Terrible Person

Gary and Selena drift through everyday chaos, aging, intimacy, and irritation as a casual conversation about colors turns into reflections on turning forty, gift expectations, and the strange emotional weight attached to birthdays. They talk massages, tipping anxiety, overpriced upgrades, sore feet, and the disappointment of hot stone add-ons that miss the point. Domestic tension bubbles up through broken heirlooms, cats causing destruction, and disagreements about emotional reactions, overreacting, and what it means to feel heard during conflict.The conversation slides into awkward neighborhood encounters, paranoia about being overheard, public embarrassment, and how small moments spiral into resentment. Gary and Selena unpack bickering, criticism, Reddit reactions, and the thin line between honest conversation and uncomfortable listening. Travel stress enters the mix with airline seating changes, gate checking chaos, lost seats, and feeling powerless while following instructions. The episode winds through bugs, grasshoppers, bodily discomfort, television fatigue, relationship negotiations, and the quiet realization that everyday life feels louder, messier, and harder to smooth out than expected.

Cars piling up, flashing lights, and that sudden sense that something nearby just went wrong. Being out of town next week, missing each other, and the everyday friction of schedules and communication, including why notifications and an Apple Watch can make you both reachable and somehow disconnected.True crime details that stick with you, especially a case centered on an exotic dancer and the question of how reliable childhood memory really is. The surprising twist of college criminology students helping solve a decades-old cold case. Celebrity reputation and power, including Taylor Swift and Blake Lively, what “diva” really means, and why certain labels follow women differently than men.Politics and protest culture, including people entering a church over rumors of ICE involvement, media coverage, and the discomfort of watching it all play out. Travel expectations around San Francisco, what people assume they’ll see, and what that says about how cities get talked about. Paranoia jokes that land a little too well, from cloud seeding to “they’re controlling the weather” moments. Tech irritation and modern dependence, including the exact second your watch dies when you need it most, and who gets blamed for it. Domestic chaos, apartment security that doesn’t exist, petty couple arguments that escalate fast, and the oddly serious importance of potato soup.

What’s the most realistic way a “dirty cop” plan would hold up in court, and why do TV writers get away with it?A movie recap turns into a long detour through The Walking Dead, Grey’s Anatomy, and what it means to be permanently tied to one iconic role. From there it slides into Jennifer Lopez nostalgia, arguing over which of her movies were actually good, and realizing her singing voice is more distinctive than you remembered. Then the trip stories kick in. A birthday weekend, a Kroger Starbucks, and an all-time awkward public interaction that starts with, “Do you girls like elevators?” and somehow gets worse. The fight we were having before it happened, the immediate emotional whiplash after, and why we couldn’t look away. Medieval Times gets reviewed like a consumer report. The horses and hawk are cool, the tournament runs long, and the sugar crash is real. Waffle House is loud enough to qualify as an assault, with plate slams, silverware buckets, and a screaming family turning breakfast into sensory warfare.There’s also a return to the “K-pop boyfriend” conversation, what people mean when they say it, and why it can feel weird. That leads into a surprisingly earnest sidebar on poly relationships, “my wife’s boyfriend” dynamics, and what that kind of arrangement does to people over time.Plus: caterpillars, butterflies, pollination, bad Italian food, a chaotic bill, and the kind of small annoyances that become the whole story.

What goes through your mind in the second before you die, and is that moment worse than the pain itself? Nuclear weapons and energy warfare. The psychology of fear, and why dying instantly might be preferable to surviving what comes after. Autoerotic asphyxiation, public shame, and how families rewrite uncomfortable truths. How cultural perception flips overnight, from fear to obsession. K-pop, Netflix, and the line between admiration and fetishization. Scorpions, snake venom, and the idea that sometimes survival isn’t the point. Corporate media, the collapse of local radio, Covid guilt, money stress, aging, and the low-grade anxiety underneath everyday life.

What’s the worst kind of workout humiliation, the kind where your expensive running shoes audibly pop like a balloon mid-treadmill, or the kind where a coach screams about your form while you try not to puke in a warehouse parking lot. A detour through OrangeTheory, CrossFit, and a firefighter-style tire-flip training session turns into a surprisingly honest argument about what “fitness culture” actually rewards, why some people thrive on rejection and constant selling, and why ad pitches can feel like pure math fraud when the time slot is basically for insomniacs and tweakers.Then the conversation drifts into Stranger Things and whether the ending reads like a real story, a Dungeons and Dragons retcon, or a full “it was all a game” twist, complete with credit-sequence evidence, character survival math, and the kind of nitpicking that only happens when you care too much and still want to complain. From there it becomes a walking tour that turns mildly conspiratorial. “Gary” and “Selena” cut through a quiet neighborhood in Arizona, debate whether it feels haunted or just over-surveilled, clock weird houses and empty streets, and start counting properties like amateur investigators, recalculating the total in real time while trying not to look like they are casing the place.The side quests include barcoded turtles with questionable names, sidewalk accessibility theories, community pool commentary, and the creeping realization that counting houses is how you get yourself on someone’s doorbell camera montage. It gets increasingly inappropriate in the way real conversations do when nobody is trying to behave. Helen Keller jokes collide with Heelys logistics, poop incidents stack up, noise-canceling headphones become a relationship hazard, and a Fruit Roll-Up debate goes fully off the rails. Add a stairwell smell so bad it becomes a local mystery, an Arizona heat complaint spiral, and a late-game pivot into Medieval Times hype, boozy slushie speculation, dessert martinis, Vegas dinner sticker shock, and wedding venue memories that make expensive burgers feel even more tragic.

A New Year walk turns into a loose, meandering argument about whether it is better to storm off during a fight or accidentally get lost on a dark community college campus while electric-bike teenagers circle a little too slowly. From there the conversation drifts through Christmas gifts, light therapy face masks, shark masks from Spirit Halloween, and the strange psychology of buying something expensive because it never goes on sale.A parked Mustang outside a Mormon church sparks youth pastor theories, which quickly slide into Joseph Smith lore, golden tablets, hats, secret names, and who exactly gets called to which planet. Movie and TV nostalgia creeps in next. Princess Bride debates, tights-based medieval fashion logic, Robin Hood physics, Braveheart indifference, A Knight’s Tale appreciation, and the growing suspicion that Stranger Things might end as a Dungeons and Dragons campaign reveal. Credit sequences get analyzed, character ages questioned, and Dustin’s emotional arc critiqued with more passion than anyone expected. The walk keeps going and so do the detours. “Gary” and “Selena” talk Medieval Times logistics, actor unions, Scottsdale knights, boozy slushie probabilities, and whether corporate team-building has gone too far.That spirals into holiday food breakdowns, gravy packet math, pizza over-ordering, and how salad math never works the way anyone thinks it will. By the end, it stacks into pure conversational sprawl. YouTube premium loyalty, radio money politics, Mario Tennis obsession, Switch release frustration, Christmas haul accounting, zipline safety skepticism, Titanic logic, ghost towns, and the quiet realization that this is what happens when nobody is editing, nobody is behaving, and you are close enough to hear everything you probably were not supposed to.

How does a conversation start with oyster crackers meant for soup and end up as a full-scale debate about celebrity hotness rankings, fast food dessert scams, and why every online platform eventually turns into a magnet for predators. It opens with hunger logic and snack crimes, the kind that turn a couch into a crumb scene and a Sunday afternoon into a running argument about who forgets grocery staples, who drops food everywhere, and what counts as a normal amount of crackers to inhale just to “absorb the acid.”Somewhere in the middle, a rhinestone-covered gingerbread house that lights up becomes a serious creative project, complete with battery paranoia and a very specific fear of doing hours of work for a total Christmas Vacation-style failure. Then it pivots hard into celebrity attraction math. Leonardo DiCaprio eras, Brad Pitt timelines, Ryan Reynolds falloff, Joaquin Phoenix face debates, and the sudden rage sparked by people rebranding their own names. It slides into pop culture side quests like It’s Always Sunny seasons that feel like a punishment, the celebrity business industrial complex, and the idea that making makeup, tequila, or supplements is the safest way to stay famous without ever risking a new album.The internet segment gets darker fast. A lawsuit over a kids game being used for grooming, the memory of AOL-style chat room “asl” moments, and how easy it was to think you were talking to a teenager when it was probably a grown man. It jumps to viral headlines that feel fake but are real, including a hotel worker washing stained sheets in a hot tub while guests are still in it, plus the bleak realization that a lot of “safe” spaces are only safe until someone figures out how to exploit them.Food comes roaring back at the end with Taco Bell’s Baja Blast pie hype, the rage of app-only menu items that never exist at your location, and the familiar corporate trick of going viral just to get people in the door. It closes where it began, with petty domestic chaos turned into a full argument archive, crumbs, orzo everywhere, and “Gary” and “Selena” treating minor messes like evidence in a case that will never be dismissed.

On this episode, terrible person covers a mix of trending news, weird stories, and everyday disasters. Topics include Kim Kardashian reportedly failing the bar exam, the most commonly missed warning signs of dementia, and Trailer Park Boys actor Mike Smith being charged with sexual assault. There’s also a discussion about Christopher Nolan’s Tenet and whether it’s genius or nonsense, the strange design of hydrofoil racing sailboats, and the difference between luxury yachts and simple chill boats. Other highlights include a kitchen meltdown caused by bugs in flour and Target pasta, a talk about how restraining orders actually work, and speculation about Zach Bagans’ haunted museum.Go to www.TerriblePerson.co for premium episodes of terrible person.

"Gary" and "Selena" spiral through awkward vape shop encounters, Comic-Con chaos, and how close things came to going very wrong at a convention tied to Power Rangers lore. The conversation jumps from cosplay weapons and near-death moments into celebrity transformations, reality TV fatigue, and the strange evolution of fame over time."Gary" and "Selena" dig into nostalgia, boyhood TV obsessions, Halloween letdowns, and how growing up changes the way public spaces, pop stars, and traditions feel. Along the way, food disasters, overpriced groceries, wet pizza regret, and everyday domestic annoyances turn into the kind of rambling that only makes sense when you hear it happening in real time.

How does a conversation start with a Silence of the Lambs quote hunt and end with an extremely detailed review of a bathroom upgrade that becomes a full debate about the physics of aiming, the ethics of “priming,” and what qualifies as a peanut-butter situation. It opens in full movie-nerd mode with Buffalo Bill voice impressions, actor trivia spirals, and side quests through Monk, Wings, and why a forgotten talking-parrot movie deserves more respect than it got. That turns into horror recommendations that feel like a trap, including Bring Her Back and the kind of scenes that permanently live in your brain once you have heard them, plus the rage that follows when a movie’s logic falls apart the moment you think too hard about basic parental supervision. Then it slides into reality TV discomfort and social dynamics. Sister Wives gets analyzed like a hostage negotiation, especially the boyfriend meeting that turns into a job interview, complete with power plays, weird hypotheticals, and the kind of performative masculinity that makes everyone in the room sweat.The film talk gets meaner and more specific with a reassessment of Tenet that goes from “genius” to “actually terrible” once you start rewatching it, plus the broader Christopher Nolan problem of confusing the audience on purpose. Interstellar gets a reluctant pass, Batman movies get separated into a different category entirely, and The Odyssey becomes a future anxiety spiral about what happens when a director can’t resist making everything a puzzle. Then the conversation takes a hard left into pop culture discourse and the strange new era of gambling apps, lingerie branding, and algorithmic brain rot. A Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show watch turns into a bigger argument about presentation, identity, and how quickly people start second-guessing what they are looking at once the framing gets weird, followed by a bleak detour into Garfield bingo, mobile slots, and the depressing math of tiny winnings that only exist to keep people hooked.It closes with maximum inappropriate domestic logistics when “Gary” and “Selena” install a bidet and immediately treat it like a product review, a scientific experiment, and a moral crisis all at once. Water temperature preferences, feature settings, seat-heating skepticism, cold plunge jokes, and the growing realization that the real horror movie is two adults discussing bathroom mechanics with this much confidence.

Do pop stars age out of relevance overnight, or does the culture just decide it is bored all at once. A casual opener about Sabrina Carpenter versus Taylor Swift turns into a broader teardown of pop star energy, homeschool vibes, relationship branding, and the moment when celebrities stop feeling aspirational and start feeling deeply uncool. Kardashian fatigue sets in, Travis Barker affection becomes suspicious, and Blink-182 lore somehow drifts into alien conspiracies, government disclosures, and the creeping sense that the weirdest guy in the band might have been the most normal one. The middle stretches into full paranormal tourism.Mushroom gummies, the Zak Bagans museum, crawl spaces, cursed boxes, salt circles, and the specific discomfort of being trapped in a room longer than you want to be while something unseen feels like it is watching. The line between “vibes” and fear gets blurry, especially when time stretches, expectations collapse, and you realize how long five hours can feel when you are waiting to leave. From there it jumps straight into road rage sociology. Neighborhood speed enforcers, aggressive middle fingers, polite honks gone wrong, and the quiet code drivers develop to survive traffic without losing their minds.Courtesy flashes, moral victories, and the strange power trip of controlling a lane for three seconds too long. The last stretch zooms out into money, status, and systems that quietly rot everything they touch. Sports gambling scandals, point shaving, fake competition, and the unsettling idea that entire leagues function more like scripted entertainment than fair play. Youth sports, sororities, travel teams, and coaching grifts stack into one long argument about parents outsourcing childhood, paying obscene amounts of money for manufactured experiences, and confusing pressure with purpose. It ends in a place that feels fitting. Overthinking, exhaustion, side arguments, sudden sincerity, and the slow realization that most of this chaos comes from people trying too hard to win systems that were never designed to be fair in the first place.

What happens when a month off turns into a loose, spiraling reentry full of tech indecision, pop culture resentment, and deeply specific grievances that have been waiting patiently to come out. It starts with a deceptively simple question about buying a new phone and immediately unravels into nostalgia for smaller devices, trade-in scams, Apple Store psychology, and the quiet fantasy of accidentally losing a phone just to force a reset. That momentum carries straight into television disappointment, especially the growing frustration with prestige crime shows that feel more interested in shock, sex, and symbolism than actually telling a coherent story.From there, celebrity irritation takes over. Ryan Murphy fatigue, Kardashian burnout, Travis Barker suspicion, radio personalities who confuse relevance with coolness, and the strange confidence of people who think money automatically makes them interesting. Industry stories bleed into resentment about executives, private jets, fake wellness drinks, and the surreal experience of watching corporations collapse upward while everyone else gets nothing. The conversation keeps sliding into modern anxiety. Microplastics, micro metals, vitamins that do not dissolve, medicine that does not work, and the creeping sense that everything sold as “healthy” will eventually turn out to be a scam.Childhood myths get revisited, gum swallowing gets disproven the hard way, and bodily oversharing becomes unavoidable. By the end, it settles into domestic chaos and media overload. Troubled-teen shows, cult logic, unnecessary TV sex scenes, cat-sitting paranoia, door-checking rituals, and the constant low-grade stress of trying to be responsible while everything feels slightly out of control. “Gary” and “Selena” circle all of it with no real conclusion, just the relief of saying the quiet parts out loud.

What starts as a casual “free episode” immediately turns into a long spiral about modern TV pacing, cultural burnout, and why nothing can just come out all at once anymore. Streaming shows get put on trial, from the surprising strength of Wednesday to the slow, hypnotic frustration of Severance, where episodes blur together and entire seasons feel like endurance tests. Long waits, split releases, and cliffhangers turn watching television into a commitment instead of entertainment, raising the question of whether patience is a virtue or just something audiences are being forced into. From there it slides into domestic logistics and low-stakes victories. Storage units as adult milestones, reclaimed closet space, Halloween decorations expanding unchecked, and the quiet satisfaction of finally having somewhere to put seasonal nonsense.Candy becomes a problem. Sour coatings, rough textures, citric acid regret, and the universal truth that snacks somehow get louder at night. The conversation drifts through health anxiety, internet panic cycles, and the constant feeling that everything is either bad for you now or will be later. Old myths resurface, new fears replace them, and certainty remains impossible. Somewhere in the middle, a philosophy emerges: “let them,” except no one can agree on what that actually means in practice. It ends exactly where it should. Hunger, irritation, circular debates, and the realization that deciding what to eat for dinner can be harder than solving any of the bigger problems discussed along the way.

A free-flowing conversation moves from pop culture curiosity into heavier cultural reflection, starting with skepticism around celebrity-centered documentaries and how obsession gets packaged as storytelling. Current events cast a shadow over the episode, touching on political violence, public discourse, and the uneasy feeling of living through moments that instantly become history. Memories of September 11 resurface, focusing less on spectacle and more on what the day felt like in real time, how schools reacted, how adults behaved, and how confusion lingered long after. From there, the discussion veers into noise, modern life overload, and how constant stimulation makes silence feel unsettling. Airplanes, traffic, and background chaos turn into a meditation on how rarely things actually stop anymore. The tone swings again into dark humor and late-night philosophy. Aliens, simulations, UFOs, ghosts, the afterlife, and whether existence is closer to a game, a loop, or a one-time experience. Big questions collide with absurd hypotheticals, half-formed theories, and the realization that nobody really knows anything. The episode winds down with everyday friction and intimacy. Travel memories, exhaustion, creative hobbies, unfinished projects, and the way hunger and heat can derail any conversation. Serious thoughts dissolve into jokes, irritation, and the familiar rhythm of talking in circles until dinner becomes the only remaining problem.

A conversation that starts with everyday background noise and drifts straight into modern paranoia. Surveillance cameras, license plate readers, and how easily movement data is tracked without anyone noticing. A deep dive into rehab and sober-living scams, insurance fraud, and the way addiction treatment can be exploited for profit. From there it slides into sleep deprivation, falling asleep on the couch, silent retreats, desert heat walks, and the strange feeling of being watched while moving through normal neighborhoods. Ordering food regret becomes a surprisingly emotional topic, followed by weight, diet, dopamine, and how people cope with stress through food. The second half spirals into AI-generated hypotheticals, parasocial fans, viral humiliation, simulation theory, free will, NPC behavior, and whether modern life already feels scripted. Surveillance, burnout, paranoia, and internet brain all collide in one long unravel.

A loose, chaotic hang that starts with food talk and pop culture burnout before spiraling into celebrity obsession, oversaturation, and how fame rewires the way people talk about relationships. A surprise phone call turns into a long catch-up covering radio life, documentaries, true crime fixation, Amanda Knox, and the strange comfort of shared media memories. From there it veers into Vegas stories, haunted museums,Blue Man Group chaos, mushrooms, horror movies, and why certain attractions feel cursed on a spiritual level. Horror films, conspiracy curiosity, cult vibes, and morbid collectibles blur together with industry nostalgia, creative burnout, and the weird afterlife of public personas. By the end it’s movie recommendations, true crime spirals, celebrity fatigue, and the kind of conversations that feel half nostalgic, half unhinged, and completely unscripted.

A Vegas recap that quickly turns into sensory overload. Endless casinos that all feel like malls, overpriced food, resort fees, and the strange exhaustion that comes from never actually being outside. From there it escalates into haunted museums, cult-like tour guides, cursed artifacts, serial killer memorabilia, and the uncomfortable feeling of being trapped inside a horror attraction for way too long. Mushrooms amplify everything. Long waits, loud videos, fog machines, claustrophobic crawl spaces, and rooms that feel spiritually incorrect. Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, Jack Kevorkian, haunted objects, and the line between “museum” and “psychological endurance test.” Anxiety spikes, patience disappears, and reality starts to feel thin.The night peaks with Blue Man Group chaos. Front-row intensity, eye contact, audience participation, booming drums, lasers, paint, marshmallows, and a surreal moment that feels cosmically targeted. The energy carries straight into Vegas NPC encounters, simulator rides gone wrong, late-night food failures, and the creeping realization that half the people around might not be real. By the end it’s exhaustion, bruises, sugar crashes, public weirdness, simulation theory, and the lingering question of whether Vegas itself is haunted.

A meandering conversation that starts with selling clothes and thrift-store economics before drifting into consumer culture, retail politics, and why big-box stores feel more expensive and less worth it than ever. Seasonal fashion trends, skinny jeans dying off, and the quiet humiliation of getting rejected by resale counters set the tone. From there it spirals into corporate behavior, unions, Walmart documentaries,Target backlash, and how politics, branding, and shopping have become weirdly inseparable. Schools, surveillance tech, keylogging, work devices, and the creeping sense that everything you type is being watched push the discussion into modern paranoia. The back half fractures into internet absurdity and cultural noise. AI-generated headlines, bizarre viral stories, strange animals, Mars obsession, celebrity tangents, conspiracy-adjacent thinking, and the way conversations slowly dissolve when there’s too much information and no clear point. It all ends where it always does: hunger, dinner decisions, and the realization that none of this actually resolved anything.

A chaotic opener that immediately spirals from fake intros and website plugs into a debate about getting “co-opted by the government,” relationship hypotheticals, and whether weed is quietly turning everyone into paranoid, forgetful NPCs. From there: cam-snap cameras vs cam soda (unfortunate brain autocorrect), memory glitches, mushrooms, coyotes, and why your brain stores the wrong information at the worst possible time. Then it’s TV talk (aliens, hate-watching, unlikable protagonists), gaming completionism, and why some modern games are too big to be fun. A quick detour through Chicago chaos, drunk decisions, and being the kind of person who throws a dodgeball across a store and immediately needs to flee the scene. It ends the way all responsible adult episodes end: no dinner plan, Vegas looming, premium baiting, and the “biggest/largest” theme song living rent-free in everyone’s head.

A premium spiral that starts with street burritos and free bleeding and somehow escalates into global population collapse, sex trafficking economics, and why modern society feels spiritually poisoned. From period politics and performative activism to China’s gender imbalance, trafficked brides, and why the math alone guarantees long-term chaos. Then it veers hard into government experiments, MK-Ultra, LSD brothels, Ted Kaczynski, Charles Manson, plutonium-fed hospital patients, and the unsettling idea that none of this was accidental. Add in Ozempic blindness, phone screens destroying eyesight, chemical food conspiracies, cloud seeding desperation, and why sugar might literally disconnect the soul from the body. Also included: Albertsons rage, non-alcoholic booze disappointment, radio fill-in anxiety, aging goth admiration, Donkey Kong Bonanza exhaustion, and the creeping realization that nothing about this timeline feels normal. Highly inappropriate. Extremely unfiltered. Absolutely not calming.