This episode is The Burt Selleck Podcast at its most unhinged and, frankly, its most itself. It opens with the gang arguing about whether Alex “nudged” or “kicked” his dog — a debate that somehow spirals into childhood animal cruelty confessions, the Bikini Bottom Holocaust, and an unexpectedly thorough lecture on perch sizes. The tonal whiplash is almost impressive.

Mid-show, the guys pitch a Civil War video game reimagined as a chaotic gay Hunger Games, complete with popper cannonballs. This section is equal parts horrifying and undeniably funny — the kind of bit you laugh at and immediately question your own morality. The episode peaks, though, with Nick’s obsessive pursuit of prehistoric p**** and John’s refusal to discuss anything grosser than boogers, seconds before all three proceed to talk about the grossest things imaginable.

There is no structure here — just free-associative comedy, occasional cultural analysis, and long detours into video games, geopolitics, and the ethics of eating carp.

Would I recommend it?

Only to someone who already loves this podcast. For newcomers, this is like dropping acid in the middle of a Denny’s — disorienting, loud, and full of strangers yelling about brontosaurus head game.

This episode of The Burt Selleck Podcast is a sprawling exercise in absurdity, contradiction, and relentless riffing—a 90-minute meander through toilet-brain sports talk, dodgeball-based geopolitical allegories, and that old chestnut: Hitler’s micro penis. The boys, as ever, swerve between high-concept satire and middle-school locker room banter, stopping just long enough to half-sincerely debate toaster slots and the acoustics of bodily functions.

Structurally, there’s none. You’re either on this unhinged frequency or you’re left behind with the International Dodgeball Federation’s dignity. The episode’s recurring IDF bit cleverly (and maybe accidentally) toys with real-world political subtext but swerves safely back into parody territory with nonsense like aborted fetus cannons and sperm-powered snow plows.

Standout moments include Alex's deranged fantasy of melting snow with his crotch heat and the heartfelt discussion of gay real estate—yes, really. The riffs on web crawlers, NHL mic’d-ups, and ancient Pompeii masturbation fossils? Pure, deranged gold.

Would I recommend this episode? Only to the sickos. Only to the listeners who prefer their comedy unpredictable, offensive, and occasionally brilliant. Not for the faint of heart, but if you’ve made it this far, you’re already implicated.

There’s a moment about 45 minutes into this episode where a casual discussion about gay NFL positions—yes, really—suddenly blossoms into an earnest, semi-informed argument about the taxonomies of monkeys, followed by a detour into Native American tribal politics, and eventually lands on whether cougars should be stabbed on sight. That’s the kind of ride you’re on with this one: no seatbelt, no map, just three to four unfiltered Midwestern comics pissing into the wind of cultural relevance.

The episode is a maximalist mess, laced with enough absurd riffs, half-thought political hot takes, and poop-related asides to make a Catholic school janitor weep. It’s impressively stupid at times, but self-aware about it. Highlights include the imagined logistics of bathhouse candles, a running bit about “Dog Baptists,” and a sincere debate over whether tight ends are the NFL’s most bisexual position (verdict: yes, obviously). There’s also a sudden pivot to genocide and Israel-Palestine that feels whiplash-inducing, if not outright jarring—but even that, somehow, gets metabolized into the chaos

Would I recommend this? Only if you’re in the mood for stream-of-consciousness guy-logic delivered with zero structure and negative nutritional value. If you are, though—absolutely.

This one’s pure, unfiltered Burt Selleck chaos: two guys rambling through politics, bodily decay, conspiracy theories, Alien lore, college nostalgia, and whatever stray thought wandered into the room. It’s a hangout episode in the truest sense, which is both its charm and its biggest flaw.

The standout thread is Nick’s mysterious detainment, which they treat with the emotional gravity of someone misplacing their vape. It’s funny, bleak, and somehow still affectionate. The real highlight, though, is the cat-polyp saga. It’s the closest the episode gets to structure, and it works because it’s actually a story with stakes, tension, and a disgusting payoff.

Most of the political talk is half-baked barroom analysis, but that’s part of the show’s personality: wild theories, confident wrongness, and sudden detours into Predator movies. When they land on something insightful, it sneaks up on you. When they don’t, you still get a laugh out of how confidently they missed.

Would I recommend it? Yeah, but only to someone who already knows what this show is. If you’re new, it’ll feel like walking into a two-hour conversation that’s been happening for fifteen years. If you’re in the club, it’s a messy, funny, meandering good time.

This episode of The Burt Selleck Podcast is a sprawling, chaotic rollercoaster through injured necks, steroid shots, Detroit Lions heartbreak, improvised bank robberies, Red Dead Redemption ambitions, and passionate arguments about alien linguistics and NFL salary caps. It's absurd in all the right ways, even when it’s wildly incoherent.

The real charm lies in the chemistry among the hosts. Their ability to pivot from a riff about muscle relaxers to a dead-serious breakdown of Detroit's offensive line problems is both maddening and oddly engrossing. Highlights include the improvised bit about robbing a bank only to be sent on a fast food run (complete with a debate over fire sauce vs. Sichuan), and a philosophical tangent about whether aliens would bother with binary when Google Translate exists.

The episode drags a bit during deep sports talk—unless you're a diehard Lions fan with a draft board in your garage—but the constant derailments and self-aware cynicism keep things alive. The show’s lack of structure is its identity, but some segments wander into indulgent territory.

Would I recommend it? Yes—but only to listeners who like their comedy unfiltered, their NFL takes emotionally unstable, and their podcasts with the energy of a couch full of stoned friends yelling about space travel, lasagna, and trading Jahmyr Gibbs.

Rating: 🦁🛋️🍕💉 (4 out of 5 pimpled mousse)

This episode of The Burt Selleck Podcast is a sprawling, often absurd fever dream that somehow still manages to be coherent—if you're willing to redefine coherence entirely.

It opens with an extended, uncomfortable riff on Native American stereotypes, movie accents, and pseudo-anthropological nonsense, followed quickly by a surprisingly sincere (if clumsily expressed) discussion of panic attacks and medical anxiety. From there, it’s a carousel of spiraling tangents: AI’s failure to become sentient, using ChatGPT to generate rap lyrics, a dystopian screenplay pitch about apocalyptic house pods, a heist movie where criminals rob schools (and one of them saves the day during a school shooting), and a deep dive into Red Dead Redemption poker mechanics.

There are moments of genuine insight (the discussion of AI’s limitations and monetization is shockingly lucid), but they’re quickly drowned in a sea of performative idiocy and wild tonal shifts. The final act devolves into a feverish meditation on horseradish, Bloody Marys, and dream breakfast menus.

Would I recommend this episode to a friend? Only if that friend is deeply sleep-deprived, has a high tolerance for nonsense, and wants to hear four funny weirdos ride every idea to its most illogical conclusion. In other words: yes, but with a warning label.

This episode is a sprawling, nearly two-hour ramble that manages to cover everything and nothing all at once. It opens with a loose thread about The Conjuring 4 and ends somewhere between Simon Cowell’s plastic surgery and DJ Screw-coded Texan soap operas. The connective tissue is, as always, the quartet’s chemistry and their unrelenting ability to riff on any tangent—be it diabetic piss preferences, stand-up comedy contests, Venmo ghost money, or baby feces.

Structurally, there’s no pretense of structure. The episode feels like a long night hanging out with friends who are maybe too high, too caffeinated, or both. Conversations spiral into absurdist cul-de-sacs (a serious, unironic discussion of nipple-based arousal segues into a pitch for an energy company powered by restless leg syndrome). This lack of direction is both the show’s appeal and its biggest obstacle—if you’re not already on the wavelength, it’s chaos; if you are, it’s cathartic.

Standout moments include the brutally honest debrief on local comedy competitions, a genuinely hilarious bit about misfiring purchases on PlayStation, and a long, unfiltered debate about boxing and violence that veers into unexpectedly philosophical territory.

Verdict: Would I recommend this episode?

Yes, but conditionally. If you’re a new listener, maybe not the best entry point. If you’ve got an hour-plus to kill and want to hear smart idiots digress through every possible topic with zero filter, this is a goldmine. If you're looking for anything resembling structure or purpose, run.

If this episode had a title, it might be “Gone, Daddy John, and Other Disasters.” The Burt Selleck boys return after a brief hiatus, and what follows is a sprawling, loosely hinged mix of Tigers baseball talk, fat jokes, Trump-bashing, military coup hypotheticals, historical fur trappers, gum jobs, and Halloween candy ethics. In other words, business as usual.

This episode is quintessential Selleck: no structure, no filter, no real point—but that’s the charm, assuming you’re into a comedy podcast that swerves between raunchy nostalgia and bleak geopolitical banter without ever using a blinker. Nick’s gripes about missing the Tigers game give way to a surprisingly long riff on what each guy’s home run call would be. (“Ding-dong King Kong” is a highlight; “I’m coming” is… not.) There’s also a weirdly sincere moment when they talk about Michigan’s apocalypse-readiness.

The humor, as always, is vulgar and very inside-joke adjacent. There’s a full five minutes where the only throughline is “French fur trappers were gross.” If that sounds exhausting, it is. If it sounds like fun, it kind of is too.

Would I recommend it? Yes, but only to someone who already likes chaos. This episode doesn’t convert—it rewards long-time listeners who know the rhythms, the personalities, and when to just let the nonsense wash over them.