This one speaks for itself.

Hugh's in Boston AKA Lobster City AKA the B-word betting on drone racing and being educated by his girlfriend in the finer points of American boorishness and I am NOT BITTER about it, so this week, please enjoy the spectacle of Patrick and I struggling to relate to each other and generate entertainment value at 66% efficiency while the cop from Eureka hurts men of all shapes and sizes.Alright, that run-on sentence surely repelled all the casuals, so here's a hot tip for the true lords of the underworld out there reading the full description text - Bumpo's in this one; prime yourselves to cherish every moment he's on screen.

Greetings valued patron, and welcome to the WORLD OF TOMORROW! The holographic avatar filling the entrance hall before you depicts the nude form in signature Coppertone baby pose of Robert Liefeld III, chief curator and proprietor of the WORLD OF TOMORROW, whose pleasure it was to submit the braked AI mind-clone operating the ramshackle chassis from which this unalterably upbeat voice is emanating to an eternity of servile docentship!As we proceed into the exhibit hall, please observe our faithful reconstruction of the STARSHIP OF THE FUTURE. Note the generous interior application of BadPaint, a psychoreactive metamaterial that adopts the least suitable color for its surroundings. Consider further the total lack of common-sense automatic safety features in spite of the ship's evident technological complexity. Now that we have reached the optimal viewing angle, you can also see holograms representing FUTURE HUMANS about their daily business aboard the ship - transacting nipple-based commerce, separating into cliques to be introduced into the plot at different quartiles of the film's runtime, and sometimes dinkusing. We have paid careful attention to ensuring each hologram exhibits symptoms of prolonged exposure to the conditions of interstellar travel. Over here we see two victims of chronic space thirst adopting the mind-bending postures of zero-gravity coitus. And here, we see a synthetic afflicted by sassy android syndrome obsessively polishing the glossy surface of their PVC battle-onesie. On the bridge and below-decks you will find two examples of acute character confusion - they must remain at diametrically opposed points on the ship lest their wildly inconsistent interpretations of the setting collide and produce a thematic singularity. Now, please follow me to - oh. I see. Looks like you've all been mauled by the scary knife man our glorious chief curator installed in the exhibit. What's that you've burbled from your lacerated crater of a face? "What does the knife man have to do with the future", you ask? The knife man has nothing to do with the future. The knife man is unrelated. The knife man is here because we thought we could manage it being unrelated, I suppose. Maybe we thought the knife man would enhance the experience? I no longer recall.

When I was a kid and Astroworld was still open, they had this thing around Halloween called Fright Fest. They dumped fake cobwebs on all the rides, dressed the costumed characters up as draculas, and ran special adults-only late night events - alchemized the park into a roach motel for teenage makeouts. One year my sister went with her goth mallrat pals and punched an ICP-type clown's nose in at a haunted house. She wasn't allowed in any of the haunted houses after that, but they didn't kick her out of the park or anything, and I always thought that was nice of them.

Reprime your carbochains and torquefy your injectakes, listeners; after extensive DMT spelunking we've come back in touch with the primal kernel of our id - sleek hot metal and strong throbbing speed. Consequently, this installment is all about blasting that like button for sweaty, loveless relish of unabashed carotica. There's also a plot in there about the big Rio Jesus being a secret ICBM or something, and I think Dominic ruins a bathroom.

Hugh's gone and we're lost. Patrick says the oracle bones indicate we've angered him, and maybe he'll return if we punish ourselves, so we're watching Descendents. As far as I can tell, this movie is analytically devised to make you hate music, so watch it with the sound off unless you're also sacrificing your ability to appreciate a broad category of human endeavor to appease a fickle djinn. Anyways, I've gotta go self-flagellate and cry pain tears on Hugh's photo in a ritual of psychic reconciliation for whatever I did to make him go away, so enjoy the episode.

In the third episode of this series we see the return of Vin Diesel and realize just how much we missed him. Between crazy stunts, the FBI, and a look at the very real dangers of the American-Mexico border this addition to the FnF canon brings us to another level. Join John, Patrick, and Hugh as they get through this one to get to the better ones on Never Relevant Podcast.

In this fast  paced, Vin Diesel-less, episode of Never Relevant Paul Walker and a crew of new actors must survive Miami. Join John, Patrick, and Hugh as they point at actors they know the names of and are surprised to see on screen. The roads are hot and our patience is thin with unarguably the weakest addition to the Fast and Furious series.

Come one and all, bring a drink, for this dry pallet cleanser. John, Hugh, and Patrick have been overloaded with bad movies and tv so we have decided to watch a boring and extremely dry show. Join us in struggling to find any enjoyment in Bleak House episode 1 on this weeks episode of The Never Relevant Podcast.

Pilot season is a bitter one this year as we weather a storm of boobs and bad plotting in this episode of Never Relevant. In this series we will be watching Friday the 13th movies in the reverse release order. That means the gritty reboot by Michael bay will be our first on the list. Join John, Pat, and Hugh in dining on delicious pot stew on this weeks Podcast.