Abraham Lincoln Wants Man Pussy From Beyond the Grave

The program opens with an aggressively stupid and weirdly committed “Watch Me Use My Dildo” rap, because apparently that’s how we honor the nation before fireworks season.Tim checks back in after returning from Ohio, where he’s been dealing with his mom’s medical situation, endless driving, and the general spiritual rot of Ashtabula.There’s also an extra detour to Buffalo for a vintage computer trade, because if you’re already exhausted and stressed, why not add five more hours on the road for a nicotine-yellow keyboard full of pubes and mystery crust?Retrobriting the old keys with hydrogen peroxide turns into a mini chemical-burn adventure, complete with whitening fingers, pain, and the realization that maybe gloves exist for a reason.A sponsor request from Emotional Support Beverage celebrates a 20-year DV anniversary and brings back an old 2006 segment: “What Does Freedom Mean to Me?”The bit starts as patriotic commentary and quickly mutates into hate, kidnapping, criminal insanity, and an eventual “fuck you, America” spiral, which honestly feels pretty on-brand.Tim also marvels at how early he found his real voice, which turns out to be “deeply offensive satire that somehow gets even worse halfway through.”The much-hyped Great American State Fair sounds less like a celebration and more like a heatstroke cosplay event for old Trump voters.One poor attendee winds up in distress after baking in the sun among booths with no air conditioning, swarming flies, and what sounds like a steady whiff of gutter shit.Instead of rides and carnival garbage, the fair apparently offers a religious theme day with baptism stations, making it feel more like a revival tent with electrolytes.A medical emergency nearly turns into a spiritual awakening when a woman considers hopping into the baptism pool after seeing stars in the heat. God bless this dumb country.Tim discovers a new online lunatic, a self-described psychic medium using Zoom spirit readings to misinterpret audio glitches as messages from the dead.According to her busted internet connection, she’s getting ghostly check-ins from Reagan, Anne Frank, and somehow Abraham Lincoln.The Lincoln material is especially strong, if by strong you mean it sounds like a buffering router trying to say “lick her arse,” “bang pussy,” and “man pussy” through digital static.Tim’s diagnosis is simple: no dead presidents are trying to have sex talk with you, lady, your Wi-Fi just sucks.A listener sends in a compilation of supposedly great music created by the deaf and mute, and it is every bit as professionally ruined as you’d hope.The lineup includes screaming, autotuned howling, fake rap gibberish, and one or two performers who sound less like recording artists and more like human warning sirens.MC Bobo makes an appearance, and Tim seems genuinely ready to record a duet, which should concern everyone.Scientists are floating a plan to fight climate change by pumping sulfur dioxide into the upper atmosphere, because apparently the new environmental strategy is “poison the sky and see what happens.”Tim remains loyal to his much simpler solution: paint dark things white and stop trying to engineer an extinction event with chemistry.A health journalist named Benjamin Ryan becomes the accidental face of the monkeypox outbreak after typing that cases occurred mostly among men who have sex with me, not men.The typo instantly turns him into an online legend and, for one glorious moment, the internet’s most efficient monkeypox super spreader.Then there’s the physiotherapist in England who repeatedly endangered patients and, in one especially deranged move, tried lifting a woman by pulling on her incontinence pad.That maneuver earns him disciplinary ruin and gives the rest of us the unforgettable image of a shit-filled diaper wedgie being passed off as healthcare.