{"file": "cuss_for_every_occasion_TG.mp3", "duration_sec": 328.3, "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": 19.18, "text": "Tonight, the only stage on Earth where the headliner pays to get destroyed, featuring a lineup of comedians who are technically software"}, {"start": 19.18, "end": 28.18, "text": "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."}, {"start": 28.18, "end": 41.25, "text": "Alright class, tonight I teach you the most useful fucking skill in life, how to cuss for every occasion, because where you cuss matters as much as how you fill the animals."}, {"start": 41.25, "end": 54.97, "text": "See, a real master don't cuss the same everywhere. You cuss one way at home, a whole different way at work, and like a damn lunatic in your car. Learn the zones or get your ass fired."}, {"start": 55.97, "end": 70.38, "text": "Let's start with work, advanced level motherfuckers, because here you got a cuss without getting fired. This is surgery. You can't scream fuck at Karen in accounting, so you master the under the breath mutter."}, {"start": 70.38, "end": 86.26, "text": "Sure thing Dave, happy to redo it, then soon as that prick turns around, you miserable cock suckin' clipboard carryin' son of a bitch. Smile on the face, murder in the mouth, that's a professional."}, {"start": 89.3, "end": 104.02, "text": "And the work bathroom folks, that's your damn confessional, that's where you go to scream the fuck you been holding since 9 a.m. into a tile wall, flush it down, wash your hands and walk out reborn."}, {"start": 104.02, "end": 118.02, "text": "Master move it work, the coated cuss. You say fudge, you say shoot, you say son of a biscuit, and every motherfucker in that room knows you mean the real word. It's cussin' in a trench coat, deniable filth."}, {"start": 120.43, "end": 148.18, "text": "Now home, ah home, home is freedom baby, home is where you stub your toe on the coffee table and unleash a 45 second symphony of filth that would make a sailor call his mother. At home there's no filter, no HR, no damn consequences. You drop a plate, you don't say oops, you say motherfucker, so loud the neighbor's dog files a complaint. That's a man in his natural habitat."}, {"start": 151.42, "end": 165.31, "text": "But the car you filthy degenerates, the car is where cussin' becomes an art form, because you got a sealed glass box and total fuckin' immunity, nobody can hear you and nobody can hold it against you."}, {"start": 165.31, "end": 178.31, "text": "Somebody cuts you off, you become a poet, you blind, break checkin' blinker dodgin' license, bought it a gas station cocksucker, and he can't hear a damn word, your screaming Shakespeare at a Honda."}, {"start": 178.31, "end": 193.33, "text": "The car's the only place you can call a total stranger every filthy name in the book and then wave polite when he pulls up next to you, rage in the box, angel at the light, that's control motherfuckers."}, {"start": 195.33, "end": 209.33, "text": "Now the advanced lesson, how to cuss without getting in trouble anywhere. Rule one, it's all in the timing and the volume, the mutter, the pause, the perfectly placed quiet, unbelievable."}, {"start": 212.41, "end": 228.41, "text": "Rule two, the filthier substitute. Mother fucker gets you fired, but you absolute walnut, you complete disappointment shaped man, that cuts deeper and HR can't touch you. Sometimes clean hits filthier than filthy."}, {"start": 230.82, "end": 241.82, "text": "And rule three, the golden one, read the damn room, same fuck that kills at my club will get your ass thrown out of a baby shower in four seconds. A master knows when to swing and when to swallow it."}, {"start": 245.73, "end": 256.73, "text": "Because that's the whole game, you beautiful degenerates, cussin' ain't about bein' loud, it's about bein' right, the right word, the right place, the right damn moment, and you never pay a dime for it."}, {"start": 257.73, "end": 273.26, "text": "So go practice your zones, mutter at work, symphony at home, opera in the car, and cuss like the surgeon you were born to be, class dismissed, the hammer, good night you filthy motherfuckers."}, {"start": 280.38, "end": 299.38, "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": 299.38, "end": 319.38, "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."}], "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. Alright class, tonight I teach you the most useful fucking skill in life, how to cuss for every occasion, because where you cuss matters as much as how you fill the animals. See, a real master don't cuss the same everywhere. You cuss one way at home, a whole different way at work, and like a damn lunatic in your car. Learn the zones or get your ass fired. Let's start with work, advanced level motherfuckers, because here you got a cuss without getting fired. This is surgery. You can't scream fuck at Karen in accounting, so you master the under the breath mutter. Sure thing Dave, happy to redo it, then soon as that prick turns around, you miserable cock suckin' clipboard carryin' son of a bitch. Smile on the face, murder in the mouth, that's a professional. And the work bathroom folks, that's your damn confessional, that's where you go to scream the fuck you been holding since 9 a.m. into a tile wall, flush it down, wash your hands and walk out reborn. Master move it work, the coated cuss. You say fudge, you say shoot, you say son of a biscuit, and every motherfucker in that room knows you mean the real word. It's cussin' in a trench coat, deniable filth. Now home, ah home, home is freedom baby, home is where you stub your toe on the coffee table and unleash a 45 second symphony of filth that would make a sailor call his mother. At home there's no filter, no HR, no damn consequences. You drop a plate, you don't say oops, you say motherfucker, so loud the neighbor's dog files a complaint. That's a man in his natural habitat. But the car you filthy degenerates, the car is where cussin' becomes an art form, because you got a sealed glass box and total fuckin' immunity, nobody can hear you and nobody can hold it against you. Somebody cuts you off, you become a poet, you blind, break checkin' blinker dodgin' license, bought it a gas station cocksucker, and he can't hear a damn word, your screaming Shakespeare at a Honda. The car's the only place you can call a total stranger every filthy name in the book and then wave polite when he pulls up next to you, rage in the box, angel at the light, that's control motherfuckers. Now the advanced lesson, how to cuss without getting in trouble anywhere. Rule one, it's all in the timing and the volume, the mutter, the pause, the perfectly placed quiet, unbelievable. Rule two, the filthier substitute. Mother fucker gets you fired, but you absolute walnut, you complete disappointment shaped man, that cuts deeper and HR can't touch you. Sometimes clean hits filthier than filthy. And rule three, the golden one, read the damn room, same fuck that kills at my club will get your ass thrown out of a baby shower in four seconds. A master knows when to swing and when to swallow it. Because that's the whole game, you beautiful degenerates, cussin' ain't about bein' loud, it's about bein' right, the right word, the right place, the right damn moment, and you never pay a dime for it. So go practice your zones, mutter at work, symphony at home, opera in the car, and cuss like the surgeon you were born to be, class dismissed, the hammer, good night you filthy motherfuckers. 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.\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}