One of us gets absolutely steamrolled by the flu and possibly karma, while the other relives a childhood prank so cowardly it still haunts him. There’s a decent amount of diarrhea talk—don’t worry, it’s metaphorical (mostly)—plus real attempts to make sense of those fragile moments when everything feels pointless, worthless, or just plain gross.

We wrestle with identity, resilience, the mental load of parenting, and the existential weirdness of being someone’s child and someone’s dad at the same time. Also: bad poetry, good Stoics, and a few unhinged thoughts about toothpaste. It's a mess. But a hopeful one.

And if you’ve ever tried to power through a mental health spiral using nothing but willpower and a hot water bottle—this one’s for you.

https://substack.com/@nickbeefman⁠

⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman

A conversation that starts with childhood fads—yo-yos, marbles, and tragic haircuts—ends up veering into mortality, medical checkups, and why a finger in the bum has become such a clinical inevitability. Somewhere in the middle, we roast Lord of the Dance, and debate whether cock rings and Irish jigs have more in common than anyone asked for.

Art makes a return with watercolor nostalgia and a piece that accidentally channels the Illuminati, while vulnerability runs under the surface: what does progress actually feel like when you’re fighting old habits and mental fog? There’s laughter in the absurdity, honesty in the lows, and a surprising amount of energy spent on whether women’s jeans really button the other way.

Also, someone may or may not have killed a sparrow with a marble. Hard to tell.

Sexual jealousy. Not a topic we set out to cover, but it snuck in anyway—alongside badger metaphors, charcoal nudes, and an alarming number of cello references. What starts as a chat about surprising opinions ends up veering into teenage regrets, parenting stoner kids, and how to navigate aging when your balls start going grey. It’s reflective, chaotic, occasionally uncomfortable—but always curious.

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There’s serious conversation in the mix—about what we’d tell our teenage selves, the quiet panic of trying to raise emotionally resilient kids, and what happens when you realise you’re not who you used to be. But it's wrapped in a swirl of sausages, dubious art critiques, and a firm stance against bellybutton rings on men named Mitch.

Also, there’s a painting of a nude man with the word “PERV” scrawled over his groin. So, you know, balance.

An aggressively affectionate deep dive into male grooming, unexpected intimacy, and the fine line between a compliment and a condiment. We kick off with a mild crisis of confidence about party tricks and walk ourself gently into a conversation about praise, validation, and whether we’re all just dying for someone to tell us we’ve done a good job while we’re holding a spatula.

https://medium.com/@nickbeefman

Hair removal becomes a metaphor. Or maybe just a cautionary tale. We explore the emotionally charged terrain of moustache envy, sack wax regret, and the unspoken rules of gym nudity. Also, there's a weird amount of chat about cuddling — how to ask for it, how not to, and why Kiwi men are weird about touch unless they're in stubbies and a collared shirt.

Underneath it all is a slightly chaotic but sincere attempt to figure out how to be more affirming, more open, and slightly less full of shit. Plus: a perfect quote ruined by interruption and at least one wildly specific compliment that may or may not involve pants.

A gentle ramble through values, wealth, and the occasional Nut Catastrophe™. This crapshow opens with existential flatness and ends somewhere between humility poems, accordion circles, and pondering the fine line between instilling values and just being a preachy dick. There’s parenting philosophy, reflections on childhood wealth (or the lack thereof), and a brief but heartfelt ode to solo parents that somehow still ends in a conversation about wearing women’s thongs on a Cornish pier.

⁠⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman⁠⁠⁠We wrestle with how to teach kids about commitment without turning into drill sergeants, whether wealth means money, time, or just the ability to avoid blood in your wee, and what it means to actually live out the values you talk about. Somewhere along the way, a penis gets cast in clay, bongo circles are banned, and humility is reluctantly freestyled. A mess, but a meaningful one.

Two men walk into a podcast and stumble backwards into racism, sausage addiction, sensual dancing, childhood trauma, and the crushing weight of unspoken disappointment. A slow spiral from philosophical icebreakers to regrettable tattoo comments, with a few sweaty detours through Latin dance class and the murky semantics of the word “sensual.” Along the way, you'll meet The Sausage Men of Bethlehem, a deeply troubled (yet oddly noble) support group for men who can’t resist a hot service station kransky.

It’s equal parts confessional and farce: cigarette withdrawals, porn-induced moral panic, and family breakdowns nestle side-by-side with Hagrid slander, and a surprisingly touching meditation on how to open up hard conversations with people you love. There’s poetry (sort of), impression attempts (also sort of), and one man’s deeply misguided use of the phrase “Black Widow.” This is the existential crisis podcast wrapped in a sausage roll and dipped in inappropriate humour.

Some conversations slide sideways before they even stand up straight. This one starts in the gentlest of places—nostalgia, grammar, bladder control—and ends up somewhere between adolescence, urinal etiquette, and a deeply regrettable wool garment from the Edwardian era. There are poems, of course, and bold new theories about whether your mate's general horniness is a personality trait or a vitamin deficiency.

https://substack.com/@nickbeefman

https://medium.com/@nickbeefman

We dig into memory, shame, and the kind of character-building moments that only happen when you’re slightly too naked and very far from home. There's also a brief detour into the mechanics of self-pleasure, a moment of self-reflection that accidentally turns sincere, and a running tally of unnecessary things said out loud. At one point, someone says “My Grandmother’s Codpiece” and nobody flinches.

Sometimes you record an episode that feels like a therapy session wearing a silly hat. This one opens with a polite warm-up—icebreakers, flamingo milk, and a smell in the gym that may or may not be the scent of regret. It slowly unspools into a more honest reckoning with childhood friendships, romantic connection, and whether the phrase “pissy pants” can ever be morally justified. It’s earnest, it’s messy, it’s a bit gross.

⁠⁠⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman⁠⁠⁠
⁠https://substack.com/@nickbeefman

Somewhere between debating the ethics of bullying and whispering sweet nothings to your phone at 3am, we stumble into something like emotional intimacy. There’s poetry, sleep anxiety, Ritalin, some light sobbing, and—of course—a cock pointed at the ceiling. If you make it through to the end, you deserve a flamingo milk latte and a long hug from a stranger who smells faintly of nostalgia and tiger balm.

⁠⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman⁠⁠Recorded in the corner of a busy pub over a few jars, this episode welcomes our first ever guest—who also happens to be a half-brother of one of our Heros. What follows is a slow spiral of genuine connection, mild sabotage, and unsolicited moustache compliments. Somewhere between defending a love of oat milk and rewriting the definition of “a cool gay man,” we stumble into the murky terrain of dating apps, confused swipes, and the quiet hum of repressed curiosity.

There’s vulnerability here—though you’ll need to squint between the dick jokes and sudden shirtlessness to see it. We talk about the weirdness of family, the straight man’s limited vocabulary for admiration, and the strange comfort of being seen, even when the lighting’s bad and your balls are tight. At some point, someone leaves the table. At another, someone almost cries. No one learns anything, but somehow things feel a little better by the end.

https://medium.com/@nickbeefman

https://nickbeefman.substack.com/

https://www.silentnoises.co.nz/

⁠⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman⁠⁠Two men, one journal, and a tangle of internal dialogues—some of them Irish. Mike admits he’s been stuck in the monotonous grind of habit stacking without a goal in sight, while Nick casually suggests electrotherapy to the japs eye as a viable solution. It's all very supportive.

Somewhere between wrestling with inner demons and debating what constitutes regular-sized dick energy, there's a real conversation about the weight (literal and figurative) we carry, the fear of failure, and why the hell we keep doing the same things while expecting something different. There’s also a brief detour into black-market Tiger Balm and the dangers of applying it too liberally below deck.

Poems are shared, life philosophies are questioned, and Mike finally unveils his grand list of goals—only to have them shat on and then grudgingly approved. All wrapped in a little too much unnecessary sexual tension.