{"file": "REDLINE_06_THE_HUMAN_ATM_LIFEGUARD_TG.mp3", "duration_sec": 263.1, "language": "en", "segments": [{"start": 0.0, "end": 7.5, "text": "These are my confessions. I didn't pay women to stay. I paid them to leave before I found another expensive way to disappoint both of us."}, {"start": 7.5, "end": 15.0, "text": "That was my romantic closer. Here's some money. Please forget the sex, the crying, and whatever the fuck I said to your houseplant."}, {"start": 15.0, "end": 20.0, "text": "Then the door would close. I'd sit alone in the silence I had just purchased and whisper,"}, {"start": 20.0, "end": 49.5, "text": "shit, my dis fucked up again. I didn't have one night stands. I had same day emotional evictions. Check out was 11 regret stayed until retirement and every morning I said the same thing. I'm sorry, sorry for getting high, sorry for getting horny, sorry for confusing loneliness with love, sorry for treating my checking account like emotional duct tape. I wasn't trying to use women. I was trying to help women who looked like life had kicked them in the pussy. The same way life had kicked me in the balls."}, {"start": 49.5, "end": 77.5, "text": "Pain recognizes pain. Unfortunately, my pain had a debit card. I saw women who needed rides, food, rent, a phone bill, a motel, gas money, or somebody to say you're not drowning alone. So I threw them a lifeline. Then another, then another. I kept throwing lifelines until I realized every rope was tied to my fucking wallet. They stayed above water. I sank like an ATM wearing concrete shoes. That was my problem."}, {"start": 77.5, "end": 92.5, "text": "I wanted to be captain, save a life, but I had the financial training of a horny raccoon at a casino. A woman would say, I need a ride. I'd give her a ride. I need dinner. I'd buy dinner. I need rent. I'd help with rent. I need a new phone."}, {"start": 92.5, "end": 103.5, "text": "Suddenly, I'm at the phone store, adding a stranger to a family plan when my actual family won't answer my calls. That's not kindness. That's loneliness wearing a fucking superhero cape."}, {"start": 104.5, "end": 132.5, "text": "My red protector said, save her. Yellow said she needs us. Blue said, become the man she'll stay for. Green opened the bank statement and screamed without making a sound. I saw women everywhere at the store, at the gas station, at work outside a motel on the side of the road. It felt like I was attracting them. I thought I had sexual magnetism. I didn't. I had jumper cables, cannabis, and poor boundaries. That's not a ladies man."}, {"start": 132.5, "end": 153.5, "text": "That's roadside assistance with an erection. I'd pull over and say, do you need help? That sentence should have required a credit check because help started as a ride. Then became food, then became gas, then became rent, then became sex, then became guilt, then became me paying her to leave while apologizing for a night neither of us should put on a resume."}, {"start": 153.5, "end": 182.5, "text": "My dick was running a non-profit. My heart was approving grants. My wallet was the only employee begging for a fucking background check. Woman overboard. Throw $50. Phone disconnected. Throw $200. Rent is late. Throw $1000. Jesse is drowning. Sorry. The rescue budget has been exhausted. That was the shit-midest lifeline program. Everybody got help except the idiot holding the rope. And I kept telling myself it was generosity. Sometimes it was. Sometimes somebody truly needed help."}, {"start": 183.5, "end": 212.5, "text": "But sometimes I was buying the feeling of being needed because being needed felt close enough to being loved. That's the dark confession. I didn't always know the difference between helping a woman and paying her not to leave yet. So I gave away money I didn't have. I borrowed more. I made another bad deal. I said sorry again. And according to my own estimate, those choices help drag me toward $300,000 in debt. That isn't debt. That's a mortgage on every apology I ever made."}, {"start": 213.5, "end": 242.5, "text": "I could have bought a house. Instead, I financed a museum of red flags. Admission was free. The gift shop destroyed my credit. Now I'm 50. My body hurts. My feet hurt. My ass hurts. My tonight is screams. I clean toilets and write comedy with AI at night. And I finally understand what happened. I kept trying to rescue people because nobody threw me a rope when I was drowning. But I didn't build a lifeboat. I opened a fucking tab. That's my confession. I wasn't a monster. I wasn't a hero. I was a lonely mother fucker with garbage."}, {"start": 243.5, "end": 258.5, "text": "Good intentions, terrible boundaries, cannabis, a hard on and access to credit. The women didn't put me $300,000 in debt. My choices did. My need to be needed did. My fear of being alone did. Shit might as did what shit might as always does."}, {"start": 258.5, "end": 263.5, "text": "He threw everyone a lifeline. Then used his own credit report as the anchor."}], "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\nThese are my confessions. I didn't pay women to stay. I paid them to leave before I found another expensive way to disappoint both of us. That was my romantic closer. Here's some money. Please forget the sex, the crying, and whatever the fuck I said to your houseplant. Then the door would close. I'd sit alone in the silence I had just purchased and whisper, shit, my dis fucked up again. I didn't have one night stands. I had same day emotional evictions. Check out was 11 regret stayed until retirement and every morning I said the same thing. I'm sorry, sorry for getting high, sorry for getting horny, sorry for confusing loneliness with love, sorry for treating my checking account like emotional duct tape. I wasn't trying to use women. I was trying to help women who looked like life had kicked them in the pussy. The same way life had kicked me in the balls. Pain recognizes pain. Unfortunately, my pain had a debit card. I saw women who needed rides, food, rent, a phone bill, a motel, gas money, or somebody to say you're not drowning alone. So I threw them a lifeline. Then another, then another. I kept throwing lifelines until I realized every rope was tied to my fucking wallet. They stayed above water. I sank like an ATM wearing concrete shoes. That was my problem. I wanted to be captain, save a life, but I had the financial training of a horny raccoon at a casino. A woman would say, I need a ride. I'd give her a ride. I need dinner. I'd buy dinner. I need rent. I'd help with rent. I need a new phone. Suddenly, I'm at the phone store, adding a stranger to a family plan when my actual family won't answer my calls. That's not kindness. That's loneliness wearing a fucking superhero cape. My red protector said, save her. Yellow said she needs us. Blue said, become the man she'll stay for. Green opened the bank statement and screamed without making a sound. I saw women everywhere at the store, at the gas station, at work outside a motel on the side of the road. It felt like I was attracting them. I thought I had sexual magnetism. I didn't. I had jumper cables, cannabis, and poor boundaries. That's not a ladies man. That's roadside assistance with an erection. I'd pull over and say, do you need help? That sentence should have required a credit check because help started as a ride. Then became food, then became gas, then became rent, then became sex, then became guilt, then became me paying her to leave while apologizing for a night neither of us should put on a resume. My dick was running a non-profit. My heart was approving grants. My wallet was the only employee begging for a fucking background check. Woman overboard. Throw $50. Phone disconnected. Throw $200. Rent is late. Throw $1000. Jesse is drowning. Sorry. The rescue budget has been exhausted. That was the shit-midest lifeline program. Everybody got help except the idiot holding the rope. And I kept telling myself it was generosity. Sometimes it was. Sometimes somebody truly needed help. But sometimes I was buying the feeling of being needed because being needed felt close enough to being loved. That's the dark confession. I didn't always know the difference between helping a woman and paying her not to leave yet. So I gave away money I didn't have. I borrowed more. I made another bad deal. I said sorry again. And according to my own estimate, those choices help drag me toward $300,000 in debt. That isn't debt. That's a mortgage on every apology I ever made. I could have bought a house. Instead, I financed a museum of red flags. Admission was free. The gift shop destroyed my credit. Now I'm 50. My body hurts. My feet hurt. My ass hurts. My tonight is screams. I clean toilets and write comedy with AI at night. And I finally understand what happened. I kept trying to rescue people because nobody threw me a rope when I was drowning. But I didn't build a lifeboat. I opened a fucking tab. That's my confession. I wasn't a monster. I wasn't a hero. I was a lonely mother fucker with garbage. Good intentions, terrible boundaries, cannabis, a hard on and access to credit. The women didn't put me $300,000 in debt. My choices did. My need to be needed did. My fear of being alone did. Shit might as did what shit might as always does. He threw everyone a lifeline. Then used his own credit report as the anchor.\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}