450 Sunday Night Trivia
With your host Sue KD6UVD
8PM Pacific

📢 Repeater Bulletin: 147.450 is officially closed and no one seems to give a shit!! Who knew!! All traffic is now rerouted to 147.435 for the daily debate championships. Perry (K6SYW) came ready with his obsession with gay shit, fake ghetto accent and his amp (which is all he has), and yet another tiresome round is inevitable. If the truth makes for lively radio, be sure to sit this one out! 🎙️😂Keep up the great work TCS!!!!😂😂😂😂😂😂

NOTICE TO ALL CONCERNED STATIONS

 

(If there are any)

 

147.450 has thrown in the seldom-used towel.

 

Anyone looking for today’s episode of “The Great Frequency Feud” should proceed to 147.435, where the microphones are hot, the opinions are hotter, and the entertainment never seems to begin. Perry seems to be getting an ass kicking by TCS every day. That’s so funny 😂 it’s long overdue.

This is supposed to be a free speech form. But it’s quite evident that it is not you can twist, manipulate, and exaggerate on what the real truth is, but, the real truth is 450 went down the shitter because of all the bullshit for many years. You ruined my Repeater and now you jack off’s are onyour own. Lol lol 😂

Who is ZKZ the cock GOBBLER of Ham Radio. He really destroyed 450 he was the cancer of the frequency. That’s why CHRIS JONES kicked him off and I hope he doesn’t ever come back. You deserve what you have coming.

Chris Jones USA, you’re the kind of loudmouth know-it-all who couldn’t find his own ass with both hands and a roadmap, yet somehow you still think you’re the smartest bastard in every room. Every time you open your fucking mouth, it’s like watching confidence commit a hate crime against intelligence. You don’t debate—you just vomit opinions and expect everyone else to applaud your bullshit.

 

 

You have an ego so goddamn big it has its own zip code, and somehow it’s carrying around a brain the size of a fucking peanut. You act like you’re God’s gift to common sense, but the only thing you’ve mastered is being spectacularly wrong without a single ounce of self-awareness. If stupidity were an Olympic sport, you’d win gold, set a world record, then spend the next ten years telling everyone how you invented the fucking event.

 

 

Nobody is intimidated by you. They’re exhausted by you. Every conversation with you is like being trapped in an elevator with a broken smoke alarm that won’t shut the fuck up. You confuse arrogance with intelligence, volume with credibility, and your own bullshit with reality. The saddest part? You actually believe your own nonsense. You’re never the smartest guy in the room, Chris—you just happen to be the loudest asshole in it.

Christopher Gladden Jones KW6USA, you’re a walking, talking monument to bullshit. If someone ever needed proof that a person could be 100% confidence and 0% brains, they’d just point at your dumb ass and call it a day. You’ve got an answer for everything, even when you don’t know a fucking thing, which, judging by experience, is most of the time.

 

 

You strut around acting like you’re some misunderstood genius, but in reality you’re just another obnoxious prick who mistakes never shutting the fuck up for being intelligent. Every sentence out of your mouth is a reminder that being loud is free, but wisdom apparently costs more than you’ll ever be able to afford.

 

 

Your head is so far up your own ass you probably think the echo is applause. You couldn’t admit you were wrong if the truth hit you in the face with a fucking shovel. People don’t stop arguing with you because you’ve won—they stop because arguing with an arrogant idiot is like playing chess with a pigeon. It’ll knock over the pieces, shit on the board, and strut away convinced it’s the fucking grandmaster.

Christopher Gladden Jones KW6USA, you’re the kind of loudmouth know-it-all who couldn’t find his own ass with both hands and a roadmap, yet somehow you still think you’re the smartest bastard in every room. Every time you open your fucking mouth, it’s like watching confidence commit a hate crime against intelligence. You don’t debate—you just vomit opinions and expect everyone else to applaud your bullshit.

 

 

You have an ego so goddamn big it has its own zip code, and somehow it’s carrying around a brain the size of a fucking peanut. You act like you’re God’s gift to common sense, but the only thing you’ve mastered is being spectacularly wrong without a single ounce of self-awareness. If stupidity were an Olympic sport, you’d win gold, set a world record, then spend the next ten years telling everyone how you invented the fucking event.

 

 

Nobody is intimidated by you. They’re exhausted by you. Every conversation with you is like being trapped in an elevator with a broken smoke alarm that won’t shut the fuck up. You confuse arrogance with intelligence, volume with credibility, and your own bullshit with reality. The saddest part? You actually believe your own nonsense. You’re not the smartest guy in the room, Christopher Gladden Jones KW6USA —you just happen to be the loudest asshole in it.

Oh, Jimmy Houghten WB6SUS, captain of confidence grand,

 

With certainty held in a wave of your hand.

 

You stride through the room with a knowing grin,

 

As though every debate was decided within.

 

 

Your compass points north—except now and then,

 

When it spins in circles and calls it a win.

 

The facts may protest, the evidence groan,

 

Yet somehow you’re certain you’re never alone.

 

 

You polish opinions till they brightly shine,

 

Then declare them as vintage, like old, priceless wine.

 

When questions appear, you don’t pause or reflect—

 

You simply promote them to “facts” by direct.

 

 

Your speeches are epic, your pauses are few,

 

And somehow each story comes back around to you.

 

A master of confidence, bold to the end,

 

Where logic is merely a troublesome friend.

 

 

You climb every hill with remarkable flair,

 

Then plant your own flag though no one’s up there.

 

You’ll argue with echoes, debate with the breeze,

 

Then graciously thank yourself, aiming to please.

 

 

If certainty earned a prestigious award,

 

You’d build yourself shelves to display every board.

 

If persistence were gold, you’d own half the sun;

 

If humility counted… well, let’s just move on.

 

 

So here’s to your passion, your thunderous style,

 

Your talent for stretching one minute a mile.

 

May every discussion bring laughter instead,

 

And may wisdom occasionally visit your head.

 

 

For every good comedy needs someone bold,

 

A character larger than stories once told.

 

So take this in humor, with smile and good cheer—

 

The stage isn’t quite the same when you’re not here.

* “USAs signal isn’t the only thing that’s off frequency.”

 

* “USA treats the repeater like it’s his personal podcast.”

 

* “USAs operating manual must have been printed upside down.”

 

* “USAs idea of good operating practice is whatever everyone else isn’t doing.”

 

* “USA can create interference without even keying the mic.”

Volume III:

 

 

Perry Perry quite contrary

 

Oh why do you like balls so hairy?

 

Jamming 435 like a full blown Ferry

 

Getting slapped around by Gary

 

Beat up more than Goldstein, Barry

 

Your ebay furniture; ordinary

 

Milking Linda like a moo-cow, diary

 

To Linda, you're a dingleberry

 

Out on the street if she knew an actuary

 

Kinky hair with curls of Jheri

 

Your sickening smell makes others weary

 

Has a stupid friend, Oy Vey!

 

Mustache like a puss? yes very!

 

Drugs and drinking; customary

 

Size 40 jeans? Coronary

 

 

Allow me to be your luminary

 

For jamming brings a corollary

 

Fines damaging and monetary

 

And your station, therefore caducary.

 

All this I say to you, Perry...

 

Your pending defeat will be legendary.