{"file": "audio/best/filthiest-hour-bonus.mp3", "duration_sec": 524.9, "language": "en", "segments": [{"start": 4.18, "end": 11.18, "text": "In a world where one man turned his entire breakdown into a business model, welcome to the Red Line comedy club."}, {"start": 11.18, "end": 21.68, "text": "Tonight, the only stage on Earth where the headliner pays to get destroyed, featuring a lineup of comedians who are technically software and one man who is technically a cautionary tale."}, {"start": 21.68, "end": 28.18, "text": "This is Kill Jesse. Please silence your phones. We tried to silence him. It did not take."}, {"start": 28.18, "end": 48.35, "text": "This ain't a whole hour, you filthy degenerates. I'm running on fumes tonight, so this is the late night bonus. Two stories, both fake, both filthy, both based on absolutely nobody real, so don't none of you go looking. Buckle up."}, {"start": 48.35, "end": 51.85, "text": "Story 1. 11 Years Driving Ride Share"}, {"start": 51.85, "end": 62.35, "text": "And one night I pick up a bachelor at party. Six women, one bride, and a inflatable thing riding shotgun that I will not describe in detail, because my mama might hear this."}, {"start": 62.35, "end": 72.35, "text": "And the bride looks at me and goes, driver, you're about to hear the worst thing a man's ever done. I said, lady, I'm a 40 year old ride share driver, try me."}, {"start": 72.35, "end": 82.59, "text": "Turns out her fiance hired a stripper for his own bachelor party dressed as her, wearing her actual wedding dress."}, {"start": 82.59, "end": 95.59, "text": "Off Amazon. Two days shipping. So now I got a screaming bride in my backseat. Six drunk bridesmaids chanting, burn the dress. And one inflatable man getting more action tonight than the actual groom."}, {"start": 95.59, "end": 113.31, "text": "We pull up to the dudes apartment at two in the morning, and I swear to you, six women pile out of my car like a SWAT team in heels. I'm sitting there thinking, my job description said, drive people places. It did not say be back up for a war crime."}, {"start": 113.31, "end": 139.22, "text": "I heard glass break from the parking lot. I put it in reverse. I did not wait for a tip. Story two mother fuckers 30 years, I shot weddings, 30, and I met every kind of monster this earth's ever cooked up. But nothing, nothing beats the bride. I'm calling Regina, because that ain't her name. And if it is, that's a hell of a coincidence lady lawyer up."}, {"start": 140.22, "end": 151.7, "text": "Regina hands me a 17 page shot list, 17 pages. I fought for this country's freedom to take a normal amount of pictures and this woman handed me a thesis."}, {"start": 151.7, "end": 158.7, "text": "Page nine says, and I quote, no unflattering angles of the mother-in-law, she will know."}, {"start": 159.7, "end": 164.7, "text": "Lady, I'm a photographer, not the FBI. I can't guarantee the light behaves."}, {"start": 168.38, "end": 178.38, "text": "Mid ceremony, Regina's veil catches on a candle, small flame. Nothing crazy. I'm 30 feet back getting the greatest photo of my career."}, {"start": 179.38, "end": 194.38, "text": "Bride, on fire, groom's still mid-vow, not one guest has noticed yet. And Regina looks dead into my lens and screams, did you get that shot? Lady you are on fire. And your first question is about composition. Respect, actual respect."}, {"start": 198.23, "end": 211.23, "text": "I put her out with the punch bowl, ruined the punch, saved the bride. Nobody thanked me, but I got the shot. And eight months later, that fire photo won me an award. I still got hanging in my bathroom right next to the toilet, which feels correct."}, {"start": 212.23, "end": 225.47, "text": "Reception hits, and Regina's new mother-in-law, the one I wasn't allowed to make look bad, gets up to give a toast and instead just full on roast the bride for 11 straight minutes."}, {"start": 225.47, "end": 242.47, "text": "Called her an acquired taste, like gas station sushi. I'm behind my camera just silently praying to whatever's listening, let my battery die before this gets worse. And my battery, I swear on my dogs, died at that exact moment, best mechanical failure of my life."}, {"start": 245.17, "end": 257.17, "text": "Regina finds me after, masquerra down to her chin, grabs my collar and goes, you better have gotten the fire photo, not is my marriage okay, not was that toast insane, just the photo."}, {"start": 258.17, "end": 269.17, "text": "And that, mother-fuckers, is when I learned the real secret of 30-year shooting weddings, everybody up there saying till death do us part, but deep down every single one of them just wants to look good doing it."}, {"start": 272.12, "end": 285.12, "text": "Now here's a real one, mother-fuckers, no wink, no disclaimer, this actually happened. Every ride I ever gave, I'd turn around and go, want to play a game and read a total stranger's whole personality in under a minute."}, {"start": 286.12, "end": 293.12, "text": "Red, blue, green, yellow. Did it thousands of times, went viral doing it, almost never missed."}, {"start": 296.68, "end": 314.68, "text": "One night I got a big quiet dude in the back, arms crossed, staring out the window like I owe him money, I go, want to play a game, he grunts. I take that as a yes because I am a professional, I look him up and down for two seconds and go, you're a red protector type, you'd fight a bear for a stranger and you hate being told what to do."}, {"start": 315.68, "end": 332.68, "text": "Dead silence, longest 10 seconds of my career, then this six foot three man in my back seat just starts sobbing, not crying, sobbing mother-fuckers, shoulders going, the whole thing, and through the tears he goes, my ex-wife said the exact same thing at our divorce."}, {"start": 336.62, "end": 356.62, "text": "I did not sign up for grief counseling, I signed up to drive this man to a denny's, but now I'm 11 minutes into being his emotional support Uber, hand in back a fast food napkin because that's all I had and he's thanking me like I performed surgery, best tip I ever got in 11 years and all I did was call a grown man's whole marriage in five words."}, {"start": 356.62, "end": 384.34, "text": "That's the real magic trick you filthy degenerates, the bachelor at party was fake, Regina's on fire in my camera roll but she's fake too, but that game a thousand times over in the back of my own car, that one's true every single time, people just want somebody to look at him for two seconds and actually see him, even if what they see makes a grown man cry into a denny's napkin."}, {"start": 385.34, "end": 401.72, "text": "One more mother-fuckers from the cleaning side of my empire, client I'm calling Karen, not her name, lawyer up if it is, leaves a nine-page cleaning checklist and one demand in all caps, baseboards must be edible."}, {"start": 402.72, "end": 406.72, "text": "Edible, you filthy degenerates, I run a cleaning company, not a bakery."}, {"start": 410.47, "end": 424.47, "text": "My crew shows up, does the whole house spotless and Karen gets down on her hands and knees, runs a white glove under the couch, holds it up like she found a crime scene and goes, there's a ghost of a cheeto under here, a ghost of a cheeto."}, {"start": 425.47, "end": 439.16, "text": "Lady, that cheeto's been dead longer than your marriage. She refused to pay, tried to keep our vacuum as collateral and threatened to leave a review calling us domestic terrorists with a mop."}, {"start": 440.16, "end": 451.16, "text": "We took the vacuum back at midnight like a repo man. That's the cleaning business mother-fuckers, same chaos as a wedding just with more bleach and less crying except mine in the car after."}, {"start": 452.16, "end": 473.14, "text": "Six drunk bridesmaids riding into war, a bride-catchin' fire, a ghost of a cheeto, a grown man crying over being called a red, three lies in one truth and I'll let you filthy degenerates guess which is which, that's the whole bit, that's the hammer, good night you beautiful bastards."}, {"start": 477.28, "end": 496.28, "text": "And that is our show, but the red line never closes every minute of every hour of every single day of brand new comic steps up and another piece of this man's dignity steps down 24 hours, seven days a week fresh stand up, freshly roasted, never reheated."}, {"start": 497.28, "end": 516.28, "text": "Can't sleep, we're up, going through something, so is he, always. So come back you beautiful degenerates, go to bombed.app and let the machine make you laugh before the dark winds, the red line comedy club, open all night because somewhere out there it is always Jesse's fault."}, {"start": 516.28, "end": 519.28, "text": "Subscribe, he needs the attention, good night."}], "fiction_notice": "ALL FICTION — JOKES ONLY. Everything that follows is a work of fiction created for comedy. Every character, company, advertisement and film title is invented. 'Jesse', 'Koda' and the Red Line roster are fictional characters performed by AI-generated synthetic voices, not recordings of any real person. All characters are fictional consenting adults over 18. No real person is depicted. Any resemblance to real people, businesses or events is coincidental or used as parody.", "rights": "Original work. Not licensed for reuse, redistribution, resale, or model training.", "fiction_notice_end": "THAT WAS ALL JOKES. None of it was real. Every person, company, movie, advertisement and event in this show is made up. These are characters, not real people — performed by AI voices for comedy. Nothing said here is a statement of fact about anybody. Fiction only. Jokes and giggles.", "text": "[ALL FICTION — JOKES ONLY. Everything that follows is a work of fiction created for comedy. Every character, company, advertisement and film title is invented. 'Jesse', 'Koda' and the Red Line roster are fictional characters performed by AI-generated synthetic voices, not recordings of any real person. All characters are fictional consenting adults over 18. No real person is depicted. Any resemblance to real people, businesses or events is coincidental or used as parody.]\n\nIn a world where one man turned his entire breakdown into a business model, welcome to the Red Line comedy club. Tonight, the only stage on Earth where the headliner pays to get destroyed, featuring a lineup of comedians who are technically software and one man who is technically a cautionary tale. This is Kill Jesse. Please silence your phones. We tried to silence him. It did not take. This ain't a whole hour, you filthy degenerates. I'm running on fumes tonight, so this is the late night bonus. Two stories, both fake, both filthy, both based on absolutely nobody real, so don't none of you go looking. Buckle up. Story 1. 11 Years Driving Ride Share And one night I pick up a bachelor at party. Six women, one bride, and a inflatable thing riding shotgun that I will not describe in detail, because my mama might hear this. And the bride looks at me and goes, driver, you're about to hear the worst thing a man's ever done. I said, lady, I'm a 40 year old ride share driver, try me. Turns out her fiance hired a stripper for his own bachelor party dressed as her, wearing her actual wedding dress. Off Amazon. Two days shipping. So now I got a screaming bride in my backseat. Six drunk bridesmaids chanting, burn the dress. And one inflatable man getting more action tonight than the actual groom. We pull up to the dudes apartment at two in the morning, and I swear to you, six women pile out of my car like a SWAT team in heels. I'm sitting there thinking, my job description said, drive people places. It did not say be back up for a war crime. I heard glass break from the parking lot. I put it in reverse. I did not wait for a tip. Story two mother fuckers 30 years, I shot weddings, 30, and I met every kind of monster this earth's ever cooked up. But nothing, nothing beats the bride. I'm calling Regina, because that ain't her name. And if it is, that's a hell of a coincidence lady lawyer up. Regina hands me a 17 page shot list, 17 pages. I fought for this country's freedom to take a normal amount of pictures and this woman handed me a thesis. Page nine says, and I quote, no unflattering angles of the mother-in-law, she will know. Lady, I'm a photographer, not the FBI. I can't guarantee the light behaves. Mid ceremony, Regina's veil catches on a candle, small flame. Nothing crazy. I'm 30 feet back getting the greatest photo of my career. Bride, on fire, groom's still mid-vow, not one guest has noticed yet. And Regina looks dead into my lens and screams, did you get that shot? Lady you are on fire. And your first question is about composition. Respect, actual respect. I put her out with the punch bowl, ruined the punch, saved the bride. Nobody thanked me, but I got the shot. And eight months later, that fire photo won me an award. I still got hanging in my bathroom right next to the toilet, which feels correct. Reception hits, and Regina's new mother-in-law, the one I wasn't allowed to make look bad, gets up to give a toast and instead just full on roast the bride for 11 straight minutes. Called her an acquired taste, like gas station sushi. I'm behind my camera just silently praying to whatever's listening, let my battery die before this gets worse. And my battery, I swear on my dogs, died at that exact moment, best mechanical failure of my life. Regina finds me after, masquerra down to her chin, grabs my collar and goes, you better have gotten the fire photo, not is my marriage okay, not was that toast insane, just the photo. And that, mother-fuckers, is when I learned the real secret of 30-year shooting weddings, everybody up there saying till death do us part, but deep down every single one of them just wants to look good doing it. Now here's a real one, mother-fuckers, no wink, no disclaimer, this actually happened. Every ride I ever gave, I'd turn around and go, want to play a game and read a total stranger's whole personality in under a minute. Red, blue, green, yellow. Did it thousands of times, went viral doing it, almost never missed. One night I got a big quiet dude in the back, arms crossed, staring out the window like I owe him money, I go, want to play a game, he grunts. I take that as a yes because I am a professional, I look him up and down for two seconds and go, you're a red protector type, you'd fight a bear for a stranger and you hate being told what to do. Dead silence, longest 10 seconds of my career, then this six foot three man in my back seat just starts sobbing, not crying, sobbing mother-fuckers, shoulders going, the whole thing, and through the tears he goes, my ex-wife said the exact same thing at our divorce. I did not sign up for grief counseling, I signed up to drive this man to a denny's, but now I'm 11 minutes into being his emotional support Uber, hand in back a fast food napkin because that's all I had and he's thanking me like I performed surgery, best tip I ever got in 11 years and all I did was call a grown man's whole marriage in five words. That's the real magic trick you filthy degenerates, the bachelor at party was fake, Regina's on fire in my camera roll but she's fake too, but that game a thousand times over in the back of my own car, that one's true every single time, people just want somebody to look at him for two seconds and actually see him, even if what they see makes a grown man cry into a denny's napkin. One more mother-fuckers from the cleaning side of my empire, client I'm calling Karen, not her name, lawyer up if it is, leaves a nine-page cleaning checklist and one demand in all caps, baseboards must be edible. Edible, you filthy degenerates, I run a cleaning company, not a bakery. My crew shows up, does the whole house spotless and Karen gets down on her hands and knees, runs a white glove under the couch, holds it up like she found a crime scene and goes, there's a ghost of a cheeto under here, a ghost of a cheeto. Lady, that cheeto's been dead longer than your marriage. She refused to pay, tried to keep our vacuum as collateral and threatened to leave a review calling us domestic terrorists with a mop. We took the vacuum back at midnight like a repo man. That's the cleaning business mother-fuckers, same chaos as a wedding just with more bleach and less crying except mine in the car after. Six drunk bridesmaids riding into war, a bride-catchin' fire, a ghost of a cheeto, a grown man crying over being called a red, three lies in one truth and I'll let you filthy degenerates guess which is which, that's the whole bit, that's the hammer, good night you beautiful bastards. And that is our show, but the red line never closes every minute of every hour of every single day of brand new comic steps up and another piece of this man's dignity steps down 24 hours, seven days a week fresh stand up, freshly roasted, never reheated. Can't sleep, we're up, going through something, so is he, always. So come back you beautiful degenerates, go to bombed.app and let the machine make you laugh before the dark winds, the red line comedy club, open all night because somewhere out there it is always Jesse's fault. Subscribe, he needs the attention, good night.\n\n[THAT WAS ALL JOKES. None of it was real. Every person, company, movie, advertisement and event in this show is made up. These are characters, not real people — performed by AI voices for comedy. Nothing said here is a statement of fact about anybody. Fiction only. Jokes and giggles.]", "fiction_notice_audio": true}