Oh shit! It’s been a hot minute since we dropped a podcast. Life! It happens. Since the last beleaguered, intoxicated collection of Omega Belligerence I’ve gone on a Bachelor Weekend with the Goons. Captured on the podcast! Seen Fury Road. Noted on the podcast! Gotten married, bought a house. Both on the podcast! But that’s not all. Us Four Usual Dickheads spit about a variety of topics. From True Detective, to the eternal debate in art of Form versus Content. From Bateman’s Mason Jar filled with his scabbed-off genital warts to Riff’s alcoholic slaying of Disney World. It’s all here.

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[Whelp, this weekend is it. Samantha will officially become Samantha Omega this weekend, as she and I get married after a year and a half of planning. Trust me, Mr. and Mrs. Omega’s Open Bar will be flowing on Saturday evening.] [0101001010REDACT+DELETE]

Listen up! CAFFPOW is gettin’ hitched on Saturday! As such, he’s going to be a mess of matrimonial bliss, green-medicinal smoke cloud, and bubble-spirit brain-smash! Hell, I’m not even sure this post’ll list me as the writer, since I’m just messin’ up something CAFFPOW already wrote.

That’s right, you sons-of-bitches — it’s Rendar Frankenstein back in the house and I want to know what the hell you’re doin’ this weekend!

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Happy Memorial Day to ya’ll living within the Empire! As a child, most of my worldview was shaped by the World Wrestling Federation. And to be honest, I’m almost positive I’m better for it. And one thing I learned is that those who turn their back on their country are thick-jawed, dastardly pieces of shit. (Like Sgt. Slaughter.) Don’t be a Sgt. Slaughter. Give big ups to those who have served in a moment of fleeting, momentary clarity. And then go about your proper Imperial means of celebration. Charred animal flesh. Excessive drinking. Maybe a jingoistic, statistically inaccurate proclamation about Whatever You Really Like In America.

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