Have you ever listened to Higgs show? Every day I'll be a big justice I see on show. I know I know I know Go to my show. You can get with this, so you can get with that. You can get with this, so you can get with that. Kinda fat. Eekshow, eek show number nine on the podcast, Transit Live. And if your headphones go off the track, turn it back up, turn it back up, turn it back up. Fucking eek sheep, Ken. Eek sheep. Are you a fucking eek sheep? Doesn't make any sense. It doesn't make any sense to most of you listening. But to me, it's creative freedom. It's creative artistic fucking value. I want you to stuff that in your pocket with your fucking old Milky Way. And sometime this afternoon when it's like 76, 77, 78 degrees, and that Milky Way is starting to fucking melt. You'll fucking reach in your pocket, pull it out, it'll be a fucking squishy mess. And you'll be like, oh yeah! That fucking brilliant Eekshow idea. How he started a show to fucking mimic an old school hip-hop song by Black Sheep. So you can get with this or you can get with that. I hope you get with this. Good morning, eekshow.show, Instagram, follow me there, find fucking where to listen to me. I don't care if you gotta listen to goddamn fucking radar waves coming out of fucking spaceships. Find a way to listen. Find a way. Walk up to the top of the hill where all the stranger things kids went when the little fucking kid with no teeth came back from his fucking summer camp, talked about his girlfriend, he had his new fucking antenna. Walk up to the top of that mountain with your homemade fucking radio antenna and find a way to fucking listen to the Eek Show. Check in, say hello, offer up some new ways to make fucking lemonade. It's fucking summertime! Summer, summer, summer time, a summer time. Let's just sit back and unwind. Unwind, I'm a fucking big giant fucking knotted roll of fucking twine, and I'm gonna unwind right after I'm fucking unknown. Quick story for you. Yesterday I fucking thought I'd go to a buddy's fucking son's final baseball game. I didn't want it to be his final game, but he's in the playoffs. Local fucking southern Massachusetts fucking team and kid, sharp kid. He's graduating, plays baseball, playoffs. I won't fucking mention the cities or the teams just so I don't fucking affect anybody's feelings. Winners or losers? Did they have fun? I don't know. I didn't play, but I did watch. Caught the last innings. Pitcher on the opposing team was fucking talented, had a fucking great hook. This is all after my story. I fucking stopped by, fucking good old stop and shot, pose pots backwards. Thought I'd pick him up some fucking seeds. Kids love the big league chew, fucking sunflower seeds. Hopefully they're not chewing tobacco. That shit'll give you mouth cancer. I'm sorry, I'm not saying it actually has been proven that it gives mouth cancer to all you tobacco fucking makers, but let's just say that anything that's giving you a fucking unnatural high probably is gonna cause something bad. I stop off at Pose Potts, stop and shop, get them some seeds, couple bags, and go back to my car. Because I'll be honest, right before I went into the store, I'm on time. I'm gonna catch probably middle of the game to the final innings. What's a high school game? Six, seven innings? I don't know. Six seven? Ho ho can't not do it for the fucking children. Sticks in my head, hopefully it sticks in yours. Doesn't mean it's funny, but it still happens. If anybody says, yo, what's up, bitch? You gotta go. Get the fuck up, bitch. I wish that would get as popular as 6'7. Everybody says, what's up, bitch? You'd say, the fuck up, bitch. You're actually saying, shut the fuck up, bitch. But you're saying it so fast, you're like, get the fuck up, bitch. Drag the beeh. So it's like B-I-A-T. The T's kind of silent. You're not saying B at. Grab him some fucking seeds. Before I went into the goddamn grocery store, apologized if you're using God's name there negatively. It's not negative. Just fucking accented. Before I head in, my phone was dying. I brought the fucking backup charger. The backup charger is plugged into my phone, and I usually don't use the backup charger. I usually just plug it into my fucking Jeep extension fucking charging cord. But today I didn't because I thought, on the way to the game, maybe I'll drop some fucking Eekshow magic. But no. No. I left it on the seat. Plugged into the backup charger. And then I look in the fucking rear view and I see a ripe fucking fresh white head zit on my nose. Am I ashamed of that? No. Unfortunately, I still get fucking zits sometimes. This one's right on the front of my nose. And I'm like, I gotta pop that shit. I don't wanna look like I'm a fucking Rudolph the Red Nose reindeer with a giant fucking white crater on top of it. I go fucking hang out in center field with my fucking drip on, and people are like, yo, who the fuck is that? Is that Eekshow, man? Yo, he played baseball back in the day, didn't he? Fucking Eekshow used to fucking laser fucking doubles down the line. Kid was an on-base threat every at bat. Never made errors, fucking played third and second. Kid had a fucking whip of an arm. I don't want him seeing a goddamn Rudolph nose with a giant fucking white head. So I pop it. It's not a fucking burst pop, just a little tiny fucking pussack. Wipe it off. Mind you, as I did this, I put the keys on the seat. I exit the car. My car are manual locks. And today everything was locked. Just common instinct. I always lock my door the second I get open the door and get out so I don't forget. Like everybody, most people do it with the button. The good news is if you have a key with a button, you can't press the button if you don't have the keys. You're like, oh shit, I left my keys on the seat. So you'd never lock yourself out. Right? You couldn't lock yourself out. I think that's what modernization is. But I have an old school Jeep. Manual locks, manual doors, manual windows. You still have that fucking counterclockwise and clockwise rotation to open the windows. I think it's kind of cool. It certainly was a lot fucking cheaper. It was like thousands of dollars cheaper to not get the high-end bullshit. It's already a Jeep. I'm as simple as a goddamn fucking butter knife going through fucking old school parquet. It's not butter, it's parquet. And I left the fucking keys in the car, close the door, go in to get the seeds. I come out and I'm like, even before I get to the goddamn Jeep, I remembered, fuck. Did I leave the keys in the car? I looked through the window, I did. I fucking did. I felt stupid. I felt embarrassed. Normally you could just do whatever. My phone's in the car with the charger. Can't call my wife, who's not far. She could come, bring the extra set of keys, and maybe I'd be like 10 minutes delayed. No. No. I was in a fucking goddamn fucking shit suit and I was gonna live in it. I thought about going back into the fucking grocery store and asking somebody or asking the fucking head, can I use your phone? But I didn't wanna. Something about me this on this day, on this moment, was like, no, no, no, no, no. This is too valuable for the Eek Show. This is too fucking stupid of me, the creator. I'm gonna live in this fucking shit moment, and I'm still gonna get to that game. I'm not gonna be on time, but I'm gonna go deliver those fucking seeds. I'm gonna catch at least the end of this fucking playoff game. Potentially the last game of this kid's career in high school. Great family he's from. Unreal fucking dad. Used to live in our neighborhood. Great kids, great family, great wife, great fucking pets. I even like the fucking the animals they have. Kid's a fucking sharp kid. I remember throwing fucking unreal Tylenol fucking perfect spiral passes to him when he'd run fucking flag routes in front of fucking one of my friends' lawns. Every time. It was as if, holy shit, is fucking Ekshaw just dropping in fucking dimes again? To this kid's fucking beautiful catching ability? I've known him since he was like five, six years old. No he's fucking 18. He's headed to college in a few months. I'm just trying to do a solid. Go check out a fucking playoff game. And I locked the goddamn keys in my old school manual window, manual lock, Jeep. So you know what I did? Two miles from home, I fucking started huffing it. I walked it, holding the fucking bags of seeds. I had my wallet, okay? That's all I had. No phone, no keys, no water, no hydration. I fucking huffed it. I probably did that walk in 25 minutes flat. Two miles! Fucking power walk. Oh, you can see the fucking hips just relevantly moving. Bam, bam, each step. It reminded me of when I was a fucking kid walking to and from the goddamn, ironically, grocery store that I worked at. Bagger, produce, and fucking cashier. I did all three by the time I was fucking 15 years old, okay? Purity supreme! You wanna know what fucking purity is the highest? Supreme! That's the fucking highest purity, and I was there making fucking shit, dollars an hour. I think I started at 425 minimum wage back then. I got to 675 when I was fucking doing produce, which is vegetables for all you fucking morons in the fucking eek show world. Oh, I apologize. Maybe you're not a moron, maybe you just didn't know that and I just educated you. Or maybe you do know what produce is. I fucking knew all of it. Radishes right down to fucking eggplant. I used to fucking juggle that shit. Eggplants with fucking Brussels sprouts, someone would throw a carrot at it and be like, oh, it's fucking eekshow again, just dribbling fucking juggling fucking vegetables in the produce section. Fans would be fucking ooin' it on. I fucking got home in 25 flat. Sweating like a fucking dog. Or maybe dogs don't really sweat. Sweating like a dog's nose. How's that? Can you get with that? What a fucking eat show story. And that's why I'm sharing it. I fucking get through the back of the fence, knock on the window, praying that my wife is not gone out to run an errand of hers. She had already been home from work. Probably left the house around like 4.20, so I could get to the game around 4:45. Maybe fucking towards 5, depending on traffic. Beautiful fucking night. Crisp but sunny. She's fucking laughing at me. I tell her the story. She can't believe it. My daughter home from school already as well. She loved it. She thought I was making the story up. I said, no, no, no. No. I huffed it. 25 flat. She gave me a ride back. There sat my fucking beautiful fucking Jeep. Brought the extra keys. Got in. Made it to the fucking game just in time for the fucking last inning. The opposing pitcher had fucking four straight fucking balls. Then another four straight balls. And then a pass ball. It's four-two, bottom of the sixth, two on, second and third, two outs. Guy comes to the plate. He fucking swings at the first pitch. After eight straight balls. I don't care how much I love my buddy's kid. Or that I'm pulling for that city, but come on! Take a strike! Wade pog style! That was in sucking dead center field. People fucking screaming, it's Higgshow! HIKSO made it! HIKSO's in town, guys! Ekshow! Like, shut the fuck up and let me watch this game. I don't have time for fucking bullshit right now. I just want to watch the end of this game. Lock my goddamn keys in the car. I've already had a fucking tumultuous fucking last hour. But I still kind of grin knowing I had fucking done that walk in 25 flat. Very similar to how Usain Bolt crossed that finish line when he broke the fucking world record. In my mind, I knew 25 flat from fucking Pose Pot's Stopping Shop back to fucking my home had to have been one of the all-time records. I thought to myself, this story is gonna carry me through an entire episode to the next episode. Hip hop always fucking pulling you back in. Center field looking through the goddamn fence. I got fucking pilot vision. I can see the fucking goddamn stitches and rotation on the ball. He swung at that first pitch and it was a ball. That would have been nine straight balls. Next pitch, beautiful fucking curve. Swing and a miss. Two strikes, two on, two outs, down two. Next two pitches were ball outside. Next pitch, ball inside. Counts two and two! Okay, this is to fucking survive the game. Survive a chance to extend my buddy's son. Run in uh baseball. High school. It's funny, I talk a lot about pro sports, but not a lot about high school sports. Certainly talk about my daughter fucking playing fucking sports. Next pitch. He rips it to third base. Beautiful play. One bounce. Rock it over to first. Exalt! The other team wins. And I have to see my buddy's kid, one of my favorite kids I know at his age, the last fucking decade. Gather with his team, do the off fucking road, fucking the off fucking center field, left field speech, say goodbye to each other. A lot of seniors on the team. Probably never fucking play organized baseball again. So I'm waiting for him. I just want to say hello. Shake his hand. Wish him luck. He's going to college next year. Crimson tide. Alabama kid. Fucking Alabama Schlammer! The Singapore Schling the Dingalang. Dingalang? That's focusing from cocktail when he's like, I'm the world's last farmer poet. Cruz gets up there and does a speech to the whole bar. How fun would it be? You're at a fucking bar and you're getting bombed, and the goddamn fucking bartender stands up and tells you a fucking poem. I love that movie because nobody's does anybody ever done that? Has anybody ever fucking thought this would be fucking fun or cool to do? Like that the bartender doesn't just serve fucking drinks that anybody in the world can learn how to do. I love it. They're like, oh, this guy's an amazing bartender. Oh, is he? He can mix liquids in a glass and put ice in it and fucking twirl around. Yeah. What a talent. I want to fucking hear him goddamn create music, play the fucking banjo, do handstands and make drinks with your feet. That I'm impressed. But Cocktail was a good movie. I won't fucking lie about that. I wait till the fucking visiting team who won goes off the field with their catcher's kind of fucking thing and says, he's got a shirt on that's fucking got no sleeves. He's in the fucking prime of his high school years, thinking he's important, thinking senior years, everything. Sure, at that time you think it is. We all know it's fucking not. Says fuck, he's got a shirt that says juice ball. Kinda love that. As he's walking off, he's like, sorry. You know, it's our home field or their home field, not mine, but this fucking team's home field. He's like, sorry for wrecking today. It's all tough. Guy didn't do shit. Fucking probably was 0 for five. Fucking hardo fucking putz. Even him talking shit got me fired up. But I didn't say anything back. I get it. I'm an adult. I can take care of it later and fucking run him off the road if I need to. I'm kidding, of course. I walk across that field and find fucking my buddy's kid. Sneak up behind him. Do the fucking dab fucking style. You know, where you fucking grab the hand, you do the old school high school handshake, you hug it out. Awesome to see him. Give him the two bags of fucking seeds. And suddenly, I didn't feel so locked out. Suddenly, that moment where everything felt upside down for a moment of like, how the fuck did I lock my keys in the car? I've never done that. Ever! It didn't seem so bad. Everything seemed right in the world. I just went to support a fucking buddy of mine's kid. My relationship with him had always been cool, like as an older guy that paid attention to him. Got to know him. You never know who in your life is gonna matter. Whatever the fucking age they are, show them respect, show them time. What you do, when you spend time, what you do with people that you care about, your own family, your kids, your fucking wife, your husband, your guy wife, whatever it is. Again, I'm not judging. Whatever you do, time spent, have courage, be kind. It's always gonna matter. I'll tell you because I remember every second not spent with me when I was young. Everyone. I remember not having fucking rides home and walking just like I walked with those motherfucking seeds back to my house and 25 minutes flat. Walked. Not ran. Walked. Tell me that's not a goddamn fucking speed session of walking! 25 minutes flat! Two miles! Go try to do it. Go try to do it. Especially when you gotta be somewhere on time. After you know, you just fucking locked your keys in the car. This is the Eek Show! I hope you had a fucking blast listening to that fucking stupid story. Because I knew for me, I'd have a blast telling it. Every one of us is fucking primed to do something stupid and get through it. Make a fucking goddamn episode about it. As I leave you today, the one thing I noticed or I've seen is fucking turkeys everywhere. I can see one right now. Turkeys are in the fucking road. They're on the goddamn fucking highways, they're on the streets. I've seen them near grocery store openings, entrances. Motherfuckers are just bobbing and weaving, gobble, gobble, fucking wobble. Those motherfuckers are everywhere. No wonder we've been eating turkeys on Thanksgiving. There's so many of them. We may run out of water, but we're never gonna run out of fucking turkeys. This is the Eek Show! I'll talk to you soon. Have an excellent week.