How do you pass up the opportunity to spit blood in Joan Baez's face? Dude, I'm so funny I inverted an epiglottis.

Let's round him a faceless and get some pajamas.

Dude, I didn't know my head was a bank.

That's fucking awesome.

I want to eat so many ducy rolls.

I just shit a tire.

I jerked off in this towel so much, it might be a surfboard.

Mr. Schmidt is an entertainer.

Not a cool.

Hey, what's happened to Mike Schmidt's 40-year-old boy podcast?

Can you hear the fan in the background?

Perhaps you can.

But that's your choice.

I mean, you can hear that, well, it's not really your choice.

Because the fan is still going, you're going to hear it no matter what. It's your choice whether or not you want to hear it. You know, it's selectively punched that part of your brain that hears fans.

Do me a favor.

Take a fork, jam it right into your medulla fan longata,

and just make sure you don't hear any goddamn fans,

and you just hear me fucking talking.

While you're in there with that fork, go ahead, hit your saromikim, and make sure it just hears me over the fan. Turn me up and tune that out.

And then tune in and drop out and then turn in and turn on, right?

Isn't that all that shit?

...