Secret Sesh

It's your asshole, Jerry!

Your honor, this case is a sham and you are a piece of leather beneath a hot stamp.

I took a submarine down under the sea last night. Got to see all the electric eels. There are only three, and they are all named Ernie.Ernie rhymes with gurney, which is what your body will eventually be strapped to after your passing. Something to think about, really. Guess what, that wasn't written by AI. Woof, daddy.

Went on a date. it was fine but not fireworks

Come on, man. This "art" thing is starting to wear me down. Can someone just give me a job or become a benefactor for me to make shit. This podcast doesn't make money (because it doesn't exist), but if you do, please send it to me. Ok, now that we've gotten that out of the way- here's the good stuff:8==👊=)💦 😓

"If You're Gone" is a song by American rock band Matchbox Twenty. The song, written by the band's frontman Rob Thomas, was released on September 18, 2000, as the second single from their second album, Mad Season (2000). It reached number five on the US Billboard Hot 100 chart, becoming the band's second best-ranking song on the chart, and also became a hit on adult contemporary radio, spending two weeks at number one on the Billboard Hot Adult Contemporary Tracks chart.

A minuscule amount of fun was had by two people. The other three died. Shame shame shame.

I think I'm just one banana peel away from covering my entire floor with banana peels. Imagine coming over and you're just like "what the hell are these banana peels doing cover the entire floor? I can't walk in here!" and then I come out dressed as a whole ass barrel of monkeys. I'd probably slip on the way there. Whatever, I'm going for it. Will you donate a peel to the cause?

Oh man. The problem with this podcast is that I have to keep the window open so the smoke cna go outside. And now it's cold. Brrrrrr. Ice cream man, you could be my best friend if you'd let me drive your truck. Choo Choo! Sometimes it's hard to tell if this is a podcast or autism.

I shit my pants today. It sucked.

If you so much as smell that Gatorade in the fridge, I'm going to be furious. That's my special Gatorade and how it came to be such:I thought I might have sex- why, you ask? Well, I had no reason, really. Other than the wind. Which speaks to me in whispers upon gusts of pigeon coos. Regardless, I wanted to prepare for what laid ahead. I stopped at the grocery store. Upon entry, I not only grabbed rubbers, but a yellow Gatorade and a packet of hydration powder. That way, I wouldn't lose my electrolytes while making sweet sweet love.When I arrived at the bar, I realized something that had been staring at me like a ten mile glazed donut. I spent all my money on the Gatorade. Balls! I asked around, and a pear-shaped woman using a living scorpion as a hairpin, spotted me a 5 dollar bill. Crisp. Clean. I handed over the bank note to the barkeep and confidently uttered, "a beer for the brunette with boobs at the end of the bar." "Cheapest beer we got is 7 dollars.""Drats"I handed the 5 back to the nice lady at the bar, who folded it back in my hands and said, "get yourself something nice, sweetie."I bought a single hit of heroin from the man down the street on my way back home. Somewhere between the nod out in Washington Square Park and the coming to with my head in the freezer, I had mixed the electrolyte packet and Gatorade together in a glorious mix of hydration. Impressed with my foresight, I put the potion into the cold box for the morning- and guess who just finished heroin puking.

In all seriousness. Like all jokes aside. There was a moment in this where I got scared by the Fibonacci Sequence.

"Scream for your friend!"The words were as stale as the crust on the back tag of his underwear. He was about 41 at the time. Limber, but aged like the old oak that his dad built a treehouse in back when Paul was 13. Oh, Paul. Whatever happened to Paul????

Omfg!!!! I got Liz Phair to do the pod!!!!

If cows could milk themselves... man, we'd probably never see them again.

Yeah man, this shit. This shit right here is the bees’ mothetfucking knees. I don’t think bees actually have knees. Makes you wonder.

Shit, the horsies got through the damn barn door, again. I thought I locked it tighter last night. Well, I'll be a horsie's ass if I do that again. Aw man, the chickens are fartin' out a butt storm. I shouldn't have done this farm Airbnb.

Ok, I got into a fight with my cat, Zenon, while she was ripping up paper on my desk. My other cat, Philly, walked in at some point. I hit the transcribe button and this is what happened: stop that. Hey Zenon stop Z put it down you're looking at me like you're gonna do something Zenon. Stop hey hey hey stop hey hey get down hey oh Philly what's up dude's Zenon come here get in the chair and stop ripping shit up come on come on come on sweetie. I love you. ZZBDV come on baby. Good girl no no no stop that. Hey, what's up calendar are you kidding me stop it get on the chair. I love you.

Man, I am fucking bummed. But that doesn't stop the brittle from brattle- you know what I mean? I'm talking soft cats and pretzels of the also soft nature. Can you dig it??? It's been DUG!!!!

Here we are, at the precipice of collapse. All seems lost, but rest assured- there is gold in my ass. I've put sixteen gold bars in various asses around New York City. If you can find the golden ass bar, you can trade it in for a voucher that will give you a code that allows you one (1) vending machine item, every day. That's right, exchange the bar of ass gold and you can get Doritos for free, one time, every day.