/color]

	[color=lightgray]A frustrated sigh broke out across the airwaves. A boom ruptured across just after, the slam of his fist upon the table translating into a clap of thunder through the static.[/color] [color=indianred][b]"Maybe I should talk to Troy and the guys...might be able ta' fetch us a good bounty on him - and any other moron who's violating the riverboat regulations!"[/b][/color] [color=lightgray]He returned in guffaw. [/color]

	[color=indianred][b]"And, that'll do it for ya's for now! Now, here's a classic for you; And I don't really give a shit if you don't like these songs, 'cause it's sure as shit better than a lotta' crap! And if you don't like it? Change the damn station! Go on, do it! Go listen to the same twelve songs at Galaxy News Radio all goddamn day!"[/b][/color] [color=lightgray]He roared out in laughter, as if he had told a joke to make his britches ripple and sodden the floor beneath him to a Brahmin pen. 

	A ripple of static cut him off the airwaves.

	The music hummed to, roaring into life, as the Wasteland rose from it's morning slumber.

	And...what a track it was![/color]

	[youtube]https://youtu.be/2T8As2kzelk[/youtube]