What's up, everybody? Welcome. Here we are, outwearing matching hapsips like for the

mannings. It's a good looking Johnny O'Pillow over, guy. Not

intentional, but why not? Powerful brand, the Olympic club. Yeah. What's the

place Peyton belongs in Denver, the really exclusive expensive one?

Cherry Creek. Is that the one? I don't know. Shane Prune was telling us about it.

Hellway, Peyton, where they only want out-of-state members because it keeps it

less crowded. Must be fun, country clubs to be a part of. Especially if you live

in town. You just have to place yourself all the time. What's up, everybody?

Welcome. It is Thursday, afternoon, as we record this, John still banned from

back on Twitter. Sorry, not banned. Everyone keeps DMing me. Yes, we know. I don't

know why. I don't know who. Maybe it's a big, I mean, it did it cross my mind.

That it was retribution. That there's some, you know, I did. The dark web took

its revenge. I think engineers on their way out the door took their Elon

frustrations out of middle-coff across my mind. I do believe, though. There's

this strong possibility that I'm done, even if I get it back, because it really hit

me. In all seriousness, if I came and broke into your house and robbed you, you would

lose a bunch of shit, like tangible stuff. If I took your fucking wedding ring, your wife's

wedding ring, stole your nicest pair of shoes, who knows, your car. If I broke into this

YouTube channel or our podcast feed and we didn't have the ability to load, we could

not function in business. Yeah. I have had my Twitter account stolen and I've literally

lost nothing beside the ability to occasionally, like, tweet out the Netflix show, the watcher

that guy would never drive a Prius. Like, that's something I wanted to tweet last, but

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