Yeah, he's off the radio, he's given up the webcast and even this fanboy hasn't written about him for ... several days. But a new Mischke treasure plopped into my digital lap yesterday, so I thought I'd pass it along.

The Atlantic's James Fallows — also a fanboy — noted the presence on the "Mischke Madness" site of particularly brilliant bits from the City Pages days. As regular readers might recall, one of Mischke's laments was that he didn't get many calls. But there was one comedy-rich source: bill collectors, pursuing the reprobates who had Mischke's call-in number before him.

I'll let Fallows take it from here:

The interactions among [collectors'] hyper-earnestness; and the little cracks of real-personness behind their work personae; and the sequence of odd send-ups Mischke gives them, is both funny and, ultimately, touching. The fact that he can convince the callers (some of whom are obviously in India) that he is a woman, or named Rashad, among other feats, is impressive. At a moment when so many collection calls are being made across the country, there is real power to many of these recordings. Especially the incredible and disturbing final one ("this is my last day on Earth," "well, I would not comment on that sir. Can you tell me how you got behind on the payments?") — though as Mischke recommends, it's best to hear them in order.

The set is here, roughly 90 minutes of modern America distilled into a brain-melting absinthe, punctuated by many laugh-out-loud moments. You simply don't see Tommy's twists and turns coming, and it's giddy when it's not so sad.