This episode is a full-blown character spiral wrapped in layers of absurdity, veiled sincerity, and comedic endurance. “Talent Brando,” presumably a riffing improv persona conjured by one of the hosts or a guest, dominates the mic for the first quarter of the episode in a fever dream of wannabe-rapper bravado, circular pseudo-wisdom, and overcooked industry paranoia. The performance leans heavily on the tension between irony and earnestness, never quite tipping its hand, which is either masterful or frustrating depending on your tolerance for prolonged bits that refuse to resolve.

There’s a distinct brilliance to the chaos here—the endless rebranding of Talent Brando’s name (Talent Ed Brando, Tiptop Magcoo, Grandpa Forever), the obsessive declarations about being a “thinking rapper,” and the increasingly absurd industry anecdotes that somehow involve DJ Spooks and Kendrick Lamar. The improv chemistry is strong, though the bit wears thin at times, saved only by the group's commitment and unpredictable tangents (including a surprisingly sincere late-episode geopolitical detour and a prolonged fantasy involving Tom Cruise assassinating Trump in a bee costume).

It’s messy, crass, and deliberately indulgent. In other words: very much on-brand. I wouldn’t recommend this as a first listen, but if you’re a fan of character-driven improv or just enjoy hearing comedians dare each other to keep a bit going past its expiration date, it’s a must.

Recommendation: For seasoned listeners only.

This episode opens with a gold trophy sitting in for the absent Ian, and somehow that sets the perfect tone. What follows is a deeply unserious, often morbidly hilarious conversation between the core group of Alex, John, Nick, and the spectral presence of Ian. Their stream-of-consciousness banter drifts through topics like grave aesthetics, cremation preferences, echolocation envy, and the mechanics of turning a man into a walrus—each one given equal (lack of) reverence.

There are highlights. Nick's cemetery rant veers between poignant and absurd, revealing an unexpectedly human thread amid the nonsense. The group’s fabricated scandal about Ian eating his dog is pure chaos, toeing the line between farce and bad taste—so, classic Selleck. Also worth noting is the segment on Serbian-Mexican cultural overlap, which is both strangely informative and a reminder that these guys occasionally stumble into sociological gold between fart jokes.

That said, this episode is not for the easily offended or the structurally inclined. There’s no narrative, no theme—just a freefall of degenerately funny bits. Do I recommend it? Only to someone who understands the phrase “Gold Dust is part of the Bic lore” without needing further explanation.

Grade: B+. Best enjoyed with a low bar and a dark sense of humor.

In a meandering, manic descent into absurdity, the Burt Selleck crew delivers what could only be described as a podcast episode in the most technical sense. There are words. They are spoken into microphones. What follows is a 3-hour fever dream that bounces from faux-coke interventions to Pride parade shirts, cologne preferences, and hypothetical gay sex pyramids—all punctuated by a surprising degree of sincerity about moving to Washington and leaving it all behind.

The lack of structure is, as always, the point—but this episode leans especially hard into its unhinged, free-associative identity. Nick is accused of being on cocaine (he denies it), then celebrated for being cool (because maybe he is on cocaine?), then drafted into a graphic, hypothetical human-sex totem pole. It’s all delivered with the improv-slick timing of people who know each other’s rhythms too well. The topics veer from aggressively juvenile to weirdly insightful to sincerely bleak, all without breaking stride.

Would I recommend it? To a friend? Only if they’ve already lost their job, ruined their marriage, and need something to confirm that their life could be more chaotic. But if you’re into unfiltered chaos and uncomfortable laughs, this might be your next religion.