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My joints hurt, and so does this podcast.
I spent the evening trying to talk Torrence out of a podcast. But here we are. So we talk about music and radio. Then the show starts as quickly as it had ended. Also, I am the kind of person-- a monster-- who apologizes without saying "sorry."
A Labor Day special that has been aged to irrelevant perfection. Luckily, today's odyssey has no relation to the holiday. Remember one thing: He just wanted to make things better.
Everything is coming up jokers today. Natural disasters, thievery, and suicide. It's a real pick-ya-up.
The reports of our return are greatly exaggerated. Power ballads. Hurricanes. Once-in-a-lifetime events. Eh. Just okay.
Lots of comments and general chicanery. We take the time to find out why the new kid on the block has such terrible taste in books and movies.
There's a theme this week. Sorry. Also, the remnants of misery. But before we call Texas, we talk about a smashed guitar.
If you're stuck in a rut, why not be stuck with us?
A day late, but with plenty of dollars, we debut and cancel a new game. There are some musical offerings, both new and old. And a little birdie from Texas gets everything he wants and it's still not enough.
We do not call the big man, but, in his spirit, we do have twinkies and commas. Also, I make a twinkie prediction (it came true). Man I just don't feel comfortable in my skin. Guess I'll have to take it off and grow long hair.
Visitors: a surprise one before the show, and an old one rejoins the program. And he brought snacks! There's a stain in the sink from the snacks that I'll post later. And big news from The Roadhouse.
This week we check in with the bigman.
The reports of our return are greatly exaggerated, but they are indeed true. A special phone call, a musical journey, and plenty of fuckups. The moose out front should have told you.
The end is nigh, but first Matt must dance and shag on the boulevard.
it happens again.
Sorry for the delay. The show is frustratingly typical, and that's an improvement. Food, interruptions, and the general behavior of slovens.
They say it's your ________________. Well it's my ________________ too.
Mr Sad Bar isn't proud of how bitter it tastes. It was just made that way.
Lots of good news today. Politics, work, and lots of pops and clicks infecting the audio of the master copy. As always: SORRY.
I'll write a description later. This is like the other shows but better. Mirth, merriment, and dysfunction.
There are so many guest appearances on today's podcast that the count is equal to the number 2. We do our best to do video game and tech talk. As usual, it gets away from me and boy I sure am whiny. I am, in fact, sorry for posting this podcast. I didn't want to.
Sorry, I blew it and uploaded the wrong mp3. Sorry. Sorry about the confusion last week (and now this week). I deleted it but did not cover my tracks well. We try to quickly explain it. Then Ryan deposits some farts in my couch and leaves apruptly. It startled me, and so I accidently end without finishing the comments. Sorry.
There's an entire four-course platter to enjoy on today's program! Be sure to cleanse your palate. Ryan continues moving toward Austin with all of the grace of a fifteen-year-old jackrabbitting his way to a learner's permit. And somehow that's only half of what was scheduled for today's overstuffed podcast.
This week's episode was built for sharing. Time is short, and that's the long of it.
Strange smells and hanging out in your sleep. Electrified comments and the textin' Texan. Unclear notes and unclear signals. It's a 20 minute show packed into 1 hour.
The same old problems in a new year, but at least we are able to keep our blood sugar up.
A soft open for an impotent show. Speaking of love, we do our best to dissect that strange emotion. It ends like any other good love story: with confusion and despair. Please enjoy an extra two hours in this weeks program to make up for our tardiness.
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