When you think about the ultimate cliques in
entertainment history, where does your mind go?
Oh, usually straight to the classics. Right.
Usually it's the definition of cool. You picture
the Rat Pack in the 50s. Frank Sinatra, Dean
Martin. Exactly. Sammy Davis Jr. You think of
tuxedos, whiskey, Vegas showrooms. Or maybe if
you grew up a bit later, it's the Brat Pack.
Yeah, Rob Lowe, Demi Moore. Beautiful people
of the 80s. Right. Groups that represented aspiration.
You know, you wanted to be them or at least you
wanted to be at their party. Yeah. They defined
a certain type of elite exclusivity. Exactly.
But today we are doing a deep dive into a group
that is the twisted, almost funhouse mirror image
of that concept. Definitely. They are a radio
phenomenon that has spanned decades and they
are a collection of personalities so bizarre,
so unfiltered, and often so physically or socially
distinct that they created an entirely new ecosystem
of fame. It really is unique. We aren't talking
about the beautiful people today. We are talking
about the Whack Pack from The Howard Stern Show.
And calling it a group almost undersells it.
Yeah. It's really more of a bizarre social experiment
that ran for 40 years. What's fascinating here
is that while the name Whack Pack sounds like
a chaotic free -for -all, it does sound like
that. It is actually a highly structured, almost
bureaucratic institution. That is what really
surprised me as we were prepping the sources
for this deep dive. You might think, oh, it's
just anyone weird who calls into the show. Right,
just random people. But that's not true at all,
is it? It's not just a list of frequent flyers.
No, not at all. There are votes. There are criteria.
There's a literal official registry. It's a cast
system. Stern effectively gamified eccentricity.
Gamified eccentricity. I like that. Yeah, he
created a bureaucratic structure. You know, ranks,
hierarchies, entry requirements. And he built
this around people who are, by definition, completely
chaotic. Right. It's imposing order on total
disorder. So let's unpack this strange universe
for you, the listener. Our mission today is to
figure out what separates a regular guest from
a bona fide whack packer. Because there is a
line. There is a line, and it is surprisingly
rigid. To understand that line, you really have
to look at the definition. Stern biographer Richard
Mincer labeled the pack a key part of the show,
noting it was a direct parody of those cool packs
we mentioned earlier. The rat pack. Exactly.
But the criteria for entry isn't just about looking
different or sounding different. Right. Because,
I mean, plenty of people have odd voices or unique
looks. That's not enough to get you a jacket
in this club. No, it's not. The core definition,
the thing that Stern has explicitly stated over
and over is that a true whack packer is defined
by an inability to understand why they are funny.
That is the aha moment right there. It's the
lack of self -awareness. Precisely. If you are
in on the joke, you aren't a whack packer. You're
just a comedian. Right, you're a collaborator.
A whack packer is someone the audience is laughing
at, or perhaps with, but the individual themselves
doesn't quite grasp the dynamic. They think it's
serious. Yeah, they think they're being taken
seriously. Or they think they are famous for
a totally different reason entirely. So if I
call in and I'm doing a bit or I'm trying to
be the crazy character, I'm automatically disqualified.
Essentially, yes. Yeah. Because you're trying.
The magic of the Wack Pack is that they aren't
trying to be funny. They just are, often due
to their circumstances or their worldview. Let's
go back to the beginning. How did this whole
concept even start? Because Howard Stern has
been on the air since the dinosaur age. Yeah.
Was the whack pack there from day one? Not by
name, but the prototype was definitely there.
If you want to find patient zero based on our
sources, you have to go all the way back to May
1980. Wow, 1980. Yeah. Stern was broadcasting
from WWW in Detroit, Michigan. Detroit Rock City.
Exactly. And he meets a woman named Irene. She
becomes known as Irene the Leather Weather Lady.
Which, I just have to say, is a fantastic radio
name. It really is. She met Stern at the station,
and she just had that unique energy. Unpredictable,
distinct, completely herself. Yeah. She is identified
as essentially the first whack packer, even though
the term itself didn't exist yet. So when did
the branding kick in? Because the Whack Pack
is such a sticky term. It rhymes. It's punchy.
It took a full decade. A decade? Yeah. The term
Whack Pack wasn't officially used on air until
July 6, 1990. This is documented in Stern's own
history of the show. OK. But there was a catalyst
event a couple of years prior that really shifted
the dynamic from random, odd guests to a recurring
cast of characters. And that involves a certain
member of the animal kingdom. Fred the Elephant
Boy. A legend in this world. November 28, 1988.
That's the exact date he was introduced. Okay.
Before Fred, you had people who would pop in
and out. But Fred's arrival... followed by a
few others around that time, solidified the idea
that these weren't just guests. They were part
of the crew. They were part of the show's DNA.
They were characters in a sitcom that never ended.
And it just exploded from there. I mean, since
the move to Series XM, the ecosystem expanded
even further. Dramatically. Some of these members
even got their own shows. Which is wild when
you think about the definition we just established.
People who don't know why they are funny were
given hours of airtime to just... to just talk.
Which validates the point that they aren't just
sideshows. They became content generators in
their own right. And here's where it gets really
interesting. As the group grew, the need for
regulation grew. You can't just let everyone
in. This is my absolute favorite part of the
research, the official list. It sounds ridiculous
to have a boardroom meeting about this, but that's
exactly what happened, right? It is. February
24, 2015. This wasn't a casual conversation.
This was an event. Stern and his entire crew
held an official vote to determine the roster.
They went through name by name to decide who
was in and who was out. Just picture that room.
You have highly paid producers, writers, and
Howard himself sitting there debating the merits
of High Pitcherick. It establishes that membership
isn't arbitrary. It's a status that is granted
or revoked. It's a bureaucracy of the absurd.
So who made the cut? Let's run through some of
the heavy hitters on this living Whack Packers
list because the variety is honestly staggering.
Well, if we are talking Whack Pack royalty, you
have to start with the man who is named the greatest
Whack Packer of all time in that same vote. Beetlejuice.
Lister Green. Beetlejuice, he is the gold standard.
He embodies every single criteria we discussed.
He has microcephaly and dwarfism, so he's visually
distinct. He is incredibly combative, but lovable.
Very lovable. And most importantly, he has absolutely
zero concept of the show's context. You ask him
a question, and he answers a question that no
one asked. He's a global meme at this point.
I mean, I've seen kids on TikTok using Beetlejuice
clips who have no idea who Howard Stern even
is. Exactly. He transcends the medium. The veterans
like high -pitch Eric, he celebrated 20 years
on the show back in 2017. That's incredible!
Think about that. That is longer than Seinfeld,
Friends, and The Office combined. He has made
a literal career out of just being high -pitch.
And then you have the crossover hits like Tan
Mom, Patricia Crensell, She was in the news for
that tanning salon incident involving her daughter,
which, you know, that was a pretty dark news
story. It was very dark. But then she gets absorbed
into the Stern universe and becomes this bizarre
recording artist character. It's a rehabilitation
program for the strange. And we have to talk
about the names. I mean, the creativity or the
crudeness, depending on your perspective, is
off the charts. We've got Ask Napkin Ed. Yes.
We've got Debbie the cum lady. Gary the Conqueror,
who was previously known as Gary the Retard.
Right. That name change is interesting. It shows
that even in the whack pack, the outside world
eventually seeps in. They had to update the terminology,
even if just slightly. It was a fascinating moment
where the show had to grapple with changing social
norms. Yeah. Stern stuck with the original name
for a long time, arguing he was descriptive,
not derogatory in his intent. But eventually,
Gary the Conqueror became the title. It's a grander
title, anyway. It sounds like a medieval king.
Then you have Jeff the Vomit Guy and Jeff the
Drunk. It's a very, well, bodily function heavy
list. It is. Yeah. But looking at this list,
Asian Pete, Bigfoot, Medicated Pete, Sour Shoes.
What stands out to you about the makeup of this
group? Well, it's diverse, but in a very specific
way. It's the diversity of the unusual. The list
includes blatant racism, mental disability, comical
appearance, strange voices, or specific abilities.
Like Sour Shoes. Right. Sour Shoes is a musical
savant, but socially chaotic. It is a catch -all
for anything outside the norm. But there is one
hard rule that Stern adheres to, which I think
is important to distinguish the pack from the
crew. What's that? Staff members are never whack
packers. That's a crucial distinction, because
some of the staff members are pretty weird themselves.
They are. But they are employees. They are in
on the production. They receive a paycheck from
the company to produce the show. Right. The Whack
Pack exists outside the payroll, generally speaking.
They are the other. They are the raw material
that the staff mines for comedy. Okay, let's
dig deeper into this idea of the other. Because
there is a section of this history that I found
absolutely hilarious and weirdly poignant. The
rejected list. Yes, the not -whack -pack material
list. These are people who seem like they should
be in the club. They're weird. They're frequent
guests, but they were rejected. This is where
the psychology of the show really shines. The
primary reason for exclusion. The ability to
hold a job and function in society. That is such
a low bar. Can you hold a job if, yes, you are
out? It's the functional barrier. If you can
navigate the real world too well, you lose a
mystique. You aren't helpless enough or disconnected
enough to be a true Wack Packer. Let's look at
some of these rejects. Mary Ann from Brooklyn.
If you listen to the show, you know her voice
immediately. If she screams, she loves Howard.
She calls in constantly. She's the number one
super fan and the den mother to the Wack Pack.
She organizes things for them, but she's not
in the pack. Why? Because she's a functioning
suburban mother. She's too aware. She's too organized.
She's playing a character of a crazed fan. But
she knows exactly when to turn it off. And then
there is King of All Blacks. Lawrence Coward.
He's been a staple for years, but he's excluded
because he functions. The research notes he has
even filed discrimination suits in his personal
life. He holds a job. He has money. Right. He's
obsessed with high end brands like mowing faucets
and ball main jeans. He's materialistic and quirky,
but he's navigating the capitalist system just
fine. Exactly. He is not material. because he's
too grounded in reality, even if his reality
is warped. There are also people who were excluded
because they got banned. It's not just about
being functional, it's about being manageable.
Right. There is a line where wackiness becomes
a genuine liability. Elegant Elliot Offen, permanently
banned in 2006. Whoa. He was physically threatening.
Hansi, permanently banned in April 2016 because
he started bringing Howard's family into his
conspiracy theories. You can be crazy, but you
can't be dangerous. Correct. The ecosystem has
to be safe for the host. But the best story of
rejection, without a doubt, is the saga of Bobo.
This poor guy. I mean, talk about desperation.
He desperately wants to be considered a whack
packer. He wants the jacket. He wants the accolades.
Oh, he craves it. But the show treats him with
such disdain. There was this incredible sequence
of events where he actually lost his name. Right.
He was caught plagiarizing jokes or doing something
to annoy Howard. And the punishment was that
he was stripped of the Bobo moniker. He was demoted
to just Steve from Florida. Which is so generic,
it hurts. It's like being called occupant. And
to get the name Bobo back, he had to perform
a humiliating act. This was June 2017. Paint
the picture for us. He had to walk the streets
of New York City. specifically around the Sirius
XM building, wearing a mesmerizingly awful outfit.
I believe it was an obscure military uniform
or something equally baffling, covered in badges,
essentially looking like a stolen valor case
or just a lunatic. And he's doing this in broad
daylight. People are staring. And he's doing
it just for the privilege of being called Bobo
again. It illustrates the sheer desperation involved.
But here is the kicker. Even after doing that,
even after the debasement, the 2015 criteria
lists him under not -whack -pack material. It's
tragic. It's Shakespearean. He did the Walk of
Shame, and he's still just a hanger -on. Because
he wants it too much. Remember the rule. A lack
of self -awareness. Mm. Bobo is too aware of
his desire to be famous. He's trying too hard.
Right. A true whack -packer like Beetlejuice
doesn't try. He just is. Bobo is a fanboy trying
to get into the band, and that makes him ineligible.
That is a brutal psychological assessment. It
really shows that Stern holds all the cards.
You can't just decide to be a Whack Packer. It
has to be bestowed upon you, usually against
your will or without your full understanding.
Exactly. Now, we have been having fun with the
names and the rejection, but we have to pivot
a little bit because the show has been on for
so long. The reality of life and death has caught
up with the Whack Pack. These aren't cartoons.
They are people. Yes. And when you look at the
list of deceased members, it's a sobering reminder.
that behind the characters are real human beings,
often with difficult lives and serious health
issues. One of the biggest losses for the show,
and I think for the audience, was Eric the actor.
Formerly known as Eric the Midget. He passed
away in 2014. He was, in my opinion, the greatest
radio guest of all time. But... He hated being
called a whack packer, didn't he? He despised
it. And that was his charm. He was the antithesis
of the happy -go -lucky character. He was grumpy.
He was demanding. He was ungrateful. He would
call in and demand that Howard get him roles
on CSI or in Plainsight. And the audience loved
him for it. They did. Because he was fighting
against his reality. He was a very small man
in a wheelchair who saw himself as a mogul. When
he died, it was a legitimate blow to the show's
universe. And then there's Hank, the angry drunken
dwarf. A legendary early member. He was exactly
what his name implied. He passed away quite young.
And Riley Martin. The alien expert. He was a
different flavor entirely. He had his own cosmology,
his own symbols. He claimed to be in contact
with the Biavians. The Biavians. Yeah. He wasn't
just a whack packer in the sense of being silly.
He was a true eccentric with a deeply held, albeit
strange, belief system. He died in 2018. We also
lost Fred the Elephant Boy recently in 2023.
We mentioned him earlier as a catalyst for the
whole group. That feels like the end of an era.
It does. And we have to mention the darker side
of this lifestyle. The history mentions Joey
Booth's visitor, Joseph Basilino, who died of
an overdose, and Crackhead Bob. Right. The nicknames
themselves Crackhead Bob, Jeff the Drunk, often
pointed to substance abuse issues. When you see
Crackhead Bob on a funny list, you laugh. But
then you realize, oh, that was a person struggling
with addiction who suffered permanent damage
from it. That is the tension at the heart of
the whack pack. It's entertainment, but it's
drawn from the margins of society. These are
people who, in many cases, wouldn't have a platform
anywhere else. That is the debate. Is it exploitation
or is it inclusion? Because on one hand, the
show is mining their misfortune for comedy, but
on the other hand, they are celebrated. They're
loved. And that leads us to the cultural impact.
Because for better or worse, being in the Whack
Pack made these people famous. Real fame. They
did. They gained notoriety. They made personal
appearances around the country. Imagine showing
up to a club in New Jersey on a Friday night
to see Beetlejuice or High Pitch Eric. People
did it. Thousands of them. They paid cover charges.
The Whack Packers made money, sometimes more
money than they could have made doing anything
else. Wow. Some of them landed roles in films
and television programs. They transcended the
radio show. It's the ultimate example of famous
for being famous, but with a twist. It's famous
for being peculiar. And this brings us back to
that core definition, the lack of self -awareness.
It creates a unique dynamic where the fame is
almost accidental on the part of the performer,
they are being themselves, and the world is consuming
it as comedy. It's fascinating that someone like
Beetlejuice is arguably more recognizable to
a certain generation than some A -list actors,
just from memes and clips online. Absolutely.
The Whack Pack branding was genius marketing.
It took disparate individuals, a guy with a high
voice, a woman who tans too much, a man who thinks
he talks to aliens and turned them into a collectible
set. Like trading cards. Gotta catch them all.
But instead of Pokemon, it's high -pitched voices
and conspiracy theories. Exactly. And it created
the community. As weird as it sounds, the Whack
Pack is a family. A dysfunctional, messy, sometimes
tragic family. but a family nonetheless. So let's
try to summarize what we've learned here for
you. But WACPAC isn't just a random list of guests.
It's a parody of Hollywood elites, formalized
by a vote in 2015. It is a rigid institution
defined by a lack of self -awareness. If you
know you're funny, you're out. If you can hold
a normal job, you're out. It's a club for the
unemployable and the unexplainable. And despite
the funny names Tan Mom, Medicated Pete, Jeff
the Vomit Guy, these are real people who became
unlikely celebrities, sometimes struggling with
real issues, but always providing content for
the stern machine. It's a symbiotic relationship.
The show needs the chaos. And the Whack Packers,
for the most part, seem to crave the attention
or the validation that comes with the title.
Even Bobo, after his walk of shame, is still
calling in today. So what does this all mean
for you, the listener? Why does this phenomenon
exist? Why do we tune in to hear people who don't
know why we are laughing? I think it leaves us
with a really provocative question about the
nature of entertainment and our own psychology.
If the defining trait of a whack packer is that
they don't understand why they are funny, what
does that say about the millions of people who
are laughing? That's a great point. Are we celebrating
unique humanity in all its forms? Or are we participating
in something a bit darker, a spectacle where
we feel superior to the person on the stage?
That is a question that might make you think
twice the next time you chuckle at a viral clip
of Beetlejuice or High Pitch Eric. Are we laughing
with them or at them? And does it matter if they're
cashing the check? Indeed, it forces us to look
in the mirror as much as we look at them. Well,
on that note, we will leave you to ponder the
ethics of the Whack Pack. Thanks for diving deep
with us today into one of the strangest, most
enduring corners of pop culture history. It was
a pleasure. See you on the next Deep Dive.