BONE ZONE HALF HOUR #1: IF YOU DIE ON STAGE, YOU DIE IN REAL LIFE

It was the sudden realisation that everybody else was living their goddam American dreams that snapped him out of his vibe-walk. Dirk Steveman coasted all the way through his shift in the jetpack mines, gotten back home to his Le Grand McMansion, opened his mail, washed his nutsack in the sink, brushed his teeth, ate his dinner, washed his nutsack again, and gotten all nice and tucked up in bed and all it had taken to break him out of his trance was the realisation that, no matter how many bedrooms he had tacked onto the side of his 200,000 square-foot domain, no matter how many bars of gold he had hidden in his fridge-freezer, or how many Bent-bourginis in his garage, no matter how many sinks he had built specifically to scrub his nutsack clean, he would never feel whole until he could achieve his truest calling.

Dirk Steveman, richest man alive, couldn’t buy his own happiness.

Dirk Steveman, jetpack dynamo and all-round top-shagger, didn’t want to be any of those things. 

Dirk Steveman wanted to be a comedian; L.A’s bread and butter, America’s sweethearts, Earth’s mightiest heroes.

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WELCOME TO THE NEW STINK; THE BONE ZONE HALF HOUR - NIPPING AT YOUR CHEEKS ONCE A MONTH LIKE THE GHOST OF A FLEA!

ONE STORY IN THIS EPISODE, BUDDY-BOY! NEXT MONTH? MORE! WOAH!

IF YOU LIKE THIS, SEND MY REGARDS TO YOUR MAMA AND THEN SEND ME MONEY ON PATREON.COM/SBDA 

STAY SAFE, OR DON'T! x