This Show is Awkward

Henrique Couto and Michelle prepare for something unusually radical in the summer of 2020: Henrique is taking three days off. This prerecorded episode imagines the lakeside cabin waiting for him, with kayaks, canoes, a tube television, shelves of VHS tapes and enough isolation to inspire either genuine rest or an extremely fast case of cabin fever. A tense near-miss in a post-office parking lot and a wobbly video shoot provide less peaceful bookends to the vacation talk.
The cabin also gives Henrique an excuse to revisit childhood suspense. He plans to bring an Alfred Hitchcock story collection and hopes the unfamiliar house, private lake and old movies will create exactly the right atmosphere. Michelle counters with her own ideal trip: a quiet rental in rural Japan, preferably one with a ghost story attached. Their conversation wanders through horror films, haunted-house listings, solo travel, childhood flights and the difference between wanting to see the world and wanting absolutely no strangers nearby.
Creative experiments travel with Henrique even when he is supposed to be resting. He describes testing a standard 8mm camera with photographer Michael Raso for the Film Photography Podcast, learning the limits of a tiny viewfinder and waiting for the film to be processed before judging the results. The friends also discuss an upcoming young-adult horror anthology featuring a Michelle story, the appeal of analog images and the possibility that a cabin full of obsolete home video could become its own miniature film festival. Project and release details reflect the original recording.
Under the jokes is a sincere argument about rest during the first pandemic year. Henrique believes Michelle deserves a real break after working continuously; Michelle worries about money, her cats, arranging time away and being around other people. Their debate covers savings, a government stimulus payment and the fantasy of friends funding a getaway, but it is a personal 2020 conversation—not travel, health, employment or financial advice. Contains profanity, a near-traffic collision, pandemic anxiety, suicide-location references, stereotypes and dark humor, plus an inserted social-casino advertisement.
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Michelle reluctantly lets Henrique Couto ask the questions he somehow never asked during a decade of friendship: why did she choose dreadlocks, how were they started and what has changed over eleven years? She talks about touring, backcombing, drying, separating locks and learning through trial and error. Just as important, she explains why a seemingly simple hair conversation can feel culturally loaded and why a stranger’s shrugging “to each his own” is not nearly as neutral as it sounds.
That opens a wider discussion about choosing to look conspicuous. Henrique remembers growing his hair long as a bullied twelve-year-old, while Michelle describes the praise, criticism and unsolicited questions attached to her hair, tattoos, patches and body hair. The hosts compare outfits, silhouettes, public staring and compliments that sound suspiciously like insults. Their stories are personal recollections, not dreadlock, scalp, hygiene or hair-care instructions; home remedies and biological claims are included only as things said in the 2020 conversation.
Then the show pivots from appearance to two experiences that felt unreal to Henrique. At New York’s Ground Zero, tourists once asked to pose with him in the middle of a solemn visit. At a friend’s military funeral, a long procession, heavy snow, ceremonial gunfire and a trumpet made grief feel staged like a movie. Michelle adds a story about a milkshake thrown during a funeral procession, and the friends debate why anyone attends weddings or funerals in the first place.
The closing stretch compares a joyless Catholic wedding with a moving, performance-filled Catholic funeral before wandering into Halloween scheduling, regional religious life and arguments about pronouncing orange, Florida, Nevada, Colorado and Quebec. The hosts’ religious, ethnic, national and regional jokes reflect their improvised conversation and are not presented as factual descriptions of any group. Contains profanity, cultural-appropriation discussion, bullying, death and funeral material, racial and religious stereotypes, body-hair talk and repeated inserted social-casino advertisements.
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Henrique Couto has discovered a secret even his bank account did not know: according to an auto-generated celebrity site, he was worth somewhere between one and five million dollars in 2019. He reads Michelle the broken biography, wrong zodiac sign, missing relatives, unknown eye color and wildly invented income estimate. The friends imagine hidden fortunes, dubious art gifts and what Henrique owes the person who recently bought him fast food. No figure from the unidentified site is treated as real financial information.
Reality is less glamorous. Henrique’s dog Chicano has returned from a dental cleaning and minor extraction, prompting relief, vet-bill talk and questions about aging dogs’ teeth. The discussion then drifts to the television that comforted each host while home sick: Unsolved Mysteries, Star Trek, The Price Is Right, Nickelodeon, MTV, MuchMusic, Toonami, Sailor Moon and Inuyasha. They compare falling asleep to ominous narration, childhood cable setups and the era when a bedroom television felt luxurious.
School memories turn more serious as the friends compare emotional and physical bullying, fake sick days and whether adversity really builds character. They explicitly question Henrique’s old belief that hardship is automatically useful, but also improvise about trauma, sexual assault research, personality and resilience. Those remarks are personal recollections of an unsourced 2020 discussion—not psychological, medical or research guidance—and no listener’s response to trauma is judged against them.
Henrique’s supposed dark secret is ultimately ordinary insecurity. For years he worried that his loud, outgoing style had pressured quiet Michelle into friendship; she explains that decisive friends often spare her the anxiety of choosing. They explore introversion, extroversion, social anxiety, parties and the unexpectedly hard work of being oneself around other people, ending with memories of family visits, getting spectacularly lost in New Jersey and buying a GPS the next morning. Contains profanity, bullying, sexual-assault and violent-crime discussion, anxiety, insensitive identity jokes, pet medical details and repeated inserted social-casino advertisements.
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Michelle’s container garden has produced Japanese cucumbers, one suspiciously ordinary cucumber and an army of cucumber beetles. She explains how the insects damaged the plants, why supermarket cucumbers fail her crunch test and how an urgent harvest became jars of garlicky refrigerator pickles. Henrique Couto contributes theories about specialized beetles, flavor spikes and the timeless option of simply buying a cucumber. These are personal 2020 gardening and kitchen anecdotes—not pest-control, food-preservation or food-safety instructions.
The garden story leads into a more vulnerable conversation about eating under stress. Michelle has lost weight during the early pandemic because snacks stopped sounding good and work consumed her days; Henrique contrasts that with his own tendency to eat through ordinary stress and lose his appetite only when anxiety becomes extreme. They look back at how difficult 2019 felt, the shock of seeing Henrique’s income on a tax return and the exhausting unreality of 2020. Nothing in the discussion is nutritional, medical, mental-health or financial advice.
Henrique also describes the relentless political advertising that came with living in Ohio during the 2020 election. He is tired of campaign posts from every direction, suspicious of self-righteous appeals and frustrated that filmmaking—the distraction he used during earlier elections—was unavailable. The episode preserves that moment as historical context without repeating political claims or endorsing a candidate, voting strategy or view of current events.
Then BuzzFeed quizzes arrive to make everybody angrier. A color-food quiz labels Michelle a Generation Xer after choices involving curry, corn, Caesar salad, blueberries and salmon. A kindergarten quiz somehow assigns her a teenage mental age, though it does prompt the true story of the boy she kicked after he declared girls could not do things. The friends abandon further image-heavy quizzes in disbelief. Contains profanity, pandemic stress, appetite and weight discussion, political frustration, childhood fighting, death jokes and repeated inserted social-casino advertisements.
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Henrique Couto begins with mysteries inside his own house. An electrician has added weather-protected outdoor outlets, repurposed a kitchen switch that seemed to control nothing and connected a dining-room light that previously required a remote-control bulb. A second mystery switch remains unsolved, as does Henrique’s amazement that the work appeared to happen without shutting off a breaker. This is an observer’s 2020 story—not electrical, wiring, personal-protective-equipment or home-repair guidance.
That leads directly to Unsolved Mysteries. Henrique explains the original Robert Stack series to Michelle: multiple stories per episode, eerie reenactments, lost-family reunions, fugitives, UFOs and the incomparable excitement of an on-screen update. He remembers watching daytime reruns while home sick and recounts segments that kept changing as tips arrived and cases developed. D. B. Cooper, Adam West’s cameo on NewsRadio and the show’s journey from phone numbers to a website all enter the nostalgia tour.
Henrique then reviews the 2020 Netflix revival after watching four of its first six episodes. He appreciates the production resources and some compelling interviews but misses the host, variety, brevity and viewer-participation energy of the earlier format. He also briefly recommends the Netflix documentary series Jeffrey Epstein: Filthy Rich while summarizing allegations and financial speculation discussed by that program. Those remarks describe what the hosts said about a then-current documentary; disputed figures, motives and private relationships are not repeated as established fact here.
The episode ends by testing friendship under increasingly absurd pressure. Would Michelle forgive Henrique for stealing from her? Would she report him for murder? Could he at least shower before explaining why he is covered in somebody else’s blood? Each hypothetical becomes more extreme until the friends finally agree that self-defense, accidents and helping an injured person deserve a conversation before judgment. Contains profanity, electrical-risk discussion, true crime, missing persons, child sexual-abuse allegations, murder and body-disposal jokes, identity-based humor and repeated inserted social-casino advertisements.
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What is the hardest thing Michelle has ever done? Opening an artichoke jar is a contender, but the real answer begins with telling someone she does not want to date them. She and Henrique Couto compare rejection, staying in relationships to avoid causing pain and the danger of turning an invitation into a long apology before the other person can answer. Their stories move from an uncomfortable friendship to Henrique’s later rule: ask a clear question, accept the response and stop writing speeches.
The discussion expands into dating boundaries, religion, long-distance messages and strangers who ask whether Michelle lives alone. The hosts criticize people who refuse to accept no, but their improvised examples also include national and ethnic stereotypes that do not describe any group. Quantum Leap briefly rescues the conversation as Henrique remembers a series built around empathy, identity and Scott Bakula stepping into lives unlike his own.
Then the episode spends exactly as much time on feet as the original warning promised. Michelle describes a split little-toe nail that catches and bleeds; Henrique remembers a fungal toenail infection, prescription treatment and a friend who had a nail removed. They compare home treatments, sandals, wet socks and one ill-fated attempt to air out a pair of socks through a moving car window. This is graphic personal history from a 2020 comedy show—not diagnosis, podiatry, medication, nail-removal, infection-control or hygiene advice.
Michelle’s final answer to the opening question is quitting a job. It can take her years because she fears disappointing people, even when an employer ignores an agreed schedule, withholds part of a raise or suggests she find work “chasing butterflies.” Henrique contrasts a nonprofit job he liked in every respect except its manager and jokes about gaining authority solely to fire that person. Contains profanity, coercive-dating and possible-trafficking fears, stereotypes, rejection, blood and foot-infection details, workplace mistreatment, self-harm and violent jokes, plus repeated inserted social-casino advertisements.
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Henrique Couto has good news after weeks of veterinary appointments: lab testing found no cancer in the masses removed from Henwolf. The bad news is that fourteen days in a battered recovery cone did not quite finish the job. Hours after her staples came out, a neck incision opened slightly, sending dog and human back to the clinic for two new staples, antibiotics and another follow-up. Henrique recounts the scare and his relief that the second wound stayed closed.
Henwolf makes treatment look deceptively easy. She charges happily into the clinic and will swallow a capsule with the smallest dab of canned cheese. Chicano fears the vet, detects medicine inside food and may wait hours rather than eat a disguised flea treatment. Their opposite reactions lead Michelle to remember a childhood cat who intimidated veterinary staff, traveled happily with the family until one long trip ended in vomiting and became skilled at hiding tranquilizer pills in his mouth.
The friends compare dogs’ and cats’ communication, fear and affection. Henrique recalls Henwolf warning a much larger mastiff with one carefully placed mouth, while Chicano’s history may explain why he once cowered at a raised hand. Michelle sees a similar pattern in her mother’s cat. Both hosts emphasize how trust can improve, then imagine Henwolf leaving home for a professional basketball career and returning years later with sunglasses, a suitcase and a tearful apology.
The closing detour compares Futurama with Rick and Morty and asks whether criticism of movies makes any more sense when it is expressed through cans of tuna containing human fingers. All medication, wound, feeding, behavior and breed remarks are personal stories from 2020—not veterinary, pharmacological, animal-training or emergency-care advice; owners should consult a qualified veterinarian. Contains surgical-wound and blood details, cancer testing, animal mistreatment history, pet anxiety and vomiting, Hitler and murder jokes, profanity and repeated inserted social-casino advertisements.
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Henrique Couto has a mole—or vole, or gopher—problem. Fresh tunnels and dirt piles are damaging his front yard and have already contributed to a sore ankle, but he does not want to kill the animals. He and Michelle investigate solar sound stakes, castor-oil granules, alarming dried-blood products and her theory that Henrique should simply make friends with the creatures. The internet offers absolute confidence in every direction and very little certainty.
Wildlife is only the beginning of the animal chaos. Henwolf is home after surgery wearing a giant recovery cone that crashes through furniture and terrifies Chicano. Pain medication upset her stomach, and the dogs’ normal routines have been replaced by incision checks, cleanup and cone repairs. Nearby fireworks reveal how severe Chicano’s noise anxiety can become, leading Henrique to research a veterinarian-prescribed oral gel and immediately encounter contradictory message-board horror stories.
The hosts step back to ask why frightening anecdotes so easily overpower professional advice. A neighborhood complaint about a veterinary hospital reminds Henrique of grieving people who blame medical staff after a loss, even when no malpractice is established. Michelle admits she could not handle telling families that a patient had died, and “sociopath Michelle” responds by scheduling every death for the same convenient afternoon. These jokes and anecdotes are not medical, veterinary, medication, pest-control or animal-care guidance.
Food finally offers relief. Henrique tries traditional cucumber sandwiches with white bread, cream cheese, mayonnaise, dill and chives, then abandons the trimmed crusts for a full-size version. That sparks a survey of grilled cheese, quesadillas, favorite cheeses and Michelle’s fantasy of living far from people in a forest, growing vegetables and relying on a hunting dog who does the hunting alone. Contains profanity, animal-surgery and medication details, fireworks anxiety, death and malpractice discussion, Hitler and serial-killer jokes, plus repeated inserted social-casino advertisements.
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A summer heat wave has moved Michelle’s half of the podcast into a blue bathroom, the only place far enough from her portable air conditioner to record. Henrique Couto compares the problem with shutting off his central air whenever he narrates Weekly Spooky, then remembers winter recordings, box fans and the way rising heat can feel indistinguishable from rising anxiety. The friends debate video podcasting while making no promise that either host will look camera-ready.
Henrique is also waiting to bring Henwolf home after a dental cleaning, two tooth extractions and removal of two masses. He explains why the veterinarian recommended lab testing for one growth and why he chose to combine procedures under one anesthetic event. The relief in his voice arrives when the clinic confirms Henwolf is awake. Costs, credit, anesthesia, dental health, tumor margins and surgery are personal 2020 recollections—not veterinary, medical or financial guidance.
Then Michelle supplies the Japan stuff with Steins;Gate. She describes its self-styled mad scientist, accidental time machine, transformed bananas and shift from an initially difficult comedy into an affecting story about alternate outcomes and quantum suicide. The discussion widens to Godzilla, Japanese horror films, a college horror course and the subtle differences Michelle notices between anime and the American animated series RWBY. Titles, interpretations and availability reflect the original conversation.
Henrique contributes Japanese professional wrestling, especially the deathmatches he watched from the 1980s and 1990s. He recounts barbed-wire ropes, small explosive charges, thumbtacks, fluorescent tubes, beds of nails, cinder blocks and even a piranha tank, while contrasting that spectacle with audiences that applaud clean breaks and sportsmanship. The violence is described as performance but involves real injury risk and is not instruction or endorsement. Contains profanity, anxiety, pet surgery and cancer testing, quantum-suicide discussion, graphic wrestling violence, animal-danger imagery and repeated inserted social-casino advertisements.
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Henrique Couto has upgraded his mouthwash to a two-chamber system that looks like futuristic drain cleaner, all in service of an old fear that his breath is worse than anyone else can detect. He and Michelle compare water flossers, electric toothbrushes, homemade microphone screens and the terrible smell of shared recording gear. Product impressions, oral-care routines and peroxide jokes are personal anecdotes—not dental, hygiene or obsessive-compulsive-disorder guidance.
The hosts also confess that saving money can become its own source of distress. Henrique will celebrate a good payment with the same modest Blu-ray and dinner he bought when broke; Michelle feels guilty about a mango aloe drink because homemade iced tea costs less. They distinguish liking something from believing it is objectively valuable and explain how business purchases can feel like personal rewards even when they mostly provide better tools for more work. No spending, tax or business remark is financial advice.
That leads to Henrique’s sixth anniversary of full-time self-employment. He remembers being fired on June 4, the day he jokingly calls Independence Day, and explains how films, licensing and freelance video jobs became one unpredictable livelihood. Strange clients arrive quickly: musicians who want a music video but no concept, people who demand writing without paying for it and a political candidate who publicly used a campaign video without paying the contractor who hired Henrique. Names and identifying details are omitted.
Freelance collections once meant repeated calls, surprise office visits and arguments over who actually guaranteed payment. Henrique has since learned to set scope, price concept development separately and walk away from bad arrangements—especially the band that promised “creative freedom” for a werewolf video and rejected his nun-turned-werewolf idea. Despite the stress, he says the independence remains fulfilling. Contains profanity, obsessive breath anxiety, political and protest references, suspected drug activity, unpaid-work and confrontation stories, violent werewolf imagery and repeated inserted social-casino advertisements.
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