Episode 7: Kieth Richards’ Only Weakness: A Nude Art Book Slightly Out of Reach

No Ragrets!

Today the boys discuss missed opportunities, the instruments that got away, and concerts that Nick was too cheap to buy tickets to and now harbors deep regrets for having missed.

We all have regrets. Sure. But what if those regrets turned you into an old, fat, stuttering, rambling bald man who sits when he pees and who thinks listening to Fox News is an adequate substitute for a personality? Or what if those regrets made you into a bearded hipster twink in a middling cover band who buys records because they sound "warmer"? Or maybe those regrets made you into a skinny-fat gym teacher who listens to Spotify with ads, can't figure out how to save a photo on his phone, and buys expired beer because it's cheaper? Well, saddle up, because that's what happened to these poor unfortunate souls (please don't sue us, Disney).

Jase obsesses over AI, paperclips, and information hazards, while Nick can't finish a thought because his fellow podcasters are absolute bastards whose only goal is to distract him from his point. Mike spends five minutes trying to demonstrate what a particular cymbal sounds like. Yep. That's entertainment, folks: Terrible onomatopoeia on a terrible podcast. No, it gets better: Nick sings an entire Dio song a capella. 

Sinead O'Connor, evidently, is the new lead singer for the Dave Matthews Band ever since the violinist violated the saxophone...er? Saxophonist? Whatever they're called. Hologram B.B. King performs, but spends the whole show testing his blood sugar and administering the correct dosage of insulin. Still, he manages to play more music in two blurry, diabetic, short-of-breath, comatose notes than Jase has every played in his entire life. Respect (pounds chest).

Sandy Wesserson returns with... a Panera Bread ad? We aren't sure, exactly, but he pays for the ad space, so we run them.

For three guys that get paid only in sausages and politics, whose wealth is measured in Gran Turismo 7 credits, and who can't get laid despite their four-inch girth, the boys are back week after week with nonstop entertainment straight from their mouth holes to your ear balls!

And yeah! Where ARE the William McHenry assassination conspiracy theories?!?!*

*(Who the f*** is William McHenry?)