This episode is basically Breaking Bad meets Parks and Rec, with less meth and way more paperwork. Our unsuspecting hero, Pete Forcelli, rolls into Phoenix ready to fight crime—only to discover the ATF is running what looks suspiciously like a cartel loyalty program. Buy 10 AK-47s, get the 11th free! Meanwhile, the U.S. Attorney’s Office can’t be bothered, because apparently prosecuting crimes is sooo last season.

Nick and Ryan dive headfirst into the madness, armed with booze, banter, and zero faith in government efficiency. Along the way we meet straw buyers dumber than a bag of hammers, FBI agents acting like Mean Girls (“you can’t sit with us unless you share your informants”), and one ATF guy skipping work to salsa dance in Colombia. Honestly, it’s less law enforcement and more reality TV—except with body counts.

Think Narcos narrated by two slightly buzzed uncles who alternate between outrage and dad jokes. It’s equal parts history lesson, roast of bureaucracy, and drinking game. By the end, you’ll know how gun laws (don’t) work, why prosecutors can ruin everything, and which Oktoberfest beer pairs best with tales of federal incompetence.

Bottom line: this isn’t just an episode—it’s a tragic comedy where Uncle Sam accidentally becomes the cartels’ favorite gun dealer.

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Forget CSI: Miami—this is CSI: Adelaide, where the corpses are dapper, the calves are suspiciously jacked, and the detectives are about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

Nick and Ryan crack open the mystery of the Somerton Man, a 1948 beachside “who-dunnit” featuring:

• A corpse dressed sharper than a banker on Derby Day, but with all his clothing tags cut off like he was sponsored by Goodwill’s Witness Protection Program.
• A secret scrap of paper reading “Tamám Shud” (translation: “The End,” or “plot twist, bitch”),
• Doctors who could only agree on two things: (1) this guy had elite ballerina calves, and (2) his liver was working as hard as Nick and Ryan’s after three old fashioneds.
• A suitcase full of clothes with no labels, a sewing kit with sketchy orange thread, and a missing penis pump (probably).
• A code in a Persian poetry book that no one has ever solved—because nothing says espionage like a half-finished Sudoku from 1100 A.D.

Along the way, you’ll meet Joe Thompson, the woman who “definitely didn’t know him” while nearly fainting at his face cast, and Greg the Professor, who somehow knew way too much about foxglove tea and poison arrows (we see you, Greg).

Bottom line: this isn’t Dateline—it’s a Cold War mystery retold by two brothers who measure credibility in whiskey pours and have decided the best legacy you can leave behind… is being remembered for your calves.

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This episode isn’t so much “paranormal investigation” as it is Ghostbusters meets Dumb and Dumber, with extra booze and a demon who apparently hates plumbing. Nick and Ryan unpack the saga of the Smurl family, whose Pennsylvania duplex turned into a 15-year carnival of supernatural nonsense. First it was rugs growing stains faster than toddlers with Kool-Aid, then rocking chairs that refused to respect personal boundaries and eventually TVs catching fire like God’s version of a parental block.

Things escalate into full-on nightmare fuel: invisible slap fights, levitation, and one truly unfortunate bout of demonic coitus that sounds less like The Exorcist and more like Ghost Hunters After Dark.. Oh, and let’s not forget Casper taking a dump” because who doesn't like supernatural shit?

By the time Ed and Lorraine Warren show up to poke the supernatural bear with prayers and holy water, the house is less “family home” and more “Hell’s Airbnb.” We’re talking shadow figures, demonic wing-flaps, and bloodcurdling screams that can only drive the surrounding property values through the roof!

Fueled by rum, rye whiskey, and banter sharp enough to cut through ectoplasm, Nick and Ryan turn this 1970s nightmare into a tragicomic romp. Bottom line: it’s a literal shitshow— Starring demons, diapers, and dookie!

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Forget meditation apps—this episode is your guide to living (and sleeping) with paranormal freeloaders. Nick and Ryan crack open the bizarre world of shadow people, those trench-coat creeps who love showing up uninvited at 3 a.m. to stand in the corner like unpaid interns at your anxiety convention.

Step one: meet “The Hat Man,” basically a fedora-wearing sleep paralysis coach whose only advice is “scream quietly.” Step two: get cozy with the glowing red-eyed lurkers who pop out of closets yelling “Not my fault!” like they’re trying to dodge child support. And step three: don’t forget the hooded figures—half guardian angel, half goth roommate—who can’t decide if they’re here to hug you or choke you.

Families live with these things for decades, hospitals report them hanging around sick kids, and bathrooms somehow become the stage for shadow people’s favorite jump-scare burlesque.

Bottom line: this isn’t therapy—it’s terror with a punchline. Think of it as a lifestyle guide for anyone stuck with paranormal voyeurs, delivered by two brothers with more whiskey than coping skills.

To view this episode on our website, click The Conjuring House.

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This episode is less Close Encounters and more “Hold My Beer, Jesus” as Nick and Ryan stumble through the life of Chris Bledsoe—a man whose existence plays like the world’s darkest blooper reel before aliens show up to make things weirder. By age 10 he’d already been shot in the back, lit on fire, and busted his face on a bunk bed; by 20, his wife died in his arms and he fell off scaffolding. Naturally, the only logical next step was UFO abduction.

When Chris finally catches a “break,” it’s not financial stability—it’s three suns in the sky, glowing orbs with mechanical eyelids, and his teenage son paralyzed in the woods like a rejected X-Files subplot. Add in time-loss confusion, nine lights doing synchronized sky-raves, and government suits sniffing around, and suddenly his IBS doesn’t seem like the worst thing in his life.

Naturally, the whole gang witnesses UFOs doing synchronized swimming routines in the night sky, and their collective reaction is: “Forget the cooler—LEAVE.” (Because who needs beer when you’ve just been probed by interdimensional light orbs?)

This episode has it all: government coverups, glowing entities, time slips, and a man whose autobiography could double as both a country song and an X-Files script.

Bottom line: it’s not divine revelation—it’s alien domination, and Chris Bledsoe is either chosen by God or just the galaxy’s favorite plaything.

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Forget Dan Brown—this is more like Monty Python meets National Treasure, with a heavy pour of tequila and bourbon. Nick and Ryan stumble headfirst into the saga of the Knights Templar, nine medieval dudes who thought poverty and celibacy sounded like a good time—as long as they still got horses and swords. Somehow, these broke monks reinvented themselves as history’s first bankers, inventing the medieval version of Venmo, before getting absolutely wrecked on Friday the 13th (yep, that’s why the date still gives you the creeps).

Along the way we get shady Popes, power-tripping kings, and a superstition-shattering plot twist that wrecked more than just their order. The Templar fleet vanishes faster than Ryan’s Don Roberto tequila, possibly reappearing in Scotland just in time to help Braveheart’s bros kick England’s ass. Fast-forward a few centuries and suddenly we’re in New York, with a wannabe castle on the Hudson hiding secret brass seals, octopus carvings, and coded instructions that scream “insert Indiana Jones theme music here.”

Bottom line: it’s less “holy order” and more “holy sh*t,” with history, booze, and enough conspiracy fuel to keep Reddit going for decades.

To view this episode on our website, click The Conjuring House.

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In this episode, we discuss our two most credible cases to date, one slightly more than the other. Join us for our Season 1 Finale as we change things up a bit and give you two highly researched cases for the price of one. Hint hint, if you haven’t paid a price at all, you should go do that over on Patreon right now. We’ll wait. Thank you in advance for your staggering contribution to our booze fund. This episode is much akin to a circus in that performances of varying degrees were given, half the performers were drunk, a blue crack pipe was involved, and some genius swallowed fire. Literally, Ryan made me drink a shot that was on fire during recording. Oh, and also we talking about some BS involving the moon being a hologram and a century long grand conspiracy about the Titanic not actually sinking. But more importantly, I SWALLOWED FIRE.

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In this episode, we discuss the fascinating yet terrifying eccentricity that is Jack Parsons, aka Marvel Whiteside Parsons, aka Frater T.O.P.A.N. What is this guy, a WWE wrestler? Truth be told, I think I would rather sign up for a John Cena sized can of whoop ass to be opened on me than mess with Jack Parsons. Seriously, this dude was known to try and conjure forth various demonic entities for no other reason than to see if it would actually work. And we are supposed to be shooketh to find out his house was severely haunted? So much so that he hired a priest to come by on a weekly basis to cast out whatever supernatural rabble he had managed to coax forth from the ether. Side note, this guy had top secret security clearance and basically invented the rocket fuel that got us to the moon. Despite his hobby of hobnobbing with his spiritual betters, you have to stop and marvel at his scientific accomplishments. I’m so sorry, I can’t help myself. He was just such a marvel. Damnit! Even in my remorse I am…..wait for it…..Marvelous. Mic Drop.

To view this episode on our website, click The Conjuring House.

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