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  • Ep. 266 - Viktor Recommended A Disgusting Horror Novel To Two BYU-Idaho Students - 10/28/2026

    Ep. 266 - Viktor Recommended A Disgusting Horror Novel To Two BYU-Idaho Students - 10/28/2026
    Oct 28 2026
    The Noon Hour of Madness and Mayhem returns with an episode that begins with a workplace prank, descends into a full-scale literary assault on the human digestive system, and somehow ends with a recommendation to read books capable of permanently damaging your ability to enjoy a peaceful afternoon. First, a returning host discovers that his office has been transformed into a hostile architectural experiment while he was away. His desk has been rotated a full 180 degrees, leaving him sitting with his back to the door, which he immediately identifies as a violation of the sacred laws of Western cinema. You do not sit with your back to the door. You do not trust a room that has been rearranged without your permission. And you certainly do not trust coworkers who have enough free time to photograph the precise arrangement of your CDs so they can recreate your original setup in reverse. The pranksters had apparently considered a more dramatic alternative: removing every item from the office and leaving behind a single white envelope, which would have made the entire situation feel like a corporate termination ritual conducted by people who learned management techniques from a low-budget crime thriller. Instead, they settled for the desk rotation, changed the office lock, and placed a photograph of Neil Larson's enormous head on the returning host's computer wallpaper. The result is an office that violates every known principle of feng shui, workplace comfort, and basic human dignity. The victim refuses to sit at the desk, the room looks terrible, and everyone involved seems completely satisfied with the damage they have inflicted. The suggestion of decorating the computer with truck nuts is even discussed as a possible improvement over Neil Larson's face, which tells you approximately where this broadcast is headed.Then comes the discovery that gives the episode its true literary and gastrointestinal centerpiece: a newspaper or magazine article celebrating Neil Larson and Julie Mason's radio program contains the phrase “four hours of shart analysis.” Not sharp analysis. Not short analysis. Shart analysis. Four consecutive hours of professional-grade shart analysis, apparently delivered with fearless opinions, unexpected humor, in-depth interviews, and conversations that change direction without warning. The hosts read the promotional description aloud and discover that the article has apparently been written by someone who has never encountered a spellchecker, a proofreading process, or the concept of reading a sentence before allowing it to be printed in full color. The word “provocative” has also been mangled into a questionable approximation that triggers a debate over whether the resulting word even exists. The copy promises intelligent commentary while simultaneously making its subjects sound like the world's leading authorities on explosive bowel movements. And the fact that the mistake appeared in a printed publication rather than a private text message makes the entire affair even more spectacular. Someone wrote this. Someone reviewed it, or perhaps did not. Someone approved it. Someone sent it to a printer. And then an entire batch of magazines presumably emerged from the machinery carrying the immortal phrase “shart analysis” into the world. The hosts speculate about whether the article was written by Neil, Julie, a fifth grader, or ChatGPT, before entertaining the possibility that an AI-generated description might have been mangled somewhere along the way. The verdict is that the typo is accidentally more accurate than the original compliment could ever hope to be. One host wants a physical copy so it can be framed and mounted on the wall like a historical document recovered from a civilization that collapsed after discovering the English language. If anyone has a copy, the show would apparently love to acquire this artifact of journalistic flatulence.After the newspaper incident has established a new benchmark for professional embarrassment, the conversation turns to the Great Pumpkin Drop, an event that attracted a respectable crowd but apparently failed to deliver the spectacular pumpkin destruction its organizers had hoped for. The lift operator performed admirably, the event went well, and the audience got to witness the pumpkin ascend into the sky. The problem was the suspense-to-explosion ratio. You spend several minutes watching the pumpkin rise, everybody gathers around for the countdown, the pumpkin is released, and then it hits the ground with a comparatively underwhelming splat. Everyone has waited for a magnificent airborne catastrophe, only to receive a pumpkin-shaped punctuation mark at the end of the experience. The hosts agree that next year's event requires additional visual impact, with fake blood and other messy substances suggested as possible enhancements. If the pumpkin is going to be dropped from a great height, the pumpkin should at least appear to have been ...
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    23 Min.
  • Ep. 265 - Mariah Carey Is Thawing Out While Pocatello Wages War On Music - 10/21/2026

    Ep. 265 - Mariah Carey Is Thawing Out While Pocatello Wages War On Music - 10/21/2026
    Oct 21 2026
    The Noon Hour of Madness and Mayhem has returned to remind everyone that Halloween is creeping toward Christmas, groceries are becoming luxury collectibles, personal boundaries are apparently an advanced academic subject, and somewhere in Pocatello, somebody decided that destroying musical instruments inside a church was a productive use of an afternoon. Viktor Wilt and Maddie kick things off with Queens of the Stone Age, a search for the whereabouts of the Goth Girls as the weather changes, and the looming seasonal threat of Mariah Carey thawing out of her annual cryogenic Christmas chamber. The mere thought of Christmas causes immediate stomach distress, but the conversation quickly finds a rare wholesome detour: Operation Christmas Cheer 2026, a community-wide East Idaho effort organized by Comfort Hair, Comfort Home Care, and Visiting Angels to make sure local veterans feel appreciated and remembered during the holiday season. Listeners can nominate a veteran through the station apps, with nominations due by December 15, or contribute donations such as gift cards, gift baskets, and other gifts. The hosts encourage everyone to help however they can, because the holidays can be especially difficult for people already struggling financially. Naturally, this heartfelt charitable discussion immediately becomes entangled with an office-based pumpkin incident that sounds like the opening scene of a workplace investigation. Seventeen pumpkins had somehow materialized in Viktor's office, leaving dirt scattered across the room, and instead of simply dealing with the agricultural invasion, Viktor and Jade apparently decided to redistribute the produce-based suffering to Star's office. The pumpkins were placed in strategic locations, including her chair and mouse pad, ensuring that the recipient inherited not only the pumpkins but also the dirt that came with them. Maddie confirms that Star's workspace was left suitably filthy, while Viktor offers an apology that carries approximately the same emotional weight as a parking ticket. The official lesson? Halloween cheer for Star, Christmas cheer for veterans, and absolutely no guarantees that your office furniture will survive the seasonal festivities.The program then veers into the deeply upsetting saga of Highland High School in Pocatello, which apparently cannot catch a break. After a previous fire damaged the school's music department and destroyed or damaged musical equipment and marching band belongings, equipment had been temporarily stored at Calvary Chapel while the school worked through the aftermath. Then someone allegedly broke into the church and vandalized the equipment, leaving approximately $10,000 in reported damage. The hosts discuss reports of a damaged electric piano, multiple bass guitars, another guitar, television and stereo equipment, speakers, computer equipment, tables, a whiteboard, and even a fire extinguisher that was damaged. Whoever was responsible apparently decided that stealing or simply leaving the equipment intact was not enough: musical gear had to be smashed, property had to be damaged, and an already unfortunate situation had to become significantly worse. Even more bizarrely, the discussion includes reports that anointing oil was poured onto the sound system and racist vulgarities were written on the soundboard and floor. Cameras had reportedly been stolen, although the pastor said they were not working because they needed new batteries. The hosts speculate about what could have motivated the incident, briefly entertain the possibility of a rivalry, and then arrive at the obvious conclusion that destroying someone else's instruments is not a reasonable way to settle a dispute. Maddie, who has marching band experience, is particularly distressed by the destruction of the musical equipment. Viktor, meanwhile, makes the controversial observation that the world could theoretically survive without a tuba before immediately acknowledging that tubas are great. The tuba is dragged into a conversation about a crime it did not commit, and Highland High School's already miserable relationship with its music equipment receives yet another unwanted chapter.From there, the hosts enter the internet's endless warehouse of people asking strangers to validate their most questionable interpersonal decisions. Viktor explains that Reddit is a useful resource for radio content, partly because so much of the material circulating through radio-preparation services seems to originate there in the first place. Maddie admits she does not use Reddit as much as she probably should, and the discussion becomes an informal endorsement of stealing internet strangers' stories for entertainment purposes, provided the result is a decent radio segment. One Reddit dilemma concerns a woman who wants to know whether she would be wrong to ask her father-in-law to stop kissing her pregnant belly. The answer from the studio is essentially an immediate and unanimous ...
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    16 Min.
  • Ep. 264 - Idaho Is A Fake Word And Pocatello Might Be A Historical Insult - 10/20/2026

    Ep. 264 - Idaho Is A Fake Word And Pocatello Might Be A Historical Insult - 10/20/2026
    Oct 21 2026
    The October 20, 2026, episode of The Noon Hour of Madness and Mayhem begins with Viktor and Maddie already operating at approximately 14% brain capacity, with Viktor apparently attempting to dismantle the radio station's technological infrastructure through the radical technique of touching things while trying to work ahead. He's preparing for an out-of-town trip to Phoenix for his daughter's wedding, which sounds lovely in theory but is rapidly developing into a full-scale logistical catastrophe involving ceremonial obligations, rehearsal schedules, cultural traditions, expensive transportation, and the horrifying realization that Viktor's wardrobe appears to have been assembled by a man who was informed at birth that colors are a government psyop. His daughter is marrying a man who is half Chinese, and the wedding festivities include a traditional tea ceremony that requires Viktor to arrive at a specific time and participate in activities that apparently demand more planning than launching a satellite. Viktor, meanwhile, has the fashion flexibility of a sentient lump of coal. His closet is a vast, lightless ocean of black T-shirts, dark clothing, and the occasional garment that looks like it was purchased during a particularly depressing tour of a heavy metal band. He has rented a suit, but naturally, it is black shirt, black suit, black everything, with one solitary red tie attempting to prevent the entire ensemble from collapsing into a black hole. Unfortunately, his daughter explains that the tea ceremony calls for bright, cheerful colors. BRIGHT. CHEERFUL. COLORS. Viktor might as well have been asked to arrive riding a unicorn while juggling flaming beach balls. His only red shirt is emblazoned with the declaration, "I put ketchup on my ketchup," which Maddie immediately recognizes as the objectively superior ceremonial garment. Why wear a respectable button-down shirt when you could arrive at an important family cultural celebration dressed like a walking condiment-related cry for help? Viktor's daughter, predictably, does not consider this culinary manifesto appropriate wedding attire. Maddie and the others nevertheless launch a spirited defense of the ketchup shirt, proposing shorts, sandals, and low-cut socks as additional accessories to transform Viktor into the most aggressively underdressed father of the bride in Arizona. Viktor now has to locate affordable, colorful dress clothes that he will probably never wear again, sending him toward Ross, Goodwill, or Deseret Industries, where he must confront the ancient and terrifying ritual of trying on clothing in a thrift store dressing room. The episode briefly becomes a public-health horror story as the hosts contemplate whether secondhand clothing is washed before being placed on the sales floor. Nobody knows. Nobody has answers. Viktor wonders whether the store has an industrial washing machine hidden in some mysterious back room, while the conversation spirals into speculation about sweat, skin fungus, and the possibility that buying a cheap pair of slacks requires the buyer to enter into an unspoken biological pact with every previous owner. This is the price of attending a wedding when your entire wardrobe has been designed for a perpetual funeral. And because the universe enjoys kicking people when they're financially vulnerable, Viktor and Maddie are also confronted with the traditional payday experience: watching the money arrive in their accounts and immediately evaporate into bills, travel costs, hotels, Airbnb expenses, plane tickets, luggage fees, and the relentless economic machinery of modern adulthood. Maddie describes the familiar terror of checking an account only to discover that every bill has been paid and the reward for this remarkable financial achievement is having absolutely nothing left. Viktor has not even pulled out his phone to inspect his own financial damage. Somewhere between the wedding suit and the airline baggage fees, his paycheck has apparently burst into flames. The wedding hasn't even happened yet, and the financial postmortem is already underway.The conversation then takes a sharp turn into the digital sewer system known as Reddit, where Viktor explains that although the platform can be an extraordinarily useful source of information, it is also populated by enough inexplicable human behavior to make you wonder whether the entire internet is now three lonely people, seventeen bots, and a malfunctioning artificial intelligence that learned sociology from a dumpster. Maddie admits that she uses Reddit in small doses to preserve her mental well-being, a survival strategy that increasingly sounds less like a preference and more like a medically necessary quarantine protocol. Viktor has found useful tips and tricks for Red Dead Redemption, but the same website that can explain obscure video game mechanics can also serve up questions so bizarre that he wonders whether the posters are real people, AI-generated ...
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    28 Min.
  • Ep. 263 - Leonardo DiCaprio Is Apparently Fat - 10/19/2026

    Ep. 263 - Leonardo DiCaprio Is Apparently Fat - 10/19/2026
    Oct 20 2026
    The October 19, 2026, episode of The Noon Hour of Madness and Mayhem begins with a medical emergency of the highest order: Maddie Kid is undercaffeinated, Viktor Wilt is apparently operating at the precise optimal level of caffeine saturation, and the entire radio industry is one poorly timed energy drink away from collapse. Maddie admits that she slept in, failed to secure the necessary morning caffeine delivery, and arrived at work only to discover that her brain was already filing a formal complaint. Viktor, meanwhile, explains that he has been trying to behave himself on the alcohol front, which has apparently made caffeine substantially more effective. This discovery reached its logical conclusion after he drank an entire energy drink on the drive back from the BYU-Idaho career fair and subsequently found himself feeling considerably less than wonderful. Fortunately, the university provided the visiting radio personalities with a surprisingly nutritious and delicious sandwich, proving that the institution could at least successfully feed them before their respective nervous systems began malfunctioning. The real villain of the career fair, however, was parking. Maddie spent approximately 15 to 20 minutes circling the lot despite arriving 30 minutes early, eventually abandoning all hope of finding a remotely convenient space. Viktor, who arrived early enough to secure a parking spot practically outside the entrance, was living in an entirely different universe. The contrast was so profound that one can only assume the parking gods had personally selected Viktor for their favor while condemning Maddie to a pilgrimage across the asphalt wilderness.After surviving the career fair, the hosts compare their weekend activities, revealing two very different approaches to recreation. Maddie had recently attended a Doja Cat concert and visited Lagoon, leaving her sufficiently exhausted that she wanted nothing more than to sit around and accomplish absolutely nothing. Viktor embraced this philosophy with the enthusiasm of a man who has discovered that the human body was not designed to do anything beyond occupying a chair. His weekend consisted of aggressively binge-watching television, including the new Carrie series and Crystal Lake, the Friday the 13th prequel series, both of which he enthusiastically recommends. Maddie, by comparison, had watched It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, which Viktor immediately declared insufficient Halloween entertainment. Apparently, a wholesome animated pumpkin special is unacceptable when there are fictional murderers available to haunt your living room. The conversation then shifts to their shared obsession with Red Dead Redemption 2, a game that has apparently become less of a hobby and more of a competing domestic relationship. Maddie explains that her time with the game was interrupted because her significant other dragged her into public life like a dog being hauled away from something it refuses to abandon. Both hosts understand the tragedy of being separated from Arthur Morgan when the real world insists on demanding attention. Viktor reveals that he has reached 97% completion and finished all the challenges, while Maddie remains locked in mortal combat with the infamous dry dash challenge, which requires traveling from the Blackwater area without touching water. Viktor provides a detailed workaround involving Riggs Station and a particular endpoint near the train tracks that allows Arthur to register as having reached the necessary location without triggering the usual law-enforcement nightmare. Maddie receives this information as though she has just been handed forbidden government intelligence. Her next mission is clear: return home, exploit the geographical loophole, and continue her sacred campaign toward video-game completion. Somewhere, a real-life household is probably waiting for Maddie to finish playing cowboy, and somewhere else, Arthur Morgan is patiently waiting for her to stop being interrupted by civilization.Then comes Viktor's public apology, a confession so humiliating that it threatens to destabilize the entire field of digital photography. Earlier that day, Carolina Rosalin had visited the morning show, and Viktor attempted to take a group selfie with her and Maddie. Unfortunately, his photography skills were apparently developed using a potato, a trembling hand, and an unwavering commitment to mediocrity. The resulting images were blurry, so Viktor turned to ChatGPT and requested a cleanup and sharpening job. He examined the result, decided it was probably good enough, and prepared to put it out into the world. There was just one small problem: the artificial intelligence had apparently decided that the women in the photograph could benefit from a little unauthorized facial reconstruction. Carolina spotted the distortion immediately and called Viktor out, specifically noting that her face and Maddie's face looked strange. Maddie is less upset...
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    19 Min.
  • Ep. 262 - Burning The Hair Off Of A Freeze Dried Tarantula And Then Eating It - 10/07/2026

    Ep. 262 - Burning The Hair Off Of A Freeze Dried Tarantula And Then Eating It - 10/07/2026
    Oct 7 2026
    The Noon Hour of Madness and Mayhem begins with what may be the most important workplace crisis of the entire episode: everyone desperately wants a nap. Maddie is apparently snoring before the show has even properly begun, Kevin has rejected the revolutionary concept of a company-wide nap break, and suddenly the Riverbend studio is one cot away from becoming a daytime sleepaway camp. The crew imagines lining up cots, snuggling up at 12:30 and having Kevin read everyone a bedtime story, which naturally leads into a full-blown investigation of the studio's deeply offensive furniture situation. The conference-room chairs are apparently approximately 300-dollar torture devices disguised as office furniture, featuring all the cushioning of a concrete sidewalk and roughly the same ergonomic philosophy as sitting directly on a brick. The legendary beanbag has already been banished by a former GM, leaving behind a workplace apparently hostile to both comfort and whimsy. From there, the conversation descends into Facebook Marketplace furniture, which quickly evolves into the discovery that Maddie's couch came from Facebook Marketplace, another couch was pulled from an alley, and someone in this universe has apparently been willing to acquire a mattress secondhand. The alley couch becomes the central artifact of human stupidity as everyone contemplates what horrifying biological civilization might have been living inside it before it entered a home. The phrase "Maybe don't get your couch from an alley" somehow emerges as genuinely useful life advice. Then Halloween arrives like a truck full of inflatable plastic monsters crashing through the studio door. Maddie wants to decorate the Z103 studio because spooky season has arrived, while Viktor reveals that the studio is already essentially a permanent Halloween crime scene because most of the decorations came from his house. What begins as a discussion about dollar-store decorations escalates into giant inflatable Jack Skellington, an Exorcist girl projectile-vomiting, a Stranger Things Demogorgon, possible Chucky and Pennywise inflatables, Snoopy hanging out with the Great Pumpkin, and the horrifying realization that Viktor's house is becoming less of a residence and more of a competitive Halloween theme park. Meanwhile, the great annual migration of children toward wealthy neighborhoods becomes a socioeconomic investigation into Halloween candy distribution. Maddie argues that rich neighborhoods aren't necessarily handing out king-sized candy bars because, mathematically, approximately seventeen billion children descend upon them every October. Viktor counters that the better strategy is to stay in your own neighborhood, where there is a greater chance of receiving handfuls of Snickers rather than one lonely Tootsie Roll that has been sitting in someone's pantry since the Obama administration. The conversation reaches peak candy absurdity when a legendary foot-long Snickers bar from childhood is brought up, because apparently there are people walking among us who have experienced the candy equivalent of winning the lottery. And then the Halloween candy conversation takes a hard left directly into insanity. Ramen packets are proposed as Halloween treats before Maddie momentarily assumes the conversation is about something much darker. Soon they're joking about razor blades, needles, suspicious candy, packets of crickets, chocolate-covered ants and the fundamental concept of "trick" being restored to trick-or-treating. Maddie admits she has eaten crickets, mealworms and even a scorpion from one of those novelty insect candies. Viktor, apparently unwilling to let this level of depravity remain unmatched, recounts the time the show acquired a freeze-dried tarantula. The tarantula apparently required its leg hairs to be burned off before consumption, resulting in Viktor standing there with a lighter, roasting a tiny spider like the world's least appetizing kebab while the studio filled with the smell of burnt tarantula. They eventually ate the thing, discovering the revolutionary scientific breakthrough that burnt tarantula legs taste like burnt tarantula legs. This somehow isn't even the worst food experiment in the show's history, because Viktor then remembers the surströmming incident, when the infamous fermented fish was opened outside and underwater in an attempt to contain the smell—and still managed to make the dumpster area smell like something had died several counties away. From there, the episode takes a bizarre detour through Viktor's fake name, personal privacy, yard sales and the eternal question of whether changing your name is socially acceptable. Viktor explains that the fake name exists specifically so people can find him without necessarily being able to track down every detail of his real identity, although that strategy becomes somewhat less effective when you've repeatedly discussed where you live and had listeners show up at your house ...
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    24 Min.
  • Ep. 261 - We Tried To Find Sober Activities In Idaho And Somehow Ended Up At A Murder Cave - 10/06/2026

    Ep. 261 - We Tried To Find Sober Activities In Idaho And Somehow Ended Up At A Murder Cave - 10/06/2026
    Oct 6 2026
    Maddie has apparently received the most terrifying piece of mail known to modern civilization: a letter from the IRS, which immediately sends the entire studio into a full-scale investigation despite neither host appearing particularly qualified to investigate taxes. Her mother has already texted her with the ominous message that she hopes Maddie isn't relying on her to keep some mysterious “plan” alive, followed by the devastating revelation that Maddie has an IRS letter waiting for her. Maddie has filed taxes approximately twice in her life using TurboTax and FreeTaxUSA, pays rent to her mother, lives in the same household, and has absolutely no idea whether she is about to receive a refund, a correction, or a federal invitation to experience the inside of a prison. The conversation somehow evolves into the possibility that her mother may have claimed her as a dependent, whether college-age children still generate tax credits, and the deeply disturbing possibility that Maddie could have secretly invented several children for the sole purpose of harvesting enormous tax refunds. Maddie insists that, legally speaking, she has committed no tax fraud — although she also admits that this may depend on whether she actually opens the letter. From there, the IRS discussion mutates into a discussion about alleged government refunds, old people receiving approximately ninety dollars, gas costing enough to make a $90 check feel like a personal financial miracle, and the horrifying prospect of Maddie disappearing into either the Bonneville County Jail or a federal facility. Then the show takes an abrupt detour into 107 Viagra pills, because apparently three men in Georgia were arrested after being caught with what authorities described as dangerous drugs, with one charge allegedly attached to each pill. The phrase “dangerous Viagra” becomes the unofficial theme of the segment as Maddie tries to understand how something that isn't generally thought of as a hardcore controlled substance could potentially produce a gigantic pile of criminal charges. This eventually leads to a comparison between tax fraud and other crimes, with the hosts casually deciding that white-collar crime seems considerably less terrifying — right up until Maddie realizes that one unfortunate tax mistake could apparently result in her being dragged out of the studio in handcuffs. Naturally, this leads to the revelation that both hosts have already been handcuffed inside the building, including one particularly incredible incident in which Lieutenant Crane apparently lost the handcuff keys after leaving them in Rexburg, forcing Viktor to continue doing the show with his hands restrained behind his back while somebody else operated the board. Maddie reveals that she still has security footage from the glorious day when multiple people around the station were handcuffed and everyone else experimented with drunk goggles. The conversation then somehow connects the drunk-goggle experience to Red Dead Redemption, specifically the disorienting Lenny sequence, because apparently the only logical way to explain simulated intoxication is to compare it to stumbling around looking for Lenny while the entire world appears to be malfunctioning. Then comes the weekend entertainment discussion, where Maddie reveals she is heading to Doja Cat, while Casey Musgraves gets dragged into the conversation because her concert apparently features one of the most gloriously ridiculous stage props imaginable: a giant bedazzled chair suspended in the air, spinning and flying around the venue. Maddie immediately decides the radio station needs one. The studio's existing disco ball may apparently be sacrificed so somebody can construct a flying rhinestone throne, because that is exactly the sort of responsible investment a radio station should make. Maddie has been hoarding her Doja Cat tickets since February and is wildly excited about the setlist, while Viktor realizes they potentially could have tried to get her a professional photo pass. This launches an entire tangent about concert photography, giant bald men being used as human landmarks in crowded venues, and the resurrection of the Z103 social-media empire. And then AI commits marijuana crimes without being asked. Viktor explains that he fed an ordinary station photo into an image generator and asked it to turn the image into weird podcast artwork. The AI responded by adding dinosaurs, UFOs, Bigfoot, and — for absolutely no apparent reason — a giant joint in each host's mouth. Nobody requested the weed. The robot simply looked at the situation and apparently decided, “These two need drugs.” Afterward, Viktor had to specifically instruct the AI to remove the joints and make his head slightly less enormous. Maddie then reveals that she has experienced similar AI nonsense before, leading the hosts to conclude that ChatGPT apparently has a strange affection for marijuana, immediately followed by ...
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    29 Min.
  • Ep. 260 - Viktor Raised The Roof in Rigby and Drank Mystery Dog Whiskey - 10/05/2026

    Ep. 260 - Viktor Raised The Roof in Rigby and Drank Mystery Dog Whiskey - 10/05/2026
    Oct 5 2026
    The Noon Hour of Madness and Mayhem opens with the sort of Monday energy where the computers are barely functioning, everyone is wandering around the building instead of doing their jobs, and Maddie has apparently decided that the workplace is now live theater. After comparing the office to a nature documentary where coworkers simply walk back and forth for half an hour, the conversation immediately turns toward the weekend, which somehow involves Palisades, Lagoon, horse crap, celebrity sightings, and the rapidly approaching realization that roller coasters become significantly less enjoyable once your spine begins filing formal complaints. Maddie describes spotting Josh from Class C 97 at Lagoon and enthusiastically embarrassing herself in public, while Victor explains that he bravely subjected himself to Cannibal and exited the ride with the unmistakable sensation that every bone in his body had been individually audited. The wooden roller coaster is deemed completely unacceptable because apparently being violently shaken inside a wooden box is no longer considered entertainment once you have reached a certain stage of skeletal development. Then comes Squealers in Rigby, where the definition of "date night" apparently means wandering around a partially illuminated miniature golf course in the dark before climbing into go-karts and immediately transforming the activity into the East Idaho Grand Prix. Victor and Becca are the only people on the track, which means there is absolutely no reason whatsoever for Victor to exercise restraint. He immediately floors it, refuses to brake, repeatedly tells Becca to "hit the gas," crashes, spins out, lets her get way ahead, and then apparently recovers just enough dignity to declare himself the winner. From there, the evening takes a hard left into downtown Rigby, where Victor discovers that there are, in fact, bars in Rigby. Wearing an Ice Nine Kills shirt featuring Patrick Bateman, he enters an establishment filled with cowboys and receives the kind of silent assessment normally reserved for a stranger who has wandered into the wrong saloon in a Western movie. Except instead of a piano player dramatically stopping mid-song, the bar is inexplicably piping karaoke from the establishment next door into its own sound system. Nothing says "normal Friday night" quite like sitting in a bar listening to someone else's karaoke through the wall while surrounded by people smoking indoors. Eventually Victor crosses into the karaoke establishment, where the situation becomes considerably more appropriate for him. He starts screaming Pantera and Lamb of God, eventually teams up with an older Hispanic gentleman to perform Rammstein's "Du Hast," and somehow ends up purchasing handmade Halloween crochet creations from the man's wife that apparently resemble tiny voodoo dolls. At this point, the episode has somehow evolved from discussing a normal weekend into an extremely specific East Idaho nightlife documentary about heavy-metal karaoke, mysterious crocheted entities, and the discovery that Top Cat is apparently where the real Rigby nightlife happens. Maddie, meanwhile, repeatedly reminds everyone that she is not legally old enough to drink yet, because the year 2027 has apparently become a recurring plot point in this podcast. Then the episode takes a sharp turn into the internet's ongoing campaign to convince human beings that natural selection is optional. The crew discusses an alleged TikTok stunt involving an 18-year-old in Florida sitting in the median of a busy roadway at night while getting his hair cut. Because apparently a bathroom, driveway, barber shop, backyard, or literally any location not containing moving automobiles was considered insufficiently cinematic. A vehicle accident sent one of the cars into the median where the group was filming, striking the young man. The discussion immediately turns into the kind of legal question that sounds like it was generated by throwing "personal injury attorney," "Florida," "TikTok," and "what were you thinking?" into a blender. Was the injured person responsible for putting himself in the road? Were the drivers responsible because they crashed and sent a vehicle into him? Who exactly is liable when everybody involved has made a decision that seems specifically engineered to create an insurance claim? Victor immediately declares that this may become material for his next Advocates commercial, demonstrating that even in the middle of a completely ridiculous conversation, radio prep never truly sleeps. After surviving the Florida Haircut Apocalypse, the show moves into wildlife territory with a story from Aspen, Colorado, involving a man on a motorized scooter who encounters a bear blocking the path to his house. Rather than choosing the traditional strategy of quietly respecting the enormous wild animal capable of turning him into a cautionary tale, the man honks at the bear and revs his scooter engine at it. A park ...
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    22 Min.
  • Ep. 259 - Sober, Angry, G-Less, And Armed With A Liberty Bell - 09/14/2026

    Ep. 259 - Sober, Angry, G-Less, And Armed With A Liberty Bell - 09/14/2026
    Sep 17 2026
    This episode begins with the deeply suspicious revelation that Monday is somehow tolerable because sobriety has temporarily removed one of the show's hosts from the gravitational pull of alcohol. What should be a normal conversation about feeling better without drinking immediately mutates into a discussion about depression, anxiety, caffeine sensitivity, avoiding bars, and the terrifying realization that drunk people are absolutely unbearable when you're sober. The hosts discuss the early days of not drinking, with the sober host estimating that he's somewhere around nine or ten days in, and the conversation quickly establishes that this is not merely an attempt to survive without booze but an attempt to survive long enough to make it to Sevendust at the Mountain America Center without falling off the wagon. Naturally, the first obstacle is a craft night at a bar, because apparently even Halloween sign-making has become a potential relapse boss battle. The solution is simple: don't spend two hours trapped in a building surrounded by drunk people while sober enough to actually understand what they're saying. From there, the show launches directly into the bizarre social ecosystem of being recognizable radio personalities in public. One host explains that drunk people become exponentially more annoying when you're not drunk yourself, because suddenly every aggressive backslap, every "HEY BIG GUY!" and every unsolicited interaction becomes painfully visible. The discussion then spirals into whether the hosts are approachable, whether people recognize them, and why one of them apparently has the public-facing energy of a human lighthouse while the other is a large man who mostly hides from society. A trip to Walmart becomes a rare expedition into civilization, only for the universe to immediately punish the attempt at normalcy by having them encounter someone they know while searching for Pringles and Apple headphones. The hosts then move into their shared inability to deal with crowds, with concert and fair stories demonstrating that sometimes the entire objective of attending an event is simply to arrive, become overwhelmed, and escape as quickly as humanly possible. The Idaho State Fair becomes the next victim. Everyone supposedly hates the fair, yet everyone mysteriously keeps going to the fair, leading to the important philosophical conclusion that perhaps people don't actually hate the fair—they hate being surrounded by thousands of other people who also went to the fair. One host recalls a previous attempt to defeat loneliness by attending the fair alone on Labor Day in the rain, only to discover that spending more time driving to and from Blackfoot than actually being inside the fair was apparently the grand adventure. After buying an unreasonable amount of beard-related merchandise, the mission was abandoned. The concert stories get even more absurd when the hosts recall another event where escaping the venue became more important than actually experiencing the concert, proving once again that the modern concert experience can apparently be reduced to parking, entering a building, surviving the crowd, and leaving before the music has had enough time to happen. Then comes the invention of a potentially glorious new radio contest: Can You Do Better Than Peaches or Victor? The concept is essentially an evolution of "DJ for a Day," except contestants would have to prove they can perform an on-air break better than the actual hosts. Immediately, the hosts realize that finding judges could be more difficult than the contest itself. They don't want some ancient radio programmer deciding the winner, but they also don't want someone from inside their own building who could be biased. A stand-up comedian is proposed, along with a younger radio programmer, which inevitably leads to an attack on Jade's age and the suggestion that although certain coworkers are technically only a year older, they possess the apparent chronological energy of someone who personally remembers the invention of radio. And then the Internet commits a crime against civilization. The discussion turns toward the reaction to a Caleb Shomo/Beartooth interview, where random commenters apparently decided that the appropriate response to content they didn't enjoy was to launch into musical criticism and personal attacks. One commenter apparently became so obsessed with pronunciation that they began documenting specific timestamps to criticize the way words were being spoken. This is where the episode achieves its most important scientific breakthrough: the letter G is apparently optional. The hosts revisit complaints about words like "thing" and "lawn," leading to increasingly ridiculous discussion about enunciation, radio voices, speech habits, and whether an anonymous commenter with a Beavis and Butt-Head profile picture might secretly be Jade. Instead of quietly ignoring the criticism, the host responds by essentially challenging ...
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    22 Min.