The bros rolled into 2026 like a hungover marching band, totally unprepared, missing their notes, and immediately defaulting to the only tradition that matters: drinking whiskey on-air. The Whiskey of the Week was a Jack Daniel’s Distillery Release that somehow tastes like toasted pecans, maple breakfast, and poor life decisions — hand-delivered by a buddy who drove to Ohio to pick up a dog, because apparently humans will cross state lines for puppies and booze but not for personal growth. The conversation spiraled fast into first-responder appreciation, porn-episode rescheduling, and the philosophical question of our time: Can a man go to a Mexican restaurant and NOT eat the chips? (Answer: absolutely not, don’t be ridiculous.)

Somewhere between health talk, Ozempic jokes, communism, Venezuela, and chips-and-queso addiction therapy, the guys remembered this was a podcast and not a group counseling session. They wrapped by wondering whether podcasting would still be fun if someone paid them a quarter-million a year to do it five days a week — and the answer was yes, absolutely, they would sell out instantly, Clyde would still be underpaid, and the whiskey would taste even better.

Whiskey of the Night: Everything Still Austin

“Lots of Ways to Get to Austin” is what happens when Texas whiskey nerds collide with Texas whiskey craft. Jason from Still Austin joins the Bros for a wide-ranging, boozy, and unexpectedly philosophical ride through distillation, music, art, and why whiskey made in Texas has no business being this good. The episode opens exactly how it should: accusing Still Austin of making a crossroads deal with the devil, because Texas heat plus whiskey should taste like regret — not layered, oily, world-class spirits.

From there, things get delightfully nerdy. Jason breaks down column stills, esters, terroir, barrel stress, and Still Austin’s signature slow water reduction technique — a French brandy method quietly revolutionizing Texas bourbon. If you’ve ever wondered why their whiskey drinks smoother than its proof suggests, or how Texas climate can both supercharge aging and absolutely wreck it, this episode delivers the rare treat of real education without the pretension. Think Thunderdome metaphors, stressed-out barrels, and chemistry explained in a way that actually sticks.

The conversation also digs into grain — red corn, blue corn, rye ratios, malted barley — and why Still Austin’s bottles keep punching above their age statements. Along the way, the Bros confess their own gateway-drug moments with the red corn release, argue about rye supremacy, and marvel at how something clocking north of 120 proof somehow refuses to burn. There’s also a deep appreciation for Texas-grown inputs, Texas artists, Texas weirdness, and the stubborn independence that makes the state’s whiskey scene both young and ferociously ambitious.

By the end, this episode feels less like an interview and more like a shared campfire among people who care deeply about doing things right — even when there’s no rulebook. Still Austin comes across exactly as they are: experimental without gimmicks, serious without snobbery, and fully committed to letting place, process, and patience speak louder than hype. Pour something good, don’t rush it, and remember: there are lots of ways to get to Austin — but this one tastes pretty damn great.

#StillAustin #StillAustinWhiskeyCo #WhiskeyBros

Drink of the night: Diabetus

The episode begins with a bizarre burst of freedom: no one is wearing headphones, everyone is talking into microphones anyway, and nipple-friction becomes an immediate sensory theme. SavageBro, FireBro and SeeingBro discover that without audio feedback they feel “like they forgot their underwear,” and the show opens with a loose, unhinged confidence that quickly tumbles into arguments about how far a mic should be from your mouth. Two fingers, one finger, or a chin press — everything becomes a measurement, including the sudden emergence of beard-ASMR as a legitimate broadcast technique. The whole thing feels wrong, chaotic, and strangely liberating, like discovering you can breathe underwater but only while drunk.

That freewheeling energy carries straight into the highlight of the night: a cold-call ambush of Officer Royce Gastonu from the local PD. He answers in his patrol truck, hair combed, ready for duty, and suddenly finds himself live on a nationally-syndicated disaster of a podcast. What follows is surprisingly wholesome — Royce breaks down the Santa Cops toy drive, the logistics, the light donations this year, and the desperate need for support. He drops real numbers: 73 families, 195 kids, and a heavy focus on teenagers who don’t want plushies, they want earbuds, perfume kits, or art supplies. The Bros pledge to help, threaten to assist again next year, and somehow manage to thank him for both civic virtue and combed hair.

But the moment Royce disconnects, the show descends back into philosophical chaos. Pearl Harbor surfaces, FDR is labeled the first Hot Wheels president, conspiracies are floated, and the ethics of blowing up Venezuelan drug boats are considered somewhere between foreign policy and stand-up comedy. There are debates about whether nukes were a demonstration, whether ships used to look tougher, and how drones have turned war into a video game with bad graphics and real consequences. Nobody fully trusts the official versions of anything, yet everyone still wants the military to be terrifying enough that nobody tries anything stupid — which is the most American sentiment ever uttered over apple-pie moonshine.

And then, naturally, they end on circumcision. A real dilemma is laid bare: a baby boy is coming, and a decision must be made. The topic spirals from Biblical tradition to hygiene to the blowjob economy, raising the immortal question of whether a man who cares too much about the attractiveness of his penis might actually struggle with long-term relationships. Somehow, everything — nipples, ships, nukes, charity, blowjobs — forms a unified field theory of Whiskey Bros logic. The episode is destabilizing, delirious, wildly entertaining, and at times shockingly tender. Behind all the laughter is a genuine impulse toward community, brotherhood, and taking care of the kids down the street, even if the podcast often feels like a Top Gun sequel directed by a drunk philosopher.