In this week’s episode, Viktor Wilt crawls out of a five-day flu-induced purgatory like a Victorian chimney ghost resurrected by expired DayQuil, staggering into the studio at a crispy 80% health while recounting how the Trans-Siberian Orchestra fog machine nearly murdered his lungs and launched him into a delirious dimension where time, social media, and the concept of “days” dissolved into soup; he describes chest pains so violent they made him see the face of God, nightmares so foul they can only be legally shown to prisoners at Guantánamo, and a fever so intense it turned his mattress into a human crockpot while he lost track of reality, Thanksgiving, and maybe his own name; then Viktor swerves into a diplomatic-but-not-really ceasefire with Mike Nelson, accepts a lukewarm Facebook comment apology like it’s the Treaty of Versailles, declares his own podcast realer-than-real, and proceeds to wage war on the Transportation Secretary for trying to ban pajamas on airplanes, screaming into the void about the sanctity of comfort-wear as though the nation itself depended on it; he rebukes society, the election, the mayor’s race, and the universe while scrolling with the brain fog of a man actively fighting three dementors, before spiraling into a dating-thread rabbit hole featuring widows, bird-phobics, sour-cream-foil fanatics, jugglers, and absolute psychopaths demanding potato-salad proficiency, all while Viktor mutters that he himself likes kittens and not much else besides; he confesses to watching Borat, The Conjuring, and Ari Aster’s Eddington while whispering “I think I have COVID again” into the darkness like a Victorian invalid, then turns to strange news about deranged texters sending 159,000 messages, kids being arrested in Florida for kicking doors like discount SWAT teams, West Virginia roommates shooting each other over rat-sniping rights, Salt Lake City becoming the Thunderdome of Thanksgiving toilet failures, and a Fresno couple trying to heat their home with a barbecue grill because apparently carbon monoxide warnings are only optional; Peaches returns mid-apocalypse, also half-dead with the same plague, and the two of them limp through delirious small talk about nightmares, bedsores-that-aren’t-bedsores, beard trims that can’t happen under masks, and the absolute cosmic dread of eating turkey while sick; finally, Viktor, running on fumes, vitamins, and sheer spite, tries to preview Stranger Things season 5 while spontaneously sweating through his clothes like a possessed rotisserie chicken, before closing the episode by urging listeners not to die, not to fight their families, not to heat their homes with grills, and not to clog the toilet on Brown Friday, promising to return on Black Friday hopefully alive, hydrated, and only slightly haunted by the ghosts of the five lost fever days that devoured his soul.