Randolph Street: Snapping

September 20th, 2017


Fisherman–Chicago River




Tango–Buenos Aires



Tree & Pier–North Lincoln Park



Jan Schakowsky–Chicago



Street Festival–Chicago


All photos © Jon Randolph




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Benny Jay: Fix That Floor!

September 19th, 2017

This bit’s from the September 17th show. If you want to hear it, click here


So my wife comes home last night to find me in the kitchen eating hummus on a sweet potato tortilla chip. Man, life’s good. And she says…

Laura as wife: Benny, why aren’t you at bowling?

Something you should know. For the last 20 or so years I’ve spent almost every Monday night bowling in a men’s league, which generally starts the first week after Labor Day. Meaning bowling should have started two weeks ago. But…

Damien as me: Ah, it’s the floor.

Laura: Bob’s still installing the new floor? That’s ridiculous!

Something else you should know. Bob owns the bowling alley.

Laura, as wife: How long does it take to fix a freaking floor?

And with that she’s on the phone with Deb, the wife of another bowler in the league.

Laura as my wife: Can you believe this poop, Deb?

Dennis as Deb: Ridiculous.

Laura, as wife: That’s what I said. And I was all set to watch Magic Mike II.

Dennis as Deb: Oooh, that Channing Tatum can park his shoes under my bed anytime he wants. Hold it.

Dennis as Deb, yelling: Hey, get your feet off the couch!

Damien as Cap, yelling from the background: Huh? What I do?

Dennis as Deb, yelling: And stop eating corn chips in the living room. Pig.

Dennis as Deb back on the phone: Sorry, Pam. But I can’t take another minute of having him home on a Monday night.

He sounds like Brando…


Immediately, I head to the bowling alley to break the word to Bob that he’d better fix the floor. I find Bob and his brother, Mark, on their knees in the middle of an alley. The place is in shambles. Dust everywhere. This doesn’t look good for starting the league soon.

Damien, as me: Bob, when you going to install this thing, man?

Dennis as Bob: Ah, this [beep] floor sander is all [beep] up.

Something else you should know about Bob—he swears a lot.

Dennis as Bob: If I had a nickel for every [beep] time this [beep] machine [beep] up.

Then Mark pipes in.

Damien as Marlon Brando: Ah, yeah, ugh–Stella!

Something you should know about Mark. He mumbles. Not sure why. But he sounds like Marlon Brando. When it comes to conversing with Mark, I always ask—what? In the hopes I’ll understand him on the second go around. So…

Damien as me: Ugh, man, what did you say?

Damien as Marlon Brando: Ugh, yeah, ugh—butter.

Oh, well–didn’t work. Just then Bob’s phone rings. It’s Patti, the wife of another bowler.

Laura as Patti: Hey, Bob. What’s going on with that freaking floor?

Dennis as Bob: Gimme one more week.

Laura as Patti: You said that last week. Hold it [starts yelling]: I’m on the phone—what do you want?

Damien as husband, talking from background: Hey, what happened to the pepperoni pizza in the fridge?

Laura as Patti: How the hell do I know? Do I have a pepperoni tracking system in my uterus!

Oh, brother—sounds like trouble in paradise.

Damien as husband in background: Was it you? Did you eat the pepperoni?

Laura as Patti: I didn’t touch that freaking pepperoni!

Damien, as husband in background: It was your no good brother, wasn’t it?

Laura, as Patti: Look, Bob. Fix that floor. When I got married I swore to have and to hold in sickness and in health—but not on Monday nights!

Oh, brother. Look, Bob, for the sake of us all—fix that freaking floor!


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Letter From Milo: Marijuana Blues

September 18th, 2017

In five years, 10 at most, marijuana usage by adults will probably be legal in every state of the union, with the possible exception of Utah, a blue-nosed shithole known for moderation in all things except marriage.

It does my heart good to know that there are some places in this nation where a guy can smoke a little weed without worrying about getting his ass tossed into jail.

But, there is one thing that bothers me about buying marijuana legally – the mechanics of actually purchasing it.

According to some reports I’ve read, there are not enough marijuana outlets in Colorado. In Denver, people have to wait in lines, sometimes for more than an hour, just to get their hands on some reefer.

I don’t like the idea of standing in line for an hour, waiting to buy some weed from a clerk working in a store that will probably have a name like Mister Giggles. I’d much rather get my marijuana the old fashioned way – from my neighborhood dealer.

In the late 70s and early 80s, my connection was a guy named Gary, who lived on Sheffield, near Wrigley Field. Whenever I’d get down to seeds and stems, I’d stop by Gary’s place.

Hanging out at Gary’s was a pleasant way to waste a couple of hours. There was always good music on the stereo, stimulating conversation, and plenty of herb to sample. He enjoyed having people over and was a good host, generous with food and drink. I also met quite a few interesting people, and made some lasting friendships, while sharing joints in Gary’s living room. When I left Gary’s place, I usually had a smile on my face.

And that, my friends, is the way a civilized person, a real gent, buys his weed. When I was a pothead, I did things the right way. I shopped locally, patronized a small business, and kept my money in the neighborhood.

Gary’s been dead for about 15 years, but I was thinking about him recently, wondering how he’d react to the legalization of marijuana. My guess is that he’d be in full panic mode. Aside from a stint in the military, Gary had never held a regular job. He had always been a small-time pot dealer. And that’s all he ever wanted to be.

Legalizing the sale of marijuana in the state of Illinois would have ruined Gary.

Right now, in Colorado and Washington, there are untold thousands of pot dealers out of work, their livelihoods destroyed by arbitrary acts of their state legislatures. Like the ice man, TV repairman, the four-man pitching rotation, and Vaudeville, the neighborhood pot dealer is, or soon will be, relegated to history’s dustbin. These former pillars of the underground community now face a bleak and uncertain future, with nothing to look forward to but the dismal prospect of working for a living.

Good luck, boys. It’s been great doing business with ya.

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Benny Jay: Oh, Those Furries

September 17th, 2017

This bit’s from the September 15th show. If you want to hear it, click right here. As you can hear, cause of technical difficulties that we discovered about ten seconds before we went on the air, Dennis took Laura’s role and I took Dennis’s…


So it’s early Sunday morning, and I’m driving my wife to the airport to catch a flight, and she’s telling me about some lady she met.

Dennis as wife: Oh, Ben, so, I said you’re kidding and she said I’m not and I said…

Tell you the truth I’m only half listening. But don’t tell my wife.

Dennis: Oh my god–it was really weird.

I’m like—weird? What’s weird? I must have missed something good. So I say…

Me as me: What’s weird?

Dennis as wife: I just told you.

Me as me: I know—but just say it again.

Dennis as wife: Okay. She met this guy through a computer dating service.

Me as me: Who met a guy?

Dennis as wife: Jeannie’s friend—weren’t you listening?

Me as me: I was—sort of. But I got the pronouns mixed up.


Dennis had to play the role of my wife…


Dennis as wife: Whatever. So they go out and he brings her home for, you know, their big moment. And he goes into the bathroom and when he comes out, he’s dressed like a squirrel.

Me as me: A squirrel?

Dennis as wife: Yep. A squirrel.

Me as me: No way.

Dennis as wife: I’m telling you. Apparently, there’re people who dress up like Benny the Bull and do the nasty.

Me as me: Let me get this straight. The guy was gonna do it while wearing a squirrel suit?

Dennis as wife: Yes.

Me as me: And she was supposed to dress up like, what – a chipmunk?

Dennis as wife: Or a bunny rabbit. Or whatever.

Immediately, I’m overwhelmed with questions.

Me as me: So, like — how do they do it?

Dennis as wife: What do you mean how do they do it? How does anybody do it?

Me as me: I mean, does he, you know, have, like, a little hole in his squirrel suit for—you know?

Dennis as wife: How do I know?

Me as me: Well, you know everything else.

Dennis was me: Well, I don’t know that.

I can’t get that image of the guy in the squirrel suit out of my mind.

Me as me: So what happened next?

Dennis as wife: Well, she freaked out and ran out of the bedroom, though it’s not really his fault cause on his Internet dating picture he was holding a stuffed animal. I mean, duh, that’s a signal, see, that you’re a Fluffy. Or Pluffy. Or whatever they call it.

Me as me: Damn, you’re like a freakin’ expert on animal sex.

Dennis as wife: I tried to tell you about this months ago.

Me as me: No, you never told me this.

Dennis as wife: Yes, I did. You just didn’t listen, numbskull. You never listen when I tell you about people at work.

Me as me: Oh, no, this is not some boring story about women doing yoga. If you had told me about guys in squirrel suits I definitely would have been listening.

It’s get me wondering: How come I don’t know about this stuff? I bet millions of people know this stuff. Just to be sure—the next day at work I ask Yoda.

Me as me: Hey, Yoda, you ever heard of a Fluffy?

Yoda: A what?

Me as me: You know, guys who dress up like squirrels or chipmunks before sex?”

Yoda: It’s not a Fluffy. It’s a Flurry.

Me as me: Yeah.

Yoda : Duh, Ben, everybody’s heard of that.

Once again—I’m the last to know.

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Randolph Street: Thatching

September 15th, 2017

DSCF2447aThatch Roof–Cancun




4DSCF2438aBeam Walker




All photos © Jon Randolph








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