Cranberry sauce is fucking whack. Fuck you Gator. It's all about getting your guts rammed by a radioactive turkey then passing out with the meat sweats while you watch football. But for real, listen to Allice's resteraunt... restraunt... restaraunt... fuck it just listen to it. Start a tradition, get together with friend and family, and enjoy the holidays.

You know what, in hindsight... Start a new tradition and just listen to us.

Fucking turkey day. Here we go. Look, I don't care how alpha you think you are, you nothin' but a lil' bitch when a corn fed midwestern turkey walks up on you. Unless you are one of those motherfuckers that wear full suits of armor and break the other guys faces with dull swords and shit. 

You know what grinds my gears? Chaps my ass? Gives me a case of the reds? Everybody's got something that pisses them the fuck off. So we are going to put our foot down and do something about it. Mostly bitch.

Fucking mobile games, double youtube ads, clickbate, or yahoos talking about getting kicked in the dick. The world wide web is a fucked off place. But, don't worry. The boys are here to save it.

Bad bitches everywhere. You want fucking Ninjas? Schoolgirls? Steampunk train explosions? Mind-fuck Sci-fi Nazi killing robot hacker strippers? Boy have we got the movie for you.

Politics is not our game. We like to shoot whiskey, talk about dicks and buttholes, and ponder the inevitable heat death of the universe. But, because of the political climate right now I think we need to talk about a couple things. First of all, why are some hangovers productive? Why are crossbows okay? But most importantly, we need to talk about a certain House of Representing seat from the great state.

It's motherfucking STEVE, our resident MF UFC expert. Some crazy shit went down with those fights so there's a lot to unpack. Oh yeah, also some fucking guys were playing competitive catch or something.

Look, I understand that I am a "Degenerate" and an "Alcoholic" but come on man. You really won't sell me beer before 7AM? Fuck you. I guess we're just going to drink some storm whiskey and argue about the metrics since half the crew apparently has the big Rona and can't taste the sweetness in this bottle. Butt fuck those nerds. I get to call it out in the episode description. 

You know what we're into.

Look, we're all out here tying to live our best timeline, but mother Fu*kers are snipe hunting, jamming 'Baby Shark', and otherwise being hotdogs, when they should be partying in secret rooms, crashing helicopters into swimming pools, and drinking cranberry juice