How do you pass up the opportunity to spit blood and 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 flage. Time is stupidity. It's at the speed of goddamn light.

I got a bunch of the clocks.

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

Folks, of course I start this show on a Monday night,

and then you can hear the helicopters in the distance.

Can you hear them?

It sounds like fucking apocalypse now outside my apartment window,

which in Los Angeles. Look, if you know anything about Los Angeles, if you saw boys in the hood, you know that there are helicopters circling all above the apartment buildings at all times looking for felons and villains villains and felons, villains and felons and villains at all times.

They're trying to keep them in their scope, trying to get to shoot them down and make sure they didn't do any bad things.

And I have to really worry about that because here's the thing, folks.

I have an apartment, right, in an apartment building, but it's a courtyard apartment.

And there's myriad ways to get in here.

Like you can hop walls and jump fences. which you could actually scale the ceiling of the carport or the roof of the carport and then jump in,

but then there are a couple of fences that would keep you locked out of the carport itself.

However, folks, behind my building, that's the carport.

On the side of my building, however, there's a thin, narrow passageway.

And there's a wall.

There's like a retaining wall that separates me from the other apartment complex in their carport.

So, all right, how do I explain this to you?

Like, so if you were to jump, you, the only way to gain access to that thin, narrow passageway is,

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