How old are you? Now be honest with yourself, don't fudge the number to make yourself feel good. Are you... halfway through life? Be honest. If you're 25... do you really think 50 is in the cards for you? Look down at yourself. Is there pizza currently sitting in a box outside of the fridge? Is your silverware drawer filled with Taco Bell hot sauce packets? 50? Are you sure? The same person, same habits, same general disposition in life, and that guy doubles his current age? Come on. Don't be an asshole. If you had an album in you it would've been made by now. Maybe start with your taste, start with your preferences, and grow an understanding of life beyond yourself, beyond all the current bullshit distractions. Get really into birding. Stop tweeting about whether or not you liked a movie. Your life, your's specifically, is very short. Don't waste it.

We even said at the top of the show, hey, let's not spend too much time on this. There isn't much to rehash that hasn't already been heavily outlined in every podcast since 2015. But if the president insists on being a big fat pedophile, then we have no choice but to do our due diligence and discuss, once more, the implications of a world run by elite pedophilia that for some goddamn reason never gets seriously reported on in mainstream media. You know how shitty your world has become when the chicken finger fat fucks over at Qanon are sometimes actually right about the way things work? No one takes pride in admitting that the stinky bean bag people have a legitimate point, least of all me: a man who has had sex MORE THAN ONCE (i swear)

Whales are better than humans. Full stop, no further explanation, I don't want to hear arguments against it. Think of a moment in your life when you did something genuinely kind for someone else, okay? Ready? On that day there was a sperm whale that was 100times better than your shitty little moment. What did you do, anway? Make your mom a disgusting pancake breakfast before punching your sister in the face on Mother's Day, when your mom is so tired and depressed that all she wants is to take a nap and not hear violence in the house. By the way, she never forgave you. Your childhood continues to haunt her, you fucking non-whale piece of shit

Pessimism rules, and also fuck you. If you wanted to listen to something upbeat and fun you can click your way over to Hank and John's lame shitty podcast about like... I bet 90% of the show is them talking about bugs and bacteria, which hey, look, I don't mind that, but grow some adulthood charisma. I mean Jesus Christ with these old men making youtube vidoes where they talk like they're 16 and explain how cancer cells grow or how actually Mary Oliver is the best poet ever. Get some hatred in your balls for once and get mad about things that matter.

Sometimes the mind is a beautiful thing, and allows you to think like, what if I was the exact same person in every single way BUT I was a chinese. Isn't that fun? Same old guy, walking around, going to work, meal prepping my fucking tilapia bullshut, but then I look in the mirror and I'm a perfect chinese version of who I was when I was Mr. Whiteguy. Hey, how about instead of saying "no more Mr. Nice Guy" you say "no more Mr. White Guy"? Same context for why you'd say it, but you've been pushed too far by someone that it causes you to replace your skin tone. Is that good? Do you like that? Maybe it's time to go to therapy.

Also ICE? More like fucking... Not Nice, huh? I'm coming for you Mark Normand, you lazy hack. Two can play the boring dumb guy with no internal monologue. All I gotta do is get a fake degree from a college that only exists on Facebook, make up a bunch of shit about aliens and trans people, and then snivel my way onto Rogan's show. After that you can't touch me. Watch my meteoric rise in the worst comedy scene that's ever existed. I can't wait to sell my soul to the next stinky fat president I convince hundreds of drooling orangutans to vote for. That's when I know I'll have made it.

You wanna come over and split some root veg bruh? We can roast em for a kale salad and then fuck each other senseless bruh. Get our shit red and shit bruh, and then call each other every night before bed bruh. No fr fr ease up on that shit bruh, cause we in a relationship and shit and I don't want no one seeing how much I love you bruh.

If you didn't like the film it's because you've allowed the internet to fully warp your mind and turn you into a pile of goo. You walk between the bathroom and the living room, shitting and eating, shitting and eating, until it's time for bed when you scroll endlessly through AI porn slop and tweets about how, actually, technically, Paul Thomas Anderson is actually like, not even like, doing like black feminism correctly. Me, a stupid baby who doesn't know how to write or take photographs with my iphone, I know I would definitely make a better movie than that Mayo Ass White Boy, because despite never finishing a book ever in my life, I've read enough headlines and seen enough reviews of youtube standup clips that I'm more than capable of producing an entertaining three hour movie about failed revolutions and the dispossession of people from levels of real power. Goddamn you people suck. You should be ashamed to go outside, because you don't deserve something as simple and beautiful as sunlight.

What two better representations of what white people have given, culturally, to this shithole country? Trailer trash and DnD. Other people, other folks, you know who I'm talking about, they go on and invent beautiful music, baseball, different kinds of masalas and asadas, and they do cool shit to their cars. Everyone else smells good. Hey, you ever notice that? Of all the races and ethnicities, white people smell the least interesting. White people smell like a gasp of air on a cold day. We smell like when you first open a clean dishwasher. We smell like, white people smell like, we smell like the question "when was the last time I changed the air filter?" You know what I mean? We smell like abstract chores you remember every three months.

You ever go get breakfast after a night of sex and you think to yourself, ever so briefly, that hey, my life rules? Hey maybe I won't kill myself after all. It's going to be a great day. And then twenty minutes goes by and you start looking at your phone and immediately you're like, alright nevermind. Back to the drawing board, I guess (the drawing board, in this situation, is a big white board where I draw a very big bottle of pills and a bathtub full of champagne and a stick figure that I've labeled "me, the stinky")

I was told by the people closest to me, at different times, that I should be very careful what I say in this episode. As if I, little sweet baby me, would say something outlandish that would piss off our dear president and give him cause to send paramilitary groups to firebomb my house or... fucking tell on me? Is that what he's doing? He's calling up Auntie Anne's and getting people fired for doing tiktok dances to celebrate that guy's death? I don't have any money. I don't think anyone does anymore. Have you noticed the rent keeps going up? No healthcare? Homeless people everywhere you look? But goddamnit if we don't tattle tale to your boss because you made a joke about a neo-nazi taking one for the team.

It's the same premise as the movie, but instead of Cary Grant getting mistakenly identified as a spy he's stuck on a fucking runway for forty five minutes because the airline didn't plan ahead for even one minute of their departure and arrival, and so there's another fucking plane at his gate and he's definitely going to miss his next flight because Booking.fuckyoucunt.com decided a seven second layover in shithole Phoenix was enough time to switch planes. And no, no they don't reimburse you whenever they fuck up their own schedule even when it's the same airline for both flights. And no, there are no flights leaving Phoenix because everyone died of heat stroke last week when the temperature in their concrete desert was one thousand degrees and everyone who lives in this wasteland is over the age of nine hundred with a great pension from their garbage collection job in the year 1073. And no, when they downsize from their mansion they bought for two thousand dollars that's now worth five million dollars they won't be giving it to their family, but selling it directly to Blackrock so they can further throttle the market for their benefit while everyone slouches from fentanyl overdoses in every major city in America. And no, you aren't allowed to hurt those CEO's because, at the end of the day, they're FATHERS and HUSBANDS. Other than that it's the exact same movie.

I have an idea for a novel where nothing about the story is good but it's also written in the same boring educated language that gets pumped into MFA programs. Or, better yet, I have a political Vice-brained collection of essays called something like "Democracy Fucking Yeah Right", and it's just trying desperately to be Hunter S Thompson but I lack all creative ingenuity and can't shit out a single line of original thought, and I don't even do drugs because I'm a millennial who's scared of death despite the fact that nothing in my life has ever mattered even once, so instead I'm secretly really into coffee or ethically sourced decaffeinated teas, and rather than having a life full of stories that tell a tale of American life I simply "travel" for "fun".

I know, I know, we failed you. We try to keep a balance, a perfect blend of hard hitting journalism and well distributed fart jokes, but this time around we simply never got to the farts. I know, too, that many of our listeners are fart hoarding piglet fucks who sustain their life source using code red and taco bell, disposable vapes and advertisements for local singles in your area who are down to FUCK, so this episode is going to be extremely difficult for you. For this, and only for this, do we apologize.

A russian family drama where the matriarch decides to stop having sex with their handsome children, who in turn reject the wealth of the patriarch by converting to Islam. Told over the course of eight hundred beautifully boring pages, from nine different perspectives with an epilogue the size of a conventional novel, this award winning Hugo Nobel NYT BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR SO FAR bright new voice in literary historical fiction presents a fascinating debut that will surely mark a body of work to come that will change Booktok algorithms for at least two weeks!

I think I'm going to stop counting the episodes, because in what way is that information necessary for the listening experience? You're sitting at home thinking "oh wow, this one is 149, but two weeks ago it was 147!" as you shovel wet spaghetti into your oversized gullet, washing it down with some REAL SUGAR soda. God, I love when my soda is REAL SUGAR so I can drink it while I fart next to my FAT WIFE.

Disclaimer: misogyny is funny because it's an absurd and unsustainable worldview, which often leads to the stupidest conclusions about the state of your life, the world, and your relationships with other people. You become a husk of a human, wandering around sexless like a Ken Doll, wondering where it all went wrong... maybe it was that time you closed the door and didn't let that waitress leave the bathroom until she told you that you were very handsome and not medically obese, but just regular dad bod fat. Your stinky gunt is actually very attractive and normal to have at 35, and it's actually women's fault that they don't let you fuck them with your 4inch unwashed angry pink cock

I love tv shows and dick jokes. You put those two together, pal, and you got yourself a happy customer. Not to mention my radical position which is that Donald damn Trumpk is a freaking stinking damn loser face. He's a spanking bad damn fuck cunt waffle penis small sticky fat. A cretinous claymation of crippled control crackling under crispy craps. You know what I'm saying? I'm saying he's a big hole in my ass, a small slit in my dick, and that black shit that you find under your nails after cleaning your oven, or something

Things are fine. Hey, you know it, I know it. Enough said. You go outside and it's glorious. You feel good about everything. The bugs aren't going extinct, and it's always 95 degrees with humidity. I like it, you like it. Very good. And I don't think we should raise the minimum wage. I think, in fact, we should lower it further, because then everyone can make less money. Have a good day, it's a good day. Yay, happy.

I won't hear anything to argue against my position. They're a slimy batch of people and I see no new cultural output from them. They were the evil empire before we took over and all they contributed to the world was a shitty language and a bunch of museums with stolen artifacts. Your food sucks, and you molest people trying to get an education. That's enough. Even if you really were an awesome nation without a bloodsoaked history, the shitty food and molestation is a big no no for me. You ain't wiping that stain away, blokes.