January 4, 2025 • 4 mins
Hey, Greg. No, you're not hallucinating; it's me, your popcorn bowl. I know we don't normally do this, but I don't know how much time we have, so I'd appreciate it if you listen to what I have to say. Greg, I am a popcorn bowl. That means I hold popcorn, not throw up.
Aw, here we go - do not get all defensive on me! I promise you're not the victim here. Look, I know you're not the only person who does this; honestly, it'd be so much easier if you were. I'd simply call Animal Control to sedate you like the crazed primate you are, but sadly, this is much bigger than the two of us. What we're dealing with is a systemic issue propagated by Big Trash, a bunch of no-good, lazy hacks trying to push their municipality-appointed responsibilities off onto the little guy. But regardless of what their shameless propaganda might have you believe, I, as your popcorn bowl and your friend, am telling you to knock it off. I mean, c'mon, haven't you ever heard the expression "Don't puke where you eat?" Oh, is that 'not really the phrase'? Screw you, Greg; I'm a popcorn bowl, not a bowl of idioms!
I'm not naive; I know no job is perfect. Believe you me, I've seen how corporate America has changed you, and it hasn't been a lick for the better. You were once so young, passionate, and full of life, and now…no offense, but your hairline has morphed into more of a hair "dash," and the check engine light of your marriage is blazing red. And yet, even on your worst day at KPMG, I'm betting no one has ever blown chunks in your face. Oh, they have? Well, that's accounting for you. No one made you become a CPA. How many times have I said as you ugly cried to "Dead Poets Society" that teaching was your true calling? But sure, why listen to a popcorn bowl when you can throw up in it instead?
You know, the crazy thing is, I wanted this to work so badly that I probably could have gaslit myself into enduring this Sisyphean hellscape if only you applied this same devil-may-care attitude to your other household wares. But not once have you barfed in that bitchy crockpot or yaked in the crotchety Dutch oven. In the sick, twisted, food-vomit Venn diagram, I sit alone in the middle. Your intrusive thoughts are right, by the way: Nancy is too good for you. And you know what, so am I.
Sorry, I know the Nancy stuff is still pretty raw, and just because you hurt me doesn't mean I have to hurt you back blah blah blah. I've just been having a really hard time lately, not that you cared to notice. This fun new bachelor diet of spoiled hot dogs and Coors Lights you're doing has put me in a dark place. A few more days of this torture, and I might just give in to that sweet siren song beckoning me from the trash compactor…
Oh my God, I know you did not just call me dramatic! Wow, Nancy was so right about you. How we ever fit in this apartment with your ego taking up the whole place is beyond me. Greg, I really wanted to help you and let you down gently, but I've had enough. Nancy has signed the papers, and she's taking me with her. Don't look so shocked; you couldn't possibly have thought those cheap bottles of wine and even cheaper hair plugs were gonna win her back.
Nancy is a popcorn-loving queen, nay a goddess, and she deserves to be with someone who appreciates her, someone who's never eaten something called a 'meat bazooka,' and someone who knows that a toilet bowl is the only proper place to vomit. I can't wait to get started on our new life together. As for you, here's some free advice: the next time you inevitably go goblin-mode on four-day-old shrimp, go to the bathroom like a normal person, and maybe, just maybe, you won't die alone.
Aw, here we go - do not get all defensive on me! I promise you're not the victim here. Look, I know you're not the only person who does this; honestly, it'd be so much easier if you were. I'd simply call Animal Control to sedate you like the crazed primate you are, but sadly, this is much bigger than the two of us. What we're dealing with is a systemic issue propagated by Big Trash, a bunch of no-good, lazy hacks trying to push their municipality-appointed responsibilities off onto the little guy. But regardless of what their shameless propaganda might have you believe, I, as your popcorn bowl and your friend, am telling you to knock it off. I mean, c'mon, haven't you ever heard the expression "Don't puke where you eat?" Oh, is that 'not really the phrase'? Screw you, Greg; I'm a popcorn bowl, not a bowl of idioms!
I'm not naive; I know no job is perfect. Believe you me, I've seen how corporate America has changed you, and it hasn't been a lick for the better. You were once so young, passionate, and full of life, and now…no offense, but your hairline has morphed into more of a hair "dash," and the check engine light of your marriage is blazing red. And yet, even on your worst day at KPMG, I'm betting no one has ever blown chunks in your face. Oh, they have? Well, that's accounting for you. No one made you become a CPA. How many times have I said as you ugly cried to "Dead Poets Society" that teaching was your true calling? But sure, why listen to a popcorn bowl when you can throw up in it instead?
You know, the crazy thing is, I wanted this to work so badly that I probably could have gaslit myself into enduring this Sisyphean hellscape if only you applied this same devil-may-care attitude to your other household wares. But not once have you barfed in that bitchy crockpot or yaked in the crotchety Dutch oven. In the sick, twisted, food-vomit Venn diagram, I sit alone in the middle. Your intrusive thoughts are right, by the way: Nancy is too good for you. And you know what, so am I.
Sorry, I know the Nancy stuff is still pretty raw, and just because you hurt me doesn't mean I have to hurt you back blah blah blah. I've just been having a really hard time lately, not that you cared to notice. This fun new bachelor diet of spoiled hot dogs and Coors Lights you're doing has put me in a dark place. A few more days of this torture, and I might just give in to that sweet siren song beckoning me from the trash compactor…
Oh my God, I know you did not just call me dramatic! Wow, Nancy was so right about you. How we ever fit in this apartment with your ego taking up the whole place is beyond me. Greg, I really wanted to help you and let you down gently, but I've had enough. Nancy has signed the papers, and she's taking me with her. Don't look so shocked; you couldn't possibly have thought those cheap bottles of wine and even cheaper hair plugs were gonna win her back.
Nancy is a popcorn-loving queen, nay a goddess, and she deserves to be with someone who appreciates her, someone who's never eaten something called a 'meat bazooka,' and someone who knows that a toilet bowl is the only proper place to vomit. I can't wait to get started on our new life together. As for you, here's some free advice: the next time you inevitably go goblin-mode on four-day-old shrimp, go to the bathroom like a normal person, and maybe, just maybe, you won't die alone.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
I'm a popcorn bowl, not a throw up bowl. Hey, Greg, no,
you're not hallucinating. It's me your popcorn bowl. I know
we don't normally do this, but I don't know how
much time we have, so I'd appreciate it if you
listen to what I have to say. Greg, I am
a popcorn bowl. That means I hold popcorn, not throw up. Ah,
(00:25):
here we go. Do not get all defensive on me.
I promise you're not the victim here. Look, I know
you're not the only person who does this. Honestly, it'd
be so much easier if you were. I'd simply call
animal control to sedate you like the craze primate you are.
But sadly, this is much bigger than the two of us.
(00:46):
What we're dealing with is a systemic issue propagated by
big trash, a bunch of no good lazy hacks trying
to push their municipality appointed responsibilities off onto the little guy.
But regardless of what they're shameless propaganda might have you
believe I as your popcorn bowl and your friend and
telling you to knock it off. I mean, come on,
(01:09):
haven't you ever heard the expression don't puke? Where? You eat.
Oh is that not really the phrase? Screw you Gregg.
I'm a popcorn bowl, not a bowl of idioms. I'm
not naive. I know no job is perfect. Believe you me.
I've seen how corporate America has changed you, and it
(01:30):
hasn't been a lick for the better. You were once
so young, passionate and full of life, and now no offense.
But your hairline has morphed into more of a hair dash,
and the check engine light of your marriage is blazing red.
And yet even on your worst day at KPMG, I'm
betting no one has ever blown chunks in your face.
(01:53):
Oh they have, Well that's accounting for you. No one
made you become a CPA. How many times have I said,
as you ugly cried to dead poets society, that teaching
was your true calling? But sure, why listen to a
popcorn bowl when you can throw up in it instead?
(02:13):
You know? The crazy thing is I wanted this to
work so badly that I probably could have gasled myself
into enduring this sissyphy and Hell's cape if only you
applied the same devil may care attitude to your other
household wares. But not once have you barkeed in that
bitch of crockpot or yaked in the crotchety Dutch oven,
in the sick twisted food vomit vin diagram. I sit
(02:36):
alone in the middle. Your intrusive thoughts are right by
the way. Nancy is too good for you, and you
know what, So am I sorry? I know the Nancy
stuff is still pretty raw. And just because you heard
me doesn't mean I have to hurt you back. Blah
blah blah. I've just been having a really hard time lately,
(02:57):
not that you cared to notice this fun a new
bachelor diet of spoiled hot dogs and Kor's light. You're
doing has put me in a dark place. A few
more days of this torture and I might just give
in to that sweet siren song beckoning me from the
trash kopactor. Oh my god, I know you did not
just call me dramatic. Wow, Nancy was so right about you.
(03:20):
How we ever fit in this apartment with your ego
taking up the whole place is beyond me, Greg. I
really wanted to help you and let you down gently,
but I've had enough. Nancy has signed the papers and
she's taking me with her. Don't look so shocked. You
couldn't possibly have thought those cheap bottles of wine and
(03:42):
even cheaper hair plugs were gonna win her back. Nancy
is a popcorn loving queen nee goddess, and she deserves
to be with someone who appreciates her, someone who's never
eaten something called a mea bezuka, and someone who knows
that a toilet bowl is the only proper place to vane.
I can't wait to get started on our new life together.
(04:04):
As for you, here's some free advice. The next time
you inevitably go gobblin mode on four day old Shrimp,
go to the bathroom like a normal person, and maybe,
just maybe you won't die alone.
I'm a popcorn bowl, not a throw up bowl. Hey, Greg, no,
you're not hallucinating. It's me your popcorn bowl. I know
we don't normally do this, but I don't know how
much time we have, so I'd appreciate it if you
listen to what I have to say. Greg, I am
a popcorn bowl. That means I hold popcorn, not throw up. Ah,
(00:25):
here we go. Do not get all defensive on me.
I promise you're not the victim here. Look, I know
you're not the only person who does this. Honestly, it'd
be so much easier if you were. I'd simply call
animal control to sedate you like the craze primate you are.
But sadly, this is much bigger than the two of us.
(00:46):
What we're dealing with is a systemic issue propagated by
big trash, a bunch of no good lazy hacks trying
to push their municipality appointed responsibilities off onto the little guy.
But regardless of what they're shameless propaganda might have you
believe I as your popcorn bowl and your friend and
telling you to knock it off. I mean, come on,
(01:09):
haven't you ever heard the expression don't puke? Where? You eat.
Oh is that not really the phrase? Screw you Gregg.
I'm a popcorn bowl, not a bowl of idioms. I'm
not naive. I know no job is perfect. Believe you me.
I've seen how corporate America has changed you, and it
(01:30):
hasn't been a lick for the better. You were once
so young, passionate and full of life, and now no offense.
But your hairline has morphed into more of a hair dash,
and the check engine light of your marriage is blazing red.
And yet even on your worst day at KPMG, I'm
betting no one has ever blown chunks in your face.
(01:53):
Oh they have, Well that's accounting for you. No one
made you become a CPA. How many times have I said,
as you ugly cried to dead poets society, that teaching
was your true calling? But sure, why listen to a
popcorn bowl when you can throw up in it instead?
(02:13):
You know? The crazy thing is I wanted this to
work so badly that I probably could have gasled myself
into enduring this sissyphy and Hell's cape if only you
applied the same devil may care attitude to your other
household wares. But not once have you barkeed in that
bitch of crockpot or yaked in the crotchety Dutch oven,
in the sick twisted food vomit vin diagram. I sit
(02:36):
alone in the middle. Your intrusive thoughts are right by
the way. Nancy is too good for you, and you
know what, So am I sorry? I know the Nancy
stuff is still pretty raw. And just because you heard
me doesn't mean I have to hurt you back. Blah
blah blah. I've just been having a really hard time lately,
(02:57):
not that you cared to notice this fun a new
bachelor diet of spoiled hot dogs and Kor's light. You're
doing has put me in a dark place. A few
more days of this torture and I might just give
in to that sweet siren song beckoning me from the
trash kopactor. Oh my god, I know you did not
just call me dramatic. Wow, Nancy was so right about you.
(03:20):
How we ever fit in this apartment with your ego
taking up the whole place is beyond me, Greg. I
really wanted to help you and let you down gently,
but I've had enough. Nancy has signed the papers and
she's taking me with her. Don't look so shocked. You
couldn't possibly have thought those cheap bottles of wine and
(03:42):
even cheaper hair plugs were gonna win her back. Nancy
is a popcorn loving queen nee goddess, and she deserves
to be with someone who appreciates her, someone who's never
eaten something called a mea bezuka, and someone who knows
that a toilet bowl is the only proper place to vane.
I can't wait to get started on our new life together.
(04:04):
As for you, here's some free advice. The next time
you inevitably go gobblin mode on four day old Shrimp,
go to the bathroom like a normal person, and maybe,
just maybe you won't die alone.
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