Welcome to the Commune podcast. This is Jeff Krasnow. So I've put in considerable effort to establish a sane and thoughtful voice on this podcast and at the risk of tossing all my credibility into the dustbin. Today's episode is utterly different. So I had an

experience last week at the DMV, and it was patently absurd. And I woke up the following morning

and made a triple espresso. I walked by my podcast gear in this caffeine inebratedated state and without any notes and completely on a whim, I recorded today's episode, which exposes a totally ridiculous side of me, generally reserved for amusing and embarrassing my children.

And I'm releasing this silliness because I think there are two lessons buried

somewhere beneath the covers. First, humor can be a conduit for the truth. And second,

sometimes we need to tap into a different side of ourselves in order to free ourselves.

So no more obfuscation.

Here we go.

Hey, it's Jeff. And you know I'm not British. You know I'm not, I'm American, but still I feel like for the first time in a very, very long time. The door is just slightly cracked, just barely a jar for some kind of hilarity, just a dolep of levity. You know, it's just like,

yeah, I realize things are still grim and dismal in much of the world, but I don't know. I just

feel like we could all use a bit of laughter. And it is said at times that comedy can be a conduit for the truth, right?

I mean, Shakespeare had his fool, right? It seemed like a blundering idiot, but it was always full

of kernels of wisdom. And I suppose I'm a blundering fool most of the time, just ask my daughters.

Like, but there is some sort of truth that we can get when we laugh. I mean, you know, I'm hanging out with my

mates, maybe having a beer or two. And, you know, after a couple pints, we're like getting at things,

we're saying things that we wouldn't otherwise be saying

we're not walking on eggshells we're getting into the gritty and stuff and it's like i have this

wonderful friend her name is anossa like just like prolific i mean if you knew what she was doing

your jaw would be on the ground.

It's a black woman that lives in Memphis, and we talk on the phone quite a bit, and we just laugh.

I mean, we bloody laugh, like just cracking each other up, and we get into some serious, gnarly conversations about race, like stuff would never say i'd be fucking canceled like a hundred times if i said this stuff out loud but this is like really i'm thinking and like

she's all thinking kind of like the same shit and we're just like going back and it's some of the most

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