How do you pass up the opportunity to spit blood in Joan Baez's face?

I've read Mark Twain. I've read Huckleberry Finn. I think I earned the right to go out of the internet and see a guy get a chainsaw on the face.

Dude, my dad was drunk and my mom was dealing with it. Guess what? I get raised by a cookie monster.

My con looks like it's been in a hockey flight. Time is stupidity. It's at the speed of goddamn light.

I got a bunch of the clocks.

Hey, what's the app at a Mike Schmidt, 40-year-old boy podcast?

Let me tell you this, folks, and you can take this to heart and own this and keep this in your little lockbox forever.

If you thought last week's episode didn't count, well, I'll tell you what, this episode truly doesn't count against your yearly data.

I'm going to, you know what, I'm going to wind of just making a year of podcasts that don't count, which, which by the way is my favorite Christmas special.

I'm not going to lie to you.

You know, the year without a Santa Claus can fucking fuck off right out of here.

It was the year of podcasts that don't count. I wish I could explain to you what the

fuck is happening because this is a podcast about my life. And the last thing you want to hear

is me again peeling the onion on my brain. So I'm not going to do it. I'm not. I'm just going

to tell you that we're putting the show out again on a Thursday.

And I am trying to figure out what the fuck is going on with me.

And eventually we'll figure it out, right?

Won't we do that?

We'll sit down together around a campfire and we'll have s'mores with no marshmallows because I don't like marshmallows.

But there's nothing worse than just chocolate on gram.

I can't imagine a chocolate on gram smore.

It's not really a smore.

...