The boys jump helmet-first into the weird, wonderful world of buddy cop TV shows, psychotropic nostalgia, and the gloriously greasy tradition of 1970s dinner outings—where the pizza was cheap, the ambiance was ragtime theater of the absurd, and the waitstaff dressed like extras from a Prohibition musical—because nothing says 'fun for the kids' like mandatory garters and foam hats.

First up: a deep dive into CHiPs, that California highway fantasy where two officers fought crime, revved engines, and—plot twist—got towed on trailers while pretending to ride motorcycles. But hold your hot dogs, because actual Officer John Baker, Larry Wilcox himself, shows up with behind-the-scenes dirt so dry it could’ve been filmed on the Bonneville Salt Flats (which, by the way, is where Wilcox once set a land speedrecord in a Mercury LN7—yes, that was a car, not a calculator).

Things wrap up with a trip down Southern California’s memory lane, including Beef & Bun, Straw Hat Pizza, and mods on mopeds—trench-coated hipsters on two-stroke engines, leaving trails of aftershave and disapproval in their wake.

Plus, Jeff’s Domino’s delivery career, which lasted roughly as long as a CHiPs cold open.

Episode Outlook: Extremely good.
Dopamine Levels: Dangerously high.
T Levels: Low... very low.

Jeff, powered by three Red Bulls and a questionable sense of purpose, drags Chris into a deep dive on 70s/80s TV — an era when undercover cops thought driving a bright red muscle car or a jet-black van with a giant red stripe was the pinnacleof subtlety.

They take no prisoners as they rip apart:

Cracker Jack prizes devolving from actual metal toys to “here’s a paper cutout, go cry in the corner.”

The psychic fish that was really just heat-sensitive plastic scamming your sweaty palm.

Stretch Armstrong, a nightmare blob of corn syrup in a Speedo, proving that kids will worship anything if you market it with enough commercials.

They sort of attempt to discuss buddy shows and mismatched TV duos, but get gleefully derailed by rants on Knight Rider’s condescending talking car, Miami Vice’s ridiculous “undercover” fashion choices, and why every 80s action crew apparently included a helicopter and a token ex-Vietnam vet.

This week, Jeff and Chris spiral into a summer-scorched nostalgia trip that starts with a Texas Instruments calculator the size of a brick and ends with a Cub Scout uniform that looks like it was tailor-made for the Third Reich.

Somewhere in between: syrup audits, forensic shampoo tracking, and a wild rant about today’s coddled, playdate-addicted youth who wouldn’t survive five minutes in 1978 without a trauma counselor and a gluten-free snack.

Chris’s dad used to label every goddamn condiment in the house like he was building an evidence locker. Chris’s onlyjob was to shut up and observe the sacred math ritual known as "How Many Eggs Did We Eat This Month?"—performed by candlelight and calculator with cult-like reverence.

From there, it’s a hard pivot into the unhinged beauty of unsupervised summer vacations, back when kids were basically feral and the only rule was: “Don’t die before dinner.” They rail against playdates, helicopter parenting, and any summer schedule that doesn’t include whiffle ball, or starting small fires with stolen Bic lighters.

Also: sixth-grade camp as a proto-prisoner-of-war fantasy, the very real joy of impersonating a better version of yourself to a summer crush at Jack in the Box.

If you’re looking for life lessons, look elsewhere. If you want to hear two dads unravel like lawn chairs in the July sun while confessing their childhood crimes against structure and order—welcome aboard.