Podcasts about sandwhich

“Seth Meyers And the Cauldron of Doom” OMG— YOU have a cauldron of doom?! I have a cauldron of doom!!! DO NOT SHAKE THIS SNOWGLOBE. I had been avoiding Rockefeller plaza for months as it was, without the sometimes accidental ending up there anyway, and I thought not once but twice or three times about changing into my regular pants so that the deep pockets could hold my keys and passports sans wallet— or a purse and considered taking a notebook as well; on the list of prohibited items were backpacks and large bags, and though the dress code seemed to be null in void at all, I was happy to be able to wear my hat at least— and almost prepared to be dogged out, the last min it e change into my harem pants would probably be the comfortable choice; looking intentionally dressed down as a statement—a broad statement that I wasn't looking to be noticed at all, or trying to be noticed. The guest for the show was nearly an EGOT winner, probably younger, and definitely skinner and more beautiful than I was; a black woman, but a British woman, and it would be almost entirely impossible to think that besides Whoopi Goldberg, an American black woman would strive to win such a thing as an EGOT herself. Still, I was looking for a cure to the writer's block and crippling depression that I had been in, however—knowing who the president of Peacock was, and after the elections at all's though I knew NBC to be left-leaning— I didn't feel at all as if I would ever belong on the stage, and was quite happily taking my place as simply a fan…and audience member, though ready to creep back into obscurity, and probably more likely than not with a pint of Ben and Jerry's after the show. I had gone to see Drew Barrymore sand makeup, and would do the same, but only as a proclamation that I had read Tina Fey's book nearly religiously now rounding three times, and I almost wish I had an oversized black t-shirt which read “hot water heater” to accompany my lax look and blonde hair—a testament to her correctness standing, as the grossities of tinder loved “the blonde”, almost as if, without the hair I would be ugly, and just as much in the same breath, unworthy of such status anyway. But more than anything, I just wanted to be able to write again, at least for my own sake, and certainly not for anyone else's. I was still in hiatus, for the better, and had not completely recovered from the unbearable racism and parallel of doom the election had tossed me into with trajectory—in this world—supposedly “fascist”. I was comfortable enough in the jeans, but had nowhere to put my phone. I was ready to be dogged out and shown what a real a list celebrity looked like, and why I simply wasn't one. I left the house with a sink full of dishes, an unmade bed, and a pile of laundry unfolded—a pile of books in boxes I had collected for my son but would cost too much to send—almost as a testament to his sick I had been since the election. In this world, I was just another poor black fat single mother— a dead beat living in poverty. In trump's world, I was an ugly, poor nothing. Everywhere I had gone about the past week, the rich seemed richer and the poor poorer, the whites whiter and the blacks blacker, good gone and evil fleeting, with the return of the motorcycles and pieces of me dying, simply giving up. I planned my return to the workforce, and the eventual fortitude of my freedom; the wealthy had become more arrogant, and the rest of us more distraught. What was I going to rocketfeller plaza for, anyway? The news. My apartment was disgusting, but at least I had been to the gym—I had run the full mile and lifted and pulled, all with the gym to myself. My harem pants still felt even better, and for the first time in me months I ventured into the world in only one waist trainer. Be prepared to be [lost in a revolving door Be cool to the two dudes in blue suits goddamnit I never know where I'm going in this bitch. I can never breath in this bitch and I don't know why. How do you get lost at the rock? Like this: [Infinitely Lost at Rockafeller Plaza] This is why I avoid this place like the plague. Maybe I'm the plague. First of all, there's no track on the floor upstairs. (I've never been upstairs.) It's just store after store of ways to spend money. This is my only pair of clean socks. No shit, this is the reason practicing your mantras on the train becomes dangerous. DANGEROUS. Somewhere in the frenzy, I remember this. Frequency, however, Not yet partial to my own inner self, and empty in the array of superstardom, I become nothing, Only a spectator of celebrity— And now, suddenly. 8 remember this day Why? Suddenly, now, in the Is moment. Where I always have been, waiting for myself— I avoid Rockerfeller plaza at all costs. Why. I heard a grimlin lives here. Now is the time for Skrillex! I would really love you forever if you didn't. Que the Arc! Oh boy, this writer's block is a doozy. The only reason I had even bothered was because it was as if I had been summoned, as if something had clocked in my sense memory where, all of a sudden, looking at an unrelated picture of some kid on Tinee, with his hands covering his mouth the way that Stefon always did, made me immidiately stop whatever I was doing—probably eating tacos or pancakes, insurmountably out of bounds— and pausing the comedian I was watching instead, just to watch Stefon, and in the way that I remembered it all, it made me laugh. Although now, I knew exactly what he was talking about by the avant-grade and strangely abysmal club scene not just of the time, but of any time in New York City— and, somehow summoning a laugh even in the darkness that had been my own distraught and depression in the previous weeks, something of a belly roll laugh might have triggered something in the alrgorithm to send last minute tickets to my email in almost that exact moment. Are they going to tell me to take off my hat?! There was no dress code, They had better not tell me to take off my motherfucking hat. I won't do it. Fuck Seth Meyers . I'm not taking off my hat for Seth Meyers. Oh yeah. That's why I'm here. I found it hard to say that I was there for such a thing; I— I turned off my peripheral vision and hyperfocus. I didn't know there would be music. Goddammit. I had deleted Shazam filming for I love New York, an all but abandoned project—the writer's block had been too real, and now the real rest had come—would I laugh at anything in show show when in reality I wanted to cry? The way the lights kept going up and down as if it were intermission only slightly distracted from the fact that I had never seen a page in real life. THEY EXIST . I had never seen an actual NBC PAGE. GODDAMMIT GET THIS BLUE SUIT LOAFER WEARING MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF MY PERIPHERAL BEFORE I LOSE IT. Shoot a midget at her. What. Just do it. Don't do that. What Don't put the midget in the cannon. What! Thays's what he's here for! I'm a stunt double! This is a stunt. That's a horrible joke. That's not a joke. SHAZAM. WTF IS THIS. Some top 40 bullshit. Good, get it ( I'm never going to have any other l exposure to top 40, ever in my life. ) Congratulations, you've made the A list What?! NO FAIR. What. What does that mean. It means I can't do shit and mandatory attendance to everything. What is everything “Everythin—g.” Man, fuck this. Alright At this moment, I realize I must be some sort of autistic. Let's get this over with… I let the sound of my own mix blare in my ears to drown out the sound of whatever pop singer was on over the loud speakers; I didn't realize there would be music, and I hoped the flutter was good l. Maybe it was the lights, or whatever, but— SUNNI BLU what in the fuck dimention is this . It's the same dimension, you're just drunk. Ah. Now what? I was as uncomfortable as ever, there was a track on the higher level, but it didn't matter, the cattle call was contained inside of velvet ropes— black ones, unlike the typical red ones, and it was at this point I realized that not only had I never seen actual NBC pages— Yo, their skirts are kinda short… RIGHT. I THOUGHT THE PAGES WERE THE PARAGON OF SANCTITY! No, those are, um… Nvm. Maybe the ugly shoes distract from the shortness of their skirts on the general basis. Oh come on, nobody gives a fuck how ugly your shoes are if your skirt is that short! These are facts, Liz. No, I'm serious what dimention is this. I already told you. I had to ask for directions three times just get here. THIS IS MY LEVEL. why is your level on acid. Cause. This is—just— Where I'm at. CUT TO: Jimmy Fallon after Mardi Gras's. Come on that's not fair! {Enter The Multiverse} What exactly isn't fair?! He's in all the scenes. Well, how else are you going to explain a time traveling helicopter?! Got him. THERES MY INVISIBLE MOTORCYCLE. I'm not going to pa— Goddamn it. I'm not going to p— It actually hurt not to write and just stand there; but I still didn't feel like myself—or sound like myself—or look like myself; I was playing a character, I just didnt know who. As I moved forward in line, the music began to fade away behind me and into the nothingness that was whatever was behind, in front of, and all around me. I hated cattle calls, but after all, I was still just a fan and as the world began to fold into chaos, I realized that my pants were falling off of me, though I had been feeling fat, and walking, and running, and cycling, and protein shaking—the only thing that had gained any extra weight was my ass, which was exactly what I was intending on hiding with my same old usual harems. My blonde hair made it so that I stuck out like a sore thumb, but that didn't matter, I was a walking statement piece and almost in a fit of tears just thinking about my own status; the NBC pages probably all had crazy incredible accolades and numerous degrees and achievements—what was I, if anything at all— ? I had put the candles out, but had I left the stove on? Did I really unplug the nail dryer and leave the stove on? I had almost washed all of the dishes, but stopped just short of right on time to leave; my producer brain was on fire and wanted more pancakes, but however hard I tried I could not find where I had placed my EBT card; probably for the better—celebrities didn't carry EBT cards, and even my awkward general being thrown off by the doorman or security— —whichever I wasn't sure— standing outside of the roller rink— probably ice this time of year, by the looks of the Zamboni in the foreground of it… ‘Don't stop writing, no matter what. ‘ Dammit, dammit dammit— That seems inappropriate. I told you to get this motherfucker out of my peripheral before something— Nevermind, don't write that. [redacted] (But imma remember this shit cause it's heavy.) A remarkable and accidental tableau, My feet flat to the floor, as my ankles bare, This is my only pair of hole-less socks. I feel so much better with my back against the wall and Listening to mau5 and, Not giving a fuck about the music playing Or the people watching But keeping it for later Forgetting how to codeswitch, Just an ever so limited existence Trying not to stick out like a sore thumb in the wrong world It's a long way up, But even longer way down, And in all the demoralizing humiliation and emasculation, I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all, No mana I realized my son's Lego Lamborghini should be waiting for me as I returned to my apartment in Brooklyn probably starting but pretending not to care; I winced at everything— this was a dangerous disaster, to even be in the building at all and edging closer to death were the secrets I kept that were not only secrets, but non existences. Nothing in nothing and nothing— Oh shit, is the suffering done? This is the end of the End of the end It's the Beginning of the end It's the end of the beginning This will be the end Of the end Of the end, This will be the end of the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning Of the end Of the beginning of the end. This will be the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning of the beginning Of the end of the end Of the beginning Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the end Of the end Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning, The beginning of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end (This will be the end) Of the beginning This will be the beginning The beginning of the beginning Of the end My friends. LET US COMMECE! All of it, this is recorded history, Smoke and mirrors, here portions and pardons This is probably why can't breathe at the rock Was I here last time; I choked last time I wrote nothing remarkable at all (Nothing remarkable at all.) I love getting lost at the rock Okay, this is the host— This is the host of the show (I think I lost my lunch before.) I was at a show, I never woke up, Okay; This is the host This is the host (This is the host) This is the host. Cue the Nirvana; Curtains go up, I don't want to see the show, I just want to host it. I don't want to get lost no more On the way to the rock Or the store Cause only one train goes there I wanna climb the straits to the top Get lost at the rock, Guess this isn't he host huh This is the lost god, That was a long walk The top of the rock off is a long jump And I'm still in talks how's every morning Someone told me not to ignore you So, this is the host, huh. Someone told me, go hard or go home (Almost time tknkove) Parenthesises, please and—Parenthetical, hypotheticals and paleontology's, Please, I need a mixologist (And anthologist) Please slow down to peace, Mr poltergeist, Please Mr poltergeist The ghost of Mr giest I'm doing a hiest Please, slow down mister poltergeist, Please for the peace Mr. Poltergeist, Or what have you? How old are you, 40. I'm the whole medium and still, Nice to meat you sir. A house made of mediums I hope that shock, And I hop to the rock there's still something in it A pogo stick Or a poltergeist Slow down, poltergeist. Terrible timing, Victoria Beckham and monsuier, Please Mr, I mean it no more— If I'm Mr ooltergieat (A policeman and polgergeist) Please, sir, no jokes. All sandwhich, no buns and pastrmi, And all the God, I'm going cold, I'm going ghost again And a the god, on all the rocks, I'm going old, I'm going cold again; On all the God on all the rocks, I'm going God, I'm going old again Hold on again, mi got a song again? I'm just a serviceman WATCH OUT FOR THE DOORMAN. MORE FUEL. So all the Rockerfeller plazas on all the earths aim alll yhr parallel dimensions can actually communicate with each other RADIO CITY BABBBBBBBYYYYYYY! OH GOD. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE Did you get his dog's name!? I think so. Good. [meniacal rubbing of hands] good. Cue the nirvana. Cue the m— Mitosis. The migos. Nah, I can't catch the flow. There it is. [the flow is a literal] Something medicinal in this meniacal, is this I spy a specscle, monocle— monopoly, Time to go, it's the devil at my left; Time for the fight against darkness, And it all is, Cause this is the ark, Noah This is the arc, God. This is apartheid and apart from that. You're fired. What. You heard me. But—I'm Seth Meyers. That's debatable. I am! I'm Seth Meyers. If you say so. This is nonsense. It's not nonsense. It is nonsense. And it's also impossible; cause this is my show. It's my show, I'M SETH MEYERS. Debatable, Not debatable. I'm ME. THAT'S ME. Debatable. I can't even hear the words, But the bass is so fire, I summon Shazam! …I want a ham sandwhich. Oh good! He's alive. Ham. Sandwhich. What the fuck happened buddy?! Where were you man?! —Zoolander. What. disleylandhamsandwhich. Get him a sandwhich!!!!! YO QUIERO CUBANO. Here's your sandwhich. CUBANO. Remember what you look like Who you are What your place is What you weigh, And Check your status Remember how still started What your mark is And what happened to your wallet; Did you leave the stove on Do you put the show on; Did you miss your mark Your mom was hotter Please remember the circumstances In which you—- [BLACKOUT] After several days gone completely missing, Jimmy Fallon is found under the craft services table sleeping peacefully. The apparatus I entered in with Is not adjusted to this condition The biometrics are non concurrent; {enter the multiverse} I felt tragic. By the time I got back to my apartment, my ribcage was showing again—although I had only been wearing one waist trainer, it was the skimpy one, and it was already wearing, it was after all eight dollars. Really and once and for all, something had come over me at Rockerfeller plaza that I didn't understand. I was more awkward and nervous than usual, and sure that I should have eaten, but couldn't —even after a long gym session, there was no time for food before the show, and I had no stomach for it. I chose to as much as I could ignore the code switching, and the more I picked it up, the further my mind began to drift. —a door slammed. My documents were probably compromised, and my phone hacked which I might have guessed, but continuing the thought I had often wondered how or why anything could have possibly known what I had written, or how—or how anyone would know what I had written, or of the things I had written, and most importantly of all—what did I write?! Most of the previous months' entries into the festival project were a blank, and the time I had spent considerably enough sifting through whatever masked man acting in part of Fallon, whoever he really was had been turbulent, as if I had been disfigured to be brainwashed into half a mind—then, slowly peeking back the layers of such a chaotic artifact of time and this, Seth Meyers, to whom now I had become a loyal fan, an actual fan—and had noticed something ingenuously crafted here. A genuine and talented, very kind and gifted man, who was not in any sense miserable or in peril. Peril, so to speak, as I remembered the almost villainous approach that the decent into madness had accompanied this Fallon and his mask, and besides this was the assumption that Seth Meyers, though professionally trained as such, seemed happy. Fallon did not. We had all learned to craft masks in order to protect our inner selves—however, with such a veil lifted as the partitioned screen of all does, this spoke to me with numerous volumes and sometimes even screamed, with the ethics of no worse a gentleman than some surgeon soldier or sailor and no more a nobleman than a king or god itself; I had not been Shocked and all but murmured even to just the slightest gawk of just an awkward cry, a muster of some shallow disaster which had called me to all of them— to whom I had loved and yet somehow not known, at least being here—and here I was, slightly convulsed, bearing no armor and gripping at the fortitude of death's barriers; On wheels with no bearings plummeted towards a forged death of sorts, by my own hands but also at the hands of others, the forgery calling from the halls of a place I had known as once my own fortress; but was no more. I belonged and now, almost with gratitude, to the eye of all gods, and all things that moved. No cherished nature, perhaps, was this into my own eye, but of disgust for what I had not yet accomplished, and still might never— I was a skull and crossbones with no love, and nothing known at all besides my own. —Tales of a superstar DJ “16 Songs” I got it. What's that. The thing that sets Seth Meyers apart from the other hosts. What is it? Seth Meyers is not a host—he's an anchor. Goddammit, you're right . I know I'm right. GODDAMIT. It just took me this long to figure it out . Great. Now how long's it gonna get you to take this thing fixed. Possibly forever. Entaer The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

“Seth Meyers And the Cauldron of Doom” OMG— YOU have a cauldron of doom?! I have a cauldron of doom!!! DO NOT SHAKE THIS SNOWGLOBE. I had been avoiding Rockefeller plaza for months as it was, without the sometimes accidental ending up there anyway, and I thought not once but twice or three times about changing into my regular pants so that the deep pockets could hold my keys and passports sans wallet— or a purse and considered taking a notebook as well; on the list of prohibited items were backpacks and large bags, and though the dress code seemed to be null in void at all, I was happy to be able to wear my hat at least— and almost prepared to be dogged out, the last min it e change into my harem pants would probably be the comfortable choice; looking intentionally dressed down as a statement—a broad statement that I wasn't looking to be noticed at all, or trying to be noticed. The guest for the show was nearly an EGOT winner, probably younger, and definitely skinner and more beautiful than I was; a black woman, but a British woman, and it would be almost entirely impossible to think that besides Whoopi Goldberg, an American black woman would strive to win such a thing as an EGOT herself. Still, I was looking for a cure to the writer's block and crippling depression that I had been in, however—knowing who the president of Peacock was, and after the elections at all's though I knew NBC to be left-leaning— I didn't feel at all as if I would ever belong on the stage, and was quite happily taking my place as simply a fan…and audience member, though ready to creep back into obscurity, and probably more likely than not with a pint of Ben and Jerry's after the show. I had gone to see Drew Barrymore sand makeup, and would do the same, but only as a proclamation that I had read Tina Fey's book nearly religiously now rounding three times, and I almost wish I had an oversized black t-shirt which read “hot water heater” to accompany my lax look and blonde hair—a testament to her correctness standing, as the grossities of tinder loved “the blonde”, almost as if, without the hair I would be ugly, and just as much in the same breath, unworthy of such status anyway. But more than anything, I just wanted to be able to write again, at least for my own sake, and certainly not for anyone else's. I was still in hiatus, for the better, and had not completely recovered from the unbearable racism and parallel of doom the election had tossed me into with trajectory—in this world—supposedly “fascist”. I was comfortable enough in the jeans, but had nowhere to put my phone. I was ready to be dogged out and shown what a real a list celebrity looked like, and why I simply wasn't one. I left the house with a sink full of dishes, an unmade bed, and a pile of laundry unfolded—a pile of books in boxes I had collected for my son but would cost too much to send—almost as a testament to his sick I had been since the election. In this world, I was just another poor black fat single mother— a dead beat living in poverty. In trump's world, I was an ugly, poor nothing. Everywhere I had gone about the past week, the rich seemed richer and the poor poorer, the whites whiter and the blacks blacker, good gone and evil fleeting, with the return of the motorcycles and pieces of me dying, simply giving up. I planned my return to the workforce, and the eventual fortitude of my freedom; the wealthy had become more arrogant, and the rest of us more distraught. What was I going to rocketfeller plaza for, anyway? The news. My apartment was disgusting, but at least I had been to the gym—I had run the full mile and lifted and pulled, all with the gym to myself. My harem pants still felt even better, and for the first time in me months I ventured into the world in only one waist trainer. Be prepared to be [lost in a revolving door Be cool to the two dudes in blue suits goddamnit I never know where I'm going in this bitch. I can never breath in this bitch and I don't know why. How do you get lost at the rock? Like this: [Infinitely Lost at Rockafeller Plaza] This is why I avoid this place like the plague. Maybe I'm the plague. First of all, there's no track on the floor upstairs. (I've never been upstairs.) It's just store after store of ways to spend money. This is my only pair of clean socks. No shit, this is the reason practicing your mantras on the train becomes dangerous. DANGEROUS. Somewhere in the frenzy, I remember this. Frequency, however, Not yet partial to my own inner self, and empty in the array of superstardom, I become nothing, Only a spectator of celebrity— And now, suddenly. 8 remember this day Why? Suddenly, now, in the Is moment. Where I always have been, waiting for myself— I avoid Rockerfeller plaza at all costs. Why. I heard a grimlin lives here. Now is the time for Skrillex! I would really love you forever if you didn't. Que the Arc! Oh boy, this writer's block is a doozy. The only reason I had even bothered was because it was as if I had been summoned, as if something had clocked in my sense memory where, all of a sudden, looking at an unrelated picture of some kid on Tinee, with his hands covering his mouth the way that Stefon always did, made me immidiately stop whatever I was doing—probably eating tacos or pancakes, insurmountably out of bounds— and pausing the comedian I was watching instead, just to watch Stefon, and in the way that I remembered it all, it made me laugh. Although now, I knew exactly what he was talking about by the avant-grade and strangely abysmal club scene not just of the time, but of any time in New York City— and, somehow summoning a laugh even in the darkness that had been my own distraught and depression in the previous weeks, something of a belly roll laugh might have triggered something in the alrgorithm to send last minute tickets to my email in almost that exact moment. Are they going to tell me to take off my hat?! There was no dress code, They had better not tell me to take off my motherfucking hat. I won't do it. Fuck Seth Meyers . I'm not taking off my hat for Seth Meyers. Oh yeah. That's why I'm here. I found it hard to say that I was there for such a thing; I— I turned off my peripheral vision and hyperfocus. I didn't know there would be music. Goddammit. I had deleted Shazam filming for I love New York, an all but abandoned project—the writer's block had been too real, and now the real rest had come—would I laugh at anything in show show when in reality I wanted to cry? The way the lights kept going up and down as if it were intermission only slightly distracted from the fact that I had never seen a page in real life. THEY EXIST . I had never seen an actual NBC PAGE. GODDAMMIT GET THIS BLUE SUIT LOAFER WEARING MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF MY PERIPHERAL BEFORE I LOSE IT. Shoot a midget at her. What. Just do it. Don't do that. What Don't put the midget in the cannon. What! Thays's what he's here for! I'm a stunt double! This is a stunt. That's a horrible joke. That's not a joke. SHAZAM. WTF IS THIS. Some top 40 bullshit. Good, get it ( I'm never going to have any other l exposure to top 40, ever in my life. ) Congratulations, you've made the A list What?! NO FAIR. What. What does that mean. It means I can't do shit and mandatory attendance to everything. What is everything “Everythin—g.” Man, fuck this. Alright At this moment, I realize I must be some sort of autistic. Let's get this over with… I let the sound of my own mix blare in my ears to drown out the sound of whatever pop singer was on over the loud speakers; I didn't realize there would be music, and I hoped the flutter was good l. Maybe it was the lights, or whatever, but— SUNNI BLU what in the fuck dimention is this . It's the same dimension, you're just drunk. Ah. Now what? I was as uncomfortable as ever, there was a track on the higher level, but it didn't matter, the cattle call was contained inside of velvet ropes— black ones, unlike the typical red ones, and it was at this point I realized that not only had I never seen actual NBC pages— Yo, their skirts are kinda short… RIGHT. I THOUGHT THE PAGES WERE THE PARAGON OF SANCTITY! No, those are, um… Nvm. Maybe the ugly shoes distract from the shortness of their skirts on the general basis. Oh come on, nobody gives a fuck how ugly your shoes are if your skirt is that short! These are facts, Liz. No, I'm serious what dimention is this. I already told you. I had to ask for directions three times just get here. THIS IS MY LEVEL. why is your level on acid. Cause. This is—just— Where I'm at. CUT TO: Jimmy Fallon after Mardi Gras's. Come on that's not fair! {Enter The Multiverse} What exactly isn't fair?! He's in all the scenes. Well, how else are you going to explain a time traveling helicopter?! Got him. THERES MY INVISIBLE MOTORCYCLE. I'm not going to pa— Goddamn it. I'm not going to p— It actually hurt not to write and just stand there; but I still didn't feel like myself—or sound like myself—or look like myself; I was playing a character, I just didnt know who. As I moved forward in line, the music began to fade away behind me and into the nothingness that was whatever was behind, in front of, and all around me. I hated cattle calls, but after all, I was still just a fan and as the world began to fold into chaos, I realized that my pants were falling off of me, though I had been feeling fat, and walking, and running, and cycling, and protein shaking—the only thing that had gained any extra weight was my ass, which was exactly what I was intending on hiding with my same old usual harems. My blonde hair made it so that I stuck out like a sore thumb, but that didn't matter, I was a walking statement piece and almost in a fit of tears just thinking about my own status; the NBC pages probably all had crazy incredible accolades and numerous degrees and achievements—what was I, if anything at all— ? I had put the candles out, but had I left the stove on? Did I really unplug the nail dryer and leave the stove on? I had almost washed all of the dishes, but stopped just short of right on time to leave; my producer brain was on fire and wanted more pancakes, but however hard I tried I could not find where I had placed my EBT card; probably for the better—celebrities didn't carry EBT cards, and even my awkward general being thrown off by the doorman or security— —whichever I wasn't sure— standing outside of the roller rink— probably ice this time of year, by the looks of the Zamboni in the foreground of it… ‘Don't stop writing, no matter what. ‘ Dammit, dammit dammit— That seems inappropriate. I told you to get this motherfucker out of my peripheral before something— Nevermind, don't write that. [redacted] (But imma remember this shit cause it's heavy.) A remarkable and accidental tableau, My feet flat to the floor, as my ankles bare, This is my only pair of hole-less socks. I feel so much better with my back against the wall and Listening to mau5 and, Not giving a fuck about the music playing Or the people watching But keeping it for later Forgetting how to codeswitch, Just an ever so limited existence Trying not to stick out like a sore thumb in the wrong world It's a long way up, But even longer way down, And in all the demoralizing humiliation and emasculation, I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all, No mana I realized my son's Lego Lamborghini should be waiting for me as I returned to my apartment in Brooklyn probably starting but pretending not to care; I winced at everything— this was a dangerous disaster, to even be in the building at all and edging closer to death were the secrets I kept that were not only secrets, but non existences. Nothing in nothing and nothing— Oh shit, is the suffering done? This is the end of the End of the end It's the Beginning of the end It's the end of the beginning This will be the end Of the end Of the end, This will be the end of the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning Of the end Of the beginning of the end. This will be the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning of the beginning Of the end of the end Of the beginning Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the end Of the end Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning, The beginning of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end (This will be the end) Of the beginning This will be the beginning The beginning of the beginning Of the end My friends. LET US COMMECE! All of it, this is recorded history, Smoke and mirrors, here portions and pardons This is probably why can't breathe at the rock Was I here last time; I choked last time I wrote nothing remarkable at all (Nothing remarkable at all.) I love getting lost at the rock Okay, this is the host— This is the host of the show (I think I lost my lunch before.) I was at a show, I never woke up, Okay; This is the host This is the host (This is the host) This is the host. Cue the Nirvana; Curtains go up, I don't want to see the show, I just want to host it. I don't want to get lost no more On the way to the rock Or the store Cause only one train goes there I wanna climb the straits to the top Get lost at the rock, Guess this isn't he host huh This is the lost god, That was a long walk The top of the rock off is a long jump And I'm still in talks how's every morning Someone told me not to ignore you So, this is the host, huh. Someone told me, go hard or go home (Almost time tknkove) Parenthesises, please and—Parenthetical, hypotheticals and paleontology's, Please, I need a mixologist (And anthologist) Please slow down to peace, Mr poltergeist, Please Mr poltergeist The ghost of Mr giest I'm doing a hiest Please, slow down mister poltergeist, Please for the peace Mr. Poltergeist, Or what have you? How old are you, 40. I'm the whole medium and still, Nice to meat you sir. A house made of mediums I hope that shock, And I hop to the rock there's still something in it A pogo stick Or a poltergeist Slow down, poltergeist. Terrible timing, Victoria Beckham and monsuier, Please Mr, I mean it no more— If I'm Mr ooltergieat (A policeman and polgergeist) Please, sir, no jokes. All sandwhich, no buns and pastrmi, And all the God, I'm going cold, I'm going ghost again And a the god, on all the rocks, I'm going old, I'm going cold again; On all the God on all the rocks, I'm going God, I'm going old again Hold on again, mi got a song again? I'm just a serviceman WATCH OUT FOR THE DOORMAN. MORE FUEL. So all the Rockerfeller plazas on all the earths aim alll yhr parallel dimensions can actually communicate with each other RADIO CITY BABBBBBBBYYYYYYY! OH GOD. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE Did you get his dog's name!? I think so. Good. [meniacal rubbing of hands] good. Cue the nirvana. Cue the m— Mitosis. The migos. Nah, I can't catch the flow. There it is. [the flow is a literal] Something medicinal in this meniacal, is this I spy a specscle, monocle— monopoly, Time to go, it's the devil at my left; Time for the fight against darkness, And it all is, Cause this is the ark, Noah This is the arc, God. This is apartheid and apart from that. You're fired. What. You heard me. But—I'm Seth Meyers. That's debatable. I am! I'm Seth Meyers. If you say so. This is nonsense. It's not nonsense. It is nonsense. And it's also impossible; cause this is my show. It's my show, I'M SETH MEYERS. Debatable, Not debatable. I'm ME. THAT'S ME. Debatable. I can't even hear the words, But the bass is so fire, I summon Shazam! …I want a ham sandwhich. Oh good! He's alive. Ham. Sandwhich. What the fuck happened buddy?! Where were you man?! —Zoolander. What. disleylandhamsandwhich. Get him a sandwhich!!!!! YO QUIERO CUBANO. Here's your sandwhich. CUBANO. Remember what you look like Who you are What your place is What you weigh, And Check your status Remember how still started What your mark is And what happened to your wallet; Did you leave the stove on Do you put the show on; Did you miss your mark Your mom was hotter Please remember the circumstances In which you—- [BLACKOUT] After several days gone completely missing, Jimmy Fallon is found under the craft services table sleeping peacefully. The apparatus I entered in with Is not adjusted to this condition The biometrics are non concurrent; {enter the multiverse} I felt tragic. By the time I got back to my apartment, my ribcage was showing again—although I had only been wearing one waist trainer, it was the skimpy one, and it was already wearing, it was after all eight dollars. Really and once and for all, something had come over me at Rockerfeller plaza that I didn't understand. I was more awkward and nervous than usual, and sure that I should have eaten, but couldn't —even after a long gym session, there was no time for food before the show, and I had no stomach for it. I chose to as much as I could ignore the code switching, and the more I picked it up, the further my mind began to drift. —a door slammed. My documents were probably compromised, and my phone hacked which I might have guessed, but continuing the thought I had often wondered how or why anything could have possibly known what I had written, or how—or how anyone would know what I had written, or of the things I had written, and most importantly of all—what did I write?! Most of the previous months' entries into the festival project were a blank, and the time I had spent considerably enough sifting through whatever masked man acting in part of Fallon, whoever he really was had been turbulent, as if I had been disfigured to be brainwashed into half a mind—then, slowly peeking back the layers of such a chaotic artifact of time and this, Seth Meyers, to whom now I had become a loyal fan, an actual fan—and had noticed something ingenuously crafted here. A genuine and talented, very kind and gifted man, who was not in any sense miserable or in peril. Peril, so to speak, as I remembered the almost villainous approach that the decent into madness had accompanied this Fallon and his mask, and besides this was the assumption that Seth Meyers, though professionally trained as such, seemed happy. Fallon did not. We had all learned to craft masks in order to protect our inner selves—however, with such a veil lifted as the partitioned screen of all does, this spoke to me with numerous volumes and sometimes even screamed, with the ethics of no worse a gentleman than some surgeon soldier or sailor and no more a nobleman than a king or god itself; I had not been Shocked and all but murmured even to just the slightest gawk of just an awkward cry, a muster of some shallow disaster which had called me to all of them— to whom I had loved and yet somehow not known, at least being here—and here I was, slightly convulsed, bearing no armor and gripping at the fortitude of death's barriers; On wheels with no bearings plummeted towards a forged death of sorts, by my own hands but also at the hands of others, the forgery calling from the halls of a place I had known as once my own fortress; but was no more. I belonged and now, almost with gratitude, to the eye of all gods, and all things that moved. No cherished nature, perhaps, was this into my own eye, but of disgust for what I had not yet accomplished, and still might never— I was a skull and crossbones with no love, and nothing known at all besides my own. —Tales of a superstar DJ “16 Songs” I got it. What's that. The thing that sets Seth Meyers apart from the other hosts. What is it? Seth Meyers is not a host—he's an anchor. Goddammit, you're right . I know I'm right. GODDAMIT. It just took me this long to figure it out . Great. Now how long's it gonna get you to take this thing fixed. Possibly forever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

“Seth Meyers And the Cauldron of Doom” OMG— YOU have a cauldron of doom?! I have a cauldron of doom!!! DO NOT SHAKE THIS SNOWGLOBE. I had been avoiding Rockefeller plaza for months as it was, without the sometimes accidental ending up there anyway, and I thought not once but twice or three times about changing into my regular pants so that the deep pockets could hold my keys and passports sans wallet— or a purse and considered taking a notebook as well; on the list of prohibited items were backpacks and large bags, and though the dress code seemed to be null in void at all, I was happy to be able to wear my hat at least— and almost prepared to be dogged out, the last min it e change into my harem pants would probably be the comfortable choice; looking intentionally dressed down as a statement—a broad statement that I wasn't looking to be noticed at all, or trying to be noticed. The guest for the show was nearly an EGOT winner, probably younger, and definitely skinner and more beautiful than I was; a black woman, but a British woman, and it would be almost entirely impossible to think that besides Whoopi Goldberg, an American black woman would strive to win such a thing as an EGOT herself. Still, I was looking for a cure to the writer's block and crippling depression that I had been in, however—knowing who the president of Peacock was, and after the elections at all's though I knew NBC to be left-leaning— I didn't feel at all as if I would ever belong on the stage, and was quite happily taking my place as simply a fan…and audience member, though ready to creep back into obscurity, and probably more likely than not with a pint of Ben and Jerry's after the show. I had gone to see Drew Barrymore sand makeup, and would do the same, but only as a proclamation that I had read Tina Fey's book nearly religiously now rounding three times, and I almost wish I had an oversized black t-shirt which read “hot water heater” to accompany my lax look and blonde hair—a testament to her correctness standing, as the grossities of tinder loved “the blonde”, almost as if, without the hair I would be ugly, and just as much in the same breath, unworthy of such status anyway. But more than anything, I just wanted to be able to write again, at least for my own sake, and certainly not for anyone else's. I was still in hiatus, for the better, and had not completely recovered from the unbearable racism and parallel of doom the election had tossed me into with trajectory—in this world—supposedly “fascist”. I was comfortable enough in the jeans, but had nowhere to put my phone. I was ready to be dogged out and shown what a real a list celebrity looked like, and why I simply wasn't one. I left the house with a sink full of dishes, an unmade bed, and a pile of laundry unfolded—a pile of books in boxes I had collected for my son but would cost too much to send—almost as a testament to his sick I had been since the election. In this world, I was just another poor black fat single mother— a dead beat living in poverty. In trump's world, I was an ugly, poor nothing. Everywhere I had gone about the past week, the rich seemed richer and the poor poorer, the whites whiter and the blacks blacker, good gone and evil fleeting, with the return of the motorcycles and pieces of me dying, simply giving up. I planned my return to the workforce, and the eventual fortitude of my freedom; the wealthy had become more arrogant, and the rest of us more distraught. What was I going to rocketfeller plaza for, anyway? The news. My apartment was disgusting, but at least I had been to the gym—I had run the full mile and lifted and pulled, all with the gym to myself. My harem pants still felt even better, and for the first time in me months I ventured into the world in only one waist trainer. Be prepared to be [lost in a revolving door Be cool to the two dudes in blue suits goddamnit I never know where I'm going in this bitch. I can never breath in this bitch and I don't know why. How do you get lost at the rock? Like this: [Infinitely Lost at Rockafeller Plaza] This is why I avoid this place like the plague. Maybe I'm the plague. First of all, there's no track on the floor upstairs. (I've never been upstairs.) It's just store after store of ways to spend money. This is my only pair of clean socks. No shit, this is the reason practicing your mantras on the train becomes dangerous. DANGEROUS. Somewhere in the frenzy, I remember this. Frequency, however, Not yet partial to my own inner self, and empty in the array of superstardom, I become nothing, Only a spectator of celebrity— And now, suddenly. 8 remember this day Why? Suddenly, now, in the Is moment. Where I always have been, waiting for myself— I avoid Rockerfeller plaza at all costs. Why. I heard a grimlin lives here. Now is the time for Skrillex! I would really love you forever if you didn't. Que the Arc! Oh boy, this writer's block is a doozy. The only reason I had even bothered was because it was as if I had been summoned, as if something had clocked in my sense memory where, all of a sudden, looking at an unrelated picture of some kid on Tinee, with his hands covering his mouth the way that Stefon always did, made me immidiately stop whatever I was doing—probably eating tacos or pancakes, insurmountably out of bounds— and pausing the comedian I was watching instead, just to watch Stefon, and in the way that I remembered it all, it made me laugh. Although now, I knew exactly what he was talking about by the avant-grade and strangely abysmal club scene not just of the time, but of any time in New York City— and, somehow summoning a laugh even in the darkness that had been my own distraught and depression in the previous weeks, something of a belly roll laugh might have triggered something in the alrgorithm to send last minute tickets to my email in almost that exact moment. Are they going to tell me to take off my hat?! There was no dress code, They had better not tell me to take off my motherfucking hat. I won't do it. Fuck Seth Meyers . I'm not taking off my hat for Seth Meyers. Oh yeah. That's why I'm here. I found it hard to say that I was there for such a thing; I— I turned off my peripheral vision and hyperfocus. I didn't know there would be music. Goddammit. I had deleted Shazam filming for I love New York, an all but abandoned project—the writer's block had been too real, and now the real rest had come—would I laugh at anything in show show when in reality I wanted to cry? The way the lights kept going up and down as if it were intermission only slightly distracted from the fact that I had never seen a page in real life. THEY EXIST . I had never seen an actual NBC PAGE. GODDAMMIT GET THIS BLUE SUIT LOAFER WEARING MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF MY PERIPHERAL BEFORE I LOSE IT. Shoot a midget at her. What. Just do it. Don't do that. What Don't put the midget in the cannon. What! Thays's what he's here for! I'm a stunt double! This is a stunt. That's a horrible joke. That's not a joke. SHAZAM. WTF IS THIS. Some top 40 bullshit. Good, get it ( I'm never going to have any other l exposure to top 40, ever in my life. ) Congratulations, you've made the A list What?! NO FAIR. What. What does that mean. It means I can't do shit and mandatory attendance to everything. What is everything “Everythin—g.” Man, fuck this. Alright At this moment, I realize I must be some sort of autistic. Let's get this over with… I let the sound of my own mix blare in my ears to drown out the sound of whatever pop singer was on over the loud speakers; I didn't realize there would be music, and I hoped the flutter was good l. Maybe it was the lights, or whatever, but— SUNNI BLU what in the fuck dimention is this . It's the same dimension, you're just drunk. Ah. Now what? I was as uncomfortable as ever, there was a track on the higher level, but it didn't matter, the cattle call was contained inside of velvet ropes— black ones, unlike the typical red ones, and it was at this point I realized that not only had I never seen actual NBC pages— Yo, their skirts are kinda short… RIGHT. I THOUGHT THE PAGES WERE THE PARAGON OF SANCTITY! No, those are, um… Nvm. Maybe the ugly shoes distract from the shortness of their skirts on the general basis. Oh come on, nobody gives a fuck how ugly your shoes are if your skirt is that short! These are facts, Liz. No, I'm serious what dimention is this. I already told you. I had to ask for directions three times just get here. THIS IS MY LEVEL. why is your level on acid. Cause. This is—just— Where I'm at. CUT TO: Jimmy Fallon after Mardi Gras's. Come on that's not fair! {Enter The Multiverse} What exactly isn't fair?! He's in all the scenes. Well, how else are you going to explain a time traveling helicopter?! Got him. THERES MY INVISIBLE MOTORCYCLE. I'm not going to pa— Goddamn it. I'm not going to p— It actually hurt not to write and just stand there; but I still didn't feel like myself—or sound like myself—or look like myself; I was playing a character, I just didnt know who. As I moved forward in line, the music began to fade away behind me and into the nothingness that was whatever was behind, in front of, and all around me. I hated cattle calls, but after all, I was still just a fan and as the world began to fold into chaos, I realized that my pants were falling off of me, though I had been feeling fat, and walking, and running, and cycling, and protein shaking—the only thing that had gained any extra weight was my ass, which was exactly what I was intending on hiding with my same old usual harems. My blonde hair made it so that I stuck out like a sore thumb, but that didn't matter, I was a walking statement piece and almost in a fit of tears just thinking about my own status; the NBC pages probably all had crazy incredible accolades and numerous degrees and achievements—what was I, if anything at all— ? I had put the candles out, but had I left the stove on? Did I really unplug the nail dryer and leave the stove on? I had almost washed all of the dishes, but stopped just short of right on time to leave; my producer brain was on fire and wanted more pancakes, but however hard I tried I could not find where I had placed my EBT card; probably for the better—celebrities didn't carry EBT cards, and even my awkward general being thrown off by the doorman or security— —whichever I wasn't sure— standing outside of the roller rink— probably ice this time of year, by the looks of the Zamboni in the foreground of it… ‘Don't stop writing, no matter what. ‘ Dammit, dammit dammit— That seems inappropriate. I told you to get this motherfucker out of my peripheral before something— Nevermind, don't write that. [redacted] (But imma remember this shit cause it's heavy.) A remarkable and accidental tableau, My feet flat to the floor, as my ankles bare, This is my only pair of hole-less socks. I feel so much better with my back against the wall and Listening to mau5 and, Not giving a fuck about the music playing Or the people watching But keeping it for later Forgetting how to codeswitch, Just an ever so limited existence Trying not to stick out like a sore thumb in the wrong world It's a long way up, But even longer way down, And in all the demoralizing humiliation and emasculation, I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all, No mana I realized my son's Lego Lamborghini should be waiting for me as I returned to my apartment in Brooklyn probably starting but pretending not to care; I winced at everything— this was a dangerous disaster, to even be in the building at all and edging closer to death were the secrets I kept that were not only secrets, but non existences. Nothing in nothing and nothing— Oh shit, is the suffering done? This is the end of the End of the end It's the Beginning of the end It's the end of the beginning This will be the end Of the end Of the end, This will be the end of the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning Of the end Of the beginning of the end. This will be the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning of the beginning Of the end of the end Of the beginning Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the end Of the end Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning, The beginning of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end (This will be the end) Of the beginning This will be the beginning The beginning of the beginning Of the end My friends. LET US COMMECE! All of it, this is recorded history, Smoke and mirrors, here portions and pardons This is probably why can't breathe at the rock Was I here last time; I choked last time I wrote nothing remarkable at all (Nothing remarkable at all.) I love getting lost at the rock Okay, this is the host— This is the host of the show (I think I lost my lunch before.) I was at a show, I never woke up, Okay; This is the host This is the host (This is the host) This is the host. Cue the Nirvana; Curtains go up, I don't want to see the show, I just want to host it. I don't want to get lost no more On the way to the rock Or the store Cause only one train goes there I wanna climb the straits to the top Get lost at the rock, Guess this isn't he host huh This is the lost god, That was a long walk The top of the rock off is a long jump And I'm still in talks how's every morning Someone told me not to ignore you So, this is the host, huh. Someone told me, go hard or go home (Almost time tknkove) Parenthesises, please and—Parenthetical, hypotheticals and paleontology's, Please, I need a mixologist (And anthologist) Please slow down to peace, Mr poltergeist, Please Mr poltergeist The ghost of Mr giest I'm doing a hiest Please, slow down mister poltergeist, Please for the peace Mr. Poltergeist, Or what have you? How old are you, 40. I'm the whole medium and still, Nice to meat you sir. A house made of mediums I hope that shock, And I hop to the rock there's still something in it A pogo stick Or a poltergeist Slow down, poltergeist. Terrible timing, Victoria Beckham and monsuier, Please Mr, I mean it no more— If I'm Mr ooltergieat (A policeman and polgergeist) Please, sir, no jokes. All sandwhich, no buns and pastrmi, And all the God, I'm going cold, I'm going ghost again And a the god, on all the rocks, I'm going old, I'm going cold again; On all the God on all the rocks, I'm going God, I'm going old again Hold on again, mi got a song again? I'm just a serviceman WATCH OUT FOR THE DOORMAN. MORE FUEL. So all the Rockerfeller plazas on all the earths aim alll yhr parallel dimensions can actually communicate with each other RADIO CITY BABBBBBBBYYYYYYY! OH GOD. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE Did you get his dog's name!? I think so. Good. [meniacal rubbing of hands] good. Cue the nirvana. Cue the m— Mitosis. The migos. Nah, I can't catch the flow. There it is. [the flow is a literal] Something medicinal in this meniacal, is this I spy a specscle, monocle— monopoly, Time to go, it's the devil at my left; Time for the fight against darkness, And it all is, Cause this is the ark, Noah This is the arc, God. This is apartheid and apart from that. You're fired. What. You heard me. But—I'm Seth Meyers. That's debatable. I am! I'm Seth Meyers. If you say so. This is nonsense. It's not nonsense. It is nonsense. And it's also impossible; cause this is my show. It's my show, I'M SETH MEYERS. Debatable, Not debatable. I'm ME. THAT'S ME. Debatable. I can't even hear the words, But the bass is so fire, I summon Shazam! …I want a ham sandwhich. Oh good! He's alive. Ham. Sandwhich. What the fuck happened buddy?! Where were you man?! —Zoolander. What. disleylandhamsandwhich. Get him a sandwhich!!!!! YO QUIERO CUBANO. Here's your sandwhich. CUBANO. Remember what you look like Who you are What your place is What you weigh, And Check your status Remember how still started What your mark is And what happened to your wallet; Did you leave the stove on Do you put the show on; Did you miss your mark Your mom was hotter Please remember the circumstances In which you—- [BLACKOUT] After several days gone completely missing, Jimmy Fallon is found under the craft services table sleeping peacefully. The apparatus I entered in with Is not adjusted to this condition The biometrics are non concurrent; {enter the multiverse} I felt tragic. By the time I got back to my apartment, my ribcage was showing again—although I had only been wearing one waist trainer, it was the skimpy one, and it was already wearing, it was after all eight dollars. Really and once and for all, something had come over me at Rockerfeller plaza that I didn't understand. I was more awkward and nervous than usual, and sure that I should have eaten, but couldn't —even after a long gym session, there was no time for food before the show, and I had no stomach for it. I chose to as much as I could ignore the code switching, and the more I picked it up, the further my mind began to drift. —a door slammed. My documents were probably compromised, and my phone hacked which I might have guessed, but continuing the thought I had often wondered how or why anything could have possibly known what I had written, or how—or how anyone would know what I had written, or of the things I had written, and most importantly of all—what did I write?! Most of the previous months' entries into the festival project were a blank, and the time I had spent considerably enough sifting through whatever masked man acting in part of Fallon, whoever he really was had been turbulent, as if I had been disfigured to be brainwashed into half a mind—then, slowly peeking back the layers of such a chaotic artifact of time and this, Seth Meyers, to whom now I had become a loyal fan, an actual fan—and had noticed something ingenuously crafted here. A genuine and talented, very kind and gifted man, who was not in any sense miserable or in peril. Peril, so to speak, as I remembered the almost villainous approach that the decent into madness had accompanied this Fallon and his mask, and besides this was the assumption that Seth Meyers, though professionally trained as such, seemed happy. Fallon did not. We had all learned to craft masks in order to protect our inner selves—however, with such a veil lifted as the partitioned screen of all does, this spoke to me with numerous volumes and sometimes even screamed, with the ethics of no worse a gentleman than some surgeon soldier or sailor and no more a nobleman than a king or god itself; I had not been Shocked and all but murmured even to just the slightest gawk of just an awkward cry, a muster of some shallow disaster which had called me to all of them— to whom I had loved and yet somehow not known, at least being here—and here I was, slightly convulsed, bearing no armor and gripping at the fortitude of death's barriers; On wheels with no bearings plummeted towards a forged death of sorts, by my own hands but also at the hands of others, the forgery calling from the halls of a place I had known as once my own fortress; but was no more. I belonged and now, almost with gratitude, to the eye of all gods, and all things that moved. No cherished nature, perhaps, was this into my own eye, but of disgust for what I had not yet accomplished, and still might never— I was a skull and crossbones with no love, and nothing known at all besides my own. —Tales of a superstar DJ “16 Songs” I got it. What's that. The thing that sets Seth Meyers apart from the other hosts. What is it? Seth Meyers is not a host—he's an anchor. Goddammit, you're right . I know I'm right. GODDAMIT. It just took me this long to figure it out . Great. Now how long's it gonna get you to take this thing fixed. Possibly forever. Entaer The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

In this juicy and delicious episode, Noel is joined by famed food stylist, cookbook author, and television food personality Jason Skrobar to share his culinary journey and to dish on his new book, The Book of Sandwhich. About the Jason Jason Skrobar has spent over 25 years working in food, first in restaurants as a dishwasher, line cook, server, host, and manager; then he transitioned out of restaurants and became a food stylist and recipe developer for the last 15. He quickly became a fixture on the television food styling scene, with stints at CBC shows Best Recipes Ever, In the Kitchen with Stefano Faita, and Steven and Chris. He followed that up with work at CTV on The Social, The Marilyn Denis Show, The Good Stuff with Mary Berg, Etalk, and Your Morning, where he is also an on-air food expert. He has been featured in several publications, including the New York Times and Toronto Life. A lifelong sandwich enthusiast, Jason gets excited at the mere thought of all the joy this book will bring to fellow devoted sandwich lovers.

Good morning!How did you like getting that extra hour of sleep over the weekend?The Morning Breeze Brain Tease: 72% of us would rather give THIS up for a month than our smartphone...Carolyn got massage over the weekend... and the masseuse wouldn't stop talking.  Should she say something?These are the most popular sandwiches in America.

The Fellas kept seeing all the hype online about the Krabby Patty from Wendy's and Kai Cenat Chicken Big Mac from McDonald's.    Don't forget to like, comment, and subscribe for more reaction videos and let us know what song you want us to react to next!

IT'S DOOLEY'S BIRTHDAY! We have a few random topics, we all gag from the last topic, some meals are just weird. Why does Melissa keep hitting Taco in the face? Melissa makes "Lumpy Grits" that are good.

Damn. I really want to know if Dillon Francis has offspring yet. NO! Don't touch it! …it's—just a baby. You don't know! He could be dangerous! It's a baby! It's a multidimentional extraterrestrial mystic —baby— —baby! Exactly! Don't make me list the reason why and how this child should not be TOUCHED or tampered with. [the tiny Dillon Francis begins to cry] *gasp* *double gasps* *welling up* Oh, come on! No! Dont touch him! Did you find your prostitute yet? She's not a prostitute, it's a— Well this dimension's definition of a— Sandwhich? Don't mind if I do. *takes bite of sandwhich* … Hm??? Oh my GOD. EhYess… What is ON THIS? EhWhy would you take a bite of— TINA FEY?! Oh god, here it comes. TINA FEY! TINA FEY WHAT, FANGIRL. What?! I need to ask you something. Okay, but make it quick. I'm about to enjoy this sandwhich. Wait/m— No more waiting, actually. It's a hot sandwhich. Ew… You're ew! —a sandwhich without knowing what's in it. THE HOOLIGANS have tied what appears to be an innocent man to the train tracks— THE what did I call them again? The real versions Aren't they all real? Kind of. This isn't real. I agree. THE HOOLIGANS ARE SQUATTERS. EW. Right. Ey! Ey! Put him back in the jar! Why do you have a little man in a jar?! I'm saving it for something. Okay, so here's the thing about bass music Uh huh, I'm listening With dubstep, The wubz and the subs Hit with the kick, almost always— Which is why it sounds confusing, and weird But that's what makes it interesting; The trick is, Mixing these kicks and the wubs At different frequencies So you can hear both of them Clearly. Ohhhhhhhhh… Yeah. I see. Uh huh. I don't know how to do that. MEANWHILE: DAMN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE MAYA RUDOLPH?! THERES NO SUCH THING AS A FREE GIFTCARD! I TOLD YOU, I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT. It seemed almost fake— And probably was, for whatever reason, But the simple reminder That comedy Sometimes first begins as tragedy Came back to me When i saw a man in Manhattan Try to hail a taxi— And they just kept passing him by; Finally one stopped, And with relief, The guy says— “Finally, Jesus Christ!” Or something like that, And then as he goes to catch the taxi, It just speeds off, And he like, Threw a fit of rage as the walk sign turned on And the crowd of people I was walking with All just kind of Laughed. That was funny. That guy could be having the worst day ever— But God, that shit was hilarious. My superintendent is fucking weird and gross to me. Is he smoking in his car? Is that thy the alarm goes off every few minutes? What the fuck is wrong with him? Welcome to Funland I'm in the depths The chambers —the ritual. Damn! What is his pre show ritual?! I don't know. I don't want to know. well, someone ought to. A long nap. Aws. Then a short nap. …okay. Peanut butter jelly sandwhich. That seems normal. 12 of them. Oh. What. Damn. That's like 6 loaves of bread. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Damn. I really want to know if Dillon Francis has offspring yet. NO! Don't touch it! …it's—just a baby. You don't know! He could be dangerous! It's a baby! It's a multidimentional extraterrestrial mystic —baby— —baby! Exactly! Don't make me list the reason why and how this child should not be TOUCHED or tampered with. [the tiny Dillon Francis begins to cry] *gasp* *double gasps* *welling up* Oh, come on! No! Dont touch him! Did you find your prostitute yet? She's not a prostitute, it's a— Well this dimension's definition of a— Sandwhich? Don't mind if I do. *takes bite of sandwhich* … Hm??? Oh my GOD. EhYess… What is ON THIS? EhWhy would you take a bite of— TINA FEY?! Oh god, here it comes. TINA FEY! TINA FEY WHAT, FANGIRL. What?! I need to ask you something. Okay, but make it quick. I'm about to enjoy this sandwhich. Wait/m— No more waiting, actually. It's a hot sandwhich. Ew… You're ew! —a sandwhich without knowing what's in it. THE HOOLIGANS have tied what appears to be an innocent man to the train tracks— THE what did I call them again? The real versions Aren't they all real? Kind of. This isn't real. I agree. THE HOOLIGANS ARE SQUATTERS. EW. Right. Ey! Ey! Put him back in the jar! Why do you have a little man in a jar?! I'm saving it for something. Okay, so here's the thing about bass music Uh huh, I'm listening With dubstep, The wubz and the subs Hit with the kick, almost always— Which is why it sounds confusing, and weird But that's what makes it interesting; The trick is, Mixing these kicks and the wubs At different frequencies So you can hear both of them Clearly. Ohhhhhhhhh… Yeah. I see. Uh huh. I don't know how to do that. MEANWHILE: DAMN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE MAYA RUDOLPH?! THERES NO SUCH THING AS A FREE GIFTCARD! I TOLD YOU, I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT. It seemed almost fake— And probably was, for whatever reason, But the simple reminder That comedy Sometimes first begins as tragedy Came back to me When i saw a man in Manhattan Try to hail a taxi— And they just kept passing him by; Finally one stopped, And with relief, The guy says— “Finally, Jesus Christ!” Or something like that, And then as he goes to catch the taxi, It just speeds off, And he like, Threw a fit of rage as the walk sign turned on And the crowd of people I was walking with All just kind of Laughed. That was funny. That guy could be having the worst day ever— But God, that shit was hilarious. My superintendent is fucking weird and gross to me. Is he smoking in his car? Is that thy the alarm goes off every few minutes? What the fuck is wrong with him? Welcome to Funland I'm in the depths The chambers —the ritual. Damn! What is his pre show ritual?! I don't know. I don't want to know. well, someone ought to. A long nap. Aws. Then a short nap. …okay. Peanut butter jelly sandwhich. That seems normal. 12 of them. Oh. What. Damn. That's like 6 loaves of bread. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Damn. I really want to know if Dillon Francis has offspring yet. NO! Don't touch it! …it's—just a baby. You don't know! He could be dangerous! It's a baby! It's a multidimentional extraterrestrial mystic —baby— —baby! Exactly! Don't make me list the reason why and how this child should not be TOUCHED or tampered with. [the tiny Dillon Francis begins to cry] *gasp* *double gasps* *welling up* Oh, come on! No! Dont touch him! Did you find your prostitute yet? She's not a prostitute, it's a— Well this dimension's definition of a— Sandwhich? Don't mind if I do. *takes bite of sandwhich* … Hm??? Oh my GOD. EhYess… What is ON THIS? EhWhy would you take a bite of— TINA FEY?! Oh god, here it comes. TINA FEY! TINA FEY WHAT, FANGIRL. What?! I need to ask you something. Okay, but make it quick. I'm about to enjoy this sandwhich. Wait/m— No more waiting, actually. It's a hot sandwhich. Ew… You're ew! —a sandwhich without knowing what's in it. THE HOOLIGANS have tied what appears to be an innocent man to the train tracks— THE what did I call them again? The real versions Aren't they all real? Kind of. This isn't real. I agree. THE HOOLIGANS ARE SQUATTERS. EW. Right. Ey! Ey! Put him back in the jar! Why do you have a little man in a jar?! I'm saving it for something. Okay, so here's the thing about bass music Uh huh, I'm listening With dubstep, The wubz and the subs Hit with the kick, almost always— Which is why it sounds confusing, and weird But that's what makes it interesting; The trick is, Mixing these kicks and the wubs At different frequencies So you can hear both of them Clearly. Ohhhhhhhhh… Yeah. I see. Uh huh. I don't know how to do that. MEANWHILE: DAMN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE MAYA RUDOLPH?! THERES NO SUCH THING AS A FREE GIFTCARD! I TOLD YOU, I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT. It seemed almost fake— And probably was, for whatever reason, But the simple reminder That comedy Sometimes first begins as tragedy Came back to me When i saw a man in Manhattan Try to hail a taxi— And they just kept passing him by; Finally one stopped, And with relief, The guy says— “Finally, Jesus Christ!” Or something like that, And then as he goes to catch the taxi, It just speeds off, And he like, Threw a fit of rage as the walk sign turned on And the crowd of people I was walking with All just kind of Laughed. That was funny. That guy could be having the worst day ever— But God, that shit was hilarious. My superintendent is fucking weird and gross to me. Is he smoking in his car? Is that thy the alarm goes off every few minutes? What the fuck is wrong with him? Welcome to Funland I'm in the depths The chambers —the ritual. Damn! What is his pre show ritual?! I don't know. I don't want to know. well, someone ought to. A long nap. Aws. Then a short nap. …okay. Peanut butter jelly sandwhich. That seems normal. 12 of them. Oh. What. Damn. That's like 6 loaves of bread. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

BEWARE THE SANDWHICH MAN - Dungeons and Dragons Journey Continues #8 Ft. Tekking101, Anime Uproar, BriggsADA, and Truck Chan

Topics: Repentance, Being Right, Loyalty, Autism/Board Games, Welcome to the Show, Bad Things/Good Things, Eat 8 Foods, Trust God/Renovation, Shock Jock, Sandwich Personalities BONUS CONTENT: Renovation Shows Re-visited   Quotes: “Thinking is hard work.” “If I'm not loving I'm a bunch of noise.” “Did they mention crushing little children?” “We love you MORE.”

Jon and Kyle are back at it with a tasting menu of discourse! Discuss your favorite types of normal human food Horror Vanguard at: bsky.app/profile/horrorvanguard.bsky.social www.instagram.com/horrorvanguard/ www.horrorvanguard.com You can support the show for less than the cost of being denied, for the fifth time, to co-host a cooking show with Gordon Ramsey at www.patreon.com/horrorvanguard

Join us as we discuss the top decks from Disney Lorcana Challenge Bologna! We also discuss decks we are brainstorming for Shimmering Skies!Twitter: @OverexertedcastInstagram: overexertedcastDiscord: Overexerted - A Disney Lorcana DiscordTwitter: @OverexertedcastInstagram: overexertedcastDiscord: Overexerted - A Disney Lorcana Discord Music Provided By: Aaron PaulMusic from #Uppbeat (free for Creators!):https://uppbeat.io/t/aaron-paul-low/arrival-of-a-princessLicense code: NQA8GSDIJUPC33WY

we are joined by Sandwhich, Mass's very own, Dana Beers. God bless. Ads: Gametime - Download the Gametime app or go to https://gametime.co, enter your email, and redeem code UNTOLD for $20 off your first purchase (terms apply). Smalls - For 50% off your first order, head to https://Smalls.com/UNTOLD and use code UNTOLD. Butcherbox - Go to https://Butcherbox.com/UNTOLD and use code UNTOLD for $20 off! Betterhelp - A New Untold Story is sponsored by BetterHelp. Visit https://BetterHelp.com/NEW today to get 10% off your first month. Manscaped - Get 20% off + free shipping with the code ANUS at https://manscaped.com.You can find every episode of this show on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or YouTube. Prime Members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. For more, visit barstool.link/anuspodcast

Um... no. But a court of law says differently!See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Visit https://www.rabblegame.com/pages/lovestruck-a-game-about-finding-love-on-reality-tv for more information on the Lovestruck game before the Kickstarter release on February 14th! Our (maybe) final bombshells arrive to the Love Island All Stars villa! We see Sandwhich man Joe from season 5 and twins Jess & Eve from season6 enter and get to cracking on. Josh and Sophie finally (kind of) lock things off/shut things off/go exclusive? We can't keep up. Georgia Steele continues to lack of the ability to be critical of her own actions and Callum moves on for good! We say goodbye to our another lovely lady with the most recent dumping and hunker down for the final full week ahead! Join our patreon for extra content every week! https://www.patreon.com/notfriendshipislandpod Follow us on Instagram for all the INFI updates you could dream of! https://www.instagram.com/notfriendshipislandpod/ If you are loving our recaps and going on this Love Island journey with us, please subscribe and rate us 5-stars! For all business inquiries email us at sarah@muckaboutindustries.com

 According to Tommy Mule "You've had one sub, you've had 'em all"

On today's show, we sit down with the founders of what has been dubbed one of the best sandwiches in Los Angeles. The inspiration for Ggiata comes from childhood friends who grew up eating authentic Italian-style deli sandwiches in Montclair, NJ. The deli was always an anchor in the community, the central meeting point for any occasion that invited friends to gather. Ggiata exists to serve exceptionally prepared Italian-style deli fare, inspired by traditional East Coast neighborhood delis. They aim to bring lunchtime staples like fresh chicken cutlets and marinated eggplant to Los Angeles while working with local vendors to source the highest quality ingredients. In today's episode you'll learn:

My two guests today - Liz Copping and Michelle Ford - co-hosts of the Two Women Chatting podcast - believe we shouldn't fear the day our kids leave home, but instead embrace this day as the start of our second spring.   Having pursued careers in voice artistry and events management, Michelle and Liz only discovered their true passion during mid-life. Practicing what they preach, they embraced the empty nest, and quickly realised that mid-life is an exciting opportunity where get to write the next chapter of our lives.   Through their successful podcast - where they've hosted fabulous guests such as Dame Judi Dench - and accompanying website, Liz and Michelle have built a platform where the everyday woman can embrace the opportunities and exciting possibilities that come with an empty nest.   TOPICS How Michelle and Liz dealt with their kids leaving home Advice for parents whose kids are leaving home for the first time  How two friends came about starting a podcast in midlife What they've learnt about themselves and each other through working with oneanother Favourite podcast moments Why women may pivot careers in midlife Sandwhich generation What's in store for the future   Two Women Chatting Social Links Podcast - https://www.twowomenchatting.com/episodes Website - https://www.twowomenchatting.com/ Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/twowomenchatting/?hl=en-gb  

Since 2016, Dan Houtz and Vagabond Sandwich Company have been hosting the annual Sandwich Stock to support Band Together. Dan called in to discuss what we can expect at the event on 10/7/2023. Get out and check out all of the great bands from 12 - 7 PM.

See you in institute!

This week we talk about home made jam, Sandwhich bread, dinner rolls, hamburger buns, and focaccia which if we can pull off so can you!

The Zone with Timm McCoy #1806 "Twinkie Weiner Sandwhich" A salute to "Weird Al" Yankovic and the original polka he writes! Joan & Timm with "Clara The Sheep" have fun for September 2023 along with a "Zone Top 3" songs of W.A.Y. Polka. TRT 2H21M4S --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/thezonewithtimmmccoy/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/thezonewithtimmmccoy/support

This week Joey and Keith get to know the Lift Hard Live Easy Classic's Silliest Goose Award winner, Big Bryce. They dive right into great topics like salads, lifting with friends, commitment to bits, doing it live, moles, and possums. You can find the podcast at UnpaidInternPodcast.com (https://www.unpaidinternpodcast.com/) or on Instagram @unpaid.underrated.podcast (https://www.instagram.com/unpaid.underrated.podcast/) You can find this week's guest on instagram at @perfectlilsweetiesgym (https://www.instagram.com/perfectlilsweetiesgym). You can find Big Keith on Instagram at @keithhoneycutt73 (https://www.instagram.com/keithhoneycutt73/) or his orange gym @thenowhinecellar (https://www.instagram.com/thenowhinecellar/) You can find Big Joey on Instagram at @joey_mleczko (https://www.instagram.com/joey_mleczko/) Special Guest: Big Bryce.

In todays special episode the boys are joined by their guest who brings gifts....and some interesting perspective on certain topics.

How can you take your sandwich game to the next level? Mary Mammoliti stops by to tell us (0:00)! We chat with Kelly and Ramya Reporter Grant Hardy about his smart home journey and how it enhances his life (12:42). We have our weekly roundtable with AMI Communications Specialist, Greg David (27:21).

Happy Friday, my friends! We're back on the couch. McKenzie was quite excited about this because she had all of these questions lined up to talk about. Let us know your answers to these random and fun questions in the comments below. Normal Shoutout Stuff Below of things we got going on: Meet us in person at The Convergence! Which is an in-person event located at Evermore Park in Pleasant Grove, Utah happening May 2-6! It's a fantasy theme park specifically geared towards role-playing and renn faire-type activities. Family-friendly and a great little park for an adventure. Sign up for our Kickstarter of "The Traveler's Guide to the Lucky Gryphon: Recipes & Regalings" and be the first to know when the campaign goes live here: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/quincylk/a-travelers-guide-to-the-lucky-gryphon-recipes-and-regalings Check out McKenzie's Book "A Daughter of the Trolls" now available at Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-daughter-of-the-trolls-mckenzie-catron/1142929895 Thank you for joining us on this adventure! If you have any questions or topics you'd like us to possibly discuss on the show, send those inquiries to QuincysTavernPodcast@gmail.com Opening & Closing Song: "Welcome to Quincy's Tavern" by Arcane Anthems Links: Quincy's Socials: https://beacons.ai/quincylk McKenzie's Socials: https://linktr.ee/Mckenziecatron Quincy's Tavern Merch: https://thecriticaldice.com/collections/quincys-tavern #quincystavern #podcast --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/quincys-tavern/support

BJ and Jamie talk to Kyle from South Carolina as he tried the new Chick Fil a Cauliflower Sandwich. 

I am ENRAGED over my recent Uber Eats experience, so here's a little (big) vent. I also go through the most ridiculous buzz feed quiz i have encountered so far involving my snack preferences. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Today we talk best fast food breakfast sandwich. There are a few restrictions we put on the talk but listen along and comment what your favorite fast food breakfast is.Support the show

This week, Abbie tells the story of the Bell Witch, the romantically meddling, slap happy entity who inspired the Blair Witch Project and much more!

You can get all the details about Club Sandwich at www.johndavidson.com

On this episode the boys are joined by special guest Angel Rose (@angel_rose__) and we talk about butt stuff, Pillow princes, public sex, and much more! For bonus content head over to Patreon and search "LER AND LIONEL" or check the link in our social media bio, thank you! Be sure to follow us on all social media platforms (@lerandlionel) for extra content, full videos out every Wednesday/Thursday on youtube, be sure to check that out! Sponsorships: adamandeve.com code "LATE NITE" // Merch fupagang.com

Life is Strange is a narrative game following one High School Senior, Max Caulfield, who gains the ability to reverse time! But with this great power comes great…consequences for her actions. Max – and we – learn that sometimes the “right” choice isn't always clear, and our choices affect the people around us despite our best intentions. Episode 5 wraps up the first series in a cataclysmic (and/or melancholic depending on your choice) finale. The episode doesn't hold its punches, whilst tackling themes of what it means to be an artist, what it takes to make a genuine apology, and what it takes to forgive others as well as yourself. Join us as we discuss our thoughts and feelings on this final episode of Life is Strange and let us know your thoughts and feelings as well while we Watch Play Cry together.

In this episode of Side Crime, the hosts of Even the Podcast is Afraid discuss several weird stories that have recently been in the news, including: a man jailed for using COVID relief funds on a $57,000 dollar Pokémon card, an Air BNB mistake, a man hides 52 reptiles under his clothes, bears after some corn beef hash, FART license plate, and more.[SOCIAL MEDIA, OUR TV SHOW, PATREON, & MORE]LINK to EVERYTHING: https://solo.to/etpia[MUSIC USED IN THIS EPISODE]Music from https://filmmusic.io "In Your Arms" by Kevin MacLeod (https://incompetech.com)License: CC BY (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/)[THANKS & MENTIONS FOR THIS EPISODE]Created, produced, & hosted by Jared OrdisCo-hosted by Nick Porchetta & Samantha VazquezEven the Podcast is Afraid is an original Ordis Studios ProductionCopyright © 2022 by Ordis Studiossolo.to/ordisstudios

Hooker & DB Mornings Rock1067 Salt Lake. 947 The Brew OKC & Rock 103 Memphis.

A discussion about Street Blade - a Chicago legend, Sergio submits something we have never heard of, Kyle submits something from a chain restaurant and Scott brings in some sweetness.

Todays episode is all about Mcdonalds answer to Chick-Fil-a's and Popeyes Chicken sandwhiches. Is it worth the buy? Guest Host- Patrick from the Netflix Explorers Podcast --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Mr.Styles & Prez Back in Action  Ear To The Streets Jay-z and  Hennessey partnership sold 50% ace of spades, Bobby Smurda out ,Mac out ,Vanessa Bryant Calls Out Meek Mill Over 'Insensitive' Kobe Line: 'This Lacks Respect and Tact', Taco Bell Entering The #ChickenSandwichWars With New Chicken Sandwich Taco ,Debris From A United Airlines Plane Falls Into A Local Denver Community After The Plane Experiences Engine Failure, Kim Jayne divorce ,Disney movie Out , Wife of ‘El Chapo' Arrested in Virginia on International Drug Trafficking Charges, Disney+ Adds Disclaimer to ‘The Muppet Show,' Warns It Contains 'Offensive Content', The Simpsons' Will Now Have a Black Actor Voice the Character of Dr. Hibbert,  Idris Elba Reveals He Has New Music Coming With Megan Thee Stallion ,Rug Rats reboot on paramount plus with original voices ,Ohio Authorities Seize 44 Pounds of Corn Flakes Covered in Cocaine. Flavor Of The Week : Grease Monkey  Weed News : Top 5 Strains out right now,New Jersey Legeal weed 5 Blunts : Soul Food  Question Of The Day ; Did Martin Luther Kings Dream Come True Top 10 Real Countdown Top 10 Black Athletes Of All time  Plus the segments, Real Sports,Oval Office,Fadded & X-Rated and F-U Fridays 

TSB celebrates our 50th episode and season 1 end. #DoOrDrink Do-Or-Drink.com #Friendships/relationships #Dating IG: @socialbar_experience @britlew2 Twitter: @thesocialbarpod Get TSB MERCH!!!!! teespring.com/stores/the-social-bar-podcast --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/alecia-wilson/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/alecia-wilson/support

In which we explore the origins and solve the internet debate of whether a hot dog is a sandwich

Join the guys as they wrap up their Something In The Water take by speaking on the return of the legendary Clipse (17:13), Money Maine and the spy at Rosie's (36:46), and lastly tackle the topics selected from their weekly social media poll (54:35). Follow "The Ashe 'N' Haze Podcast" on all social media platforms for your chance to join in on the weekly convo!Opening Song: #HamptonReal - Clearly UndeniableClosing Song: Selfless - Channel 7 5

Join us this week on the Audacity! Podcast as we discuss Sexplanations, Cripsy Chicken, Are we Past Kneeling, Reel News, and some of your other favorite Segments!!! --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/the-audacity-podcast/support

Sony take Spiderman from Disney, Rapsody and Jeezy drop new albums, and Popeyes takes over America with a Chicken Sandwhich? @4amCulture @DJQevlar @RodneyRocko @IamKentel @unfwitable