Surgery One

Guy leads the fight against Generalized Podcast Anxiety Disorder (G-PAD) stigmas.

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Welcome to the one-hundred-and-thirty-first episode of The Undercover Intern podcast, coming to you live from the centre of London. I'm your host, Guy Snapdragon, and today is Monday the 11th of August 2025.

We are sponsored this week by John Smith’s Podcast Zoo. We urgently ask visitors not to feed bread to the podcasters, it lacks the essential nutrients podcasters need to survive and moldy bread can introduce harmful bacteria and fungi, which makes podcasters sick. I know how fun it is to throw bread towards a gaggle of podcasters and watch them fight over the crust, but it’s not safe and it’s demeaning for everybody, ultimately. All podcasters at John Smith’s Podcast Zoo are provided with a healthy breakfast and bananas, and there is no need for visitors to augment this in any way.

I’ll be recording a crossover podcast with The Beef & Dairy Network Podcast next Monday, 18th August, as part of the summer holiday event season at John Smith’s Podcast Zoo. There are still a few tickets still available via the website and there will be ungulates.

To demonstrate the safety of G-PAD podcasters from a paedophilia perspective, I made the decision to surgically castrate myself. First of all, I do not recommend doing this without anesthetic and without a decent pair of scissors. Mine were a little rusty and it took me ages to get an adequate scrotum hole. There was blood and minor viscera everywhere and that attracted seagulls who are obviously prone to aggression whenever they sense a decent meal. By the time I’d squeezed my left testicle out I barely had the energy to fight them off and one managed to eat half of it before I gathered my bravery to cut all the veins and nerves away. If I had to define pain on a scale of zero to ten, I’d literally allocate ten as seagulls feasting on my attached testicle while I use rusty scissors to cut the testicle’s tendrils, and so there was really quite acute suffering. Sorry to anyone at John Smith’s Podcast Zoo on Wednesday afternoon who witnessed any of this, it’s not primarily what the zoo is here for. That isn’t normal podcaster behaviour.

I could not tolerate any further pain and so my right testicle remains in my scrotum. I guess that means I’m half castrated only. But I hope that this gesture provides enough evidence of my commitment to being an inspiring and safe podcast teacher to children. I have very few sexual urges now and even when I did, before I removed my left testicle, these were entirely directed at adult human females, and occasionally dolphins. I never acted on the latter, and women very rarely responded positively to my efforts towards the former. I will say that castration is much noisier than I expected, not just the screaming but I didn’t expect scrotum cutting to sound like bread being sliced. Maybe if I’d used better scissors…

I didn’t walk much until the weekend. Over the past few months I’ve lost my left lung, my left little finger, my left nipple and now my left testicle. My perpetual alarm clock is on the right side of my mouth and is surprisingly heavy. I also have a rare condition called dextrocardia. This means that my heart is on the right side of my body. Overall therefore, I have literally reached a tipping point and my vet tells me that I have a classic case of falling to the right disease. If I focus I can almost walk normally, but once I relax I start leaning and eventually just topple.

Millions of people live with chronic diseases and I’m not saying that falling to the right disease is as bad as gout or diabetes, but it’s really no fun to fall rightwards five or six times a day. Concussion is a constant risk and many people in their fifties onwards with falling to the right disease find themselves unable to stand back up. I don’t want to end up like that. Pathetic. My options are a crutch for life, holding a 900 gram weight in my left hand for life, or a one-off minor operation to remove my right arm, just south of the elbow, to balance everything out. Please write to Undercover Intern Guy all one word, that’s undercoverinternguy@gmail.com if you have advice. I’m opening communication channels for a few days only because I really don’t know what to do. My Higher Power wants me to keep my right arm, but I think that’s in large part because I sometimes use my right hand to bring him to climax, as part of my therapy. I keep wondering whether four fingers will be enough for me to achieve my dreams but apart from that I have no real objection to losing a right arm. If anything, it will provide further evidence of my leadership in combatting podcaster paedophilia. How much harm can a four-fingered semi-castrated podcaster do to a child?

What I need, I think, is just a week where nothing happens to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not losing faith in the 12 steps, or in my Higher Power. But at this point I’d give my right arm for a quiet and peaceful life in the suburbs. Just me and the wife and kids. Walks with the dog and a Sunday Roast. An administration job. Something where the rules are clear, I can keep my head down and reach my targets and go home. Maybe play five-a-side on a Thursday. My youngest kid is on the spectrum, but he’s getting plenty of support and there’s no reason why he can’t have a bright future. My parents are still in decent health and independent. I might need my wisdom teeth removed but it’s all covered by insurance and even though I have a bit of phobia about dentists, I know it’ll be fine. The wife made an incredible raspberry jam this year, using raspberries from our garden and there’ll be enough for me to put on my toast well into next year. I’ve heard a rumour that they’re going to bring back Drifters chocolate bars, which would be great because I couldn’t believe it when they discontinued them in 2017 before I had a chance to stock up. I might try and write a novel but don’t want to make it too autobiographical. I have heammhoroids but have managed to get cream from the internet without having to go to the doctor. I’m thinking of cancelling our subscription to The Times. I barely even read the Sunday edition now and all that wasted paper can’t be good for the environment. That reminds me, I need to take the recycling bin out today...

[Cough] Sorry, where was I? I’m going to be 45 next April and none of that is happening. I live by myself in a zoo. I’m really not feeling sorry for myself, I have so much to live for and I am under the protective arm of my Higher Power. Should we a do a quotation, something good? Open quote. The best thing about time passing is the privilege of running out of it, of watching the wave of mortality break over me and everyone I know. No more time, no more potential. The privilege of ruling things out. Finishing. Knowing I’m finished. And knowing time will go on without me. Look at me, dancing my little dance for a few moments against the background of eternity. End quote. That’s Sarah Manguso and what a lovely image, of each of us dancing against the background of eternity. How will you choose to dance? Will it be a sad dance of the life that got away from you, or will be it be a dance to celebrate the cosmic miracle that is your existence in a zoo? Will I look silly dancing if I only have four fingers? I’ve just realized that I’m never going to be a professional saxaphonist. I was learning to play but I don’t think I should continue. There aren’t many one-handed saxaphonists, let alone four-fingered.

[Sound of me crashing to the floor]. Sorry, that’s my falling to the right disease. I will not accept it interfering with my podcasting and I’m not walking around with a crane like a retard. No offense to retards, but I will not live like this.

We get all sorts of visitors to the zoo, so when I saw four policemen watching me just after feeding time on Friday I figured they were just unwinding after a long week of bureaucracy and beating neo-beatniks with batons. Perhaps they were interested in developing their own podcast about life on the streets of Barnet. There was still remnant scrotal bleeding and I wasn’t at my best and so when they didn’t move on I shouted down to them to give me a bit of privacy. It’s against zoo policy for podcasters to verbally interact with visitors and I was muzzled for my own safety. But those same four policemen came here again this morning, and this time they were given moat access as they wanted to ask me a few questions. Would you believe that there is no statute of limitations for murder in the UK? How absurd that somebody can do something 30 years ago when literally every single cell in their body is different from what it is today and still somehow be responsible. When I was 14 I would consume a can of coke and a mars bar for breakfast. I was an idiot. I only brushed my teeth once a week, if that. There’s nothing about me today, apart from the anxiety, that resembles the 14-year-old me. I didn’t even have an email address back then, for god’s sake.

I didn’t murder Aunty Gwen. I have a lot of sympathy for the scared little boy who poisoned her, but it wasn’t me. But there’s a cloud on my horizon in the form of a murder charge. Thanks to my Higher Power, landlord and zookeeper I am released on bail, but under zoo arrest. If I’d have known that I’m not allowed to visit schools to teach podcasting I’d never have semi-castrated myself. 

I’ve been your host, Guy Snapdragon. My producer is Robert Barnes. May you use your time wisely, and may your use of wise be timely.

Did you check the lottery numbers, honey? I’m going to give the car a quick wash and then I’ll pop to Waitrose. Is there anything we need apart from chia seeds? We should watch The Detectorists tonight, unless you need to work. Let’s try and get an early night though, I’ve got to get up early tomorrow to get Olivia to school before 8 for her piano lesson. It looks like it’s going to rain; I’ll go to Waitrose first and then wash the car afterwards if it’s just a shower. I want to pick up the new Sally Rooney book, it’s got great reviews and paperbacks are only ten quid at Waitrose at the moment. I love you, honey. See you in a bit…