Welcome to season 2 episode 9 of Missing Throat Radio.
Missing Throat for rating.
Missing Throat.
You know, there are people in this warnaut who are legitimately excited for tax season.
I vaguely remember being one of those people.
Like tax season would come around and I'm thinking, fuck yeah, I can finally get cut up on
bills when I get that fucking tax return.
Or fuck yeah, I need to get the car fixed when I get that fucking tax return.
It's a distant vague fucking memory for me.
I haven't got a refund on taxes in fucking years.
Nowadays I pay.
Fuck I pay.
You know, I always used to fucking talk to my dad.
I remember talking to my dad and I was like, why the fuck are you always paying the IRS?
How is that even possible?
I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that he made so much fucking money that he was
always paying.
But this is how he explained it to me.
He made too much money to get the giant fucking refund that everyone was looking forward
to.
But he didn't make enough to get all the fancy fancy pants fucking tax breaks.
Like the rich get.
He was at the time what is called middle class.
That's where I find myself today.
I am comfortably middle class.
And what does the middle class do?
Be fucking bear the tax burden for the low income people who don't pay shit and get
giant refunds and the big earners who don't pay shit.
And it's just been understood for the longest fucking time that if you're in the middle class
embrace the suck, the fucking tax man is coming for you.
Pay your fucking taxes, stop being a bitch.
What's the old saying?
The only thing that's a guarantee in life is death and taxes.
And then everyone has a jolly fucking chuckle afterwards with rye smiles boy don't I know
it.
Those fucking taxes.
Ah my hands shake when I fucking write the check to the IRS every year.
This year I wrote another fucking check.
I put another fucking bunch of zeros on a fucking check and sent that bitch off to the IRS.
And every year I have the same conversation with myself.
You know, if I only lived in the fucking Philippines, I wouldn't have to pay all these goddamn
taxes.
I could retire on just a couple years salary in the fucking Philippines.
Why don't I retire early and go to the fucking Philippines?
Sure there's machete gangs over there.
And spiders big enough to fucking bite your goddamn head off.
Sure you can't fucking drink the water.
Sure, everyone has a dirt floor.
Sure every couple years or so you gotta remod the side of your house.
But I could live in the fucking Philippines tax free or relatively tax free.
Why the fuck do I continue to do this?
Well let me tell you, I continue to do it because I'm a fucking idiot.
And because I'm fucking lazy.
It's just so much easier to get up every day and go the fuck to work and live with the
creature comforts of being an American.
And then once a year on tax day, take it in the ass and keep it moving.
Take it in the ass so the fucking disgusting unwashed unemployed or under employed can
enjoy their 5 to $10,000 fucking tax rebate and also take it in the ass so Elon Musk can
continue to enjoy his fucking tax benefits.
Why the fuck do I do it every fucking year?
Every fucking year.
I do it.
I line up.
I even wear nice clothes.
I put on nice clothes.
I get all my shit organized in a fucking file folder and I go down to the tax lady and
she sits there and she scratches with her fucking pencil and she enters shit into the fucking
computer and then at the end of the fucking session she looks at me, tells me I've got
to pay a gigantic goddamn sum of money and I just write the fucking check every fucking
year.
I do it every fucking year.
Every fucking year.
Like clockwork.
I do it every fucking year.
But this is the last year.
I tell myself that every year but no this is the last year.
This is the last year.
I'm making a promise to you and to me.
We will revisit this on Missing Throat Radio at this time next year.
This is the last year I'm taking it in the ass for all the fucking illegal immigrants
and under employed motherfucking Dunkin' Donuts employees.
This is the last year I take it in the fucking shorts for the unemployed fucking single
mom of nine.
This is the fucking last year.
I take it in the fucking seat for the person with that fucking college degree who works
at the fucking record store.
I'm done.
I'm done taking a fucking beating for you and I'm done taking a beating for you, Elon
and Nancy Pelosi and all of you fucking high rent motherfuckers.
I'm done taking it in the rectum for you.
I'm done carrying the fucking tax burden.
No, I'm not moving to the Philippines because this year is different.
This year I did not walk out of the fucking tax preparation place burning with rage.
Well, that's not true.
I was burning with rage.
Normally the way it goes is I fucking stroke the check after the fat lady tells me how
much to pay.
I get in my fucking truck burning with fucking rage and I rage drive back to work and then
I'm basically in a rage for the next three to five days and slowly but surely calm
down.
I do a lot of beating off.
I can fucking do to try to relieve the stress a little bit and to try to take my mind off
the fucking anger of being one of the suckers in America holding it all together for these
motherfuckers on either side of me.
This year however, while overcome with rage, I also had a moment of clarity and epiphany
if you will.
And it came to me as if in a vision like a fucking ray of light shown down upon me and
it was just these simple words that rang into my head.
There has to be a middle ground.
That was the thought that I had.
Just that that simple line.
There has to be a middle ground.
There has to be a middle ground.
There has to be something in the middle between taking it in the ass every year for the
Politaria and the beautiful people.
There has to be a middle ground between bending over for Uncle Sam every year and moving to
the Philippines.
There has to be a middle ground.
Of course there's a middle ground.
How can there not be a middle ground?
There has to be a middle ground.
I just didn't know what it was.
How do the beautiful people do it?
I know how the fucking poor do it.
I get that.
I've been there.
I understand that only too well.
I know how the fucking poor handle tax season.
But how do the fucking fancy pants people up here where they're making all the money?
Hower how do they navigate?
Tax season because you can't fucking tell me that they're just taking it in the fucking
seat and keeping it moving.
I refuse to believe it.
Of course they're not.
So what are they doing that allows them to maintain their fucking sanity?
And then it came to me.
A solution so fucking simple and so rudimentary.
How did I not see it before?
It's everywhere you look.
If you're looking on the fucking Twitter or if you're looking on the fucking Facebook,
or if you're looking on the fucking news or if you're listening to the fucking radio,
or if you're listening to any number of fucking podcasts, they're talking about
the solution to my goddamn gigantic yearly fucking stress out episode.
The solution's been staring me in the face for fucking years.
It's staring me in the face right now.
It's a solution so fucking simple and so obvious.
I can't believe I didn't see it before.
The key to being a member of the middle class and not getting fucking brutally gang raped
by the IRS every single fucking spring can be summed up in just one word.
One simple beautiful little word.
Jews.
Yeah, Jews.
I need some fucking Jews in my life.
I need a Jew like a proper Jew, not like me.
Like I found out that I'm a half ass Jew, you know, last year sometime.
No, I need someone who's been fucking steeped in geology since birth.
I need somebody who has been fully immersed in Jew culture and does not try to shy away
from it.
Not one of those fucking Hollywood Jews who pretends that it's not a Jew who changes
their name to Jenkins or Phillips or something like that so you don't know they
there are Jew.
That's not who I'm looking for.
One of these Hollywood Jews are undercover Jews or fucking plain closed Jews.
I can't have one of those.
No, I need a fucking acidic Jew, a proper Jew with the long spiral fucking sideburns.
And the apron and the fucking Yamaha.
I need an actual fucking Jew like a legit Jew.
No, one's not even going to be enough because I'm firmly entrenched into the fucking middle
class.
One Jew's not going to be enough for me to fleet an army of Jews.
I need a cadre of Jews on the fucking payroll.
I need a Jew accountant or several.
I need five Jew accountants.
I want to walk into Jaime Brothers accounting services, put my last fucking ten tax returns
on their desk and say this is what I've been dealing with.
This is not who I choose to be anymore.
Please show me the ways.
Come to my aid.
I'll give you anything you want and have them spring into action and start pouring over
my records and shaking their head and making clicking noises with their mouths and conferring
and and snickering aboutes how I've been getting fucked for the last decade or so and
I'm going to have to call in assistance and I'm perfectly willing to do that.
I just don't know where to start because I think the political climate in this fucking
country has shifted so fucking anti-Jew that they're in fucking-hiding their underground.
You're never going to find the fucking super Jew accountant anymore unless you already know
where he is and the people who do know where he is aren't telling.
They're not saying anything.
So we're just on our fucking own here.
But when I say I'm middle class, I'm fucking firmly implanted in the fucking middle class.
And that's why I say I need a super Jew.
I don't want a team.
I don't want to deal with that.
I just want one Jew who is like the most Jewish to handle my accounting needs.
I want a fucking mega Jew.
A Jew who's not ashamed of who he is who's not hiding in plain sight.
I don't want one of those fucking domesticated Jews.
I want a wild, feral Jew who openly talks about money.
And his family's jewelry store.
I need a real Jew account who's out there in the open letting you know that he is in fact
a Jew and it is 150% his identity.
I want to get out of my fucking truck with my records in hand and walk up to his building
and see that the fucking that the fucking door frame of the front door is painted in God
damn lambs blood.
Not just on Passover every day of the year.
He's that Jew.
Jesus on the wall with a giant circle and a red fucking line through the middle of him.
No Jesus.
No Jesus here.
We are fucking hardcore Jews and Jesus is not our guy.
And on the fucking opposite wall I want them to be so fucking Jewish that they have a fucking
thumbs up for Barabbas.
Sign.
Hanging on the wall over there just to let you know that not only do they not believe
that Jesus was the Messiah but if they at
even voted to have Barabbas-saived instead of Jesus that's who I want.
That's the kind of Jew accountant I need.
Have some lady shuffle out with her fucking head in one of those scarves.
You know what I'm talking about like one of those hair scarves to offer me some kind of
refreshments and the only thing that they have there is unleavened bread and bitter herbs.
Not even any fucking MOTSA ball soup or broth.
No absolutely not.
We're so fucking Jew-y it's Passover every day.
That's the kind of Jew accountant I need.
That's because I have this fantastic fucking wealth and this huge fucking portfolio.
No, no, not at all.
I think that those people are easy to find fucking tax breaks for.
For me it's gonna be different because I am FURMLY.
Fucking middle class.
I am who the government designed the entire fucking system to fall onto the shoulders of.
If I'm gonna get the super Jew accountant to fucking find me tax breaks he's gotta be
good.
He's gotta be about his fucking business.
This is not a fucking hobby for him and it's not a fucking game.
He is a fucking pro who has made his life about numbers and spreadsheets and columns and
amortization and cash flow and depreciation.
That's the kind of Jew accountant I need.
Regular old fucking Jew accountant isn't gonna work for me.
Jaime Goldstein, CPA, kosher delian and or firing range isn't gonna work for me.
I need somebody who's doing the books for Israel.
To help me out from under this fucking crippling tax burden.
I had somebody very smart say to me one time that anybody can take advantage of the tax
code.
All you have to do is know how to do it.
Well, I don't know how to do it.
And they said that all of the fucking tax breaks that apply to the rich and wealthy apply
to us just on a smaller scale and I don't fucking believe it.
I don't believe it.
I think that you have to have fantastically large amounts of money in order to qualify
for some of these fucking tax breaks for most of these
to fucking make tax breaks available to me or if they do and if this person is actually
right and anyone can take advantage of these fucking tax
breaks then they're so obscure and so fucking poorly advertised that it's going to take
the juiest of ju accountants to help a motherfucker like me out. I need the juiest accountant of
all time. I need megaju. I need gigaju. How about that? I need the gigaju
accountant. If you know of anyone who fits that mold, send them my way. Let them know that
there is a poor unfortunate middle class cock sucker named Lorenzo just begging to fucking
meet them. Please fuck. I can't do this again. I cannot stroke a check to the fucking federal
government every fucking year so they can piss it away on fucking food for goddamn
third world shittles, sex change operations and paying Congress during a fucking government
shutdown. I can't fucking do it again. I cannot do it again, but I don't want to live
in the Philippines. This is the middle ground. Finding the best ju accountant in America.
this is the middle ground I'm looking for. Fucking help me please. Alright, on to the next
segment.
I feel it necessary to start this segment of missing through a radio with an admission.
And I guess if you've been with missing through a radio for a while, it would be a re iteration.
I don't fucking keep people. I just don't. I don't I don't have long term fantastic
lifelong fucking relationships. I don't have a group of guys that I go fucking play softball
with that I've known since high school or college. I just don't. I never have. I say
that to say this. There's this guy I know. New I should say because he's dead. There's
this guy I know who just fucking died. I'm not calling him a friend. Did you notice that
because he's not. He's just a fucking guy I know. New. Past tense because he's not here
anymore. But he just died. And I'm not going to say out of the blue either now. I didn't
fucking know he had cancer, but apparently a lot of other people did. But what irritates me
is the timeline of his demise. This was a proud man, a hard working man, a dude who you could
count on showed up to work every fucking day took care of his family, worked all of his
life retired from his job. He'd been there like 30 some odd years. Good stand up dude living
the American dream. Three months after he retired, he gets diagnosed with cancer and nine
months later he's dead. The fucking guy worked all of his life within a year of retiring
from his job. He was dead. That fucking bothers me. What bothers me is that this man did what
he was supposed to do. He did what every fucking man is told from the time they're old enough
to fucking listen and comprehend. He did exactly what he was trained to do by his parents
and his grandparents and society at large. He worked. He provided. He made a living
for the people who relied upon him. He made a comfortable life for those people that
he brought into the world and within one year of retiring from his fucking job. He died.
A fucking cancer again the fucking timeline. He worked this job for 35 fucking years. He
retired from the job. Congratulations. Here's your reward. We're going to pay you to live
the rest of your fucking life and not come to work. This is what you've earned. This is
what you've been working for. This is your time to shine. Go do all the things you want
to do. Three months later diagnosed with cancer. Nine months later he's fucking dead.
This is a fucking common story. This isn't something unique to this motherfucker that I know.
This is happening a lot like a lot a lot. I know I referenced the Navy a lot, but I know
a lot of fucking guys in the Navy who retired at 40, 45 years of age as senior chiefs or
master chiefs or something like that. They get fucking whistled off the fucking boat and
they fucking have a heart attack within a week or two after leaving the ship. This is
a common thing. It's not uncommon at all. And every time I hear one of these fucking stories
it's like a stab in my eye. You're probably saying, well Lorenzo, you're just being
reminded of your own mortality. No, motherfucker, I never lost sight of my own mortality.
I know what we're here for. We are born, we fucking live, we die. It's the fucking life cycle.
What I'm talking about is the timeline, the timeline fucking sucks. And without checking
a single statistic, I'm going to say it's happening to men more than it's happening
to women. Why is that? Is it because of the type of work that we do? Women are in the
workforce now for better or for worse. Is it that we're doing the fucking jobs that
they won't do? Is it that we're linemen and plumbers and alcoholic fucking electricians?
Is that why we're dying shortly after retiring? Or is it something deeper than that? Is
it a psychological thing? Men are raised to be useful. Men are raised to be contributors
and providers. And the moment you retire, then what? You're not needed to contribute
anymore. Nobody needs you to provide. And I think on a deep psychological level, men
just fucking give up. When they retire, there is a part of them that truly believes that
this is it for them. They don't have anything to keep going for anymore. Working for a living
is what they do. And the moment they're not needed to
's up, the moment they're two old to do it anymore, the moment they've
earned their retirement, the death clock starts. And that's perfectly okay with your government.
Of course it is. It's perfectly okay with your insurance company and whoever fucking manages
your pension absolutely perfectly okay with them if you keel over within a year of fucking
retiring. The government doesn't want to fucking take care of you. Not really. The moment
you're not useful anymore, the moment you're not producing in the fucking workforce, you
can just fucking go ahead and die. They'll never say that. But that's what they mean. And
you know it. You know in back rooms of the fucking halls of power, they're figuring out ways
to make people go ahead and die quicker after they fucking retire. At some shit, I wouldn't
put past the government at all. And I'm not going to say that our government is the only one
that thinks that way. The moment you're not able to produce anymore, you can just go ahead
and fuck off and die. No one would ever fucking say that. Why would they? But goddamn, I think
it'd be a little bit satisfying to hear somebody in government or in power say that. Don't
you? I think it'd be wonderful. Thank you for coming to my press briefing. My name
is Bob Davies and I am in charge of health and human services. Recent studies have suggested
that it would be best for the government and our infrastructure if you would do something
for us. Now your government does a lot
of things for you. Don't we? We maintain roads and we fight wars and we do all kinds of things
in order to make your quality of life as an American even better. But now it's time for
you to give back. No, we don't need your government service. No, we don't need you to join
the military. What we need you to do, what we want you to do, what your country is asking
you to do is instead of retiring when you hit 62, just go ahead and fucking die. That
would be the last bit of service that you could do for a grateful nation. Don't
become a drain on our infrastructure. Don't become a problem for our healthcare system.
Don't make us figure out a way to feed you. Just pass away. It's the honorable thing
to do for your country. God bless America. Your insurance company doesn't want to provide
insurance for you after you fucking retired. Sure as hell don't. They want to get you
in your fucking prime earning years and then as you fucking deteriorate throughout the
twilight of your life, if you would just go ahead and fucking pop off and die real
quick, that would be great. No lingering fucking expensive diseases, please just have a heart
attack and fuck off. Do you think a wise man once told me follow the money. If you follow
the money, you will find the answer to almost every question. So if you're no longer producing
money and putting fucking money into the economy, the government doesn't really need you
anymore. And the moment you hit age 62, 63, you're just going to become a fucking giant
money sink for the fucking insurance company. So they would prefer to not have you around either.
So with those two ideas in mind, is it really any wonder that they fill our food with all
kinds of fucking chemicals and crazy shit? Fuck no, we're going to be healthy as fuck
until we're 62. Then we can just go ahead and fuck off. Then yellow diet number five is
just going to fucking take us out. If you follow the money, I'm saying that's not a fucking
tinfoil hat theory. If you follow the money, it makes perfect fucking sense. The moment
you're not productive anymore... The moment you're not contributing, you can just fuck off.
Every time somebody I know pops off and dies in similar circumstances, I have the same
argument with myself. Why do I continue to do this? What the fuck for? I've got this
fucking job. I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to do. I've got this fucking job. I work
this job faithfully. I even put my fucking best interest aside most of the time because
of the people at the job who are relying on me to be there. For what? What's my fucking
reward? What's my incentive for continuing to do that? I have things I want to accomplish
in life before I ultimately fucking pass away. I have things that I want to see. I have
places that I want to go. And instead I'm here fucking grinding at this job just so I can
earn a retirement. And then when I retire, the odds are fairly fucking high, giving
we're not gonna be able to do that. I don't want to be laying there on my fucking death
bed. Six months after I fucking retire, thinking about all the things that I was going to
do, things I've been waiting to try until I got to opponent my life when I could afford
to. Or a better way to say that is until I got to opponent my life when I could afford
to be frivolous. For example, I know that I have the fucking skill to be a world class
mumble rapper, to become an ordained minister and perform beautiful wedding ceremonies.
Dearly beloved, we're gathered here today to join these two people in the bonds of Holy
Manitourimony, Mike and Janet. Mike, do you promise to love honor and cherish Janet
for better or for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do
you part? I do. Do you though, bro? What about when she starts going on business trips with
her colleague Tyrone? Well, yeah, of course. Really? What about when she gets to the age
of 50 and goes through Cougar puberty? What's that? That's what they're, they're calling
pre-mini-pots when their hormones go absolutely fucking haywire and she starts banging all
of your son's friends. Oh, she would never do that. I would never do that son of a bitch.
I beg the differ. I always wanted to be a NASCAR driver. Drive fast, drive fast, drive fast,
turn left. Keep turning, keep turning, keep turning, keep turning,
drive fast, drive fast, drive fast, turn left. Keep turning, keep turning, keep turning,
drive fast, drive fast, drive fast, turn left, turn, turn, turn left, turn left, turn left.
What a stupid fucking sport. But I want to do it. I have all these things I want to do when
I grow up, when I fucking retire, when I'm no longer bound to the fucking job. I can't
fucking die. I can't just fucking pop off and pass away the moment I fucking retire or
within a year of retirement. I have earned my fucking right to go and be frivolous and become
a fucking proper do-tard. I have earned the right to be the old man sitting in the diner
pat and the waitresses on the ass when they go by. I can't fucking die. I've earned the
right to not just fucking pop off and pass away. I'm not freaking out about my own mortality
here or anything. No, I'm just telling you, I can't fucking die yet. I'm not ready to
fucking pass. And I can't get fucking cancer either by the way. I can't get cancer or have
a heart attack. I've been thinking a lot about this. I can't get cancer or have a heart attack
or have like kidney failure or anything like that. Anything that's gonna have me on an
extended stay in a hospital. I can't fucking do that. I can't live that way because of
catheters. Catheters are implied in that sort of thing
Commission. First of all I don't want anybody to shave my
junk. You know what I mean? Especially with those fucking shears. Have you seen those shears?
How they do that? They just fucking flip that shit on and they shave your fucking balls
and your dick for like no reason. Like they'll be operating on your fucking job, but then
they shave your junk. Why are they doing that? You'll be getting fucking lacy and there's
somebody down there shaving your nuts while you're strapped to a table. Why? Why? What the fuck
are they doing? Why are they this way? I can't be for an extended period of time in a fucking
hospital because of catheters. You know, I don't understand catheters anyway. Can we talk
about that for a second before I get back on fucking task? Are you telling me that with all the fucking
technology we have at our fingertips, we're still shoving tubes up people's fucking p-peaholes
in order to run that shit off into a bag? Why are we doing that still? There's gotta fucking
be a better way. Come up with a better way to fucking get the piss out of somebody while
they're unconscious or immobile without shoving a fucking tube up their fucking dickhole. You're
not doing that shit to me. This conversation has convinced me that I have no business dying. I
have shit that I have to do. I'm not afraid of my own mortality. I'm not freaking out because I
know somebody who died. I always knew I was gonna die I think. I always knew that there was a
reasonable chance that someday I was gonna fucking pass away. It's not that I'm freaking out about
that or anything. You know, I always knew that it was gonna come. I just didn't expect it to come
for me. You know what I mean? Like everyone dies around me and that's fine. They can go ahead and
fucking die. But I can't. I don't have time for it. I have other things that I need to be doing.
There are people who have time to pass away and people who don't. I'm on the list of people who
don't have time to pass away. It's not that I'm afraid or anything like that. It's not that I'm scared
or it's not that I'm freaking out or anything. It's not that I'm worried about taking the fucking dirt
nap or being cremated or anything. Don't make me. If you're listening to this and I fucking go ahead and
die and you find out that they're gonna cremate me. I'm not, I said that I don't want to be cremated.
Okay, but I'm not freaking out or anything. I'm tough. I'm fucking tough. I'm like a strong man and
stuff. But I don't have time to die. That's what it is. It has nothing to do with fear or
trepidation or anxiety or anything of like that about dying or getting some kind of fucking
devilitating disease. There's nothing to do with that in any way. It's just that I don't have time.
I have stuff that I need to do like my mumble rap career and I have to write a bunch of lady porn
and do stuff like that. I don't have time to die. I just got fucking died for that. I'm not freaking out
or anything. I just don't have time. Okay, I don't have time for it. There's people who do have time.
Like there's lots of people who have time to die. Like my mom, my mom could go ahead and die any moment
now that that's fine. And like my brothers and my sister can die. That's okay. It's coming
for them. That's okay. It's not coming for me though. Okay. It's not coming for me. But I'm not
freaking out. Oh god damn. Oh, fuck up crashing out. They say that when you're in the grips of
a freak out or something, you should probably stop and pray. So let's let's go ahead and
and pray right now. Dear Lord, if you can find it in your divine countenance to make sure that
everyone around me dies before me, that would be great. I don't want to be in a situation where
somebody has to take care of me and I also don't want a catheter. So if it ever comes my time to
die, will you please make sure that I just fucking pop off like immediately. But if you could do me a
solid and just take me to heaven like a. That would be amazing. I'm not really trying to go through
the process of dying. I don't want to piss and shit myself in front of people that know me in your
divine name. Amen. Oh, I'm sorry for saying fuck while praying. Amen. Okay. That went well. I was
really concerned. I was going to freak out during that bit. And thankfully I held it together.
Welcome to the Boomer Bunker podcast straight out of Jersey where we don't sugarcoded damn thing.
We call it like we see it loud, proud with a side of attitude, politics, culture, everyday nonsense,
forget about it. We're diving in. If you want polite and polished, go listen somewhere else.
But if you want real talk Jersey grit and laughs, this is your spot. The Boomer Bunker podcast,
Jersey tough Boomer Bold. Check us out at BoomerBunker.com or listen wherever you get your podcasts.
Segment three. Real quick. I wanted to talk about something that I'm positive you don't give a
fuck about. I don't know if you can tell or not, but I've done some major equipment upgrades over
the course of the last a month or so. I'm using a proper audio interface. It's the Macie Onyx
interface going into the side of my 2009 MacBook incidentally. And the microphone is now a sure
SM7B, which is a little disgusting. I've tried to even though the sure SM7B was my microphone of choice,
you know, eons ago back when I was in radio. I always insisted on a sure SM7B when everyone
else was using electra voice, Ari 20s. I insisted on having an SM7. Well, now it has become the
podcast industry standard and every fucking dipshit botany podcaster or fucking random broad
giving pussy shaving tips is talking into a sure SM7. And it is a quality product. And I understand
why they're doing it. It just irritates me because I don't
think that any of them deserve to have it. Just a quick equipment update. Not that you give a fuck, all I've
said is you don't care. But I do it anyway. Thank you for listening to this episode of
Missing Throat Radio. I'm not going to ask you to like, share and subscribe or anything like that.
You know, bring cool people as you find them. Don't bring me any fucking easily offended twats. I
don't need that chances are you know a podcaster hell. You may be one yourself. But if you know of a
podcaster who's just not very good and most of them aren't, let's be honest, tell them to go ahead.
For me to fuck off back to jiffy lub and leave the podcasting to me because I'm good at this
and they're not. If they would just shut down their fucking feet and get the fuck out of my way,
it would make it a lot easier for me moving forward. Don't you agree? All right, until next time.