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  • October 16th, 2026 - Six Cops Couldn't Catch A Pig, But A Chihuahua Nearly Took Down A Police Officer

    October 16th, 2026 - Six Cops Couldn't Catch A Pig, But A Chihuahua Nearly Took Down A Police Officer
    Oct 16 2026
    Welcome to another edition of Traffic School, where the laws of the road collide with questionable personal behavior, expensive diesel fuel, angry spouses, wild animals, and a group of people who apparently consider calling law enforcement in the middle of the night a perfectly acceptable recreational activity. Viktor Wilt and Lieutenant Crane kick things off with a discussion about radio presentation, explaining how a mellow song requires a mellow transition while a death-metal banger demands a completely different level of energy. Naturally, this leads to a brief investigation into Viktor's shirt, which appears to be fighting for its life, and the possibility that he should either buy larger clothes or lose weight. The Hulk Hogan fantasy of ripping the shirt off in a triumphant display of masculine glory is floated, but the garment remains intact, presumably because the economy has made replacement clothing a luxury item. Then the conversation takes a sharp turn into Viktor's recent behavior, including the alleged return to the wagon after an incident involving late-night calls to law enforcement. While watching Live on Patrol, Viktor witnessed officers in Tempe, Arizona, attempting to capture a wild javelina with a catch pole, joined at various points by multiple officers and two apparent civilian volunteers who decided that an already ridiculous situation needed additional participants. Viktor found this so entertaining that he called a friend at approximately 1 a.m., apparently delivering commentary about how the situation should have been resolved hours earlier. Unfortunately, the call was a butt dial, meaning the recipient got a surprise nighttime broadcast without even having to tune in. Lieutenant Crane contributes a story from his law enforcement career involving a search warrant, a supposedly intimidating Doberman, and a team prepared to deal with a potentially dangerous animal. The Doberman, however, had apparently decided that law enforcement was above its pay grade and hid beneath the master bedroom bed. The actual security threat turned out to be a Chihuahua that spent the operation biting Crane's ankles. One dog was a trembling furniture accessory; the other was a tiny ankle-destroying menace apparently operating under its own aggressive wildlife management policy. The hosts then discuss the joys of harassing friends, agree that giving someone a hard time can be a sign of affection, and casually entertain the idea of calling Lieutenant Crane in the middle of the night again. Listeners are advised not to imitate Viktor's behavior, which is probably the most responsible public safety announcement of the entire broadcast.The show then launches into Traffic School, powered by The Advocates Injury Attorneys, with the promise that listeners can call in with questions about traffic law and potentially win money. The first caller, Crazy Carl, arrives with a promotional agenda of his own: the upcoming Trunk Retreat event benefiting Toys for Tots. Last year's event reportedly attracted around 2,000 children and raised approximately $1,700 for the charitable cause, and Carl encourages everyone to participate regardless of what vehicle they drive. After a brief technical struggle involving baseball music, the conversation immediately returns to the kind of material that makes this show sound like a deposition conducted inside a malfunctioning comedy club. Carl asks whether he can drunk-dial the hosts at 1 a.m., and the hosts explain that they are not necessarily opposed to receiving calls, although the distinction between being buzzed and being drunk is not exactly a loophole anyone should be testing. From there, Carl describes a frustrating traffic situation involving a left turn, blocked lanes, and drivers who seem incapable of recognizing that another human being might be attempting to navigate an intersection. The story eventually reaches a moment in which Carl admits to briefly driving into oncoming traffic before moving into the middle lane, because apparently waiting for a safe opening was competing with his schedule and losing. The hosts roast him for his driving decisions, his age, and his inability to turn his neck, before the conversation somehow morphs into a discussion of sleeping positions, shoulder pain, and a spouse who slapped someone awake. This is the point at which the show establishes that even a question about road safety can somehow become an investigation into domestic battery. One caller's marital grievance becomes another person's criminal-law hypothetical, and everyone seems entirely comfortable with the transition.Things get even stranger when a caller asks Lieutenant Crane about red-dyed diesel fuel and a temporary suspension of certain restrictions. The discussion focuses on the reported 30-day change affecting diesel use, with Crane warning that the rules may differ when drivers cross into other states. The caller believes the savings could amount to roughly $1.50, ...
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    43 Min.
  • October 9th, 2026 - Naked River Pursuits, E-Bike Crimes, And The Coming Idaho Falls Apocalypse

    October 9th, 2026 - Naked River Pursuits, E-Bike Crimes, And The Coming Idaho Falls Apocalypse
    Oct 9 2026
    Welcome to Traffic School, the only morning radio program where the hosts show up looking like they were dragged out of a medically induced coma, a police lieutenant arrives to discuss actual law enforcement, and within minutes somebody is asking whether throwing fireworks into another person's car during a road rage incident is a misdemeanor or a felony. It is October 9, 2026, and the gang is running on approximately four hours of sleep, questionable midnight food deliveries, and the collective determination to make sure Idaho Falls becomes internationally recognizable for reasons that absolutely do not involve winning an award for civic responsibility. Viktor is exhausted because he stayed up late after emo night, ordered food instead of going to bed like a functioning adult, and apparently managed to turn off his alarm while unconscious. Fortunately, Ravonda woke him up before he could accidentally lose a race against Lieutenant Crane to his own workplace, which would have created the first-ever police recruitment event conducted entirely through a locked radio station door. Meanwhile, the prospect of Idaho Falls appearing on On Patrol: Live sends the studio into a spiral of anticipation, because nothing says community pride quite like hoping your friends, relatives, drinking buddies, and that one cousin nobody discusses at Thanksgiving get captured on national television doing something spectacularly regrettable. The hosts encourage everyone to head downtown and provide the cameras with something worth broadcasting, while Ravonda confidently announces that nobody will ever catch her running. This inspires a mental image of an actual police pursuit featuring a camera crew, a fleeing Ravonda, and Viktor providing commentary from a safe distance because running is apparently something he reserves for emergencies involving absolutely no alternative to walking. The conversation gets even better when they discuss whether the new police broadcasts will be available through a streaming service, ultimately discovering that viewers might be able to use a free trial to watch the entire city make questionable decisions without spending a cent. Why pay for scripted television when your own neighbors may be producing an unscripted crime drama in the parking lot?Then comes the first listener question, and it is a magnificent example of why nobody should ever underestimate the creative potential of someone who has been awake too long. Curly calls in to ask what kind of trouble a person could get into for dropping fireworks into somebody else's car during a road rage confrontation. Notice that the question isn't about how to calm down, exchange insurance information, or avoid escalating an argument with another motorist. No. Curly has apparently progressed directly to the hypothetical intersection of explosive devices, automotive property damage, and criminal sentencing. The hosts begin debating whether the fireworks are small firecrackers or something considerably more powerful, whether the incident would be classified as a misdemeanor, and whether the amount of damage could push it into felony territory. At one point, the conversation even drifts toward the possibility of spending time in county jail, which is treated less like a consequence of criminal behavior and more like a budget-conscious vacation package featuring free meals and an escape from the modern economy. Curly seems interested in finding the precise point at which his imaginary fireworks-based revenge operation becomes a felony, and the entire studio sounds as though it is one follow-up question away from accidentally producing the world's least responsible instructional seminar. To be clear, the conversation is comedy, not legal advice, and nobody should interpret it as permission to launch fireworks into another person's vehicle. The fact that this requires clarification is itself a powerful argument for the continued existence of Traffic School.Next, Eli calls to ask whether military vehicles are exempt from the normal obligation to merge safely when entering a freeway. Lieutenant Crane explains that an active military movement may involve an escort, but ordinary drivers entering the freeway still need to handle the merge appropriately. This triggers a discussion about what happens when somebody in an on-ramp lane decides to match the speed of traffic and simply expects the rest of the universe to rearrange itself around them. Viktor imagines a tank rolling onto the freeway, which naturally leads Ravonda to announce that Viktor himself resembles a tank. A debate about military vehicle privileges has somehow become a referendum on Viktor's body shape, and the studio wastes no time bringing Taco Bell into the proceedings. Lieutenant Crane points out that Viktor was complaining about the economy while ordering overpriced DoorDash at midnight, and Viktor attempts to blame Ravonda for the entire situation because she needed to use the restroom ...
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    42 Min.
  • Sept 25th, 2026 - Golf Carts, Guns, Red Arrows, And One Extremely Angry Rexburg Driver

    Sept 25th, 2026 - Golf Carts, Guns, Red Arrows, And One Extremely Angry Rexburg Driver
    Oct 2 2026
    This episode of Traffic School begins exactly the way a respectable discussion about traffic safety should begin: with a man returning from ten glorious days of refusing to look at his phone, immediately followed by a conversation about a monstrous nine-lane road that mysteriously collapses into three lanes and then dumps unsuspecting motorists into a roundabout with absolutely no lane markings. In other words, civilization has apparently decided that road design should now resemble a multiplayer video game where everyone is driving simultaneously and nobody has been told the controls. The discussion somehow wanders to gigantic roundabouts in Tijuana, mopeds, dented cars, and the terrifying experience of attempting to cross a street while feeling like you're starring in a live-action version of Frogger. This is the serene, educational atmosphere in which Traffic School begins its descent into madness.Then comes the first major legal question: the legendary Idaho “15 miles per hour over” myth. A listener asks whether drivers can continuously travel 15 miles per hour over the posted speed limit on a four-lane highway, and the answer is a devastating blow to everyone who has apparently been treating 85 miles per hour as the unofficial speed limit whenever the sign says 70. The explanation centers on passing on qualifying two-lane roads rather than granting humanity a federally subsidized license to absolutely blast down four-lane highways. Naturally, the hosts immediately acknowledge that plenty of people seem to believe otherwise, particularly during interstate travel through Utah, where apparently the concept of a posted speed limit is treated more like a polite suggestion printed on a decorative plaque.The phone lines then open the floodgates, producing question after question about turning lanes and red lights. One caller wants to settle an argument with his wife over whether you have to remain in your designated lane when making a right turn onto a two-lane road or a left turn onto a one-way street. The answer is yes, and the caller leaves victorious without ever having to tell his wife that the radio officially declared him correct. Then comes another perennial internet war: the red arrow. The hosts make it clear that a red arrow means you cannot simply perform the maneuver people have apparently been performing for years while screaming, “BUT THERE WASN'T A SIGN!” Traffic School has officially entered the online-comment-section dimension, where basic traffic signals become subjects of theological debate.And then there is Crazy Carl, a man so determined to become caller number 20 that he has apparently sacrificed his physical health, workplace productivity, spinal alignment, and possibly his career in pursuit of a Metallica vinyl record. Carl explains that he has been carrying his radio around all day trying to win, prompting a discussion about the tremendous lengths people will go to acquire concert tickets. The episode establishes that listeners can win Metallica vinyl and potentially get entered for tickets, meaning Carl's quest has now escalated from “fun radio contest” to “full-time occupation.” The hosts even contemplate a completely unofficial future giveaway based on how many times Carl says “seriously” or “oh man,” which may be the most beautifully unnecessary statistical study ever proposed on live radio.Carl then delivers the episode's first major historical detour by asking about seatbelts in old cars. Suddenly, Traffic School becomes a documentary about the terrifying childhoods of previous generations, where seatbelts were apparently optional, children were launched across back seats like loose cargo, cigarette ash flew through open windows, and Mom's arm served as the primary restraint system. The conversation turns to classic cars that were never manufactured with seatbelts and whether their owners are required to install them. The answer leads into a larger discussion about how aggressively people fought mandatory seatbelt laws, with the hosts laughing at old footage of people treating seatbelt requirements like an authoritarian declaration of war. Apparently, some citizens looked at a device specifically designed to prevent them from becoming a human projectile and said, “This violates my freedom.”The seatbelt discussion gets progressively more deranged when the show takes a detour into old traffic-safety studies. Lieutenant Crane describes sitting beside a busy intersection with two clickers, manually counting who was wearing a seatbelt and who wasn't. The image of a person spending an hour clicking two handheld counters while inevitably forgetting which hand represented “seatbelt” and which represented “no seatbelt” is almost too perfect. Modern surveillance technology has apparently liberated humanity from this highly sophisticated methodology, although that creates its own problems when law-enforcement cameras are misused. The conversation ...
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    41 Min.
  • September 11th, 2026 - He Deleted His Headlights To Feed His Turbo

    September 11th, 2026 - He Deleted His Headlights To Feed His Turbo
    Sep 16 2026
    Traffic School returns with Lieutenant Crain, although apparently the relationship between the hosts has deteriorated to the point where one person doesn’t even remember the other is supposed to be coming in, and the other arrives slightly late just to prove a point. The show immediately spirals into a discussion about a man in San Francisco who tried to punch a guy walking his dog, only to discover that the alleged victim was a former Marine and martial arts instructor, leading to the timeless public-safety lesson that you should probably investigate the character sheet of the human being you are about to fight before initiating combat. From there, the conversation somehow mutates into cowboy fashion, fake Yellowstone cowboys, real cowboys, farm clothing, tennis shoes protecting cowboy boots, and Lieutenant Crane revealing that his wife once announced she hated cowboys shortly before discovering that the man she was dating was, in fact, extremely cowboy. Marriage: where your own opinions eventually become evidence against you.Then it is officially Traffic School time, powered by The Advocates Injury Attorneys, and the first major legal crisis arrives in the form of a windshield that has apparently been defeated by a construction-zone leaf blower. A caller traveling through the Highway 20 construction between St. Anthony and Rexburg says workers were using giant blowing machines to clear debris when a rock allegedly launched itself toward his vehicle and damaged his windshield. The question: can he sue Knife River? Lieutenant Crain explains that while someone can file a lawsuit or claim, actually proving responsibility is the difficult part. Was the rock directly blasted into the vehicle? Did another vehicle kick it up? Was it simply a road hazard? Was the leaf blower secretly a military-grade rock artillery system? Nobody knows. The caller does not have a dash cam, which is immediately identified as an unfortunate absence of evidence. The windshield damage is reportedly going to cost hundreds of dollars, creating a deeply American courtroom fantasy in which everyone briefly considers litigating over a rock launched by what may or may not have been the world's angriest leaf blower.The windshield discussion then somehow becomes a commercial for windshield repair, a scientific investigation into whether Viktor's enormous leaf blower could launch rocks, and an opportunity to discuss the miserable reality of Idaho driving: even after getting a windshield replaced, you can apparently get another crack almost immediately because Idaho roads have apparently declared war on glass. Another caller later adds an important wrinkle, explaining that road contractors may have provisions in their contracts or insurance arrangements for windshield claims. Lieutenant Crain recalls a previous Highway 26 construction project where road material caused numerous windshield breakages and the contractor's insurance ultimately covered the damage because there was substantial evidence that the construction itself was responsible. The practical takeaway becomes significantly less entertaining but much more useful: document what happened, contact the contractor, contact your insurance company if appropriate, and perhaps begin with a polite conversation instead of accusing a road worker of reenacting the Williams sisters with industrial landscaping equipment.The show then veers violently into vehicle-modification territory when a caller asks about something called a “headlight delete,” because apparently there are people who intentionally remove headlights from their vehicles and use the opening as an air intake for a turbocharger. Lieutenant Crane confirms that if a vehicle was manufactured with two headlights, both are required to be working, while motorcycles and certain other vehicles can have different requirements. This produces one of the most magnificent sequences of the episode, as everyone attempts to understand why anyone would remove a perfectly functional headlight to feed air to a turbo when the front of a vehicle already contains approximately seventeen million places where air can enter. Hood scoops are invoked. Grills are questioned. Windshields are briefly declared unnecessary. The concept of simply removing the windshield is floated as an aerodynamic alternative, despite the obvious problem of receiving a rock directly to the face. The caller then casually reveals that a large percentage of his automotive activities are misdemeanors, with perhaps two percent reaching felony territory, inspiring the proposed fashion statement: a jacket identifying him as a “98%er, 2% felony.”Then comes Chester's legendary traffic Bermuda Triangle. The discussion turns toward dangerous passing on Highway 20, impatient drivers attempting to overtake other vehicles even when a four-lane section is approaching, and the maddening phenomenon of passing someone aggressively only to arrive at the same stoplight in Ashton ...
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    36 Min.
  • September 4th, 2026 - 680 Pounds Of Beer Cans Somehow Made $20

    September 4th, 2026 - 680 Pounds Of Beer Cans Somehow Made $20
    Sep 4 2026
    This edition of Traffic School begins exactly where any responsible public-safety program should begin: with an extended investigation into the collapse of Kmart, the inflation-adjusted price of Little Caesars Hot-N-Ready pizza, the horrifying financial implications of diesel fuel, and the realization that a roll of Reynolds Wrap now costs enough money that aluminum foil has apparently become a precious metal. Lieutenant Crane is hanging out with Viktor, and the two immediately spiral into the economics of modern America, where a weekend road trip is now apparently a luxury reserved for oil sheiks and people who have discovered an abandoned refinery. Diesel prices have Viktor declaring that he is staying home, while Crane reveals his foolproof entrepreneurial strategy of drinking beer, crushing the cans, and selling the aluminum to finance more beer. This naturally evolves into Viktor discussing his attempt to stay off booze for the weekend, Crane suggesting that Viktor should simply move in with him and spend months becoming sober under police supervision, and Viktor proposing the much more reasonable strategy of hiding in his house with his cats, watching movies, drinking Mountain Dew, and refusing to encounter civilization. Once Traffic School officially begins, the show immediately becomes a public-service announcement wrapped inside a fever dream. With a holiday weekend approaching, listeners are encouraged to delay their departure long enough to call the program, because apparently camping spots will still exist several minutes later. The aluminum-can economy returns, complete with Crane's story about collecting 680 pounds of beer cans only to receive approximately $20.18 for his heroic labor, proving once and for all that capitalism has found a way to make physically transporting a small aluminum mountain somehow less profitable than simply leaving it in the garage. Then comes the first genuinely important warning of the episode: if you're planning on getting wild at a campground, remember that there may be cops camping nearby. They may not be wearing uniforms. They may be sitting in campers. They may be watching. The woods are no longer safe. The campground has become surveillance state: recreational edition. The first major traffic question concerns the subject that appears to have personally offended an entire generation of Idaho drivers: roundabouts. A listener asks how to properly navigate one, and Viktor essentially reduces the entire engineering achievement to, “Look left, and if it's clear, go,” while Crane dreams of creating a video in which Viktor is physically trapped inside a vehicle while Crane attacks a roundabout with enough enthusiasm to pin Viktor's face against the passenger window. The conversation then wanders into Idaho Falls road construction, a mysterious new South Boulevard roundabout, traffic studies, expanding roads, destroying everything standing beside them, and the general frustration of attempting to navigate a growing city without spontaneously developing a nervous twitch. The educational portion eventually establishes that drivers should use turn signals when appropriate, particularly when changing lanes or indicating their intentions, because the other people on the road may be spectacularly incapable of reading minds. Then the phones start ringing, and everything goes completely off the rails. One caller launches into an extremely enthusiastic complaint about an employee repeatedly arriving at work with beer cans falling out of her vehicle. Unfortunately, the caller deploys language that is far too spicy for terrestrial radio, forcing Viktor to frantically search for the dump button while apparently experiencing a near-fatal cardiac event. Crane jokes about needing to dispatch 911 because Viktor's heart has apparently stopped working, and the conversation becomes an accidental demonstration of why radio stations have emergency profanity buttons in the first place. The caller's daughter is also dragged into the situation, the dump button becomes a recurring character, and everyone seems increasingly concerned that the button has stopped lighting up. Meanwhile, Tractor Jeremy and Crazy Carl enter the picture, with the phone being passed around like a cursed artifact at a family reunion. Crazy Carl then delivers a photograph of Tractor Jeremy's tractor being pulled over by Bingham County law enforcement, although apparently this particular encounter occurred while they were doing something charitable. Crane grudgingly acknowledges that there are, in fact, some good cops, before Carl begins apologizing for the mysterious “Rexburg thing” from the previous week. Nobody can quite remember what the Rexburg thing was, Carl's medication apparently had not kicked in, and Viktor openly admits that conversations with Carl tend to evaporate from his brain the moment the call ends. Yet somehow, despite this, a future visit to the station is arranged, complete with ...
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    43 Min.
  • August 28th, 2026 - Grave Robbing, Guillotines And Inflatable Anime Women

    August 28th, 2026 - Grave Robbing, Guillotines And Inflatable Anime Women
    Aug 28 2026
    This episode of Traffic School begins with what sounds less like a legitimate radio program and more like two men standing outside a post office trying to resurrect the concept of 19th-century bounty hunting. Wanted posters come up almost immediately, along with the horrifying realization that Speaker 1 apparently considers himself an “outstanding young man,” despite the conversation rapidly turning toward suspicious behavior, mysterious electricity usage, heat sensors, and a house glowing so brightly that the government apparently needs to be informed. The conversation then takes a hard left into neighborhood fire trucks, elderly neighbors, Arizona vacations, and an absolutely bizarre story that is teased but never fully revealed because apparently even Traffic School has standards somewhere deep beneath the basement floor. Then, suddenly, it is time for actual law questions.The first major legal crisis involves a supposed dine-and-dash, except the alleged criminal mastermind insists he actually paid. During a birthday dinner for Peaches, the restaurant payment system apparently displayed multiple tickets, the correct bill was selected, the payment was processed, the waitress confirmed everything was fine, and everyone left. Later, however, the crew discovered that another group had apparently departed without paying, while a friend had paid the original bill. The payment itself initially showed as pending, creating a spectacular bureaucratic nightmare in which one person had apparently paid, another person had apparently paid, and everyone was now wondering who had technically stolen dinner from whom. The discussion spirals into whether dine-and-dash can become theft, whether intentionally entering a business with the plan to steal food could constitute burglary, and whether eating more than $1,000 worth of food would transform the situation into grand theft. The answer, delivered with the confidence of a man who has already been accused of crimes he didn't commit, is essentially: Carl, stop committing felonies.The episode then produces an incredible flashback involving Pizza Hut and a police captain who generously offered to buy pizza for everyone after a day at the gun range. The captain paid for his own meal and the lieutenant's, then apparently vanished into the sunset while everyone else assumed the bill had been handled. The waitress eventually stopped the remaining group and revealed the horrifying truth: the captain had not actually paid for everybody. He had merely paid for himself and one other person, leaving the sergeant to discover that he had accidentally inherited an entire restaurant bill. It becomes a masterclass in the ancient law-enforcement technique of saying, “The other guy said he was paying.”Then comes an actual public-service announcement: school is back in session. Drivers are urged to watch the yellow flashing lights because ignoring them may result in the sudden appearance of red and blue flashing lights. The hosts discuss people flying down Alameda Road, children riding bikes and skateboards, kids on electric scooters, and the general nightmare of trying to navigate roads while children are simultaneously excited about returning to school and apparently operating under the assumption that traffic laws are more of a suggestion. The conversation emphasizes defensive driving, paying attention, adding time to your commute, and remembering that Idaho is still in the “100 deadliest days of driving.”Then the show returns to the crucial matter of parking your car facing the wrong direction. Apparently this is generally governed by city ordinance, leading to a story about Burley enforcing the rule with enough enthusiasm to become a recurring character in the episode. Speaker 1 recalls parking backward in front of his own house, only to have an officer come to his door and inform him that his vehicle was illegally positioned. Unfortunately, the story gets worse because the car also contained a garbage bag full of beer cans from band practice. Although the beer cans were apparently leftovers from the previous night and the driver wasn't intoxicated when confronted, the visual of a police officer approaching a car parked illegally backward in front of a house containing a suspicious bag of beer cans is objectively spectacular. Somehow, he received only a warning.That leads into the bizarre discussion of seat-belt enforcement, including the claim that a seat belt violation is generally a secondary offense but that Burley apparently operates according to its own mysterious gravitational field. The hosts joke about officers finding additional reasons to initiate a traffic stop, including broken taillights and speeding. A story about an 80-mph freeway on-ramp then gets dragged into the conversation, with the horrifying realization that admitting “I'm used to getting on the freeway at 80” may not be the optimal strategy when speaking to law enforcement. The segment ...
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    40 Min.
  • August 21st, 2026 - Police Grapplers, Flock Socks And The Death Of Common Sense

    August 21st, 2026 - Police Grapplers, Flock Socks And The Death Of Common Sense
    Aug 24 2026
    This week's Traffic School begins with Lieutenant Crane casually revealing that his teenage years apparently consisted of repeatedly being kicked out of school and then eventually returning to that exact same campus wearing a police uniform, which is perhaps the funniest possible way to demonstrate that life has an extremely specific sense of humor. The discussion quickly establishes that Crane was apparently enough of a menace as a teenager to get himself trespassed from his own high school, only to later show up there as a lawman to handle an actual call. Somehow, this becomes a recruitment pitch for anyone who has ever thought, “There is absolutely no way they would let someone like me become a cop.” Crane insists they might, while Viktor immediately begins investigating whether his own questionable history would disqualify him. Apparently the only thing standing between Viktor and a career in law enforcement is physical fitness, which is devastating news for everyone involved.Then the show immediately plunges into the bizarre world of Flock cameras and the apparently heroic Flock Sock, a 3D-printable little garment designed to cover a Flock camera from “the elements.” The question becomes whether putting a removable sock over a police camera is actually illegal, because apparently we have reached the point in civilization where people are using sticks to dress surveillance cameras. Crane explains that simply touching the device may not necessarily constitute a crime if no damage is caused, but spray-painting or permanently damaging it would obviously be another story. Before the legal analysis can become remotely normal, Crazy Carl calls, immediately derailing the show into discussions about sponsorships, radio station phone systems, and the possibility of renaming the entire studio after “Doofus Plus.” The segment eventually becomes an extended fever dream about Carl's caller antics, police employment, old cars, and whether a person with misdemeanors can become a cop.The automotive portion gets progressively more ridiculous when Carl asks about his friend's nearly completed 1965 Thunderbird, which apparently still needs a driver's seat repaired and a windshield installed. The shocking discovery is that the vehicle can technically still be driven without the windshield, provided other requirements are met, including windshield wipers. This produces one of those uniquely Idaho moments where everyone pauses to consider the magnificent legal logic of having windshield wipers for a windshield that isn't currently there. The conversation then spirals into engine swaps, enormous horsepower, superchargers, blowers, and the timeless question of exactly how much horsepower you can legally cram into a street car. Crane's answer is essentially that horsepower itself isn't the problem; how you operate the vehicle is. In other words, Idaho apparently isn't particularly concerned if your car has enough horsepower to launch itself into another dimension, provided you aren't driving like an absolute lunatic.Viktor then announces that he is heading to Park City for a concert, which creates an entirely separate subplot involving mountain elevation, illness, cowboys, country music, and the possibility that Viktor may simply perish at approximately 7,000 feet. Crane's prediction is that Viktor probably won't die from being sick, but may instead die because of something he says to somebody. This is followed by discussion of the upcoming basketball game, which nobody involved seems remotely enthusiastic about because apparently running back and forth on a basketball court is considered an unacceptable burden.The show then dives into one of the coolest pieces of police equipment discussed all morning: the Grappler, a device that can be mounted to police vehicles and deployed to hook onto the rear of a fleeing vehicle and bring it to a stop. Viktor thinks it looks awesome. Crane agrees that police would love to have them. The problem is money. Idaho agencies can't necessarily afford to put one on every patrol car, and having one Grappler-equipped vehicle sitting somewhere across the state doesn't help much when an emergency happens hundreds of miles away. The discussion somehow evolves into imagining an officer getting a call to hurry across Idaho because he is the one guy assigned the magical car-chasing fishing hook.Then Steve O. from Mudvayne calls with a deceptively simple question: Are U-turns legal at red lights? Crane explains the circumstances under which U-turns can be made, including the importance of the signal, traffic conditions, and posted signs prohibiting U-turns. Naturally, the segment concludes with everyone making jokes about how long they have been staring at each other's faces in the studio and Viktor revealing that he has apparently developed a stopwatch specifically for determining when Lieutenant Crane has overstayed his welcome.Next comes the Bonneville Metropolitan Planning ...
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    38 Min.
  • August 14th, 2026 - 790 Pounds Of Meth And 1 Hairy Belly Button

    August 14th, 2026 - 790 Pounds Of Meth And 1 Hairy Belly Button
    Aug 14 2026
    This episode of Traffic School begins with the horrifying realization that Maddie has apparently decided that owning a perfectly functional 2025 vehicle is boring and that the only reasonable thing to do with it is remove the windows and throw it into a figure-eight race at the Madison County Fairgrounds. What begins as a cheerful discussion about the upcoming races quickly devolves into automotive sacrilege, mud-based trauma, and the reopening of Viktor's extremely brief racing career, a career that ended approximately 32 minutes after it began because he drove directly into the mud and transformed his race car into a stationary piece of public infrastructure. Instead of actually completing the race, the other drivers reportedly used Viktor's immobilized vehicle as a giant automotive launch pad, repeatedly slamming into him so they could get around. Somehow, this was presented as a learning experience. Viktor's coach had apparently told him to "stay out of the mud," which Viktor interpreted as a personal challenge from God and immediately ignored. The second time around, he adopted a radically different strategy: drive like a man slowly heading to church on Sunday morning and simply hope everyone else crashes first. Astonishingly, it worked well enough to prevent him from finishing last.The figure-eight discussion becomes increasingly deranged as Maddie prepares to take her lifted Subaru into battle, complete with all-wheel drive that everyone immediately acknowledges may not remain all-wheel drive for very long. The crew discusses race numbers, including the forbidden possibility of using 69, because apparently even the numerical designation of a race car is capable of triggering a full-scale Rexburg theological crisis. The whole thing culminates in the immortal philosophy of figure-eight racing: destroy them all. Maddie is encouraged to embrace fire, flames, glory and vehicular annihilation, while Viktor prepares mentally for another weekend of hiding in his bed and avoiding humanity. The contrast between actual traffic-school principles—smooth steering, smooth braking, looking ahead—and figure-eight racing, where the basic objective appears to be intentionally driving directly into other vehicles, becomes one of the episode's central jokes. Maddie basically concludes that Traffic School has taught her exactly what not to do when she gets behind the wheel at the race track.Eventually the show remembers that it is technically supposed to be about traffic laws, and Lieutenant Crane returns from his luxurious mountain vacation to find himself surrounded by questions, inappropriate phone calls, and Viktor's rapidly deteriorating mental state. The first legitimate traffic question concerns one of the eternal mysteries of American driving: do you still have to obey a school-zone speed limit when school isn't actually happening? Lieutenant Crane explains that the answer depends entirely on the signage. A plain black-and-white 20 MPH sign remains in effect unless additional wording specifies otherwise. If the sign says the reduced speed applies only when lights are flashing, the speed limit changes when the lights stop. If it says the restriction applies only when children are present or during school hours, that language matters. In other words, the road signs are not decorative suggestions placed there to add color to the scenery; drivers actually need to read the entire collection of signs before deciding they have been granted permission to launch their vehicle at 47 MPH through an empty school zone. A caller from Pocatello follows up with an even more specific question involving a 20 MPH school-zone sign and a time range, prompting the clarification that black-and-white signage specifying hours can still establish a year-round restriction unless the sign specifically limits it to school days or similar conditions.Then the program takes an immediate detour into the abyss when Steve-O the Mud Vene Guy calls and asks Lieutenant Crane a question involving the words "moist" and "panties." Traffic School has apparently reached the point where Idaho traffic law is now sharing airtime with a linguistic investigation into words that make people uncomfortable. "Undergarments" is proposed as the supposedly respectable alternative, but everyone agrees that calling them that somehow makes the entire subject approximately 900 percent less dignified. The call ends, but the psychic damage remains. Almost immediately afterward, Viktor begins taking his clothes off on-air for reasons that appear to be related to absolutely nothing, leading the rest of the studio to question whether the show needs a counselor. At one point, the conversation reaches the terrifying concept of Viktor's "hairy belly button," which may be the single most important piece of information anyone could possibly need before voluntarily listening to this episode.After surviving the wardrobe malfunction, Traffic School returns to actual traffic ...
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    36 Min.