This episode of The Burt Selleck Podcast might be the most unhinged, hilariously self-indulgent display of chaotic male friendship since the invention of microphones. Clocking in at over an hour, “Armpit Thunder” is a genre-defying whirlwind of petty grievances, diss tracks, AI music production, and philosophical debates about Komodo dragons and superhero lore—all filtered through the lens of four Detroit comedians who refuse to take anything seriously, including each other.

At its molten core is Alex's wounded ego over ignored group texts and stolen jokes—a deeply stupid, deeply relatable emotional thread that spirals into absurd rap beefs involving Nick's alter ego “Talented Brando.” The AI-generated funk tracks born from prompts like “the smell of an armpit, a baby, and sunshine” are inexplicably catchy and earnestly debated, while the spontaneous diss track aimed at Nick is both brutal and poetic. (“Fingers like ballerinas, but the punch don’t show” is pure gold.)

Ian’s sporadic phone-in as the voice of semi-reason is a welcome reprieve from the madness, and the closing discussion about sardines, tuna, and fermented Swedish fish somehow ties everything together with a whiff of decay and dignity.

Would I recommend it?

Absolutely—to anyone craving podcasting at its most raw, unscripted, and dumb in the best way. Not for the easily offended or those requiring structure, but for the rest of us: it’s chaos therapy.

This episode is the Burt Selleck crew at their most sprawling and chaotic — a two-hour conversational drunken walk that somehow stumbles from mocking Ian’s absence to a half-serious geopolitical “analysis” of Gaza, to the agricultural needs of famine-stricken Ethiopia, to belly-slapping leagues, clairvoyance-for-hire schemes, NFL player sexuality conspiracies, lesbian pitbull ownership statistics, racial breakdowns of the NHL, and whether bisexuality is just “bicerial” hand-holding.

The humor is crass, meandering, and often crosses into intentionally offensive absurdism — the Holocaust-as-typo bit, the Kid Rock statue fantasy, and the meticulous butt-douching history lesson are emblematic of their “say the wrong thing with a straight face” ethos. Structurally, there’s no arc: conversations die mid-sentence, resurface 40 minutes later, and mutate into new tangents with zero connective tissue. The through-line, if there is one, is the pleasure they take in derailing each other.

Standout moments: the “Mega Lesbian” Voltron joke, the clairvoyant holding ghost-secrets for ransom, and the AM/FM genital frequency theory. Also, Nick’s “dream minute” — which is less whimsical than it is disturbing — perfectly illustrates the podcast’s refusal to do anything “the normal way.”

Would I recommend it? Only to someone who enjoys comedy that’s equal parts barroom argument, shock humor, and surrealist improv, and who doesn’t mind hearing a dozen ideas abandoned halfway through for a dirtier one. For anyone else, it’s chaos without a map — but for the right listener, that’s the point.

This episode is what happens when you leave four unmedicated men with microphones and no agenda. The conversation, if you can call it that, veers from Alex’s famously thick liver to speculative skunk anatomy, TikTok’s “white shampoo” trend (spoiler: it’s not about hygiene), and a disturbingly vivid reenactment of a skunk attack. There’s a decent 20-minute stretch in the middle where the group fixates on building a soundboard of Ian lies—easily the most coherent concept in an otherwise wildly disjointed narrative.

Ian’s absence casts a sentimental, almost mythic shadow over the group. They speak of him like he’s dead or magical, possibly both. The episode also includes a deep dive into whether skunks have bleached buttholes and culminates in a proposed taxonomy of animals prioritized by gender identity during maritime disasters. Yes, really.

The comedy is anarchic, raw, occasionally inspired, and often gross. Some bits hit (like the chemical warfare comparison to skunk spray), while others spiral into repetitive, chaotic noise. The structure is nonexistent, but that’s the point.

Would I recommend it? Only to someone who already knows what they’re getting into. This isn’t entry-level Burt Selleck. It’s a long, incoherent hang with guys who think diarrhea is a valid punchline. If that’s your speed, this one’s a riot. If not, run.

Rating: 6.8/10 – Vile, meandering, and occasionally brilliant.