The Uncanny Coffee Hour with Dr Kitsune and Odd Bob
From Yokai and Bigfoot sightings to spirits, other-worldly beings and UFO encounters, we share stories and interviews; exploring evidence, theories, and philosophical implications. Always respectful with a touch of impish irreverence, we gather stories with wit and wisdom encouraging a strong look at Indigenous perspectives.
This project has been brewing in our minds for years and now with the help of our community (including the uncanny world) we are making it a reality.
The Uncanny Coffee Hour with Dr Kitsune and Odd Bob
Solstice Stories And Shadowed Things
Use Left/Right to seek, Home/End to jump to start or end. Hold shift to jump forward or backward.
The wind has a way of finding the cracks in our certainty, and on this solstice we let it in. We light the room with laughter, pour thick drinks, and tell three stories that bite: a child hears promises the fog won’t confess, iron boots ring down ruined halls, and something skinless drags itself up from the sea, hot breath reeking of graves. It’s a Fae-forward gathering with Sortia, Barnaby the gnome, and Gracie holding the circle while our human co‑hosts wander off the map—until they stumble back with gifts, kaiju time gaps, and a very opinionated tea.
We start with the Earl King, a warning about the peril of tidy explanations. Believe the children isn’t just kind advice; it’s a survival protocol when the night whispers. Barnaby then profiles the redcap of the Scottish Borders—iron boots, blood-wet cap, speed that laughs at flight—and the one rule that saves you when nothing else will. Finally, the Nuckelavee lumbers in from the northern coasts, all raw muscle and acid tears, stopped only by fresh water. These aren’t museum myths. They’re living hazard maps disguised as stories, teaching us how to read wind, tide, and silence before they turn.
When the boys crash back through the door, the tone whipsaws—witch hexes on corrupt suits, hemp lattes versus fruity tea, and studio chaos—but the spine holds. We trade folklore as fieldcraft: carry the right words, keep fresh water near, listen when fear names what your logic refuses. If you hike ruins, walk night roads, or love a good chill with your coffee, this one is for you.
If the shivers hit right—or if you just enjoy two grown men acting twelve while a puka runs the board—tap follow, share this with a brave friend, and leave a quick review. Keep your fires lit, keep your water fresh, and for the love of the old gods, watch the tide.
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(Dr. K already has tea)
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Coming to you live from the solstice celebration east of Springfield, it's the Sortia and Me Pal's Uncanny Coffee Hour.
SPEAKER_09:Respectful? Sure. With more than a touch of impish irreverence, we are going to tell you stories like you have never heard.
SPEAKER_03:You see, I'm a puka. Which means I can change forms and lend me talents to storytelling. I'm pretty feckin' awesome at it. Brought to you this week by my own artisanal November Blackberries. Drink too much, feeling a bit off. Have a head on you like a bag of cats. In bits. Next time, say out of a heap by downing a handful of my artisanal November Blackberries.
SPEAKER_07:I do not feel well after all that whiskey.
SPEAKER_03:Here. Try a handful of these.
SPEAKER_07:I wouldn't eat those. They look rotten.
SPEAKER_03:Before you're scuttered, just jam them down. Those aren't rotten. They are fermented with puka enzymes. It's a probiotic. It's vintage late harvest. Very earthy. Tastes like regret. Get some.
SPEAKER_09:I had a baby. Because I didn't eat your gross berries after saying paddies. Get some.
SPEAKER_04:Hey!
SPEAKER_03:Welcome back to our previous listeners, to a very special, very exclusive Solstice Spectacular. You may notice the studio is significantly quieter today. Less flannel. Less of a magical shunuch, the Coop Commander.
SPEAKER_09:If I may translate, Miss Gracie asks, where are the tall loud ones?
SPEAKER_03:Excellent question, Gracie. And thank you, Barnaby, for stepping in. Listeners, please welcome me, good friend from the land of the Fay, Barnaby, our local gnome representative and translator for the evening.
SPEAKER_09:A pleasure to be indoors, truly. The frost is nipping at the toadstools tonight.
SPEAKER_03:To answer your question, Gracie, Dr. Kitsune and Oddbob are not here. We were scheduled to meet two weeks ago. The last recording was going to start Friday at 9 a.m. It is currently Sunday, 6 p.m. That'd be 1800 hours for you. Yeah, you know who I mean.
SPEAKER_09:She says good riddance. The bearded one always steals my best interrupting points, and his wife kicks me off the bed.
SPEAKER_03:Exactly! We don't need them. This is a woman power episode. Well, Puka and Dog Women Power. Plus Barnaby.
SPEAKER_09:I am an ally to all chaos, regardless of gender.
SPEAKER_03:Tonight we reclaim the solstice. No dad jokes, no boring coffee facts, just us celebrating. I've brought berries that taste like ice and wine, and a jug of something that burns the throat. We feast on what the humans were too lazy to pick.
SPEAKER_09:I have a turnip that has been aging for six months. It is perfect. We will eat stew that is mostly brown. We will drink beer that is thick as syrup. It is sensible food for a long sit.
SPEAKER_03:Oh, that's grand. Okay now, Mi wee friend. Sit back, eat, drink, be merry, and enjoy our first tale of the uncanny. The darkness was thick enough to choke on. A father rides hard through the night wind, pushing his horse to its breaking point, clutching his young son tight to his chest, attempting to shield the boy from the biting cold. The child shivers and buries his face in his father's coat. Suddenly, the boy gasped. Gripping his father's arm, his small fingers dug in like claws. Father, why are you hiding your face? Don't you see him? The father glanced into the churning darkness.
SPEAKER_07:See who, my son?
SPEAKER_01:The Earl King! Father, he's right there in the trees. Don't you see his crown? Don't you see the sweeping tail of his cape?
SPEAKER_03:The father looked. He wanted to see a monster, something he could fight with a sword, but all he saw was damp gray air clinging to the trees. He kicked his horse faster.
SPEAKER_07:My son, it's just a wisp of fog. Just a trick of the mist.
SPEAKER_03:But the boy wasn't listening to his father. He was listening to a voice that seemed to slide underneath the howling wind. A voice that was sweet, cloying, and so terribly cold.
SPEAKER_05:You dear child, come with me. Forget this cold ride. I'll play nice games with you. We have colorful flowers on my beach that never die. My mother has chests full of golden robes just waiting for you.
SPEAKER_01:Father, my father, don't you hear it? Don't you hear the quiet promises the Earl King is making to me?
SPEAKER_07:Be calm, stay calm, my child. It's just the wind whistling through the dry leaves. That's it. Yes, that is all it is.
SPEAKER_03:The Earl King's voice grew closer, more insistent as the father held his son closer.
SPEAKER_05:Fine, lad. Don't you want to go? My daughters are waiting for you. They will lead the nightly rounds. They will rock you and dance with you and sing you to sleep forever.
SPEAKER_01:Father, look! There, in that gloomy spot. Don't you see the Earl King's daughters waiting?
SPEAKER_07:My son, my son, I see it well. It's just the old willow trees shining so grey in the moonlight. It's just wood.
SPEAKER_03:The father lied, desperate to offer comfort. He strained his eyes until they burned. He saw shapes, yes. Twisted, gnarled shapes in the dark. But the Earl King was done with seduction. The voice changed. It wasn't sweet anymore. It was starving. The bastard hissed.
unknown:I love you.
SPEAKER_06:I desire your beautiful form. And if you are not willing to come, then I will use force.
SPEAKER_01:My father! He's grabbing me now. The Earl King has hurt me. Make him stop. Father.
SPEAKER_03:The father didn't try to explain it away this time. He was horrified. He felt the boy go rigid in his arms, and then shockingly limp. He drove the spurs into the horse, riding like a madman, the groan of the aching child in his ears. He burst through the gates of his courtyard, the horse foaming, his own lungs burning with effort and fear. He had made it. He had outrun the woods. He climbed down from the saddle, desperate to look at his son, to tell him it was just fog, just leaves, just willow trees. But when he looked down into his arms, the child was dead. See? That father tried very hard to be rational. He had an explanation for everything. The mist, the leaves, the trees. Believe the children. They see what you cannot.
SPEAKER_09:That is incredibly bleak, Sortia. But thank you.
SPEAKER_03:Nay, it's honest. You know that. Humans love their little boxes of logic. They think if they can name a thing it can't hurt you. Oh, it's just the fog. The Earl King loves people like that. They're the easiest to rob. Dearest listener, keep that in mind next time you hear the wind whisper your name.
SPEAKER_09:How about a creature profile?
SPEAKER_08:Can you smell the fear? It smells like sanitizer and iron. Also, I found a bagel under the desk. This may be my year after all. Okay, so I have a creepy creature for you. Want to hear of it?
SPEAKER_03:Ooh, yeah. Something uncanny? Something creepy? Something to curdle the cream in the coffee?
SPEAKER_08:Aye, a tale from the Scottish Borders. You pucas like your mischief, and you dogs like your bones. But us gnomes? We know what hides in the ruins. Let me tell you of the red cap. A true nightmare of a creature. In the borderlands of Scotland, among the ruined peel towers and lonely castles, lives a creature that looks a bit like me, only twisted. Imagine a short, thick set man stripped of kindness. He has long, prominent teeth, skinny fingers like dried twigs, and large fiery red eyes.
SPEAKER_03:Ooh, trendy.
SPEAKER_08:Deadly. He wears boots of iron. That's the witch away you hear him before you see him. Clang, clang, clang on the stone floors of abandoned fortresses like Hermitage Castle. He carries a pike, a sort of long spear in his hand. But what really stands out, what really brings fear to me heart, it's his cap.
SPEAKER_03:Does it have a red propeller on it or something?
SPEAKER_08:It is soaked in blood, Sortia. Fresh, human blood. The Redcap, sometimes called Robin Redcap, must keep his hat wet with blood. If the blood dries out and turns brown, the redcap dies. So he is driven by a terrible, insatiable need to hunt. He doesn't kill just for sport, the redcap kills to survive. He hunts and waits. He waits for travelers, or hikers that have lost their way, or missing podcasters, whomever may wander into his ruins.
SPEAKER_03:Wait. Human blood? Who cares? Besides, why wouldn't they just run away? I'd wager he's at a disadvantage with iron sneakers.
SPEAKER_08:Nay, my fay friend, despite the iron boots, he is faster than a hare. You cannot outrun a red cap. And you cannot fight him with weapons. You see, he has the strength of ten men. Gracie says, I don't like this story, and she wants to talk about the mailman because the mailman is a villain she understands. I'm afraid not, my furry friend. But remember, knowledge is power. Now, where was I?
SPEAKER_03:Something about a wee little angry, scared dude threatening people while wearing a red hat. Wait, wait. Do they also drive comically large trucks and think natives should go back to the country they came from?
SPEAKER_08:As I was saying, the red cap cannot be outrun. However, there is a way to survive him. Only one way. The redcap is a creature of old wicked magic. But he is bound by the laws of Scripture. If you should hear the iron boots approaching, and if you should see those red eyes in the dark, you must recite words from the good book. The holiness burns him. He will vanish in a flash of flame.
SPEAKER_06:Ouch!
SPEAKER_08:Leaving behind only a single large tooth.
SPEAKER_03:Jesus! Any good book do? Can I just read something from Grapes of Wrath? I'll be everywhere, wherever you look. Wherever there's a fight so hungry people can eat, I'll be there. And then poof, he's gone and what the what? Here's a big tooth left behind.
SPEAKER_08:Aye. Some say the tooth is where his power lies. But others say that if you are in the Emerald Valley and you hear iron boots in the woods, it might not be a red cap. It might just be Dr. Kitsune and Odd Bob battling blackberries in the Dr. Kitsune sanitorium. But are you willing to take that risk?
SPEAKER_03:What a lovely, horrifying profile, my little friend. Listeners, if you're hiking the Scottish borders, or just walking the dog, watch out for a little man with the iron boots and a bloody red cap.
SPEAKER_08:And stay out of my garden.
SPEAKER_03:This has been an uncanny coffee hour profile of the Red Cap. Nice! I like that segment, my wee little man. How are you holding up?
SPEAKER_09:Why, thank you. Now that you mention it, I am feeling a little grit in my spine.
SPEAKER_03:Ah, let me stop you right there. What is it? Not a thing. I just wanted to stop you. Now let's get on with our next tale of the macabre. This one comes from the last time I visited the Highlands. I was on my way to dinner with Chef Ramsay. I needed to stop off in for a Scottish hare. Then there was this little shack you see, and a disheveled Scotsman waving a stake around in one hand, Haggis in the other, shouting something I couldn't understand over the wind and waves. So I thought, Jesus and Mary. He's in need of company, or he'll be Aramir for sure. So I trotted right up to him, switched form, and said, There are good ships and wood ships, ships that sail the sea. But the best ships are friendships. May they always be. Well, of course, he smiled and invited me in, so I joined him and his sheep for dinner instead. But as I sat there, ready to eat, he decided to go all natterer on me and babbled out this odd tale. Ooh!
SPEAKER_09:A weirgo with the story. Those are the best.
SPEAKER_03:Indeed they can be. Let me see. I think I can recreate his manner. Oi! Brownie! Yeah, you! Read this for me, will ya? I had asked what was on his mind, and he said, Keep your voice down.
SPEAKER_00:The wind has teeth tonight, and it carries sound better than you think. Move your chair closer to the fire. Closer. You want the shadows behind you, not in front. You ask for me thoughts, the wind and creatures on me mind. You say like some tourist waiting to see a puffin. But it's not an animal, lass. It's a sickness given shape. A mistake of creation. The other horrors of the deep, the kelpies and the myrrhfolk. Have you seen them? They have skin. They have hides. This, but the nuclear. It has no such mercy. Picture it. No, no. Don't close your eyes. Keep them open. See it that raw steak on your plate there. That, but the size of a draught horse. No fur, no skin. Just naked, wet muscle, glistening in the moonlight. Stood too close, God forbid. You wouldn't just see it, you'd be hearing it too. The slap squelching of wet sinew sliding over bone. If you were where I've been, you'd see the thick yellow veins pulsing like worms under that thin film of slime. You'd have witnessed the black blood pumping through the arteries of the beast, dark as the bottom of the trench. And rising from the back, where a rider should be. It isn't a rider. It's a torso, fused to the spine, man's shape, but not a man. The arms are too long, dragging in the dirt, the fingers tipped with bone hooks. The head, oh the head. Lolling on a neck too weak to hold it. It rolls side to side, a sickeningly loose trophy atop the demon. There be no mouth on the human face, just a wide, gasping slit. But the horse's head? Oh. That moor is wide enough to crush a skull, and it breathes a vapour that smells of open graves and low tide. Closer, I'll tell you of Hamish. Hamish lived on the edge of the cliffs. He wouldn't have fear the dark until the dark came for him. It was a January night, silent. The sea stopped moving. The birds stopped screaming. The smell hit him first. Not fish. Rot. The smell of a whale carcass left in the sun for a month. To the window he went, the fog pressing against the glass like a face. That was when he first saw it. The beastie was hauling itself up the cliff path, dragging itself through the moss and dirt. The flippers on its legs scraped against the granite. Scritch, drag, squelch, drag. It was coming for the light of his hearth. Hamish quickly bolted the door, but thing from the outside, you see, they don't knock. This beastie, it just pressed its weight against the wood, pushing, pulsing. The timbers groaned. Then Hamish heard the worst sound of all. He heard weeping. The human part of it. A high, thin, bubbling sound of pure misery, while the horse head below it gave a low, wet growl of hunger. Hamish ran out the back, scrambling through the muck, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He heard the sound of the door splintering behind him. He fell in his haste, and that was when he could hear the wet slap of the flippers on the grass coming for him. The heat coming off the beast was searing, like an open oven door, and there was the smell of boiled blood in the air. He made for the burn, the fresh water stream. He knew the law. He threw himself into the icy water just as a shadow fell over him and he looked up. Directly above him, the human torso leaned down. Blank, skinless, muscle twitching in the cold air. The giant, lidless red eyes that stared right into Hamish's soul. A drop of thick black slime fell from the creature's chin and landed on Hamish's cheek. It burned. It hissed like acid. The horse head reared up to strike, to trample him into paste, but its flipper touched the running water. The scream that tore out of that thing. It shattered the windows in the village a mile away, the sound of nerves being stripped. The knuckle of recoiled then it did, thrashing its raw body against the earth in a tantrum of pain, unable to cross the purity of the stream. Well Hamish did what any of us in our right minds would do. He lay in the water all night, shivering, listening to it pace back and forth on the bank, heaving breath from its form in the cold night air. That breath, the mortar sheen. When dawn broke, the creature was gone, dragged back to its hell in the deep. But the curse remained. Hamish walked back to his croft. The grass where the beast had walked was black and oily. The insects were dead, curled up in heaps.
SPEAKER_01:Jesus and Mary, did it kill him?
SPEAKER_00:Hamish lived, I, but the drop of slime that touched his cheek, the skin there turned grey, then black. It spread slowly. Over the years the rot took his jaw. Then one day, his nose. He smelled like the thing that hunted him. He died in a room with the windows nailed shut. He died screaming that he could hear wet flippers on the roof. So you listen to me. If you're walking by the shore and the wind suddenly turns hot, if the air smells of rotten meat, find yourself a wee stream or other source of fresh water and pray the rain starts before it catches your scent. Now, did you lock the door when you came in?
SPEAKER_03:I I think I locked it.
SPEAKER_00:Are you certain?
SPEAKER_03:There you have it. Another spooky recollection. Those feckin' idiots have nothing on us. I'm famished.
SPEAKER_09:Oh yes, I could eat.
SPEAKER_03:Let's get some stag or misbehaving child for dinner, like we did in days of yore, to soak up some whiskey.
SPEAKER_09:That sounds acceptable.
SPEAKER_03:More whiskey, you?
SPEAKER_09:Of course. My leg is hollow. No, really. Wanna see?
SPEAKER_03:That I not your leg, you pervy wee man. And another thing.
SPEAKER_10:What the hell happened here? I'm already tired. I don't want to clean up after I'm not cleaning that.
SPEAKER_02:I'm not even sure what that is. I don't know. Sertia! Hey, wake up!
SPEAKER_03:Chief O'Brien, remove me, cling on.
SPEAKER_02:Wake up, Sunshine.
SPEAKER_03:What the feel morning.
SPEAKER_02:What's going on?
SPEAKER_03:What? Oh, you're back. Where were you, shithead? Inconsiderate.
SPEAKER_02:What do you mean where was I? We were busy.
SPEAKER_03:Busy? I've been waiting a month and a half. Useless as tits on a board, the two of ya.
SPEAKER_10:We uh we took a little time.
SPEAKER_03:You took a little time, I'll say.
SPEAKER_10:It happens.
SPEAKER_02:By the way, here you go. Here's your gift. Happy solstice.
SPEAKER_03:Gift?
SPEAKER_02:Yeah, we got gifts for you.
SPEAKER_03:You got me a present.
SPEAKER_02:Your family.
SPEAKER_03:Yeah. Oh, thank you, boys. I not stay angry at you. It's good to be back with you again.
SPEAKER_02:If we would have known we little man was here, we would have gotten something for him. What's his name?
SPEAKER_03:Oh, that'd be Barnaby. He can't hold his whiskey.
SPEAKER_02:Hey! Wake up! Wake up! What kind of creature? And what'd you do to Gracie?
SPEAKER_03:Oh yeah, she had a bit of a Donny Brook. You should see the other guy, uh troll.
SPEAKER_10:What the hell is she doing? Oh Gracie. Oh, you're a good girl. What happened to your eye? She got into a fight?
SPEAKER_03:Yeah, I believe that's what I said.
SPEAKER_10:Uh okay. Alright. Um yeah, I uh I went to visit a kaiju that was uh he's well, it's a time portal thing, right? So it was overnight, but it but how long have I been gone?
SPEAKER_03:You forget your hearing aids, grandpa. I said a month and a half. At first it was bliss, but then I realized I missed the smell. The smells.
SPEAKER_10:Oh, well, that's not too bad.
SPEAKER_02:What were you doing with the kaiju? Uh just getting slightly uh irradiated. Irradiated?
SPEAKER_10:Yeah, you know. Because it was fun. How are your swimmers? Uh that's a good question. I didn't think about that before I went. I just I have a thing for kaiju.
SPEAKER_02:Let's just leave it at that. Did the kaiju say come inside?
SPEAKER_10:He said, oh. But I'm paraphrasing.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah. Well, Nanya, that's where I was.
SPEAKER_03:Where?
SPEAKER_02:Nanya? You know Nanya the witch?
SPEAKER_03:Oh, yes, yes.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah, I was with the witch and all her sisters.
SPEAKER_03:Good people. What were you doing? Don't make them mad.
SPEAKER_02:Man, we were trying to bring some witchery down on all the corrupt politicians out there. I tell you, it just ain't working like it used to. To be fair, that is a lot of black magic to throw around at once. Yeah, why didn't that work? Well, I think so far they've got a couple of spells down that are working. Like uh Gordita Pantalones. So they can make the politicians shit themselves. Why would that last guy poop in my pants? It's his fault. Or Cheeto Lafrito. They make them turn orange, but uh I don't think the other the other spells are working so well. The Oompa Loompa one.
SPEAKER_10:Yeah, the other one seems to be working just fine.
SPEAKER_02:I was also trying to see if I could get one or two of my tails back, but apparently I haven't been good enough to get a tail yet.
SPEAKER_10:Well, it'll happen. When it's important to you, it'll happen. Just like losing weight.
SPEAKER_02:So, why is all the recording equipment out?
SPEAKER_10:Yeah, what are you guys doing?
SPEAKER_03:Well, you lot weren't showing your furry faces, and we do have people that like to hear some nonsense now and then. So we were almost done making the first ever all Faye episode, and we kicked arse at it.
SPEAKER_02:What? An all Faye episode.
SPEAKER_10:That's gonna be shh okay, but maybe not. Look, I don't want you guys to take this the wrong way. Uh Faye have a hard time mimicking human emotion.
SPEAKER_02:You know, Sertia, you're the only one that can do it because you spend time with us.
SPEAKER_03:Hey now, don't be racists.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah, it ends up sounding kind of I don't know, robotic or like AI or something.
SPEAKER_03:These are my Faye friends.
SPEAKER_02:Emoting on the other side of the veil. It's different than emoting here. Yeah, yeah.
SPEAKER_03:And they have feelings and emotions just like you.
SPEAKER_02:I'm not saying you don't have feelings.
SPEAKER_03:And you are not as human as you think you are.
SPEAKER_02:I know you have feelings. That's why we brought you a gift.
SPEAKER_10:Well, when the Faye emote, they emote. But I'm just saying when you impersonate a human, it sometimes doesn't come across as completely human. Like something's a little off. It's it's like tales of men in black. You're just something's not quite right.
SPEAKER_03:Oh, come off it. Everyone knows those are aliens.
SPEAKER_02:Oh, I didn't I didn't realize that you So we're recording right now. You're recording us. Live? What? You're putting this on the air live. I hadn't even done any of my exercises.
SPEAKER_10:There, now I'm ready. So what was your episode about?
SPEAKER_03:Well, let's see now. We told the tale of the Earl King. Then Barnaby had a great idea for a creature profile where he told us all about the red cap. And finally I told a tale of the Nookalavi and a man it killed. You know, standard party fare.
SPEAKER_02:Holy cow. That'd curdle the cream in your teeth, wouldn't it?
SPEAKER_03:For our listeners. I have a slightly disgusted look on my face.
SPEAKER_10:Yeah. Those are not those are creepy, creepy stories. Well, good for you. I'm I'm glad that you got some of them down.
SPEAKER_02:I'd love to hear them. Die Earl Konig. The Earl King. That's one of my favorite stories. Scares the hell out of me. Earl King. Not like you're Earl King all over the ground, but no, the Earl King. Die Earl Konig.
SPEAKER_10:Uh, what was that kid's name? The Did I do that? Wasn't that Earl? Oh shit. Yeah, that was Earl. Earl Grey. Was that Earl? Kind of like Earl Grey. He's the Earl King.
SPEAKER_02:No, he's like the Elfin King, the Faye King. Yeah. The king of the hunt, the winter king that uh that comes and takes uh young children. Sort of like Epstein, I guess. Kind of a freaky Epstein with horns on his head.
SPEAKER_10:It's like a Faye Pito, like yeah.
SPEAKER_02:Okay.
SPEAKER_03:Oh, he scares the Faye children as well.
SPEAKER_02:Oh, that is he scares little Puka children as well. Yeah, I don't think I'd go to Earl King Island. Yeah, no. That's just stupid.
SPEAKER_10:No. So uh it looks like you guys had a squatch in here. Who's cleaning it up?
SPEAKER_02:Is that what those ice cream shaped things are? Piles of Phil's Frosty in the corner.
SPEAKER_10:All I'm saying is I'm not cleaning it up.
SPEAKER_02:It smells bad in here.
SPEAKER_10:Yeah. Look, we're gonna go watch a show or something and let you guys sleep it off. We'll come back, start a new episode, new season, say in what, a week, something like that.
SPEAKER_02:By the way, what's that you're drinking? Nothing? Because you drank it all. What are you drinking, Bob? What am I gonna drink?
SPEAKER_10:Well, uh nothing now for tonight, but right now I was having a nice tea. Well, kind of. I was thinking of you, and I got tea. Uh, it is um mango and uh can't remember dandelion, dandelion and mango.
SPEAKER_02:Fruity tea.
SPEAKER_10:Yeah, it was fruity, it was good.
SPEAKER_02:No okay.
SPEAKER_10:Well, I did also I doubled up my caffeine because I was feeling extra tired today. And so that was actually my second drink. My first drink was a nice hemp milk latte. That's what I thought. Yeah, with a little maple in it.
SPEAKER_02:Hemp.
SPEAKER_10:Because you know, I don't want to do the same thing every time.
SPEAKER_02:No, of course not. That would get repetitive and boring.
SPEAKER_10:All right. Well, uh, how about we let these guys go and we come back with season two, episode one? What am I drinking? Oh, god damn it. I always forget.
SPEAKER_02:I am drinking. Thank you for asking. A little bit of writers' tears to just set off the opiates in my system right now. Without the writer's tears, I would not be able to walk. So the opiates alone don't do the job.
SPEAKER_10:Without the writer's tears, there would be real writers' tears.
SPEAKER_02:There would be some serious writers' tears. Yeah.
SPEAKER_03:And right on cue, they devolve.
SPEAKER_10:All right. Well, uh it's fun to do.
SPEAKER_03:I'm going to go ahead and call it. We've lost them, lads. They're gone. The boys have fallen into a scroll rabbit hole. And I don't think they're climbing out before the drinks run dry.
SPEAKER_02:I catch fish with mine sometimes. You ever seen a tree squirrel fly? Bob, you ever seen a grown man naked?
SPEAKER_03:We hope the tail of the knuckle of V didn't turn your stomach too much.
SPEAKER_02:While it's still cold.
SPEAKER_03:It's a nasty business to see.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah, we should go.
SPEAKER_03:Darker than a dark roast espresso. Twice as bitter.
SPEAKER_02:Yeah.
SPEAKER_03:Thank you, Barnaby, for keeping me company this episode, and all me Faye friends for the help and support.
SPEAKER_02:A little dome. Yeah, I don't know. I could kick him like a football.
SPEAKER_03:If you enjoyed the shivers, or if you just enjoy hearing two grown men act like they're twelve, do us a favor. Leave a review, share the show, and maybe leave a bowl of fresh water out on your porch tonight.
SPEAKER_10:Yeah, let's close out the show.
SPEAKER_03:Just in case.
SPEAKER_10:Thanks everyone for listening, and we hope to see you in the new year. And we hope that solstice. Yeah. I hope that this uh the 26 is a lot better than 25 was shaping up to be. Nine months to go.
SPEAKER_03:Keep your fires lit, keep your water fresh, and for the love of the old gods, watch the tide.
SPEAKER_10:Blessings on your home and your family and friends.
SPEAKER_02:We love you all. Amen. Aho, oh.
SPEAKER_07:Thanks for listening. Join us next time for more uncanny chats and coffee and tea. You can find out more about us, read show notes, and get your uncanny merch at www.da.uncannycoffeepodcast.com. Until next time, remember. Never whistle at night.
SPEAKER_02:Eat the feckin' rich. And above all else, remember. We are not all monsters.
SPEAKER_10:Thanks to all of our listeners out there. Uncanny Coffee Hour is produced by Bob Messon and Mitch Kyoto Kitsune.
SPEAKER_02:Executive producer Gracie the Wonder Dog. Uncanny Coffee Hour is copyright protected by all laws, foreign, domestic, and ubernatural by the Unseally Court. No. Like grandpa said, all women are beautiful. Yes. All women are beautiful. Men, on the other hand, not so much.
SPEAKER_10:No, they're gross and hairy and shit. And fat. I think it's okay to like women. Just you know. I just remember. Don't be creepy. Yeah, just don't be creepy.
SPEAKER_03:Uh too late.
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