“He’s got a squeeze toy in his pants, Howard. A rubber chicken modified with a tube.”
The archive cuts to a commercial: Crazy Eddie’s final going-out-of-business sale. A Stuttering John pre-recorded bit that hasn’t aged well. Then, as the tape ends, Howard mutters to Robin, off-mic: “We are so getting sued tomorrow.” howard stern archive 1999
The studio erupts: Gary “Baba Booey” Dell’Abate groans; Fred Norris hits a fart sound effect (No. 7 from the “Brown Note” library). A caller, Vinny from Queens, screams: “LET HIM UP! I GOT TWENTY BUCKS ON THE FARTMAN!” “He’s got a squeeze toy in his pants, Howard
“Melvin, I respect your commitment to flatulence-based vigilantism. But unless you can clear a room at the Friars Club, you’re a tribute act. Security? Escort the gas man out.” Then, as the tape ends, Howard mutters to
The file clicks on. There’s the warm hiss of a studio microphone, then Howard’s iconic voice—gravelly, half-laughing, already annoyed.
Robin loses it. Fred plays “Thus Spake Zarathustra” over a whoopee cushion. Howard pauses, then delivers the line that still circulates on bootleg forums:
“I have—and I am not making this up—a man in the lobby wearing a full Fartman costume. Cape. Mask. The ass nozzle. He claims he’s the real Fartman. He wants to challenge me to a ‘flatulence duel.’”