This ep is proudly sponsored by One Percent Collective: opc.nz/RATS

Reality bends, warps, is vulnerable to liberal edits by every twelve year old with an iPhone, and is the worse off for it. That’s what we’re dealing with, collective sanity taking an extended sabbatical. And that’s the exact tone the rats take with its free-to-you ep this week, a shame-free fact-free spiral down various rabbit holes including Philip K Dick’s absurd declaration of female pop singers being emissaries of a supreme alien intelligence (The Logos), inter-dimensional travellers cleaning up after humanity’s nuclear mishaps, and whether or not Crushes has the best scented candles money can buy (which they do). Though they’d consider themselves empiricists the rats take a break from dialectical methods and explore the ‘what ifs’ of alien disclosure, which famous prophetess Baba Yaga predicted for this year, and which a new doco just premiered at Sundance called Age of Disclosure seems to herald. Are they here already? Do they mean us ill? Considering imminent nuclear holocaust, the rats take a more optimistic view that the aliens want to slow the roll out of total warfare because they can hear it through the interstellar wall, and would prefer we keep the noise down.

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The rats have contracted a mental illness whereby they can’t stop name dropping. Symptoms include swapping stories about famous people who may or may not hate them. Also, seasonal depression is getting mixed up with the existential dread of democracy’s very violent and drawn out end, which the rats have various strategies for combatting; like keto friendly sweet treats courtesy of local brand Justine’s, which Sam has seriously considered emailing with a message of profound gratitude.

Also, the country’s best in-store New World deli is aflame! The rats wonder whether they’ll still be able to get chicken sandwiches and hard boiled eggs on tap once the flames have been extinguished, while also being very grateful that first responders managed to get the flames under control (after several hours, cough). Also also, the rats finally give clarity to the age old question; what IS the difference between a chowder, a bouillabaisse, and a bisque? It all tastes like hot sick anyway, but we still think you’d like to know.

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There seems to be a lot of negative chat re Sabrina Carpenter’s new album cover, and while at least one of the rats thinks Sabrina is the pop world’s most beige offering since Missy Higgins, they both agree that women policing women isn’t on; unless it’s a grown woman advising another grown woman to keep her love of Taylor Swift on the d-low (because like every conservative grifter with a secret Grindr account knows, not all guilty pleasures are quote-unquote innocent). Also; Sam complains (again) about having his expensive douche bottle stolen and renounces Queen Street City Fitness, scene of the crime in question.

He also wonders why the thief would take his douche over his bank card and Blunt umbrella (the rats decide this is yet another act of public desperation motivated by our national cost of living crisis). Finally, the rats are again in awe at people’s lack of capacity for satire, and in the same breath reconsider Michel Houellebecq’s Submission; though of course Houellebecq is a one-note writer, that note being the seemingly endless ballad of a sad white middle-aged man who’s never gotten laid in the way he’d like. His loathing of the middle class and France as a whole is just superb though, and the rats would recommend. Finally, the rats interrogate male laxity around having their mink blankets regularly laundered. As winter staples, it’s a unanimously timely and hard-hitting probing of a fractious and highly politicised topic (spoiler; you should wash your mink blankets every two weeks AT LEAST).

Support us and get extra shit at patreon.com/RatsInTheGutter

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

This episode is proudly supported by ReWired.org.nz - a non-judgemental support group for people who want to bring their Party 'n' Play into focus.

As late-stage capitalism devours us all the rats turn inward, applying the same journalistic principles of critical analysis which they’re known for to the ways in which they move through the world. This includes looking at their morning routines, varied because one of the rats is obnoxiously sober atm while the other maintains the little sanity they’re afforded by carnie-life in the form of treats and intermittently playing dead. Neither rat is very fond of AI therapists though, and take the time to denounce what they consider to be the height of species-despair and un-dignity (seriously, just unalive yourself; is probably something an AI would say, and famously has said). If not self care then what might save us? Machine Girl? (The answer is yes and we’re very excited for their Auckland gig in June; not a paid promotion). Also, does being fed a load scooped out of your freshly painted love-chute count as recommended daily protein intake, or should you supplement? Find the answer to this and so many other poignant questions within (as in within the episode, not within like how your yoga instructor means when you’re on the mats for shavasana).

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This episode is proudly supported by ReWired.org.nz - a non-judgemental support group for people who want to bring their Party 'n' Play into focus.

This week at least one of the rats is experiencing the kinds of performance exhaustion that made Houdini fake his own death back in 1926 (unverified). That said, the pair drag themselves up from the bowels of ennui to deliver a refreshing overhaul of The Moment (like, spiritually; nearly zero facts). This overhaul begins with a rough inventory of gay sexual personae, including a breakdown of the mysterious veil between being an otter, and being a twink (nearly the same animal tbh). Also, the sheer agony of having to share a planet with Winston Peters, who this week gaffed on RNZ calling things like the cost of living crisis and effing healthcare ‘woke’ obsessions—like, everyone gets sick my bro. Even Hitler got the occasional cold (or maybe more than occasional considering his heavy amphetamine use lol).

All of this to deflect from the fact that Winnie’s little Genital Inspection Bill is just smoke in the eyes of an NZ public that’s being robbed by profiteering MPs for whom a special circle in hell is reserved (spoiler; it includes nukes-as-butt-plugs and a rec-centre run by the guys who did Guantanamo Bay, just coz they love the US so much). Finally, there’s a very informative anecdote about gym enemies, and how to triumph over these by being the pillow princess during an impromptu orgy at your local bath-house. Kiaora!

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