Thirty minutes of competitive depression. Yet no one cares. No one sympathizes with the artist. From 2010, Dead Authors Podcast. Whatever happened to the rest of it?
I hate this guy. He didn't even know how funny his work was. Now I watch everything he does so I can spot a weakness...somewhere there must be one...somewhere....
PYT describes itself as "Home of America's Craaaziest Burgers" and arguably they are a contender. But good gravy, if I wanted a burger and some waffles in the same meal, I think I would just order a burger and some waffles. They could shorten their menu considerably if you could just walk in, point at the other plates around you, and tell the waiter "Hey, could you take everything that's going to get into my stomach over the course of a day and just pile it together between two buns right now and I'll just eat it as one thing? You can call it a burger, if you need to write something down for the bill. Thanks. Oh, and fries and a Diet Coke with that. Thanks. Oh, and if you could not parade me as a carnival freak in front of the other diners, I might have room for dessert, which I assume is also served on top of a burger. You might be confusing 'burger' with 'plate.' Anyway...Thanks."
Sure. We all know what it's like. You pick up a few bucks watching some toddler. Are you really expected to stay sober and awake the whole time? The toddler naps, why not you? And you shouldn't feel embarrassed when the mother returns home to find the tyke crying under the weight of a poopy diaper; the two of them are going out of their way to wake you from your nap. Perfectly natural to feel embarrassed, waddle out of the house, crash your car into a fire hydrant, then get into fisticuffs with a squirrel. Not saying there was an altercation with a squirrel, just saying would have been the perfect coda on a true story.