You are now listening to Cryptid Cocktail Party Hey everybody, welcome back to another episode of Cryptic Cocktail Party, a show where we have a few drinks, share a few laughs, take a dive into the unknown. I'm your host Dave, joined as always by my wonderful co -host Sarge. How's it going Sarge? Woo! What the fuck is up everybody? It's raining in Massachusetts. It's not raining right now, but it's rained every weekend and
I'm getting real fucking tired of it. Yeah, it's rained pretty much every weekend for the past like, I don't know, two months. I don't think we've had one Saturday or Sunday where it hasn't. At least rained at least once, which is very upsetting. Not a fan of it. Yeah. The new Englanders are getting mad. There's going to be a riot soon. Eh, whatever. I'm going to go after God specifically. It's not like new England's like a real happy place. Anyways, we're always just so angry up
there. That's true. It's hard to tell when we're angry because we're always angry. True. It's like, we're like the Hulk. That's our, that's our superpower. Is that. The secret is we're always bad. Baseline is simmering rage. Yeah, but we'll be super nice about it. Yeah, exactly. And, you know, we'll just be mean to you while we're being nice. We'll do something nice for you while calling you a complete fucking moron. Oh, yeah, absolutely. Sure, I'll shovel you out,
you fucking moron. Yeah, it's pretty much that 365, 24 -7. I don't know how many weeks there are in a year, but that many weeks as well. I think you covered it with the 365. Yeah, but I kind of did it in backwards order. I feel like it starts with 24 -7 and then you do 365. Yeah, that's on me. All right, Sarge. That's okay. 52 weeks a year. We can just go that route. Yeah, sure. I don't know. Time is irrelevant. It's a flat circle. It doesn't mean anything. Time
is a flat circle. Yeah, we just reinvented it for fucking... work purposes it's not great uh yeah i was using a watch until russ cole joined the join the chat now i now i just don't believe in time at all i don't know who that is so he's the guy from uh true detective who kept saying time is a flat circle oh sorry um okay sarge i got an episode for us today whether it's good or not i don't fucking know but it's fun It's a fun episode. Maybe. I'm ready. Okay. I'm ready
to take on anything. I'm taking on all comers. Somebody get a mop. Jesus Christ. All right. Today, Sarge, we're going to be heading across the pond to one of London's most prestigious neighborhoods, Mayfair, a place known for its polished Georgian townhouses, manicured gardens, and an air of refined exclusivity. That's the only time the word refined has been paired with the word Georgia. It's Georgian. I don't think it's Georgia -ism. I know. I'm talking about
King George. I get it. And nestled among those townhouses is 50 Berkeley Square, an unassuming building for where it is, but behind its polished doors and fancy facade lurks something older than time itself. A nameless horror that has driven men insane and left bodies twisted in terror. Is it a ghost? Is it a cryptid? Or is it something beyond human comprehension? Something that shreds minds and warps reality? Who knows?
But maybe we can figure it out. So today, we are going to be diving headfirst into the legend of the nameless thing of Berkeley Square. Are you familiar with this at all? No, because it doesn't have a name. At first I thought you were talking about Monopoly. No, we're not talking about Monopoly. Nothing sends a man into the descent of madness like a long drawn out game of Monopoly. I don't know about that. It definitely tears families apart. That's for sure. It does.
I haven't spoken to my brother in three years. But for real though, you're not familiar with the nameless thing at Berkeley Square? No, not at all. I'm actually very excited. Okay, well, before we dive into the Lovecraftian horrors to come, let's talk a little bit about the history of the house and the area that it's located in for no other reason than just to kind of give a little context and also to pad the runtime of this episode, because without it, it'd be
like five minutes long. So 50 Berkeley Square was built sometime around 1730, right in the middle of Mayfair, which, like I said, was one of the richest neighborhoods in London. It was very exclusive, wildly expensive, and if you didn't have an ungodly amount of generational wealth, well, sucks to suck. Just enjoy pooping in your river, you fucking peasants. Goddamn fucking heathens. No, the house itself is a classic Georgian townhouse, which at the time, very swanky.
Nowadays, I don't really know. I mean, I technically live in one, and I'm broke as fuck, so different
time, I guess. Back then, very posh. Now, you know, I... found human shit on the trail by my house so it's different times look i couldn't find a public restroom there's a bear shit in the woods no but saj does god damn it all right so its first occupants were largely members of the aristocracy and the upper middle class pretty much just a revolving door of high status figures who could you know afford it the house was originally built as part of the urban expansion of london
in the 18th century when the city was rapidly growing and wealthy people were ditching their countryside manners for more convenient life near the palace and parliament probably just trying to work on you know they wanted a shorter commute i guess to fucking ruin the world yeah uh but by the late 1700s the house's reputation started to sour There were whispers around town about strange noises and unexplainable phenomena
coming from within its walls. And over time, the once prestigious address slowly became a place people avoided and talked about in hushed tones. This can all be attributed to flatulence. This is what happens when you boil cabbage all the time. Again, this is the more famous, rich part of London. I don't think they're just eating boiled cabbage. Fine, they were boiling organic cabbage bought at Whole Foods. We have British food, fucking beans for breakfast. What the hell's
wrong with you? Slow your roll, dude. English breakfast is fucking amazing, all right? Beans, blood sausage, come on. Yeah, I mean, it is popular around here too. And honestly, anything can be a breakfast food if you eat it early enough. That's true. Which is why I always start my day with a pickle. I mean, there are times where I have eaten pizza rolls for breakfast. Now, was I hungover and or still drunk? Probably. But was it? Because really, it still slaps. Yeah.
Breakfast. It doesn't matter whether you're drunk or not. I'm just breaking my fast. That's technically what it is. But anyway, so. Exactly. Exactly. And if you wake up late enough, lunch can be breakfast. True. Breakfast can also be dinner. Breakfast or dinner. Oh, OK. We have what a time to be alive. But the most famous and talked about room of Berkeley Square was the attic. Now, both tenants and servants in the home reported chilling experiences on the upper floors, but especially
in the attic. Stories began circulating about a presence on the upper floors of the home. So malevolent, it twisted minds and literally broke bodies. Despite some sort of eldritch horror squatting in the attic, the house's status as a luxury residence continued into the 19th century, but its growing reputation made it sort of like
an urban legend, even among London's elite. And it's this dichotomy, like the elegant and proper facade of Berkeley Square and the horror so unimaginable that they drive you mad that lurk inside of it, that set the stage for the stories that I'm about to tell you. So are you ready to dive into the legends? inside Berkeley Square, you look excited. Fuck yes I am. You know what I'm going to love the most? I want to see what they blame this on because they can't blame it on Native Americans.
True. We sent one Native American over there, Pocahontas, and she died like almost immediately. Yeah, well, you know. Alright, so. It's a horrible climate in that place and the food is just garbage. We went over, the food's fine, alright? Most of it's beige, yes, like a 90s computer, but. I'm sure it's fine. I haven't bet, so I have no idea. But like beige, like a 90s computer that sat in the sun for a while, so it's also
kind of brownish almost. Yeah, like a good oatmeal, which I assume is what they eat for almost every meal. It's porridge. It's called porridge over there. So before we begin, you and everyone listening should know that most, if not all, of these stories are pretty much unconfirmed. So whether they are real encounters, exaggerated stories, or just outright fiction, I don't know. The sources
for this were scant, to say the least. But what I do know is that these incidents and stories are what pretty much formed the backbone for the house's reputation. So the first widely circulated tale of death inside 50 Berkeley Square happened in 1840 when a young man only known by his last name, which was War Boys. Awesome. I don't know if that's how it's pronounced, but how is that a last name? I don't know. I don't think that's how it's pronounced. I think I'm, but it's spelt
war boys and I love it. I mean, I can't think of another way to pronounce that. It's spelled just how it sounds. We're Boas. Yeah, I don't know. But anyway, I mean, there's no, yeah, your war boys is fine. So anyways, a man known by his last name, war boy spent the night alone in the attic either as a guest or a tenant. It's unclear, but really it doesn't matter because
by morning he was dead. So his body. His body was found twisted and contorted, his eyes are wide open, and his mouth was frozen mid -scream. A pistol was found near the body with a spent round suggesting he had fired at something, but no evidence of an intruder was ever found. A few decades later, in 1871, Lord George Littleton, a well -known British politician, decided, hey, you know what? I'm going to prove that this place is not haunted and you lot are a bunch of pussies.
So he arranged to spend the night in the attic and to prove he wasn't scared of no ghost. He was armed with only a candle. And a double barreled shotgun. No. When you say armed with only a candle and then a double barreled shotgun, maybe the candle is not necessarily what he was armed with. Both. Unless he was fighting scarecrows. Or just like the dark. Yeah. I mean, am I wrong? His
pitched battle with the darkness. No. According to Lord George Littleton, sometime after midnight, he heard something moving that was described as a slow, wet dragging sound. Then a dark sheep emerged from the corner of the room. He fired both barrels into that motherfucker and then just immediately dipped out. The next morning, he claimed to have found shotgun pellets embedded in the wall, but no blood, no body, and no explanation
for what the fuck happened. Now, whether Littleton was full of shit or he actually encountered something
in the house, who knows? But due to his status and reputation combined with this story it lent the house and the happenings inside sort of like an air of legitimacy because he was so well known you know what i mean now what did he live did he survive yeah he survives okay well yeah i guess that would make sense because we know how what it sounded like so he fired into the darkness at a wet like kind of squishy sound well something he said he saw like a like a an amorphous like
a form come out of the it was i mean it was dark okay he couldn't see it but he fucking two two barrels right to that guy's chest or things chest the entities chest no another tragedy that occurred around this time involves a young maid who had the unfortunate opportunity to be employed by whoever was living at 50 50 berkeley square at the time now according to legend She was told to sleep in the attic. Some say it was a cruel prank. Others say it was some form of punishment.
More than likely, it was just shit luck on her part. Yeah. Or they were like, my tea is cold to the attic. It could be a punishment or just like that's the only place they had for her. Either way, it sucks. Now, that night, the entire house heard this blood -curdling scream coming from the attic. When the servants rushed to the room, they found her curled in a corner, eyes wide and unblinking, shaking violently and repeating the same line over and over again. Don't let
it touch me. Don't let it touch me. Also, the name of my sex tape, weirdly enough. You are the worst. God damn it. It's not my fault. I'm very pale. It scares people. Now, reportedly, she never recovered. She was admitted into an asylum where she eventually died not long after. Whatever she saw in the attic was so profoundly terrifying that it literally drove her into a
state of irreversible madness. Then, finally, the last story I got for you is what is considered the most famous and for sure the most violent story associated with 50 Berkeley Square. And in my opinion, it's hardly the best one. So in 1887, two sailors in their early 20s, Edward Blunden and Robert Martin of the HMS Penelope, were on shore leave. This has got to be good. You know sailors are just going to fuck shit up. All right. So in 1887, like I said, the two
sailors in their early 20s, Edward Blunden. and Robert Martin of the HMS Penelope were on shore leave and were looking for a place to crash in Mayfair. They were low on cash and more than likely hammered off their ass. Now, they were either dared to or decided on their own to spend the night at 50 Berkeley Square. Now, by this point, the house is pretty infamous. Everyone kind of knew about it and well -known for its reputation for being just an absolute nightmare
of a home. Like I said, whether it was a drunk wager or just an act of bravado by two drunken sailors, the two men broke into the house and made their way up to the attic, which by this point had just straight up and sealed off, which I mean, great call. I like that they decided. Yeah, makes sense. Yeah. Now, when they finally got in, the room was bare, cold, and thick with
the smell of mold, mildew, and dust. One of the men lit a candle while the other decided to try and make some type of makeshift bed from some items that were left behind from previous tenants, which not going to lie so far, this is pretty romantic. This is pretty hot. It is. It's definitely a meet cute. Now, what stood out the most to them was just how quiet the attic was. It was one of those like it's too quiet kind of deals that always happens to someone like. just before
some absolutely horrific shit goes down. But they tried to play it off. Cracking jokes, shooting the ship, playful wrestling, whatever sailors do when on leave together in a haunted attic. I don't know. Little Dutch rudder action. But not long after midnight, something changed. The temperature of the room dropped sharply. The candle began to flicker, even though there was no draft. Then a sound. It wasn't footsteps. It sounded... More like something dragging itself
across like the wooden floors. It was something wet. It was a regular and it was alien. Now Martin claimed that Blunden grabbed a length of pipe and got in between the noise and his friend or possible lover shouting at whatever it was to stay back. Well, it didn't work. Obviously that's when this thing attack. Now Martin described that he like what he saw attack. He only could describe it in fractured sentiments, like statements, before he inevitably lost his mind, which we'll
get to in a second. He described it as being a shapeless, amorphous thing. No visible face and covered in some sort of slime. It had tentacles or limbs or both that didn't move right. It didn't walk. It crawled or it slid or unfolded itself from the corner of the room like it had been inside the walls all the time. Again, he's losing
his mind while he's trying to. he's also extremely drunk i'm sure yeah but but we'll get just wait so anyways this thing lunged and blunden swung at it with his metal pipe and landed a direct blow but it barely registered as an attack in its defense it wrapped blunden up in one of its many appendages Lifted him off the ground and slammed him all around the room. I assume it was kind of like what the Hulk did to Loki and the Avengers. You know what I'm talking about?
It's just... That cartoon handshake where you shake the guy's hand so much you're slamming him into the ceiling and then into the floor. But now this is... So yeah, so he was slamming him around the room before the thing decided he was bored and fucking just chucked him across the room straight through a window. Now... Let's flip this. So at the same time, Martin is watching his friend get tossed around like a chew toy
in the attic. Witnesses on the street and neighbors reported hearing shouting, violent and repetitive slamming on the walls, the sound of glass breaking, and then a single long inhuman shriek. I mean, those could have just been sex noises, though. Now, when they went to go investigate just what the hell was going on, they discovered Blunden's body impaled on the spiked iron fence that ringed the property. Oh, damn. Reports say his body was just torn the fuck up, but not just from
the fall, but from something prior. He was covered in bruises. He had a shattered arm that didn't quite match the fall, and his face was frozen in what could only be described as an expression of unspeakable fear. Now inside the house, they found Martin just barely clinging to his sanity. He was tucked away, huddled in the attic's far corner. His eyes were wide and unblinking and his pupils were completely blown out on like unreacting to the light. They said he was quote
unquote, barely human in appearance. He was pale, trembling uncontrollably. He had both pissed and shit himself and his mouth seemed as though it was stuck mid scream, but nothing was coming out. Besides a rasp, besides rasping breaths that people have said sounded more like hyperventilation mixed with wet sobs. I can only imagine like the problems, like the, the, the mess that he must feel like inside, you know? Oh yeah. The internal conflict. I mean, his buddy was just
looking out for him. Kind of a, you scratch my back, I'll finish on yours situation. And then he gets thrown out a window and stuck on a, on a wrought iron fence. Like, how terrible? I hate you, Sarge. So much. And the fact that we have lag and I can't discipline you in real time really bums me out. Now, for hours after... Now, for hours after he was... I guess rescued from the house. He was incapable of speech when he did finally begin to mumble. It was just in broken
fragments. Now, some of the greatest hits included. It came out of the walls. Too many arms or none. I couldn't count eyes on the floor. It touched me. It knew my name. And this is probably the worst one. The dark is alive. Don't let it know you're watching. Not great. Damn. That's a rough one. Yeah. That's a scary one. It's not good. Don't let her know you're watching. Fuck. That's so scary. It's not good. None of this is good. And you're over here making cum jokes. God damn.
Well, I mean, too many arms did almost send me down a rabbit hole, but I held it together because I don't think our audience is ready for a Bukkake joke just yet. So. He also reportedly tried to claw his own eyes out at least once while being restrained. And on the carriage ride... A lot of women do that after sex with me. You're a married man, alright? Fucking chill. You proud of yourself? This is what you want? This is what you want for our audience, Sarge? Alright, huh?
You're having a grand old time. Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm a little punchy today. The rain is doing it to me. This man lost his mind watching his lover get thrown out a window. You're over here making cum jokes. I quit. I'm storming off. Oh, God. Okay. Settled. I'm good. I'm good. Okay.
Yeah. So like I said, he also reportedly tried to claw his eyes out at least once while being restrained and on the carriage ride to the local infirmary, he refused to sit near any windows or dark corners, which I assume would make travel very difficult. I can't imagine carriages back then were very well lit. So you either had to do one or the other. I don't think you could sit by a window and or he's a very confusing man. Avoid a dark corner. Yeah. How does that
work? Just curled up on the floor holding a candle. Something. Now, once there, one nurse said he would scream every time someone would enter the room if he hadn't actually seen them approach, as if he was expecting to see something else when they finally popped in. Now, within 48 hours, he was committed to a psychiatric ward, but his
condition never improved. Now, like I said, official records are missing or incomplete, but one orderly is said to have noted that Martin died years later, still afraid of shadows and having never spoken again in full sentences. Some versions say he actually had to be kept in a padded room that had to remain lit 24 hours a day. Other stories like to claim that he would draw shapes on the walls in his own shit. God damn it. Just the same image over and over. twisting concentric
spirals and blobs with curling tentacles. Now, I'm not saying all the details are true, but the essential detail remains the same, and that is Robert Martin never recovered, and whatever he saw in that room, it didn't just break his mind. It completely swallowed it whole. So there you are. Those are the stories of 50 Berkeley Squares. They're not great. How are you feeling so far? Imagine being so scared that you draw shit monsters on the wall. That's horrifying.
Like, it broke his brain so bad that he had to draw and poop. It might have been also just the only thing he had as far as... quote unquote art supplies go. Yeah. They're probably not giving him too many. Yeah. They're probably not giving him too many pens and pencils. He's not getting like a three B out of that one. I feel like he's not, they're not just willy nilly giving him like, Oh yeah, here's a sharp object to here's some, here's some charcoal and oil pastels. Honestly,
I feel like that's safer. I feel like oil pastels would have been the way to go. All right. Sorry. Do you want to talk some theories as to what this thing could be? Yes. Yes, I do. Okay. So let's talk theories because for a thing with no name, People have sure as hell tried to slap a lot of explanations on it. All right. So some folks say it's a ghost classic haunted house deal. Maybe the spirit of a young woman who died tragically in the attic. Maybe something older,
meaner, something demonic. It doesn't behave like your average Victorian lady in white type ghost thing. It's super violent. Yeah, it's physical and it definitely has a body count. A little rough. For sure. Others think it's not a ghost at all, but like. just a straight up creature, like a legit biological thing. Reports, like I said, described it as oozing, amorphous, sometimes tentacled, which has led to this idea that the
attic was home to a giant squid. A giant squid completely forgetting that they don't breathe air. Yeah, just a straight up cephalopod, like in the attic. Yeah, just crawling out of its aquarium. Yeah, I don't know. And then attacking and then crawling back in there. Yeah, I don't know how it's supposed to have gotten there or what it was eating besides an occasional sailor or two, but I don't know. People bring it up
more than you would think. You would think the sailors would have recognized that it was a squid. Maybe in the dark. It's weird. I don't know. I feel like on land you might not fucking know. Yeah, and they might have been busy doing other stuff. I didn't look. I know I put the idea in your head and now it's just there. I was being gentle. It's pride, Sarge. We can't keep making gay jokes. It's not a joke. There's nothing wrong with being gay. Jesus. don't turn this on me.
Like I have the asshole. There is nothing wrong with the love of two sailors. Just enjoy in their evening. Happy pride, everyone. Um, but anyway, so there's also the, and it was interrupted by a perverse octopus. Anyways, there's also the idea that it was some kind of escaped experiment. Victorian London had its fair share of bad scientists. You know, maybe someone whipped something up unnatural and locked it upstairs when it got out of hand. Yeah, that Dr. Jekyll guy was a
real fucking weirdo. Yeah. On the more psychological side of things, you got theories, pretty much it's like mass hysteria, fear feeding fear. Like one person panics, another dies under mysterious circumstances, and then suddenly... anyone who walks into that place is just expecting to see something that breaks their minds yeah that makes sense too though because like you've heard you've heard the stories of like uh you know when people hear about a place being haunted they go in with
the expectation Yeah. And so any kind of weird little noise or whatever is amplified and then they freak the fuck out. Yeah. That could be it. Then it's just, then it's just a ghost. It's, you know, obviously that's what it is. Yeah. But if you think about it, like you're, you're also, so for the sailors, I did have a question about the sailors for real. They, they go up the stairs, they find a room blocked off. Yeah.
They've got a whole ass fucking house, but their thought is no, no, no, no. I want to sleep in the room. That's completely boarded up. Well, like I said, it was either a dare or the house already had a reputation. So they knew what was going on. So they were probably like, if we're going to sleep here, we have to sleep in the attic again. It was either a dare or they were just wanted to prove how brave they were. It wasn't like they didn't wander into a haunted
house. Why is this blocked off? We got to figure it out. They didn't Scooby -Doo it. They knew what they were getting into. Yeah, it just feels like a really weird choice. If someone was like, hey, this house has broken a bunch of people's brains that are in an insane asylum down the street and there's bullet holes everywhere, I'm going to sleep adjacent to the horror room. To be fair, most of them died. Oh, that's true. Yeah, and these all happened pretty far apart,
I guess. Time wise. It wasn't like a bunch of deaths in the span of a year. It was like every couple decades. Well, yeah, because no one else was dumb enough to sleep in the fucking shotgun attic. That's fair. He didn't die, though. Maybe the shotgun is the key. Maybe we're going this all wrong. You know, maybe this is it. This is an ash. You need that scenario. Yeah, exactly.
Now, the other angle is that maybe there was like a. The quote unquote gas leak angle, like Victorian homes were full of carbon monoxide and other toxins, hallucinations, paranoia, sudden death. All those things can be kind of. I mean, yeah, the fucking wallpaper had arsenic in it. Yeah, it was not great. And then there's always the possibility that the whole thing was bullshit. You know what I mean? Like I'd like maybe like
Lord Littleton. he heard about the ghost stories and then he himself went in there, exaggerated the whole thing. And over the years, it turns into a full blown, like urban legend, or maybe it's just a real mind bend. It was something else, like something that didn't belong here. Like it wasn't a ghost or a beast, something that like, like very Lovecraftian, like, you know what I mean? Like very interdimensional creature. Yeah. Someone called up from the ocean.
Um, but yeah, it's just like, just something came through. I don't know. It's all bad. None of us great, but there you have it, Sarge. That's all I got. I think the thing that really sells this story though, is that it's like in the, it ends in Victorian England. You know, what did you say? 1880 or 1890, something like that. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. So it ends at like a really dark time in English history. I mean, you've
got Jack the Ripper, not too far off. There's a lot of room for creepy fucking scary shit. Charles Dickens didn't help. No, definitely not. But there you have it, Sarge. That is the story of the nameless thing of Berkeley Square. How are you feeling? What do you think? I love it and I want it to be so true. Is the house still there? I have to imagine they probably torn it down at this point. I left this out. It's still there. The bottom floor is now a bookstore. And
they do not allow anyone upstairs. So we need to break in. Paranormal teams have tried to get in there and investigate forever. I don't think many, if any, have as far as I know. Okay. Yeah, it still stands. It's now just a bookstore. It sounds like we just need to bide our time. I mean, bookstores can't be doing that well. She'll get to a point where they have a price and we can be like, yo. That's true. Let me take my shotgun and this candle up into your attic. This
was a pleasant surprise. I really like this story, actually, a lot. I want to look more into it and find out more stuff. I want to go to this fucking bookstore for sure. Yeah, information's all over the place. The stories are different depending on who's telling them. It's very one of those type deals. I just kind of picked and choose my favorite ones. I mean, that's all you can really do with any paranormal story is like hunt and pack. And like, just, I just want to
know why it's like that. That's what I need. I need to know, like, there's no fucking haunting backstory that I need. Yeah. There's really, there's no reason why it's because it was, yeah, I don't know. There's no, they, I'm sure there's a dark past that I didn't look into. Maybe like a bunch of people died in the building or something like that, but it was. It wasn't built long before it started getting fucking weird. You know what I mean? I know. It wasn't there long enough,
I feel like, to have a bunch of tragedies. So, I don't know. It's weird. All right, Sarge. You got anything you want to plug before we sign off? Yeah, drink Narragansett beer, you sons of bitches. I just had Narragansett Dell's iced tea. Really good stuff. Hey, I'm drinking the tea right now, too. A little bit of carbonation, but not, like, too much. Yeah, it's so good. A little bit of carbonation, not too much. And it, it just in that lemonade, Dell's lemonade.
So good. It is. It's like a, it's like an Arnold Palmer, but, uh, you know, they won't let you into a country club if you're carrying it. Yeah, they might. Yeah. But like, yeah, it's probably a country club in like Quincy, Massachusetts. You know what I mean? Um, but no drink it. Narragansett, Dell's, uh, iced tea. It's a good summer drink. I'm drinking it while it's raining. So, I mean, I'm bringing the summer vibes into the studio by myself. It's fine. You kind of need to. That's
what I'm doing, too. All right. Yeah, and if you drink Narragansett, whichever one you want. You don't have to drink the fucking tea just because Sarge told you to. You can drink whatever you want. Just drink it. The Shandy's good. Yeah. If you want to follow us. Or Fresh Catch is good, too. IPA. All right. All right. I'm sorry. You got me thinking about beer. Now I'm just fucking, you didn't even do it. I did it to myself. You did. Yeah. So if you want my sex tape, yes, I'm
editing all this out. All right. If, uh, if you want to follow us on Instagram, you can do that at cryptic cocktail, follow us on Tik TOK, cryptic cocktail party. Uh, and just a reminder that this Thursday, when this happens to go the week that this episode comes out, we're going to be on scared all the time. We did an episode with them about shark attacks. It was a lot of fun. They unlocked my fucking, my nerd obsession. Yeah. So definitely check that out. I think that's
all I got to plug. I don't really know. If you want to follow Sarge on all his socials, you can find the links in our Instagram. And with that out of the way, Sarge, you want to say goodbye and a love to the audience? Goodbye. And if you are two sailors just trying to find a place to love each other, don't go to England. I love you.