It’s autumn in Los Angeles and this one’s a real eavesdropper’s delight. Pepper-plumped lips and french vanilla at the gas station. A dream of tandem haircuts where chopped tresses are swept into a single dustpan. Stripped of association, is the long nail attractive? Jacqueline enjoys a ride down a sales funnel. Kate greets a dog and suffers the consequences. A cruel observation about jewelry is recalled. Big tampons, pads galore.

The hags are back, lying prone in mild Trendelenburg. Jacqueline tests competing wearable devices at once. Kate forces community at The Grove, where leopard abounds. Hens clucking about chair structure? It’s the music of the every day. The hope of a whisper campaign, trusting the ears to guide. Two couples, four Oaxaca plates. A vat of rosewater, King of the locker room, and extreme temperature sleepers. Are we closest to God right after dinner? Scrambled brands and a false report.

It’s Headache Poog for the hags as the Advil promise rides again. Jacqueline packs density on half-caff while Kate activates her symptom radar. They discuss the hatred of live wood, unsafely sexualizing the bedpost, and life at The Towers. The etiquette of approaching a seated celebrity with your compliment is to accept the role of trash. A tragic game of “Guess What’s in My Mug?” Rubber bands around the ears, two coyotes across the street. The same spirit, a different way in. Is there an illness on the way or is it simply the injuries of a woman at dinner?  

JN having coffee at home and reminding you today is the final day for lifetime Dear Friend life-time lock in deal at berlantsnovak.supercast.com

It’s raining in LA—a snow day—and the hags are back to Morning Poog. Jacqueline channels a football coach while Kate recovers from an animal in the floor. They delight at the emerging seasonal offerings, if only for the sake of marking time. A poet shares an affiliate code. More than ordered arrives in a package. The unconscious massage of the sternocleidomastoid. A scheduling bonanza, the two-restaurant experience and splitting a cocktail. Does fear of the blood draw stem from the process or the results?

Halloween nears and the hags are back in the studio. Jacqueline discusses up lighting, Kate fears for the movie she hasn’t yet seen. Spontaneous toning in the home, boldly tearing off the vinyl. A discovery that London might withhold liquids from artists. Broth sidecar. Red light rotisserie. Send back what’s not yours, gently and lovingly to the source.

A phone call from today to celebrate 1-year anniversary of going indie. The hags hopped on a zoom on-the-go for a spontaneous minisode with a red hot promo. An upgrade offer is now LIVE thru NOV 5 for a LIFETIME DEAR FRIEND MEMBERSHIP for 20% off…so for about 8 dollars a month, you’ll can lock in the $10/month therefor life. Finally enjoy the monthly bonus episode, product corner, and a bunch of wild stuff coming soon. Get in now to be part of the celebration. We appreciate you more than you know! https://berlantnovak.supercast.com/

The hags are back in the studio. Kate’s been on symptom watch and Jacqueline's been convex in a red light bed. A jaw pops from the revelation that Christmas is not far. Unless you open your termini your facial massage cannot de-puff. A generator hides behind camouflage that announces it and the smell of chlorine doesn’t automatically mean you’re in a Four Brooms venue. The hags reconsider the ever expanding skincare line of Augustinus Jedediah Binoffrio. It’s good to back.

It’s basically the beauty sandwich. Taking a break from mainlining electrolytes. On second thought, no Mayo Clinic sweatshirt. Ice-ass cold. A Filofax youth. The pharmacy’s aluminum garage. Buying spiritual in a used book store. An incantation of safety to the self. A year of no hats. Throwing around the word proprietary. FMC.

You cannot fill the hole until you drill the hole. It doesn’t have to be unreal to be life-changing. Suckered by the protein algorithm into another cottage cheese recipe. An ADD-only island to thrive among likeminded. An altar with a sense of humor, aiming to impress. The failed promise of the giant chessboard. The first marg lays down a red carpet for the second. Rumor or research? I’ll have both.

Crank up the tunes during turbulence. The right to narrative continuity. The AmEx lounge—a glimmer in the desert. Two jousters with veiled competitive jovial hostility. Ordering hungry, paddling feet in ecstacy upon arrival. Fear observed, performing the self for others. Allergen extravaganza of opacity. As always, all information is sacred and interesting. Depersonalized service.

Pulling one away from the group. The manipulation of the sleep state. A shameful u-turn. Don’t stack hell with a good thing. Dressing made from rind. Divine meal, top to bottom. Morning baths. Egg whites in a carton. Goodbye phone, hello book of symbols. Notes of autumn haunting. Oil cleanser—real for everyone.

Motion light at ankle height gives way to a paranormal event. Praying for morning, staring at the doorway to the darkness of the woods. Deviant spiritual art on the internet. Masculinity that’s not afraid. Another river, energy flows across them. Spirits love to drain batteries, so we tie the velvet bag a little tighter.

Reaching for archetypal energies. Marinating green beans village-style. Neighborhood bakers. Staring into the eye of the fig—frozen, dried, sweetened. Unhinged solutions, no more nesting bowls. A warm metallic packet. You doubt me, but you love me in the night. Christmas is en route.

***In celebration of the re-release of the Lychee Martini gummies from Rose Delights, we're putting out a never-before-heard episode, recorded at Jar a year ago.*** What is the origin of the flask? Candied garlic on the fries. Imagine receiving sambuca with two beans. The dog doesn’t live for you. Channeling the confidence of the red onion. Gotta hydrate, in theory. Building—any hauntings? Every 10 days is not a unit. Chins across the table, ass back in the seat. Dry scoops in the mouth. The true tickle, talked off the wedge.

Doctoring a clock. Every day is an inside joke. What good is a dead HiZoo? Sexless UV hats. Deva Curl’s hand sucking eroticism out of the head. Sturm caved, you’re next. Rerouting the smock to a safe center.

Walking around like a mouthguard cooling into position. Prostrating before nature, bulking the facial muscles, and making money in the rock climbing position. There’s no WiFi in the Scottish caves. A crazy amount of ice, clanging against itself. Endlessly reproducing the past—the spectacle of continuation.

Grumpy on a plane, the wheels retract like a stuck garage. Something off at the front desk and scared of an upgrade. The foot de-gloved. Over-ordering in a new town. Take the comforts where and when you can. Rediagnosed by every book. The airport lounge at capacity. Overnight flight, no lodging when you hit the ground. Saved by new brows.

The only thing worse than a bad show is a good show. The facts are the facts. The king leaves less floor room. Incoming hotel room calls. Ceremonial piss. Moved by soft technology. Attractive words. Contact stress. Watch the little lady go by. Medieval beans. Hoping for miracles day-of. Third eye pinned open by Insta. Danger, danger, danger. Kate tricks the algorithm with her perverse curiosity. Grill brush-free zone. Vegan grill-master. Barely there sports bra.

Midnight birthday wish and the somber passage into a new day. Ojai as a Spiritual Vortex where an absence of Airbnbs proves relevant to transcendence. A light champagne pour, to sing for another table, a new blush. Kate discovers the 'Instapot:' wonders, cackling in the frozen vegetable aisle. The writer's booth at the local bar for Jacqueline, the mysterious regular. Digging deeper on the problem of the highball glass.