This is a head-dum-a-riginal.

To listen or not to listen, that is the question.

Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of Jeffrey James

or to take arms against a sea of anspot and by opposing, end it.

To change podcasts, to listen no more, and by not listening to say we end the heartache in thousand natural shocks that eardrums are heir to,

to a consummation devoutly to be wished to change podcasts, to not listen, to not listen per chance to hear,

I there's the rub, for in that lack of review review what random show may come when we have shuffled our podcast at must give us pause.

There's the respect that makes calamity of being a listener.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of loose rice in a bag?

Jeffrey's moans, the proud Rylees, the pains of what shook me that Patreon cameo's delay,

the insolence of Marty and the new office, the spurns, that patient dentin of the unworthy Trenton takes

when he himself might his quietest make with bear pottery for mother?

Who would follow bear to listen and enjoy under a weary life but that the dread of some other podcasting undiscovered country

from whose record no listener returns puzzles the will?

And makes us rather bear Jeff and Rylee than listen to some other pair of LA or New York based 20-something comedians that we know not of.

Thus conscious stuff may cowards of us all and thus the native hue of resolution is sickleed or with the pale skin of chronically online podcasts.

And comedy shows of great pith and moment with this regard the listeners turn awry and lose the chance to hear.

Review review.

He sort of made the whole thing about himself.

Well the whole thing being kind of like a really really existential crisis of like do I kill myself or do I stay alive and suffer?

But like in suffering that still being alive or do I just end it all and he's kind of turned that into do I listen to the show or not?

It is sort of a matter of life or death.

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