Kaylee — Papa’s Basement 443

by John Papa on March 27, 2015

Meet Kaylee, See, she isn't just a figment of my tortured psyche!

Meet Kaylee, See, she isn’t just a figment of my tortured psyche!

Co-host Howard, whom you may remember, has a fiancee. And that fiancee has a dog. A dog named Kaylee. While Howie and his better half tend to matters elsewhere, trust and care of Kaylee has fallen into the hands of yours truly, a cat man since the day of my birth. What is it like when pet worlds collide? Join me and co-hostess Eva as we discuss the ups and downs of dog care, the unwritten rules of what one can do in an abode when housesitting and Angelina Jolie getting her lady parts yanked on the latest Papa’s Basement. Oh, and if you enjoy the show, please use your web browser (not your smartphone, as that won’t work) to find the show’s iTunes page and leave a positive review. Apple makes it so you need a PhD in order to figure out how to do it, but given my audience is nothing but Indian doctors, I think I’ll be fine.

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Seattle — Papa’s Basement 442

by John Papa on March 19, 2015

Like a photo of one's shaft, the Space Needle looks much more imposing when photographed from the base upwards.

Like a photo of one’s shaft, the Space Needle looks much more imposing when photographed from the base upwards.

A weekend trip to Seattle with the girlfriend made for much to talk about with co-hostess Eva upon my return to DC. Once back in the studio, two hours of my thoughts on the city ensued. Was it a rain-drenched elitist shithole carved into the side of a moss-draped mountain? Was it a land for artistic souls to explore their freedom and individuality by getting covered in matching tattoos and dressing to a man like Pearl Jam circa 1993? Was visiting the very first Costco the religious experience I was hoping it to be? It’s all here in this latest episode, which also dives into a review of Tina Fey’s latest effort, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, in it final minutes. Come for the unlikely tale of me getting off my ass and hiking around the Pacific Northwest, stay for the much more familiar tale of me sitting on my ass and watching every last episode of a Netflix show compulsively. It’s all here on the latest Papa’s Basement Podcast. (Well, not all. But those two things are. I promise you that much.)

Click here to listen to the episode in your browser window. Click here to listen using iTunes, where you can also subscribe to the show and leave feedback on the show, which helps our iTunes ranking and will get us rich and powerful. And mobile users click here to listen and subscribe via the Stitcher app.

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Flu — Papa’s Basement 441

by John Papa on March 11, 2015

How I spent my weekend. Minus the blue-haired bitch.

How I spent my weekend. Minus the blue-haired bitch.

The day after my 34th birthday, I was stricken with what I can only describe as the worst sickness I’ve endured since I sprouted hair on my peaches. Being little-kid sick as a grown man is a trip, and the horrors I endured bear repeating as both a cautionary tale and a source of amusement at my expense.

In addition to the barf-and-dook-fest summary that the show starts off with, co-hostess Eva and I delve into our take on House of Cards third season (hint: it contains roughly 500% more scenes of Robin Wright rubbing her goddamn feet than I would have liked), the deaths of Leonard Nimoy and Sam Simon, the announcement of Zoolander 2 (because why not let Ben Stiller crank out yet another mediocrity?) and the release of the Apple watch, the brand’s first all-new effort since the death of Steve Jobs.

Please share the show on Facebook or via Twitter or whatever else it is the kids are using this week. Hell, write the link on the side of your shaft before you Snapchat pics of your ween. Just get it out there, man!

Click here to listen to the episode in your browser window. Click here to listen using iTunes, where you can also subscribe to the show and leave feedback on the show, which helps our iTunes ranking and will get us rich and powerful. And mobile users click here to listen and subscribe via the Stitcher app.

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The ravages of time in a bra, panties and Liberace coat.

The ravages of time in a bra, panties and Liberace coat.

I apologize for the two week absence. As the world slowly descends into a new ice age, the radio station I record at was closed repeatedly due to inclement weather, and I myself was busy stockpiling guns, sled dogs and sweet, calorically-dense seal blubber for the looming frigid apocalypse. Now that I’m safe on my throne of shotgun shells and walrus tusks wearing the crown of the Ice King, it was time to get back to the business of the Papa’s Basement Show. And what a show it was! We discuss the un-retouched photos former supermodel Cindy Crawford posted of herself and tackle whether or not they really were “beautiful” as every annoying piece of clickbait writing on your Facebook timeline declared them for 48 hours. And we also discuss the passing of Harris Wittels, an extreme overachiever in the world of comedy who passed last week of a suspected overdose at age 30. I mean, if a meditation on death, addiction and whether it’s better to burn out than fade away doesn’t have belly laughs written all over it…

Click here to listen to this episode using your browser. Click here to listen using the much nicer iTunes player (and subscribe to the show to help our ranking). And mobile users click here to listen via the Stitcher app. (You can subscribe there as well and never miss an episode.)

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Browsers south of the Mason-Dixon line automatically block this image.

Browsers south of the Mason-Dixon line automatically block this image.

I watched the first Hot Tub Time Machine in a theaters, and I’m not embarrassed to admit that (though I probably should be). As I recall, I was hanging out with a friend of mine and I randomly had one of those existential moments where the meaningless of existence is thrust upon you like the tip of a colonoscope and you’d rather watch footage of ISIS beheading your pets than be forced to think about it a second longer. 15 minutes later, we were plopped in front of HTTM and I was able to dodge my fear that I’ve squandered my brief time on this planet by definitively wasting an hour and a half of it.

As for what happened during the original Hot Tub Time Machine, I couldn’t have told you five seconds after I walked out of the theater. It was one of the most forgetful things I’ve ever viewed, and I sat through all eight seasons of Dexter. One can surmise there was time travel accessed via a hot tub, but that’s as helpful as me staring at the cover of Old Yeller, then telling you the movie is about something named Old Yeller, and it’s probably the dog because the only humans named “Old Yeller” are biracial, octogenarian Southern men.

Since the plot is obviously asinine and of zero consequence to the film’s enjoyment factor, and I doubt the script is going to get confused with that of My Dinner With Andre anytime soon, let’s talk about the cast. First, we have Craig Robinson. While I find Craig funny enough and enjoyed him both on The Office and Eastbound And Down, I’m willing to wager that you’ve never said to yourself, “You know what I need in my life? 90 minutes of that paunchy, piano playing bastard.” Of course, 20 minutes of anyone on-screen in a comedy and I’m thinking to myself, “Why am I not as famous as this talentless asshole and instead writing about him from my mother’s house, in which I live at age 33?,” so your mileage with the man may vary. There’s also Rob Corddry, who I was ambivalent about until I learned while typing this has an extra, confusing “d” in the middle of his last name for no reason, so fuck him. Oh, and don’t forget this guy. I don’t know his name, but I’m legitimately convinced he’s just this other guy whose name I don’t know in a wig and fake eyebrows.

All of this sounds like I’m lining up to drop a gargantuan deuce upon Hot Tub Time Machine 2, but I don’t judge comedy the same way I do a drama. As long as a comedy provided a few laughs, it got the job done, whereas a drama, unless it’s strongly compelling from start to finish, I’ll consider a failure. Maybe it’s because comedy needs only to intermittently provide its hallmark visceral thrill (in this case, laughs), much like a slasher film need only provide a few scares and pornography needs only arouse. No one wipes off and walks away from a porn clip they just jerked off to thinking, “Well, yes, I came. But did I have cum better?” Nope. It’s a binary. “Am I skulking off to flush semen-filled tissues and disgusted with myself? Yes? Success!”

So, while I’m guaranteeing you that HTTM2 is no classic, it will probably give you a laugh or two. And if it doesn’t, well, this is probably the wrong website for you, Eustance Tilley . Go play some polo and hunt your manservant for sport.

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Reviewing 50 Shades of Grey Without Having Seen It

by John Papa on February 17, 2015

Dear women with bangs: You all look like the girl in kindergarten who couldn't be trusted with scissors.

Dear women with bangs: No matter how pretty you are, you all look like the girl in kindergarten who couldn’t be trusted with scissors.

I will never understand the appeal of 50 Shades of Grey. Well, I will, but it saddens me to think that millions of suburban housewives across the country are right now donning their sleep masks, asking their bored husbands to give them a swat across their spread-out office drone asses and then running off to titter to their gal pals that they were just dominated and they loved it. While I haven’t read or seen 50 Shades of Grey, I guarantee you’ll learn as much about domination from it as Pirates of the Caribbean can teach you about historical piracy. And you want to know why all of this hits so near and dear to my enlarged, cholesterol-ravaged heart? Because I do love me some S&M.

Let me clarify that last part before moving forward: I’m not talking creepy, “bring out the Gimp” bondage. Just old fashioned hair pulling, spanking and rough banging (PS – women love it when you refer to sex using that word). With me being the dominant partner, by the way. If the girl’s in charge of you, that’s gayer than two guys inserting their cocks in your ass simultaneously and then pulling them in different directions to gape you à la the fingers in this kid’s mouth. Which is fine if that’s your bag, of course.

In all seriousness, that it’s some sort of revelation to much of the country that a lot of women enjoy being dominated shocks me. Did my generation learn nothing from Ludacris? If you aren’t smacking a woman’s ass harder than Patton striking the face of a cowardly soldier while screwing, what exactly are you doing? Maintaining unbroken eye contact as you slowly run your fingers through her hair and the strains of “No Ordinary Love” play in the background? Merely typing that made me softer than overcooked ramen.

Returning to 50 Shades of Grey, all I can say of its central premise is that it’s asinine. A college girl (and virgin, natch) named Ana Steele starts working for young, handsome billionaire Christian Grey, who gets her to sign a sexual non-disclosure contract before introducing her to his sex room, which I assume contains assorted bindings and blindfolds. I got bored and stopped reading the book’s Wikipedia page at this point, but I can only assume because this piece of shit has mass-market appeal that: 1. Things really never get that rough, with maybe some spanking and mild restraint and 2. Christian’s heart starts to melt due to the earnest feelings that Ana holds for him and he falls for her in a way he’s never fallen for any woman before.

Let’s begin my list of problems with everything listed in that previous paragraph. First, the names. Holy shit. Gay porn star Go-Go Harder has a name that’s less on the nose than those two. Also, a very attractive 21-year-old woman who’s still a virgin probably has horrible anxiety disorder or otherwise freaks out every time a guy hits on her. Meaning a pushy-as-shit boardroom titan is probably going to have less of a chance of deflowering her than some chatroom nerd. And for the record, no handsome, young billionaire is getting hung up on any woman. With loot and looks like that, he can have Kate Upton licking his asshole like it is the last piece of an ice cream cone and there is a little froyo still stuck at the bottom.

Odds are, however, that Christian Grey would be way more into being dominated than doing the dominating. I mean isn’t it always politicians, movie stars and other wealthy guys that are used to getting their way who are found to be paying some dominatrix to shove things in their ass and call them a slut while they have cigarettes put out on their nipples? So, while I could definitely see the guy making women sign a contract before playing around with him, it’s way more likely said contract would contain verbiage along the lines of, “please don’t tell anyone that I had you drop a deuce on my chiseled abs before queening me for an hour.”

The only good thing I can say about 50 Shades of Grey is you apparently see Dakota Johnson, daughter of Melanie Griffith and Don Johnson, naked an utter fuck-ton, and who doesn’t enjoy nude Hollywood royalty? Plus, sleeping with her would be awesome because you could always say, “Hey, I hope you shaved down there this time: I don’t want it looking like your dad’s face circa Miami Vice again.” You’d probably get dumped immediately for that, but it would be worth it.

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Nice to see Kanye don his finest bathrobe and make nice with Taylor Swift at the Grammys.

Nice to see Kanye don his finest bathrobe and make nice with Taylor Swift at the Grammys.

It’s a packed show. Marathon man co-host Othello and I bang out a two-hour meditation on why people feel the need to live Tweet the Grammys or any other award show, how a woman’s rules of boob discretion change forever once they’ve given birth, why Mad Men and Breaking Bad came out five years too early for their own good and why my snoring (which I play horrifying clips of on air) probably means I won’t make it out of my 30s alive. If you’re into guy talk radio as it’s called, you’re going to enjoy. I guarantee it.

(To those of you that listen to the episode and want to leave iTunes feedback, here are the instructions mentioned on-air regarding how to do that. Just leave a review, send a screenshot to me via my Twitter or click here to email the screenshot and claim your “reward.”)

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If you're visiting this website, then the answer is a resounding "no."

If you’re visiting this website, then the answer is a resounding “no.”

I don’t typically directly link to Papa’s Football Podcast on the main Papa’s Basement Show page. The whole point of making a separate show was to keep the football talk off of my regular podcast. (Whittling the already-paltry numbers of my listenership down even further was simply a lovely side-effect.) But the Super Bowl is a magnet of international viewership and if you don’t watch it in this country, you’re rightly labeled a freak, so I figured why not post the Super Bowl show over here, too.

If you like the episode, subscribe to it over on iTunes (and for God’s sake, give it a review after clicking that link) or visit pfpod.com to find every episode we’ve done thus far. Enjoy, and please tell your friends if you like the show. I shouldn’t have to tell you that (and the fact I did shows you my level of faith in this product), but do it anyway.

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Another reason Seinfeld was evil: Making us want to plow Elaine even with her stupid Buster Brown shoes and ridiculous Andrews Sisters hair.

Another reason Seinfeld was evil: Making us want to plow Elaine even with her stupid Buster Brown shoes and ridiculous Andrews Sisters hair.

I love Seinfeld. That goes without saying. But it altered television in a way that television since (especially network comedy) hasn’t been able to recover from. Co-host Howard and I discuss what exactly I mean by that, why Roseanne was the last great American family sitcom and why it’s so, so creepy when women are in to men in uniform on the latest Papa’s Basement Show. Enjoy, share on Facebook and retweet. PLEASE, DAMN YOU!

Click here to listen to this episode using your browser. Click here to listen using the much nicer iTunes player (and subscribe to the show to help our ranking). And mobile users click here to listen via the Stitcher app. (You can subscribe there as well and never miss an episode.)

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Memories Of Howard Stern — Papa’s Basement #437

by John Papa on January 28, 2015

Stunning. Like a damn Semitic Fabio.

Stunning. Like a damn Semitic Fabio.

I’m not sure if it made for good radio, but when co-host Othello (follow him, for God’s sake) brought up Howard Stern right before the show, dammit, we had to talk about him. Anyone who spent the mid-90s through the mid-2000s with the King Of All Media will enjoy this trip down memory lane as we celebrate what he was and lament what he’s become. We also give a review of The Interview, which hit Netflix this week, and close the show with a story about a BBW model who’s in the news for making waves. Big, Godzilla-sized waves (I couldn’t help myself).

If you enjoy the show, please use the links below to subscribe, and get your friends to subscribe, too. (And follow me on Twitter while I read this list of demands Hans Gruber-style.) I like it when my audience extends beyond those that I know on a first-name basis.

Click here to listen to this episode using your browser. Click here to listen using the much nicer iTunes player (and subscribe to the show to help our ranking). And mobile users click here to listen via the Stitcher app. (You can subscribe there as well and never miss an episode.)

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