I was just telling Johnny that I was wondering what I would look like if I stopped working out and ate only McDonald's until December.

Yeah. Yeah, your shoulder bones would be popping out. You know what I mean? Because you'd have no fat around your shoulders. And then you'd just have a gut. Okay. Right. And yeah, the rest of you would just be, would just be bone, you know?

It's really, really gross.

So all the muscle on my limbs, my biceps, my delts would migrate toward my core.

Basically, yeah.

Like you'd have no fat on your arm.

So you would just be, you know, you would look like, you'd look like Austin.

But even, but with a belly.

I would look like an elderly French man going to the beach. Yeah, exactly. Wearing a speedo, you know, like hasn't touched a weight, smoking cigarettes. You have to pick up a cigarette habit of all you're doing is either McDonald's. You know, drink, drink extra tall rock stars, not even Red Bulls. Yeah. Rock stars. Okay. Oh, seven shit, dude. Remember that? I still enjoy a rock star every now. So I'm on the right track, I suppose. We got Johnny Mitchell in studio. Hey, Brooks Kosover, the artist slash pussy coordinator. Yes, sir. Austin, the producer, drinking on the job. And of course, Dino.

But Johnny, my girlfriend and I were at one of those hip Beverly Hills cafes yesterday.

Nice.

And we played a little game called Guess Which Table is European.

You can always tell.

And it really pisses me off just by the expression on the fucker's face.

Yeah, yeah.

That's right.

It looks like he is halfway through a warhead.

He's almost to the sweet portion.

Right.

But there's still a little bit of that tang.

Yeah, nothing's ever quite good enough.

Never.

...