Episode #000: No Podcast This Week

Hey there podcast listeners. It's Brock here, your friendly sidekick from the Ben Greenfield Fitness Podcast, and I have some bad news for you. Ben's been off traveling the world, working like a maniac, doing all kinds of wacky stuff like doing sweat tests, sweating into buckets and peeing into jugs, being hosed down by assistants and, well, working out really hard, learning everything you can. So the upshot is there's no podcast this week. There just wasn't time. So you can take this as a golden opportunity to go back and listen to any recent episodes you may have missed, like the the Last podcast number 183. Are your hormones out of whack? And also you can go back and listen to Ben's recent interview about why fat is good. You can also stay tuned because later this week there will be a special audio release coming out on Friday. Yeah, so stick around this week and sorry we don't have a podcast for you, but right after these messages, I'm going to play you one of my songs just because I can. Have a great week. Talk to you soon.

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The devil comes up from his hole in the ground and he says to himself as he's looking all around, the world's gone to hell, which is good to know so maybe I'll stay for a drink and a show. He goes to the bar and he asks for a pint. He's only got a dollar and it's $3.99, you red skinned hobo, you lousy old tramp. And they chuck him outside in the and the damn. The devil is sitting, just rubbing his head and a feller comes up and he asks some bread? The devil says, boy, holla, goddess above. But you're welcome to it if you're down on your luck. The feller starts yelling, you've got some gall. A dollar will you almost no more help at all with your fine pointed ears and you're fine, I'd crack your head open if he wasn't so weird. So the devil, he figures it's time to move on. So he goes in the alley and what is going on? But some boys with spray cans clean the walls. So the devil comes over to inspect the scrawls. Complete filth, says the devil. I can't believe my eyes. Your grammar couldn't be worse and your rhyme contrived. Bite me, said the lad, and cracks a devil's skull. They file down his horns until they're bloody and dull. So the devil is lying beat up on the ground. There's a tap on his shoulder, looks up to the sound of a cop saying, buddy, you're drunk and messed up. Not to mention being dressed like God knows what. They take him downtown and they lock come up tight. The devil is pleading to go home for the night. I'm the devil yells above. I don't need your. You let me out now, I'll go back to my pit. So the devil gets out the very next day. He runs to his hole, doesn't stop in the way. He only looks back as he's closing his hatch. Checks the time, but starts screaming, you've stolen my watch.