Rebel Without Applause

So I had a dream the other night that I killed everyone in Every Time I Die except for Keith Buckley. Which is weird because I have an overwhelming, semi-latent jealousy of Keith Buckley and his rugged good looks. And he's so freaking smart. And have you read his column? It's genius every time. And he has very nice sweaters.

Alright, so I'm in love with Keith Buckley.

Regardless.

I'm not completely sure what led to the demise of Every Time I Die in my dream (I'd call it a nightmare, but it technically couldn't be, because I drove around on a sweet hovercraft), but I remember thinking to myself, "Killing Every Time I Die. Huh. That's so damn literal." I'm not sure why I decided to let Keith live. I've come to the conclusion that it couldn't have been that Keith was able to stop me. I mean, let's face it, if I could handle Andy, I could pretty much handle the Royal Army of Paraguay.

And then I remember being really freaked out when the cops started sniffing around. (That's what they say. Cops "sniff around." I learned that on the streets, yo. The same place I learned how to use prepositional phrases.)

The cops busted into my apartment (which was actually the inside of a Long John Silvers) and I was like, "Cheese it! It's the fuzz!" But I'm not sure who I was talking to because the only person there was Scott Baio and he was totally preoccupied watching women's volleyball. And then I woke up.

What does this mean? And why am I bothering to tell you?

I'm not really sure.

But I think it all has to do with the fact that I co-hosted the newest AP Podcast with Bloggy McBloggerson himself (Scott Heisel).

Remember a few blogs back when I went offshore fishing for compliments by telling you that I'm a lot less funny in person than I am in print? (First of all, if you've made it this far in this blog, you're probably wondering how much validity there is to the second part of that statement.)

Well, now you can hear the awkward, stammering proof on this very website.

The thing is, when I get tabbed to co-host our podcast, it's a lot like in a Little League game when the losing coach decides he might as well play all of the kids who don't understand that they're supposed to stop running until someone tackles them.

I'm kinda that kid when it comes to podcasts. (And baseball.)

I'd done a podcast about a year ago, and for a moment it was so disheartening to everyone involved that we almost just canceled the entire podcast series and punched the sound engineer in his neck.

Okay, that's a lie.

But I wasn't invited back for a long time.

It's a real legit set-up--with a sound-proof booth and those cool microphones and headphones and everything. Mike Shea even gets the talent (that's what they call the people who do the show--the "talent"--regardless of irony) whatever they want from Starbucks. Since I don't drink coffee and I enjoy most of the same things that your average fourth grader does, I had Mike get me the biggest cup of vanilla cream he could get. He was a little embarrassed to have to order that and I could tell that, in the second that I told him, he second-guessed not only letting me on the show, but my very employment.

Anyway.

You're gonna have to suck it up and hear the podcast for yourself right here.