Mom Interrupts The Podcast and Lady Porn

Hi kids, I'm Lorenzo and welcome to Missing Throat Radio where we play near...

...or near...

Can you say Missing Throat?

Missing Throat!

I knew you could do it.

We talk about poop and we have story time.

Today's story is about that time your mother blew George straight

and then went home and kissed your father right on his mouth.

You know I don't know whether your mom blew George straight or not,

but I feel like there's a decent chance she probably did.

Missing Throat Radio starts now!

Welcome to episode 7 of Missing Throat Radio.

You know I try not to let shit get to me.

This is my what...

fourth attempt at a podcast.

The only common theme among all four of my podcasts.

Besides you know me obviously.

Has been that I have wanted more than anything else in the world

to legally be able to use a David Bowie song for the introduction.

With Missing Throat Radio OG, the original version back in the day

I wanted to use...

Hello Spaceboy.

This is what I wanted to use.

And I got quoted in Outro Rages Sum of Money by BMI for Licensing.

Then with the next podcast it was called Unmoder.

I think I also wanted to use Hello Spaceboy for that and was quoted in even larger some of money.

I think this podcast has some staying power.

I think I'm going to be around a while so I thought let's just fucking go at it again.

Let me reach out to the powers that be and try to figure out how much it's going to cost me to license a...

a David Bowie song for use as a podcast introduction.

If you haven't noticed, I have recycled.

I have recycled a couple of introductions but I'm basically making an intro for every episode.

Because I can't find one that I like.

So we

After a radio 2.0 I'm thinking that I would love to use my favorite David Bowie song of all time which is Station to Station.

Huge Bowie fan by the way.

Well, I did a little research. It's been a few years.

I wanted to make sure that everything was as it was before and it is not.

A few years ago the David Bowie estate sold the rights to all of his music to Warner Chapel.

So I reached out to them, made inquiries and got nothing.

Did it electronically? So I went ahead and sent a letter because I would love to license Station to Station for use on this podcast and got nothing.

And it's fucking frustrating. It's frustrating because I'm not trying to fucking license space auditing or golden years.

Or one of his shitty 80s songs like Let's Dance. I'm trying to fucking license a song that I'm probably the only person that's listened to this week.

No one's looking for Station to Station when they pull up David Bowie.

They're just not. And for the overwhelming majority of people and I'm even gonna lump Bowie fans into this.

For the overwhelming majority of Bowie fans, if they tell Alexa to play David Bowie and Station to Station comes up, they're telling Alexa to skip.

So I feel like since it's not a song that people are actively seeking out, I should be able to license Station to Station by David Bowie for a relatively reasonable amount of money.

Well, Warner Chapel isn't even returning my fucking emails and or letters now. It's fucking frustrating. You know, I met David Bowie back in the day.

It's not a story I tell very often, but I might tell it to you. It was 1990. Fuck, I don't know.

Let's just say for shits and giggles. Let's say 1997. Maybe 96.

David Bowie was in town playing at this little club called the Blue Note.

One of those standard issue fucking concert venues that used to be an old timey fucking movie theater. You know what I mean, anyway.

All kinds of artists did little one-off shows, at the Blue Note. David Bowie was touring with his band, a tin machine.

I worked in radio at the time and I was sitting backstage. Kind of off by myself. I wasn't in the hubbub and the hustle and bustle of all the shit that goes on where people are trying to do whatever they can fucking do to get a glimpse?

Like a glimpse of Bowie before the show. I was just kind of sitting backstage in the air quotes green room.

And I was smoking a galois cigarette, if that'll tell you what kind of fucking pretentious conti was back in the day.

And somebody comes in and sits down across the way from me. And I didn't think anything of it. I was kind of lost in my own thoughts.

Lo and behold, it was David Bowie. Holy shit. So I played it cool for a little bit and eventually I can't fucking take it anymore and I get up and I walk over and I'm like, dude, I'm a huge fan.

I just got to tell you I'm absolutely huge fan and I'm so excited to watch you perform tonight.

And he kind of gives me this little weird kind of cock-eyed look and he goes really huge fan. And I can't do the fucking shitty British accent so bear with me here.

He is really huge fan. What's your favorite song? And I, at the time I didn't know it but I was being tested. And I said, uh, station to station, I would think.

Well, whether station to station is one of his favorite songs of his or not, I don't know. But he immediately got interested at that point. I think because I didn't say,

say, space Audity or Golden years or one of the shity 80 songs. And we sat down and kind of shot the shit for, I don't know, about five minutes. It was nothing major, no real in depth conversation happened.

I did ask him how cooked out he was at the tower show in Philadelphia in 76, and he said he didn't remember the entire tour and apparently he recorded an album there. Anyway, so that's my,

Who are you talking to in there?

Oh, it's my fucking mother.

Who are you talking to?

Why did you lock this door?

Mom, go away, I'm working.

Were you on the phone?

No, I'm not on the phone.

So who are you talking to?

Mom, God damn, I'm talking into a microphone for a podcast.

What the hell is in this room?

Well, this is my studio, mom.

This is where I'm doing my podcast.

But what the hell are you doing in here?

Anyway.

You have online friends?

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Yes, mom, I'm talking to my friends.

Like AOL?

Oh, God, not like AOL.

That's a terrible place.

No, not like AOL.

I don't even fucking think AOL's around anymore.

Are they white?

What the fuck kind of question is that?

I don't fucking know if they're white or not.

You know exactly how I feel about you hanging out

with those dockies.

OK, stop calling people fucking dockies.

OK, listen, you fly on spirit airlines one fucking time

and then you go on a fucking two week carnival cruise

and you come back the most racist woman I've ever met.

Oh, don't you try to shame your mother?

You know I happen to have a lot of friends from all over.

No, you don't.

You don't have any fucking friends

I have different nationalities, mom.

What kind of language is that?

Talking to me like that.

Unless you're talking about the Pardoluses up there,

they're fucking Greek, mom.

That's just a different fucking shade of white.

I am a woman of the world ever since your father left me

for that whore from Hackensack.

Just admit it, ever since you went on that fucking carnival

cruise, you've come back and you fucking hate everyone

who's not cracker ass white.

They were fighting for two solid weeks.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

You haven't seen what I've seen.

I don't want you hanging out with any dockies.

You know I have my mother's silver plate.

Your mother's silver plate is you don't even fucking live here.

You're just visiting, unfortunately.

Don't need you associating with the wrong sort.

The wrong sort?

How about you're the wrong fucking sort?

OK, that's enough.

Get the fuck out of here.

Bye, mom.

Bye.

Fuck off.

OK, bye.

Fuck off.

Bye.

I'm talking to you.

Are they white?

I don't even remember what I was talking about.

What the fuck?

I've completely lost my train of thought.

I'm still fucking done with these holidays, by the way.

We had the Fourth of July a while back, which is fucking fine.

But here's the problem.

Anytime we have a fucking holiday,

everybody just piles into my fucking house

and then they don't leave.

It would be one thing if they showed up

with an RV or something like that.

But that's not what happens.

They just fucking show up with a bag.

I'm going to send you some rocks from over here.

It's fucking beautiful over here.

Oh, my God, and the olives.

I could fucking hear her now, my fucking mom.

She takes one fucking flat on spirit airlines

and goes on one fucking carnival cruise.

And now she hates all the blacks.

She said that they fucking fought everyone.

She said that they fought in the fucking airport.

There were fights on the fucking plane.

There were fights as they were waiting to get on the fucking ship.

And then when they got on the ship,

everything was cool for at about a day.

And then they started fighting every fucking body on the ship.

She said the black people on the fucking carnival cruise line

were swinging on everybody.

Weight staff, cook staff, fucking security, each other,

and then you run in your car at the back of the car and you,

and then you run in your car's car, on the ship.

And then they opened the car, and then I ran in my car.

And I Dank that we were all here.

But I'm actually going to find out where I can take all of you

to the ship and then I can say,

yeah, than, what do you say?

You get the shipping bag and then you write all your money.

I think I have to pick you up when I take it up.

And we can get the palavra,

and we can charge it up if you can.

I think I'll take you to the satellite,

I'm really fucking uncomfortable.

Why the hell do I always do this after dinner?

You know what I mean?

It's like I could fucking record it almost any other point in the day.

I could take a few minutes here and there to fucking knock some shit out.

Even at work sometimes I get slip off in the back of the fucking building and get a little

bit done.

But no, I wait until the evening when I'm all fucking sweaty and bloated from overeating.

And then I fucking sit down here and try to work.

And what ends up happening is for the first 20 minutes of me recording, I just fucking sit

here and try to get, catch my fucking breath, get my breathing under control.

Because I'm just disgusting fucking fat with the fucking meat sweats.

Just understand that when you fucking hear a brand new episode of Missing Throat Radio,

there is a nearly 100% chance I have sat down after dinner and I'm sitting here with

my fucking hand rubbing my giant disgusting boot of gut and fuck.

When I pause, I'm not pausing for dramatic effect.

I'm pausing to keep from fucking yacking and belching into my mouth.

Okay?

Fuck.

Why don't I have any fucking self control?

Somebody give me a fucking slim fast.

That's what I need to do.

I just need to do meal replacement in the fucking evenings.

That's not what I sat down here to talk to you about.

What I sat down here to talk to you about today was audiobooks.

It's something I dabble in from time to time narrating audiobooks.

You basically just have to be able to read and speak in complete sentences.

And have a thick enough skin to be told know about 25 times for every yes you get in my

audiobook narrating career.

This far I have completed five, I think five audiobooks, two self-helped type religious

books and then a couple of works of fiction.

So maybe it's just four.

Fuck, I don't know.

I think just four.

Two varying degrees of success.

I don't necessarily enjoy narrating audiobooks.

I do enjoy the idea of making a lot of money off of narrating an audiobook.

It hasn't happened to date, but I think the mentality that has me searching for audiobooks

to narrate all the time is the same mentality that has me down there buying fucking lottery

tickets every Friday night.

I end up fantasizing about what it would be like to accidentally narrate an audiobook that

really takes off.

But to be completely honest, I'm fucking around in the wrong genres.

I know this.

I did a couple of self-helped books.

I did a suspense thriller and then I did a collection of short stories about zombies.

The zombie book was actually super fun.

I kind of enjoyed it.

But I understand the way the world really works.

And if I want to make money in the audiobook narrating game, I'm going to have to narrate Lady

Porn.

Yeah, Lady Porn.

Do you know what Lady Porn is?

I guess the best way to describe what Lady Porn is if you're unaware is by giving you an

audio demonstration.

This is Porn Design for Men.

That is a fairly ridiculous audio demonstration of what Porn designed for men.

Sounds like Porn designed for ladies though.

That's something completely different.

For the uninitiated, you would think it probably sounds like the Porn intended for men

except much slower and with more feeling.

For example, is that the shit you like, I love you.

I love you and yes, that's the shit I like.

Is that the shit you like though, I love you.

I love you and that's definitely the shit I like.

Would this happen to be my pussy, I love you.

It is, it is your pussy and I love you.

But you would be wrong.

Dead wrong.

Lady Porn historically speaking is not anything like that.

Lady Porn comes in the form of books and here is an example of what one of those love

scenes sounds like.

Ms. Hawkourt, he said, his voice low, almost a murmur, as if the words were meant for

her alone and not the night.

You should not be here alone in the dark.

And yet you're here, sir.

She replied her chin lifting, though her voice wavering.

Have you come to chide me or join me in my folly?

Theodore's lips twitched.

A rare hint of a smile but his gaze did not falter.

I came because I could not stay away.

He said the confession slipping out like a secret held too long.

All evening through the din of that crowded room, I saw only you, your laughter, your grace.

That torments me Eleanor.

Her heart stuttered at the sound of her name on his lips, stripped of formality, raw and

unguarded.

She took a step closer, her gloves twisting in her hands.

You speak of torment, she whispered, but what of mine?

To see you, to know you, and yet to stand apart, bound by duty and decorum.

Do you think it does not wound me?

For a moment time held its breath.

Then with the gentleness of a man who feared he might break what he cherished most, Theodore

drew her closer.

His hand cradling the back of her neck.

Their lips met, tentative at first, then with a quiet urgency that spoke of longing too

long denied.

The world, the garden, the estate, the rules that bound them fell away, leaving only the

warmth of his breath.

The press of her hand against him, and the moon as their silent witness.

When they parted, breathless, her eyes sh-shown with tears, she would not shed.

That was a fairly accurate representation of what romance novels used to be, in the style

of weathering heights.

Or pride in prejudice, that was Lady Porn from the 18th and 19th century.

This fast forward a little bit to the advent of the Harlequin romance novel.

This is an example of the type of Lady Porn your mother consumed.

Clothing-fellaway, forgotten as the storm outside roored its

his touch was everywhere, her waist, her thighs, her heart.

Each caress igniting sparks that threatened to consume her.

She clung to him, her nails grazing his back, her whispers of his name a plea, and a promise.

He moved with her, their rhythm was wild, and relentless as the ocean beyond, every kiss,

every touch of vow they didn't need words to make.

As the fire burned low, they lay tangled together, breathless, and sated.

That was a fairly accurate representation of the type of book that your mom was fucking

beating off to in the bathtub.

So with the advent of audiobooks, and also incidentally the advent of mediums like Amazon

Kindle, or the Barnes & Noble Nook, it was just a matter of time before Lady Porn evolved.

Paralleling the evolution of Porn for Men.

Porn for Men has gone from this.

Hello, I'm just delivering your pizza, and I seem to have forgotten my pants.

Never mind my giant cock, it means you know harm.

To something way more extreme like this.

I'm just a freshly turned 18 year old boy, and my stepmom wants to suck my cock.

You think I had a letter?

Of course I should letter right, but what's my dad gonna say?

I

Oh, it feels so good.

Lady Porn's done the same.

Lady Porn went from steamy kissing scenes in any window to purple-headed warrior thrust

into quivering mounds of love-putting into what we see today.

Lady Porn today looks nothing like the fucking Lady Porn of the 18th and 19th century.

Holy shit.

Lady Porn today is about vampires and monsters and tentacles.

But I say all that to say, I think I could fucking narrate Lady Porn audiobooks.

I'm sure I could fucking do it.

I could fucking totally do it.

I could totally fucking narrat Lady Porn because that's where the money is.

That's where I want to be.

If I'm going to waste my fucking time narrating audiobooks, I want to make as much money, and I

think that while my voice isn't fantastic, I think it's okay for narrating Lady Porn,

especially the 2025 version of Lady Porn.

Lady Porn that sounds like this.

We're playing a dangerous game, Tess.

Julian said, his voice a low growl

that vibrated through her, settling deep in her core.

He took a slow sip of bourbon.

His gaze never leaving hers, the tension between them thick enough to choke on.

That outfits begging to be ripped off.

Tess's lips curled into a defiant smirk.

Her confidence was surging as she felt the power of his want.

The way it made her feel like a goddess.

Then do it, she challenged.

Stopping just out of reach, her fingers trailing along the edge of the bar, teasingly close

to his hand.

Unless you're all talk, Julian.

His eyes flashed, a predatory glint, and in one fluid motion he closed the distance,

his hand gripping her hips.

The hard length of him pressed through his jeans.

The stakeable and thrilling, and Tess's breath hitched.

His stubble scraping her chin in a way that sent sparks shooting through her.

I'm not gentle.

When I'm this hungry.

Then don't be, she whispered.

Her voice thick with need.

Her hands sliding up his chest, nails digging into his skin just enough to make him hiss.

She wanted him unleashed.

Wanted to feel every ounce of the desire she saw burning in his eyes.

Julian didn't hesitate.

His mouth crashed onto hers, a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, raw and desperate,

like he was trying to consume her.

Tess amowned into it.

Her fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling hard as she pressed herself closer, craving

every inch of contact.

His hands roamed rough and possessive, finding the cutouts in her body suit, and slipping beneath

the fabric to cup her bare skin.

His thumbs teasing her peaked nipples until she gasped, her head falling back.

Fuck, Tessa.

He growled against her throat.

His lips and teeth leaving a trail of fire as he kissed and nipped his way down.

His hands found the apex of her thighs, and he ripped the body suit apart at the crotch,

exposing her to his gaze.

She was already wet, aching and the way he looked at her, like she was just everything.

She made her tremble.

Julian, she gasped.

Her hands gripping the bar behind her for balance as he leaned in.

His breath hot against her sensitive skin.

His tongue found her.

Slow at first, then relentless, licking and sucking, with a skill that had her knees

buckling.

Tess's bones filled the room, unfiltered and desperate, her hips rocking against his

mouth as pleasure coiled tied in her core, building to an unbearable edge.

You taste so fucking good.

He murmured.

His voice muffled against her.

The vibration sending her spiraling.

She came hard.

Her cry echoing off the marble.

Her body shaking as waves of ecstasy crashed through her.

Julian held her through it.

His hands steady on her hips.

His lips still teasing until she was a quivering mess.

But he wasn't done.

He rose.

His lips glistening and he kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

Now Julian, she demanded her voice raw, her body still humming, but hungry for more.

He lifted her onto the bar, the cold surface of shock against her heated skin, and spread

her thighs wide.

You want me?

Yes.

His voice rough.

His eyes locked on hers as he positioned himself teasing her entrance.

Say it.

I want you, she gasped.

Her nails raking down his back, urging him closer.

Fuck me, Julian.

Now.

He thrust into her deep and hard, filling her completely and Tessa cried out.

Her body arching to meet him.

Her hands reaching for something across the bar.

While he started sliding, grinding, pounding into her.

His free hand roamed his body, memorizing every muscle, every tattoo.

Her bones mingling with his as they chased release.

But her hand was still grasping.

Grasping for something across the bar he couldn't make out.

Pounding now.

Pounding deep into her.

Feeling her body open as he pushed and gripped as he pulled.

Finally she comes up with a remote control.

Some sort of device, a contraption.

She pushes the red button on it and then flings it across the room.

The next thing you know, a veritable cascade of baby oil rains down from the ceiling.

What kind of place is this?

What kind of manhouse has he fallen into?

Relentless pounding.

Her shrieks and cries of pleasure bouncing off the marble of the floor and walls around

them.

And then all of a sudden Julian noticed.

They were no longer alone.

See this is where I feel like I need to break into the action for a second to illustrate.

That was completely different from the lady porn of a bygone era.

It's more extreme, it's more pointed, it's blunt, direct, no room for any window.

Julian threw her up on the bar and he ate her pussy and then he fucking stood up, let

her lick herself off of his lips and then jammed his dick in her.

The lady porn of the past would have called it like I mentioned earlier, him plunging

his purple-headed warrior into her love pudding.

They would have told the same story.

They just would have told it a little bit differently, a little bit less direct.

Now back to the story.

He realized they were no longer alone.

Every surface of the apartment was covered in baby oil and he could hear the padding of

feet coming towards him.

Is that two feet?

He's thinking to himself, pounding, brutally, violently into her.

No.

That's several feet.

For at least, maybe eight.

Don't worry Julian, a manager to say in between strangled cries of pleasure.

They're just my friends.

He pulled out of her and whirled around.

Just in time to see a bangle tiger walk towards her looking at him with what can only be described

as predatory eyes.

He was taken a back shocked, caught off guard.

It was too late.

Nothing around to defend himself.

But he looked down and realized that his cock was harder than ever before at the danger.

The tiger rest an enormous paw on Tessa's exposed belly.

And Julian understood this tiger was not here for prey.

This tiger was here for love.

And with that he gave in to his desire and leaned forward.

The tiger opened its mouth wide.

And Julian sucked the tiger's tongue right into his mouth.

It was a kiss of deep desire of animalistic passion.

The tiger's tail whipped around and started caressing Julian's balls.

And he felt his erection growing even harder.

If that were even possible, what a night this had turned into.

He broke the kiss with the tiger and looked deep into its green predator's eyes.

I want you.

He said into the tiger's face.

The tiger acquiesced and turned away from Julian.

What a set of balls that tiger had on him.

Julian marveled at the size and the only word that applies is strength.

The strength of that tiger's fucking testicles.

And in one fell swoop Julian spit on his fucking fist and jammed it up that tiger's

ass.

The tiger roared with surprise, shock and pleasure.

So focused was he on his task of fisting this tiger and giving this tiger the best fuck

of his life.

He almost didn't realize that Tessa had pivoted and was laying now underneath

him, tunging his fucking balls and yanking his fucking cock with her hand.

The tiger's back arching, its roars turning to fucking hisses.

Julian intently fisting that tiger's ass, looking down and watching his beautiful Tessa.

caress his balls and then looking up just in time to see a mountain ram come out of nowhere

and start gently carefully but very expertly licking Tessa's glistening vagina.

The cacophony of their love making filling the space.

Next thing you know Tessa comes up on all fours.

Faces away from Julian, opens her mouth and tells him to bruise her esophagus.

He jams his fucking meaty shlong.

Down Tessa's willing throat.

Just in time to see the tiger come up on his back legs and mount her from behind.

The tiger and Julian staring face to face, eye to eye, eyes locked in intense lust and understanding.

They were spit roasting this woman, this woman that Julian knew at that moment was going

to be his wife.

He was never going to let Tessa get away, never experience another day without her as his

very own.

Finally unable to take it anymore, Julian pulls his cock out of Tessa's mouth, slaps it on

her forehead at a classic mushroom stamp and then moves around behind the tiger.

The tiger is still pounding in the Tessa for all he's worth.

That tiger taking full advantage of a position, he knows all too well.

In the animal kingdom, that's a position of complete subservience, complete surrender.

She's his for the taking and he is taking.

The ram though, not to be left without a part to play in this scene of passion, backs

off five feet, lowers his head and carines into Tessa's side, breaking at least four of

her ribs, her eyes shoot open in surprise and her mouth elicits a cry of pain and pleasure.

He backs off again, performs the same move, caban!

Slams into her fucking side while that tiger is tearing that pussy up from behind.

The cries of pain and pleasure, the slap of ram horns on soft female flesh echoing off

the marble of the floor and the walls and the glass of the windows.

Julian moving down the bar, getting ready to position himself behind the tiger, who is

destroying Tessa's insides with his fucking giant feline cock, makes a brief eye contact

with Julian and nods.

He knows what's coming.

A type of pleasure that is unspeakable, something that they know they will not discuss the next

day.

Julian comes around behind that tiger with two glass ash trays and starts clapping the

fucking tiger's giant sack in between those two glass ash trays, over and over and over

again with brutal crushing force, the tiger fucking roars in pain and pleasure and continues

pummeling Tessa from behind.

Julian steps up, wraps that tiger's tail around his own throat and thrusts deep into the

tiger's waiting ass.

The ram performs one more devastating side impact on Tessa and then runs around to chew

on Julian's balls while he pounds the tiger.

The tiger fucking Tessa, Tessa screaming for all she's worth, her ribs broken, perhaps

even her collarbone.

Julian fucking the tiger up the ass, choking himself himself with the tiger's tail and the

ram chewing on Julian's sack, gyrating, screaming, bellowing, grasping.

The room is descended into nothing but a cacophony, a veritable din of cries, pleading,

begging.

The sounds of man, woman and animal engaged in an unholy union.

Julian can feel the tiger getting close, the tiger's thrusts getting wild, unpredictable.

His claws retracting in and out, in and out of his fucking sheaths.

All of a sudden with a mighty roar, the tiger stiffens, reaches down with its jaws

and bites through Tessa's spine.

She goes completely limp as her fucking spine has been severed and in that moment Julian

knew he would never love a woman as much as he loves that one.

Sure she may be paralyzed now but that woman is the only one for him.

He pulls out of the tiger's ass and starts beating his own fucking cock morselously.

The ram no longer satisfied to just chew on Julian's balls, starts headbutting it with

its fierce horns.

The tiger spent rolls over onto its side and lays there, watching the scene play out.

Tessa hasn't moved a muscle and Julian can't decide if it's just because she's so overcome

with pleasure.

Or if it's the fact that her spine has been severed by the tiger's jaws.

And with a great outcry and an intense scream of pleasure, Julian sprays his seed all

over the ram's back, neck, face, horns and beard.

Julian then falls to his side and slithers like a snake through the baby oil coated marble

floor to lay next to Tessa.

She's looking at him, he's looking at her.

Their breathing slows, the shaking stops.

Julian looks her right in the face and says, I love you bitch.

Tessa's jaw slacks and her mouth opens and she says longingly, lovingly, with the softest

most loving eyes.

It could have been because she's had her brains fucked completely out, but most likely it

was because of the's spinal wound.

But Julian didn't care.

Julian heard and saw everything he needed to say.

This was the woman for him and he would never, ever leave her side.

Again.

You see what I mean?

I could fucking totally do it.

I could fucking totally do it.

I could fucking totally narrate Lady porn and make crazy money.

can you deny after listening to that?

That I don't have a fucking absolute talent for not only narrating Lady porn but also writing

it.

Listen to how fucking go back about eight minutes and listen to the quality of

of Lady porn.

Fucking panties are sopping right now.

You're soaking fucking wet.

You can't wait to hear another installment of Lorenzo's Lady porn series.

I know it.

You don't have to admit it.

We don't have to talk about it but you and I both know.

You are a sopping soaking fucking dripping mess right now.

Oozing even.

You're oozing at the quality of my writing of that bit of Lady porn and at the pure unadulterated

raw sexiness of my fucking performance.

I'm missing the fucking boat.

Fuck this podcasting thing.

Fuck it.

I'm just gonna fucking lean into the fucking Lady porn game.

A tiger, a ram, a chick and a dude.

It doesn't fucking get any sexier than that.

God that's so fucking sexy.

Son of a bitch.

If only people knew when they were walking down the street and looking at me, I fucking

sexy my mind is goddamn.

Anyway, be on the lookout for Lorenzo's fucking Lady porn series.

I might just write a collection of fucking short Lady porn stories and put them out.

Buy them at a store in a store near you.

Lorenzo does Lady porn.

Show notes.

This is the section of the podcast where I'm going to take a minute to talk to you about

shit that's on my mind in reference to the fucking air quotes show and the production

of it.

As I've mentioned a couple times in this particular episode, this is my fourth foray into podcasting.

And through all of Missing Throughoperadio OG, unmoderate Lorenzo reads and now Missing Throughoperadio

2.0, this is the first time this is the first episode I have ever included a voice other

than mine that was not AI generated.

I think she did a great job.

I don't know that I'm going to be using other voices moving forward.

I had an idea for a bit in my head where I was going to incorporate voices other than

my own.

No matter how good the idea is, I don't think I'm going to go outside again.

Okay, you did a great job.

Not standing work.

Well, I mean, okay, fine.

I'll just tell the story real quick.

And this guy knows who he is and I'm not mad at him or anything and I'm not shit talking

him.

I just, okay, so what happened was I approached a couple of people about doing, helping

me out with a bit that I'm probably going to do here in the next couple of episodes.

And I thought that it went so well using an outside voice for this episode that I will

do it again and I'll expand on it.

And so I reached out to a couple of guys.

One of the guys was like, yeah, dude, sure, whatever.

No problem.

Yeah, let's do it.

The other guy was like, yeah, I'll do it.

However, I want to see a script, which in and of itself is in a problem.

I guess I kind of understand because honestly, this show is fucking crazy.

Let's just call it what it is.

I do crazy shit on missing through a radio.

Where I say shit on like anything you're going to hear on any other podcast, maybe that's

a fucking bad thing.

I don't know.

Time will tell.

But when that guy said he wanted to see a script to kind of, I guess, look over the script

and make sure I'm not going to make fun of him or put him in a position that's going to

make shit weird for him or something like that.

It kind of gave me pause.

And I was like, huh.

He wants to see a script.

What am I now approving scripts with people in order to get their voices?

I don't want to fucking deal with that.

And they got me to think, and why am I go outside?

Why am I just not doing all the voices?

That's all I've ever fucking done is all the voices, except for on this episode.

And it was effortless and a fairly good experience.

So I thought, hell, let's try outsourcing a little bit.

It could be fun and also incorporate some different people into the show.

And it might be cool.

It might add an element rather than just one fucking psycho sitting in his basement,

making a podcast.

It might sound like it's a whole cast of characters.

It could really turn into something and be awesome.

But then he asked to see the script, which again is not unreasonable because the show is

crazy.

And it reminded me that I don't use other people.

I do it all myself.

So as cool as this experience was, utilizing someone other than myself to voice something

I won't be doing it's going to be the me show again, more of me less of you.

It's just kind of weighing on my mind because I'm a little disappointed.

I wanted to start utilizing other voices for Miss

missing throw radio, but I don't want to if it's going to be weird.

And I think it could get weird.

So anyway, thank you for joining me for episode 7 of missing throw radio.

Leave a review.

Don't fucking tell anybody about the show.

We talked about this earlier.

It's just kind of keep it among ourselves till I get to 10 or 15 episodes and then, you

know, by all means go, hey, I'm telling everyone you know.

Until next time.