Buckle up, we're picking our top aliens for a fantasy alien league. The three-tittied alien from Total Recall is still undrafted if you want to get in on this.

Ronald Clark O'Bryan: A Not-So-Sweet Tale of the Candyman Welcome back to Lesser Known People, where we explore the underbelly of human nature through stories that leave you questioning everything you thought you knew about the world. Today, we’re unwrapping the story of Ronald Clark O’Bryan, the original Candyman—not the one who haunts your dreams, but the one who makes you rethink your Halloween candy stash. Grab your favorite sweet treat, and let’s dive into a story that’s more bitter than a mouthful of sour candy. Ronald Clark O’Bryan was just your average suburban dad in Deer Park, Texas, until Halloween night in 1974, when he decided to redefine the term “trick or treat.” Picture this: a father who hands out Pixy Stix laced with cyanide. Talk about taking the “trick” part a bit too seriously! If you thought your dentist was your biggest candy enemy, think again. O’Bryan’s antics earned him the infamous nickname “The Candyman,” and not for the reasons Willy Wonka might’ve approved of. Instead of delighting kids with lollipops and chocolates, O’Bryan turned Halloween into a horror story. His motive? A hefty life insurance policy on his son. It’s the kind of plot twist that would make Agatha Christie’s jaw drop O’Bryan’s plan was as well-executed as a three-year-old trying to draw inside the lines. His attempts to poison five children, including his own, were foiled by his lack of attention to detail (and basic human decency). When his son, Timothy, tragically passed away, O’Bryan’s lackluster attempt to play the grieving father was about as convincing as a dog denying it ate your homework. Ronald’s story serves as a stark reminder that not all candy comes from the same sweet place. After his arrest, parents across America started rethinking their Halloween traditions. Suddenly, bobbing for apples seemed safer than eating anything wrapped in a colorful package. And just like that, O’Bryan turned Halloween into a night of paranoia that would last for decades. The justice system was quick to hand O’Bryan his just desserts, sentencing him to the ultimate trick—capital punishment. While the Candyman’s tale is a chilling one, it also highlights the bizarre ways in which humans can twist traditions for their gain. The next time you bite into a piece of Halloween candy, spare a thought for the lengths one man went to for a payday. Ronald Clark O’Bryan’s story is a cautionary tale about the dangers lurking behind the sweetest of facades. Join us on Lesser Known People as we unwrap the dark, twisted, and sometimes downright absurd stories of history’s most notorious figures. Until then, keep your candy close and your wits closer!

Every town has them. A local celebrity famous (or infamous) for being strange, eccentric, or just plain crazy. These are our hometown stories.

We offer our expert opinions on the Mexican Alien Mummies and present our arguments that they are, in fact, very real and very much among us.

Do you believe in Faeries? Mothmen? Phantom Kangaroos? We got what you need

A collection of tales of the reekiest rankiest fouls smell we've had the displeasure of experiencing

Thomas Szasz: The Maverick Psychiatrist Who Called ‘BS’ on the Couch Welcome back to Lesser Known People, where we explore the lives of those who dared to zig when everyone else zagged. Today’s subject is Thomas Szasz, a psychiatrist who spent his career giving the mental health profession a piece of his mind (and, trust us, it wasn’t a “you’re doing great!” card). Known for his controversial views on psychiatry and mental illness, Szasz shook up the field with more vigor than a toddler in a bouncy castle. So, grab your DSM and get ready for a wild ride through the mind of the man who took on the entire psychiatric establishment. Born in Hungary in 1920, Thomas Szasz had his first run-in with authority when he decided that crayons weren’t for coloring inside the lines. Fast forward a few decades, and he’s a psychiatrist with a penchant for stirring the pot. His rebellion? Questioning the very foundations of his profession and setting the stage for a debate that would echo through lecture halls and therapy couches worldwide. Szasz’s crowning achievement, The Myth of Mental Illness, hit the shelves in 1961, and it was like a bomb going off in the psychiatrist’s office. He argued that mental illness was a metaphor, not a medical condition. That’s right; he thought the DSM was about as useful as a horoscope in a medical textbook. His critics might’ve said he had a few screws loose, but Szasz was just warming up. Thomas Szasz didn’t just question the status quo; he challenged it to a duel at high noon. He believed that the mental health system was a tool of social control rather than a branch of medicine. According to Szasz, psychiatrists were the modern-day inquisition, wielding diagnoses like the sword of Damocles over the heads of unsuspecting patients. If you thought your annual physical was uncomfortable, imagine it with a side of existential dread. Szasz’s ideas birthed a movement that questioned everything from psychiatric medication to involuntary commitment. His followers—let’s call them “Szaszians”—carried the torch, advocating for individual responsibility and freedom. Meanwhile, Szasz himself continued to lob intellectual grenades at the psychiatric fortress, delighting in the chaos and conversation he sparked. Thomas Szasz didn’t just leave a mark on psychiatry; he left a crater. His critiques forced the field to take a hard look in the mirror, even if it didn’t always like what it saw. Whether you’re a die-hard Szaszian or a staunch defender of traditional psychiatry, one thing’s for sure: Szasz got people talking, and isn’t that what it’s all about? Thomas Szasz, the man who told psychiatry to take a hike, reminds us that challenging the norm can lead to breakthroughs—or at least a lively debate. Tune in to Lesser Known People as we delve into the life of this intellectual firebrand, a man who turned the world of psychiatry on its head and left us all wondering: who’s really crazy here?

We couldn't name this epsiode "Dog Sex" so we named it after the Penn State Professor who screwed the pooch in this true-crime blunder.

We turn the lights down low and get intimate on this one. KY tells a modern day love story - boy robs girl, boy adds girl on Facebook, boy asks girl out.

J-Money: "I'm gonna talk about people getting their dicks cut off" Everyone else: "Alright, cool man"

Title: Jerry Martin: Canada’s Answer to "Breaking Bad" Meets "Trailer Park Boys" In a world where Canada is mostly known for its polite citizens, universal healthcare, and an inexplicable obsession with hockey, one man dared to ask, "What if we just sold drugs openly on the street?" Meet Jerry Martin, a true North, not-so-great trailblazer who decided that the best way to bring about drug reform was to just go ahead and open up a street corner drug store. Because why lobby the government or write petitions when you can just cut out the middleman and start handing out shrooms and meth like it’s candy on Halloween? The Breaking (Bad) News Jerry Martin, bless his chaotic soul, set up shop in Vancouver, the city known for its rain, hipsters, and now, apparently, the audacity of a man who thought he could outdo every high school chemistry teacher’s dream. Instead of focusing on good old-fashioned maple syrup, Jerry’s menu featured something a little more… potent. In a move that made Heisenberg look like a Boy Scout selling cookies, Jerry offered everything from cocaine to heroin, neatly labeled and priced, because even in the wild world of street drugs, professionalism matters. Jerry’s business model was simple: If the government isn’t going to get its act together on drug reform, he would just take matters into his own hands. After all, why leave it to the politicians when you’ve got the entrepreneurial spirit of a particularly rebellious beaver? He probably figured, "If people can sell overpriced weed at legal dispensaries, why not just go all the way?" Jerry was like the Robin Hood of narcotics, if Robin Hood decided to keep the gold and instead give out party favors that could actually kill you. Maple Syrup and Meth: A Canadian Love Story Of course, this isn’t just about one man’s dream of being the Pablo Escobar of the Great White North. This is about Canada’s weird, often hilarious, sometimes tragic approach to drugs. Jerry Martin’s story is one of those uniquely Canadian moments where you can’t decide whether to laugh, cry, or just pass the damn poutine. I mean, what do you even say when you hear that someone in Canada thought it was a good idea to just sell drugs on the street like it’s a lemonade stand? "Oh, that’s just Jerry being Jerry!" or "Did he at least apologize before getting arrested?" Because let’s face it, in Canada, even the criminals are polite. The Inevitable Canadian Ending Now, you might be wondering what happened to Jerry’s entrepreneurial venture. Well, in true Canadian fashion, it didn’t end in a blaze of glory or a dramatic shootout. Nope, Jerry was arrested and charged, leaving everyone to shake their heads and say, "What did you expect, eh?" It’s hard not to admire the guy’s guts, even if his business sense was, let’s just say, highly questionable. And so, the story of Jerry Martin, Canada’s most infamous (and probably only) street drug dealer, ends not with a bang, but with a very polite whimper. He’ll go down in history as the guy who tried to bring capitalism to the crack game in the most Canadian way possible: with good intentions, bad ideas, and probably a lot of apologies. Conclusion: A Canadian Legacy Jerry Martin may not have revolutionized drug reform in Canada, but he certainly left his mark. He’s like the Tim Horton’s of street drugs—an odd but strangely fitting part of the Canadian landscape. So here’s to you, Jerry Martin, you mad, maple-syrup-loving genius. Canada might not have needed you, but damn if you didn’t give us one hell of a story to tell. Cheers, eh?

Blog Title: YNW Melly: When "Murder on My Mind" Becomes Murder in Real Life Welcome, degenerate readers, to another episode of "What in the Hell Were They Thinking?" featuring none other than YNW Melly. Yes, the same Melly who decided to play Call of Duty on IRL mode with his so-called friends. Because when you’re an up-and-coming rapper with a hit song called “Murder on My Mind,” the logical next step is to act it out, right? You see, Melly, whose full name is Jamell Demons—yes, Demons, because of course—made the bold career move of not only writing about murder but allegedly following through on it. And by "allegedly," we mean, "Oh, Melly, you did the thing." For those of you too busy living under a rock (or trying to avoid being a feature on Melly's next track), YNW Melly was arrested and charged with the double murder of his two friends, YNW Juvy and YNW Sakchaser. These were his best friends, might we add. Which really makes you wonder what he’d do to his worst enemies. But hey, nothing says "brotherhood" like allegedly setting up a murder scene to look like a drive-by shooting. According to the prosecution, Melly and his buddy YNW Bortlen (no, not a Game of Thrones character, just another guy with questionable life choices) thought it would be a good idea to shoot Juvy and Sakchaser from inside the car, and then stage it like a drive-by. The kind of foolproof plan you'd come up with if you think watching an episode of CSI makes you a forensic expert. And then there’s the detail that Melly’s hit song, “Murder on My Mind,” had already gone platinum by the time this all went down. Maybe he was trying to send a message to the industry: "I’m not just a rapper, I’m an artist committed to method acting." Because why just rap about murder when you can live it, right? But in all seriousness (or as close as we can get), if convicted, Melly could be facing the death penalty. And that’s not exactly the kind of “pen game” he had in mind when he got into the rap game. So, here’s to you, Melly. You took “fake it till you make it” to a whole new level—straight to a courtroom, where the only bars that matter are the ones that could land you behind them for life. So, folks, let this be a lesson: Just because you write a catchy song doesn’t mean you have to live by it. Otherwise, we’d have way more rap albums ending in disaster than just poor Melly’s discography. Till next time, keep your murder fantasies in the booth and your friends far away from any firearms. Stay safe out there—especially if your buddy’s mixtape starts getting a little too real.

Mummies: Ancient Cure-All or the Original Soylent Green? Ah, the good old days. A time when the most reliable way to treat whatever ailed you—be it a headache, a bad case of the runs, or even an existential crisis—was to nibble on a bit of dried-up ancient corpse. Yes, folks, there was once a time when the upper crust of European society, in all their powdered-wig glory, thought the key to good health was eating mummies. Talk about taking "eating clean" to a whole new, disgusting level. You see, back in the 16th and 17th centuries, people were willing to try anything to avoid a premature dirt nap. So when some entrepreneurial quack figured out that grinding up mummy flesh into powder could be passed off as a cure-all, the idea spread faster than an influencer with a new detox tea. It wasn't just peasants chomping on pharaoh jerky either—oh no. Kings, queens, and even popes were in on this "health trend," all too eager to wash down their mummified medicine with a goblet of wine. Imagine being the guy in charge of sourcing the "ingredients" for this miracle powder. It’s bad enough that these mummies were once actual human beings with families and probably a few complaints about the afterlife, but now they’re being carted off by European grave robbers who could’ve easily been the inspiration for that sketchy guy selling “vintage” items on eBay. You thought selling snake oil was bad? Try selling 3,000-year-old powdered mummy to cure your erectile dysfunction. That’s a level of marketing we haven’t seen since someone convinced the world that kale tastes good. So, what did these brave souls think mummy powder could do? Well, apparently, it was a panacea for just about everything: headaches, muscle aches, stomach issues, and most likely even a bruised ego after your latest jousting match didn’t go so well. Got a broken bone? Sprinkle a little mummy on it. Suffering from gout? Mummy powder to the rescue. Basically, if something could go wrong with the human body, they figured a pinch of powdered Pharaoh would set it right. But, in a twist of fate that surprises absolutely no one, eating mummy didn’t actually cure anything. If anything, it gave people a mouthful of dry, dusty regret. Eventually, even the most gullible of health nuts started to catch on, realizing that maybe, just maybe, the ancient Egyptians weren’t packing their mummies with ancient wisdom but rather a whole lot of “please stop eating me.” So, the next time someone offers you a magic pill or a miracle cure, just remember: it’s probably no better than eating a mummy. And if they try to sell you on the health benefits of anything that rhymes with “humminy” or “daddy long legs,” run in the other direction. Or better yet, offer them some kale. It’s not powdered mummy, but it’ll taste just as bad.

Sandy bathrooms, pet squirrels in cages, and Mike Posner holding an iguana. The things we've seen in the houses we visit just so we can play GameCube

Hiroo Onoda: The Last Man Standing—Because He Refused to Sit Down Hiroo Onoda wasn’t just the guy who didn’t get the memo—he’s the guy who didn’t get the memo, the telegram, the smoke signal, or the blaringly obvious signs that the entire world had moved on. And I’m not talking about your uncle who still refuses to use anything but a flip phone. Onoda took “stubborn” to levels that would make a mule look like a yes-man. Onoda, bless his heart, was a Japanese intelligence officer sent to a little speck of land called Lubang Island in the Philippines during World War II. His mission? To wage guerrilla warfare and resist the Allied forces for as long as it took for Japan to win the war. Now, that’s a hell of a pep talk—except someone forgot to include a crucial little detail: the war ended in 1945. But did Onoda pack it up and go home? Oh no. Our boy was so committed to the cause that he stayed in the jungle, fighting a war that was as over as disco. And by “stayed,” I mean he held out until 1974. Yes, you read that right—nineteen-seventy-four. While everyone else was grooving to the Bee Gees and watching “Happy Days,” Onoda was still dodging imaginary bullets, convinced that every rustle in the bushes was the enemy and not a coconut falling off a tree. Let’s just pause to think about this. This man lived off bananas, coconuts, and the occasional stolen cow for 29 years, all while rigorously following orders that no one even remembered giving. And if that isn’t the definition of dedication, I don’t know what is. Meanwhile, the rest of us can’t even commit to a gym membership for three months. The locals on the island tried to convince him to give it up, but Onoda wasn’t buying it. Leaflets dropped from planes? Fake news. Radio broadcasts? Propaganda. The arrival of 8-track tapes and bell-bottoms? Obviously some kind of Allied psy-op. Onoda believed in his mission with the kind of blind faith that only comes from spending three decades talking to your imaginary war buddies and living in a jungle hut that’s one step away from being a sandcastle. It wasn’t until his former commanding officer, Major Yoshimi Taniguchi, literally had to be flown in and ordered Onoda to stand down that he finally, finally, called it quits. And even then, Onoda only agreed because it was a direct order from a superior. Talk about chain of command! So, Onoda returned to Japan a hero—though more for his sheer persistence than anything else. Imagine being the guy who missed 30 years of history. He came back to a world with color TV, moon landings, and Richard Nixon doing the backstroke in a sea of corruption. And while most of us would be like, “Hey, what’s Netflix?” Onoda was more like, “So, who’s running the show in Manchuria now?” After coming back, Onoda did the only logical thing: he moved to Brazil to become a cattle rancher. Because after almost three decades of fighting imaginary wars, there’s no better career move than wrangling cows. He later returned to Japan, wrote a book, and opened a survival school, where he presumably taught people how to avoid reality for as long as humanly possible. So here’s to Hiroo Onoda, the man who was really, really good at following orders—even when the rest of the world was throwing in the towel. If there’s a lesson here, it’s that sometimes, you’ve got to let go and accept that maybe, just maybe, the war is over. Unless, of course, you’re still stuck in 1974. In which case, rock on, brother. Rock on.

We're giving you an inside look at the meetings we have at LKP behind closed doors. Doctor-Captain Ryan Alejandro Finkelstein pitches his latest business venture to the rest of the board.

Reported cases of genital herpes among Orthodox Jewish boys leads us to ask: What? Why?

KY enlightens the group on how the fates of Andy Dick, Phil Hartman, and Jon Lovitz are all intertwined. No surprise, Andy Dick doesn't come out of this looking good.

We all know how messy divorces can get. Sean lays out some evidence of medieval divorce by combat. Who's getting custody of Patches is going to get interesting

Ever wonder where those spam calls come from? These guys wanted to find out, and get their revenge for being mildly inconvenienced

You know what it is

A story that has all of LKP's favorite things: Time travel, Coast to Coast AM, and electrical equipment theft.

Come with us on a learning journey. Are frogs insects? Are scorpion bugs? What happens if you smoke scorpion venom?

We delve deep into our own mouths for this one, talking tooth pulls and why you should never trust a dentist

Our boots on the ground reporter KY returns to prison to further expose the pigeon drug trade that is plaguing our society

You'd think it would be pretty cool if your dad brought home a lion as a pet, right? Only if taking over your house and banging your mom is cool. Which it totally is

Voluntary amputation, woodshop accidents, and hungry hungry train tracks. See y'all in Nub City

We take you on a journey from a small community practicing free love - group marriage, mature women "mentoring" adolescent boys, and communal child care - to the cold, placid world of silverware manufacturing

Get your Baphomet statues and pentagrams out! We're talking the founder of the Satanic Temple, Lucien Greaves

A Finnish ski patrol unit gets ambushed by Soviet forces. They manage to slip away but now have to cross country ski hundreds of kilometers through fresh snow. Their solution? Give ONE guy the entire unit's supply of meth pills. Eat your heart out Sonic the Hedgehog

The boys answer the question: How did we get these scars?

The Reverend Doctor is back! Listen in for his tales, which are NOT made up or exaggerated in any way, about his sinister souvenirs.

Getting personal in this one - we talk about our strange and lovable uncles. As always J-Money has the best stories

 The gang takes a break from talking about fucking each other to talk Andrew Tate, Cheesecake Factory, and the new Evil Dead movie

Ladies, if you're dating again after previously being married, and you're not too sure about a man who has a sketchy past and wants to move in immediately, LISTEN TO YOUR CHILDREN.

A cautionary tale of the slippery slope of human skin collection - an innocent man starting his medical journey studying syphilitic skin lesions inevitably leads to having the largest collection of human "hides"

LKP loves a villain - and there's nothing more villainous than exploiting prisoners' communication access to the outside world. What do you do with this wealth you've built? Buy yachts, fast cars, and suck on cat penises (presumably)

By popular demand, the gang goes down memory road and recounts how we met, how we started the podcast, and how we built our feet pic empire

What do Bob Hope, Jeff Goldblum... wait, wait, haven't we done this before? Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. How about J-money tells the gang about his time in boot camp instead?

Taquitos, chocolate donuts, and loosies — the gang describes their gas station vices

Belgian WWII pilot Remy Van Lierde spends his post-war life in the Belgian Congo, where he sees a giant motherfucking snake from a motherfucking plane.

J-money regales us with tales of his Florida travels and a gator claims a life. Lots of nipple play in this one folks

Come meet the man who's described as "the most litigious man in history" - No one is safe from his suing. George W Bush, Nostradamus, the planet Pluto, all survivors of the Holocaust, the video game Grand Theft Auto, have all felt his wrath

Sometimes you get to suck the tit, other times the tit sucks you

A tale of two scientists, Barry James Marshall and Justin Orvel Schmidt, both committed their bodies to science. Listen in for TMI about the gang's gastrointestinal habits and our worst fears

BigCat procures some damning evidence against KY and presents his case

Someone stole BigCat's junk! The Irish Crown Jewels go missing in 1907 - join the gang for a old timey who dunnit.

LKP turns 100! Take a walk down memory lane with us as we revisit our very first test recording. KY finds a note in a random book, describing a couple's adventures through South America