It’s no secret that I’ve contended with temper issues and harsh snap judgment tendencies throughout my life. I’ve worked on it, am working on it, and will work on it until the day I draw my final human breath…likely with some douchey thought about the doctor’s breath or the nurse’s shoes lingering in my forebrain as the biological blue screen of death counts down to zero.

It’s also no secret that certain individuals have unwitting access to emotional buttons that can drive me from zero to Donald Trump in the blink of an eye.

One of those people is Thomas Kinkade. I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. He’s done nothing but fill the world with post-Bob-Rossian landscapes under the auspices of Christianity and the umbrella of his trademarked title, “The Painter of Light.” The conversation you’re about to hear, and Jennifer in particular, helped me to relinquish (…perhaps just for a short while, but some while nonetheless…) my hair-trigger anger-brain and look a little deeper into my vitriol surrounding the late Mr. Kinkade. Her and Green Flash “le Freak” Belian IPA, Voodoo Hoodoo IPA, and Southern Tier Mokah. Kinkade had a very sad end and, like all, deserves forgiveness and empathy.

We also talk about shit in the basement, Natural Born Killers, and Jen’s palmiers.

We open with a track from the brilliant album, BlakRoc. If you dig the Black Keys, New York Hip Hop, creative cross-genre musical collaborations, or grooves as deep, raw, and soulful as a Stevie Wonder soundscape…give this album a shot. I’ll link three greattracks.

The episode closes with Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song.” It seemed entirely fitting both for me, the panter of soapboxes, and Thomas, the Painter of Lights…and Pandora gave it to me just when I needed it.

We present to you, “Kinkade Tirade."