Kid A.G. corrals a pack of beer-guzzling Neanderthals into the studio for what can only be described as a verbal dumpster fire. Silverback’s balls are apparently pregnant with some mystery ailment, leaving him fretting about nurses jelly-ing up his nut sack for an ultrasound—probably hoping one of them slips and gives him a happy ending.

Silverback and Sleeze flex their brewmaster boners with homemade beers clocking in at 11-13% and 6.5%—enough to make your liver cry uncle while they debate if "darkies go down smooth." Meanwhile, Gdub phones in from his ISIS witness protection cat lair, muttering about Bonnie Rotten and Aquaman’s fish-fucking superpowers, which Sleeze and Big Red promptly shit all over.

JMac lurks silently, probably jerking off to mental reruns of banging some chick on a lopsided pool table at the "brothel room" of a bar, a story Kid tries to milk but gets shut down by laser-beam wifey vibes from last week’s show.

Oh, and Kid accidentally blasts porn audio through his Bluetooth car speakers while his kid’s downstairs—because nothing says "father of the year" like “Oh baby, suck it” booming through the minivan. They cap it off with NASCAR wife-beating jokes, Aquaman dick-size debates, and Silverback praying his swollen left nut isn’t a tumor. 

Listen in. Go Deep

Red Eye hooks up with some Alaskan psycho who thinks Summer Shandy is his winter brew of choice and insists he's had a Sasquatch up his ass - showing off the fucking walk like it's some Bigfoot mating dance.

They go off on some drunken fuck who decided to baptize the new bar stools with his piss, then moan about the bar's door being fucked with, turning everyone into walking, boozing idiots.

Red Eye spills more beans on her date with the dude whose mustache makes him look like he's ready to fuck Sonic The Hedgehog, but the night ended in a fucking driveway debacle because who the hell wants to listen to more Sasquatch shit?

They get into the gritty details of trimming the jungle down there, admitting a new beard trimmer might be moonlighting as a pube slasher. Kid A.G. shares his cock's near-death experiences, when he played barber with his dick and turned his loofah into a torture device.

The episode winds down with a tribute to the art of the car hand job, teasing more filth-fests about tattoos and the possibility of sharing the same damn cock in upcoming episodes.

We start with you talking about waxing like it's a fucking art form, from snootch wax to bleeding nipples on live video. 

Then we dive into a clip of some chick surprising her boyfriend with no panties, but he's talking about fucking seafood instead. "Do you get sea food?" 

The conversation shifts to stanky cooch quicker than you can say "public restroom horror." And let's not forget the cum dumpster talk, where you're analyzing the scent like it's a fucking perfume ad.

Pineapple juice to make cum taste better? That's your scientific inquiry, turning sex into a fucking cocktail hour. You're sharing stories about teacher hookups at reunions like it's fucking gossip from hell, and then diving into age gaps with the enthusiasm of a fucking teenager.

But wait, there's more. You're out here like you're fucking Nostradamus, warning about AI that tells students to die. You want Rosie from the Jetsons, not this AI shit that's making humans obsolete.

Discussing gangbang records like they're Olympic events, you're painting a vivid picture of a line outside a hotel room. And wrapping up with concert plans like they're your fucking religion, even if you're broke as fuck.

Listen in. Go Deep.

The episode kicks off with Kid A.G. and Hat Trick yapping about her fucking eyebrows like it's the goddamn end-all of human existence, but then she drops the bomb about not wanting some dude's cock slapping her in the face. "In my fucking mouth, not my fucking face" is the quote of the fucking century, and it's pure fucking gold.

Then they dive into the Super Bowl, or rather, how Kid couldn't give two shits about watching that crap. He's out here questioning the relevance of rap beef like it's some kindergarten pussy fight, with a special shoutout to Trump looking like a fucking sore thumb in the crowd.

Moving on to music festivals, Kid's all about the "hot bitches" at Faster Horses, not the fucking music. He'd rather sneak in for free than pay for that country shit, because let's be real, his motivation is pussy, not fucking tunes.

Time blindness? That's the new excuse for being a lazy-ass fuck, and Kid's calling it out like it's his fucking life's mission. "Alarms are for pussies" is his mantra, teaching responsibility with the subtlety of a fucking sledgehammer to the face.

Kid shares his night out, where he thinks he got fucking roofied, turning this story into a fucking cautionary tale or a comedy of errors, depending on if you're laughing or crying into your fucking beer.

Polyamory? Kid dissects that shit like it's fucking biology class for perverts, wondering how the fuck anyone manages to get along with so many dicks and snatches in one goddamn place. And then there's the talk about vagina tattoos, because why the fuck not? He throws in some vulgar-ass science about menopause and labia minora like it's sex ed gone fucking wild.

They wrap up with the absurd idea of getting your cock tattooed, turning it into a visual comedy that's both fucking hilarious and terrifying as fuck. "Stay hard for the tattoo" is advice Kid gives out like it's a survival tip in the jungle of fucking debauchery.

Listen in, Go Deep.

We start by drooling over Hat Trick's tits like they're the fucking Mona Lisa of mammary glands, then dive straight into the art of juggling a "bag of dicks" like you're the fucking Houdini of horniness. Running out of porn? 

Preaching about jerking off at work like it's the new fucking yoga. "Color-coded in red," because why the fuck not make your wank schedule look like a fucking bloodbath? Hat Trick's lip waxing? That's not grooming; that's a fucking admission of her secret mustache, turning a beauty routine into a fucking comedy skit.

Then you're all over the place with your sexual escapades, where you're whipping out your dick like it's a fucking magic trick. Whiskey dick? That's not just a nuisance; it's a fucking saga of your cock's endurance. You're debating squirting vs. pissing like you're in a fucking lab, dissecting the science of cum with the passion of a mad scientist.

Reality TV shit? Watching some Spanish dude go fucking ballistic over his cheating girlfriend is like watching a goddamn telenovela, but with more nudity and less plot. The glow-in-the-dark dildo deep throat? That's not just sex; that's a fucking light show in someone's mouth, turning blowjobs into a fucking circus act.

Age and attraction? You're out here like you're the fucking messiah of young pussy, declaring your love for 20-somethings while calling out gold diggers like you're on a holy war against cock-suckers for cash.

Talking about love on Valentine's Day, but all we get in this one is a front-row seat to a masturbation marathon while laying next to Jay Mac. 

We're deep in the shit with 3D porn that makes your dick look like a fucking garden hose compared to the monster cocks on screen. Your living room? Sounds more like a fucking porn theater with an 80-inch screen of titties, making your place look like a crime scene under a black light. CSI would have a field day with those glowing pillows.

Then there's the art of not getting caught, with techniques that would make a spy blush. Hiding your phone behind the Vaseline while you jerk off in the bathroom? That's not just strategy; that's fucking espionage. And don't get me started on the horror of soap in the hole—your dick's worst nightmare.

Richard Branson? You idolize him like he's the god of crazy-ass adventures, water skiing with chicks in bikinis like it's his fucking job. And the game show idea? Mixing sounds of races with retards? That's not just a game; that's a fucking social experiment in bad taste.

Oh, and 50 Shades of Grey? You're out here like you wrote the fucking book on BDSM, breaking it down to the contract signing like it's legal advice for kinky fuckers. 

We kick off with Valentine's Day, but instead of chocolates, we're dishing out fucking disdain. You're out here treating homemade cards like they're the new fucking currency in the land of love. Remember those Walmart machines? That's your fucking nostalgia trip, like reminiscing about the good old days of jerking off to Sears catalogs.

Then we dive into the swamp of gold digging, where some big-titted blonde is after some old dude's cash like it's a fucking Black Friday sale on his shriveled-up balls. You're not just calling her out; you're fucking roasting her over the flames of your righteous indignation. "Gold digging slut" isn't just a label; it's a fucking scarlet letter branded on her soul.

But the real shitshow starts when we jump into local politics, faster than you can say "corrupt fuckers." The Bay City Bridge Partners? Sounds like a fucking scam where they're trying to milk your wallet like a cow with udders the size of your fucking head. You're out here calling these politicians pieces of shit like it's your goddamn job, and the bridge? It's not a bridge; it's a fucking monument to bureaucratic bullshit.

Your take on relationships? It's not just a rant; it's a fucking manifesto for living life like a wild, untamed beast. "I do what I want, who I want, when I want" sounds like you're the fucking king of debauchery, with more freedom than a fucking orgy in Vegas. 

And the youth worship? Fuck me, you talk about that 23-year-old's body like it's a fucking masterpiece. "Once they have a kid, it's just never the same." You're out here preaching the gospel of eternal youth like it's the secret to eternal fucking happiness. Kids? You'd rather stick your dick in a blender than deal with that shit.

Then we get to the soy milk conspiracy, because why the fuck not? "Soy milk turning everybody gay?" You're like a fucking mad scientist, debunking myths with the passion of a thousand dicks being waved in the air. Your advice? "Shove it up your ass." That's not just a suggestion; it's your fucking life philosophy.

We wrap this shit up with "Dodge those arrows," because in your world, love, politics, and soy milk are all fucking landmines to avoid. This episode isn't just a podcast; it's a fucking declaration of war on everything that's "normal," a celebration of chaos, and a reminder that living life on your own terms is the only way to fucking live.

Listen in. Go Deep.

We start with a name game that's more like a fucking orgy of identity theft where Red Eye has to bang his old nickname out of some chick's ass. It's like a gladiator arena, but instead of swords, we're swinging dicks.

We're talking about a world where moving day means throwing your back out with a literal bag of cocks, and Bad Dragon shit is the new religion. Cuddling's not just for pussies; it's a fucking business where you need a goddamn government ID just to get a snuggle. 

Fangs, blood play, and polyamory?  We're diving deep into age gaps so large, you'd need a fucking time machine to bridge them, and we’re here to make sure some old fuck doesn't get his wrinkly heart stomped on by a gold-digging slut.

Silicone swords? Check. Butt plugs so big, they could double as fucking furniture? Check. Gangbang records that would make even the most jaded porn star say, "Fuck, that's too much"? Triple fucking check. And don't get me started on the shroom parties where clothes are just a suggestion.

A shitshow of pretty buttholes, spring roll butt plugs, and crochet cocks that’ll make your balls shrivel up and your brain scream, “What the fuck did I just hear?” Poopy Turds McGee is out here judging assholes after digging sunflower seeds out of a soldier’s shitter in Baghdad, catching hepatitis and pink eye like a fucking war hero. Mama San’s shoving spring rolls up asses and cranking out testicle teriyaki sauce like a goddamn splooge ninja, while you’re debating who owns the pussy—you or the chick with the power to friend-zone your ass. You’re baking weed-infused Rice Crispy treats with Fruity Pebbles and Oreos like a stoned Gordon Ramsay, and ranting about Cheeto dust on some politician’s face like it’s a fucking chemical weapon. And a crochet cock with soda-can girth? Bro, that’s not a sex toy, that’s a goddamn battering ram for your asshole. Tune in for the wildest, most fucked-up podcast on the planet, or go fuck yourself with a spring roll. Listen in. Go Deep.

Episode 2186 is a goddamn shitstorm of exes, tentacle dildos, and sweaty gray sweats that’ll make your dick shrivel up and your brain scream, “What the fuck did I just listen to?” This ain’t no pussy-ass after-school special—this is a full-on, balls-deep, fuck-fest of chaos, and I’m harder than a priest in a playground just thinking about it.

First off, the universe is out here playing fucking video games with your life, serving up exes like it’s a goddamn all-you-can-eat buffet of regret and bad pussy. 

Then there’s the Black Widow bowling team, with their massive fucking titties bouncing around like it’s the goddamn Titty Olympics. You’re out here trying to be the cool, not-gay bestie, but these chicks are like, "Nah, you’re our gay BFF with a side of beard pussy." Meanwhile, you’re like, "I could smell cunt in my fucking beard." 

And don’t even get me started on Red Eye and those fucking tentacle dildos. "Red Eye takes huge tentacle fucking dildos up the butt," what in the actual fuck is this? Is this comedy or a goddamn fetish porn site? Either way, I’m laughing my ass off while questioning if I need to bleach my fucking brain. 

Oh, and the gray sweats? Fucking gray sweats, Kid? You wore those to a bar, and some chick tried to grab your cock like it was the last fucking chicken wing at a Super Bowl party. "Get the fuck away from me," you said, and I respect the hell out of that boundary-setting, but also, maybe don’t wear the universal "fuck me, daddy" pants to a goddamn bar full of horny bitches.

Grab a beer, avoid Midland like it’s a fucking leper colony, and tune the fuck in, because this shit is unmissable. And if you don’t, well, fuck you.

Recorded: Saturday, February 1, 2025

On Mic: Kid A.G and El Pres