You're Killing Us

It’s sometimes nice to spend a day in bed. Relaxing. Drifting pleasantly in and out of sleep.

But what if you could never get up?

What’s it like to be a mind trapped inside a body? Unable to move. Unable to speak. Suddenly a passenger in your own life, with very little hope for recovery.

This is locked-in syndrome, and when it comes to the nightmare of brain injury, it’s only the beginning.

OK, now take a step closer . . . little closer . . . little more . . . now lean out over the edge . . . perfect! Now say cheeeee-whhhooooaaaaAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH-HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhh . . . . . . 

splat

A picture is worth a thousand words. But how 'bout a thousand foot vertical drop? A bullet in the chest? Loss of life and limb?

These people gambled it all to capture a moment. 

Sadly, they lost. 

Plus stunts gone wrong, murder and mayhem streaming to you live, and--as always--bad jokes.

Can you trust the snake in your sunroom? The doggy in your den? 

Probably.

But we’re here to fuel your paranoia anyway.

Because there’s a savagery buried in all God’s creatures. Because deep in every teacup poodle beats the heart of the wolf pack, the haunts of the Arctic tundra, and your tawny tabby is not so far removed from her feline forebears who stalked the Serengeti. Because thousands of years of kill-or-be-killed doesn’t flick off like a heat lamp in a terrarium.

So is there a survival-honed killing machine nestled in that adorable ball of fluff? Might malice lurk behind those puppy-dog eyes?

Listen along, and even you may begin to question what monsters in sheep’s clothing you’ve welcomed into your home.

Under the sea.

Darling, it’s better down where it’s wetter. Take it from me.

Unless of course you’re trapped in an oversized Pringles can with outdated Soviet weaponry, two vulnerable nuclear reactors, and 1100 lbs of torpedo kerosene burning a hole in your bulkhead.

Join us for three tales of submarine survival. Or, you know, not survival. Because sometimes life sucks. But the seaweed isn’t always greener in somebody else’s lake. Or sea. Or whatever.

It kills the equivalent of the population of Martha’s Vineyard every three months. And very few of them are vacationing billionaires.

Adapted for survival.

Merciless in its dissemination.

Perfectly lethal.

And by the time you feel its presence--it’s already too late.

The gang breaks down the state of horror movies. The good. The bad. The shit-your-pants scary. Plus mechanical sharks, the uncanny valley and Arnold Schwarzenegger's moose knuckle.