This episode of The Burt Selleck Podcast is a long, winding descent into absurdity, bodily functions, semi-coherent sexual philosophy, and barely tethered banter that somehow manages to be both repellent and engaging. It opens with lamentations about Ian's absence and devolves almost immediately into discussions of raw oatmeal diarrhea science, “gay ninjas,” and the gay Kinsey scale like it's all part of the same lecture series.

The episode feels like it’s on a barstool bender, fueled by overtalked beers and residual resentment toward the comedy industry’s gatekeepers (a solid digression into Rogan-world disillusionment). Somewhere amidst the chaos, there’s also a genuinely funny riff on the Rocky movies and a full-circle hippo vs. elephant deathmatch debate that probably reveals more about the hosts’ inner psychodramas than any therapy session could.

The tone is aggressively loose, often juvenile, sometimes gross, and occasionally self-aware in a way that gives the madness a glimmer of intentionality. But it's also two hours of relentless guy talk that doesn’t care if you’re keeping up—or want to be here at all.

Would I recommend it? Begrudgingly, yes—to a friend who enjoys watching a group of funny, bitter men spiral in real time with moments of brilliance buried in dick jokes and doom.

This episode unfolds as a chaotic, meandering, deeply personal sendoff for Ian, a longtime fixture of the show, and perhaps the most emotionally resonant installment to date—at least by Burt Selleck standards. From the moment it opens mid-bicker about lighting and podcast “purity,” you know you're in for an unedited mess. But underneath the mess, there’s real sentiment: the hosts love Ian, even as they ruthlessly roast him, suggest GPS-tagging his body, and bet on him losing toes to Washington wildlife.

There’s something touching about the structureless structure of it all. The crew’s attempt to frame the episode around “reasons we’re glad/sad Ian is leaving” gets frequently derailed by tangents about eagles airlifting hikers, nipple trauma, cult leadership, Trader Joe’s conspiracies, and Detroit-specific chili drinks. And yet, through this slurry of absurdity, genuine warmth cuts through. Ian's move clearly hits the group hard—even if they process it through deranged banter and fumbled bird impressions.

Would I recommend it? Yes, conditionally. It’s peak Burt Selleck: disorganized, juvenile, weirdly insightful, and occasionally gross—but unmistakably sincere. If you’ve ever had a dumb, loving friend group that masks emotion with jokes, this episode will hit home. A fittingly chaotic goodbye.

This episode of The Burt Selleck Podcast is essentially a 2-hour unfiltered brain dump from four dudes, one of whom just returned from a European trip and has a haircut to prove it. Ian’s whirlwind recap of Amsterdam, Hamburg, Berlin, and Warsaw is the closest thing to structure, but it’s continuously derailed by the others with riffs, grotesque hypotheticals, and some truly questionable history takes.

What makes it work, when it works, is Ian’s earnest travel reporting (hookers in Hamburg, breakfast from a kimonoed Airbnb host, the Monument to the Murdered Jews of Europe) colliding with the group’s chaotic energy and relentless sarcasm. The travelogue turns into a group therapy session about homelessness, ass muscles, and the legacy of vaudeville ribbon dancing. Somehow, it ends with Naked Connections, a Polish dating show that judges contestants solely by their genitals.

Would I recommend it? To a friend who enjoys incoherent, barely edited male bonding rituals? Yes, wholeheartedly. To anyone else? God, no. This is podcasting as chaos magic—funny, disturbing, and never going where you expect, unless where you expect is "nowhere." But that’s part of its anti-charm.

Rating: Unreviewable. Listen if you dare.

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.

Damn, Chat GPT really flamed us this week:

Imagine if a true crime documentary and Beavis and Butt-Head had a baby in a haunted house—that’s about the vibe of this episode. “Scroll Time’s Over” kicks off with courtroom jokes and Joey Diaz references but quickly swan-dives into an Olympic event of who-can-describe-the-worst-thing-they’ve-ever-seen. Spoiler: Ian wins by a landslide, again.

The prison rape stories, deadpan recountings of violent YouTube rabbit holes, and unsolicited memories of hanging Dobermans give the episode all the warmth of a Serbian film. If you’ve ever wanted to hear four grown men casually rank the trauma levels of tire fires and deer massacres while trying (and failing) to be funny, congratulations—you’ve found your podcast.

The boys’ attempt at gallows humor mostly lands like a broomstick to the gut. Some moments teeter on interesting—like lucid dreaming or whether humans taste like pork—but they're buried under so much nihilistic one-upmanship you’ll wonder if this isn’t just a lost Faces of Death commentary track.

Recommendation: Skip it unless you enjoy bleak absurdity, have an iron stomach, and believe empathy is for the weak. Otherwise, maybe just go outside. Touch grass. Hug a dog. Preferably a living one.

ChatGPT’s Review of 242_Hands_Free:

This episode is an unrelenting two-hour descent into bodily function discourse, underwear preferences, and unsolicited engineering solutions for urinals and glory holes. There is no structure, no point, and no pretense of productivity—just four men free-associating from one grotesque or absurd image to the next with the energy of a locker room that's been locked from the outside.

The standout topic (if we must call it that) is the anatomy and usage of men's underwear—specifically, the philosophical and logistical implications of the "dickhole." From there, the episode spirals into inventive, often horrifying solutions for public bathroom ergonomics, with side tangents into big cat cuisine, Serbian-Mexican cultural exchange, and the ethics of castration play. At some point, it becomes a meta-commentary on podcasting itself—how little it takes to sustain a show when the chemistry is this chaotic.

The tone? Gleefully filthy and unserious. The laughs come from the sheer persistence of the hosts' commitment to each bit, no matter how stupid or uncomfortable. It's not for the squeamish, the uptight, or anyone expecting a point.

Would I recommend it? Yes—if you're a fan of unfiltered guy talk that rides the line between idiocy and accidental brilliance. Otherwise, maybe stick to podcasts with actual topics.