#2445 - Bert Kreischer

Joe Rogan wants that—check it out. The Joe Rogan Experience.

Does red light therapy help eyes? Mine are wrecked. I’m squinting at shampoo and throwing on readers in the shower like an idiot.

It helps. A strong bed is pricey but great for full body recovery, and smaller panels can sharpen vision if you sit in front of them daily.

I was lying in bed thinking Gen X had the best run. We had real childhoods, watched the internet arrive, lived through 9-11 and a pandemic, and saw rock rule. Then I asked chat GPT and got dunked on by the actual Greatest Generation.

Our era still felt magic. We went from VHS and answering machines to caller ID and star 69, prank calls and the Jerky Boys. Greg Fitzsimmons’ rental car call was chaos in the best way.

Greg and Mike Gibbons are assassin funny. Greg toured with me and trimmed the fat on my hour. He and Louis made talking about family feel raw and sharp, and Brennan Walsh’s Whole Foods hoax and that phone sex bit still kill me. I love when comics do it just to crack themselves up. Shane’s the same, and he once ratted out my kid for sneaking beers just to see me react.

If you’re hammered every night, you might miss a few things. Dads at college weekends are a different species.

Eddie Bravo called me asking if you really lost everything and rebuilt it, after that Shannon Sharpe clip. Did you just go along?

Totally. I froze and nodded. I tried to backfill it with some story in my head because internet lore often beats truth.

He books guests who talk spicy. Cat Williams roasted everyone and a lot of it was on point.

Producers chase viral cards. They asked if Kevin Hart was just lucky, and I clumsily tried to explain how luck plus a moment can rocket you. The machine story did that for me. Burr’s Philly blowup, Jim Jefferies getting punched, Tom catching Netflix early. You reinvented after that brutal Comedy Store era and built this juggernaut.

That video hit because Redban cut it like a film. It was the first time a thief got nailed in public, and you can see the steep drop when those guys have to write for themselves. The lights go out.

Burr hated being boxed in by the Philly rant, but the body of work made fans stay. Shane getting bounced from SNL helped him. His Creek and Cave special showed he runs at the third rail. His Special Olympics bit kills me.

If you are good, backlash brings more eyes and new fans. During COVID, the attacks gave me a massive audience bump, even with the Neil Young drama and the dumb green filter memes.

I crumble at bad press. An MMA writer dragged me after I did this show, and I spiraled. My daughter said, did you have fun? Then forget it. I nuked news apps and told my team to stop posting clippings, good or bad.

I stay off almost everything. If I post on Insta, it is me, but I do not read comments. It is bad for your head. Tom and I only trade the most horrific videos in our private text chain like idiots.

One scowling face can wreck your focus the way one nasty comment can. I had a wild night where a dark bit ran the room. That is why I do not read replies. People learn that being a jerk gets your attention.

Whitney got dogpiled for a throwaway jab at Ms. Rachel, who is an educator for little kids. I told her to stop engaging. Mobs want scalps, not conversations.

Threads was piling on today. I watched Ms. Rachel and thought, it is Blues Clues for babies. Who cares.

Threads is a rehab for people who burned out on Twitter. Anyway, there is a new study on two-way dream communication. It sounds sci-fi, but they say they sent a code word during lucid REM and got confirmation back.

I saw it on Instagram—a 2024 press release about REM Space claiming a first-of-its-kind exchange.

They used earbuds, detected lucid REM, played a random word, recorded a reply, and later delivered it to another dreamer. It is intriguing, but I want replication and details.

I lucid dream a lot. Alpha Brain seemed to make it click. I fly, pick the scene, sometimes even jump back into the same dream. One time dream-me chose my wife when the menu was wide open, which felt cool as hell.

There are techniques, but when I crash, I want sleep, not experiments. I did have one hyper-real night with tall, thin, almost-human beings in an oddly lit, organic corridor. They joked to calm me, showed me how thin the barrier to danger is, and it felt nothing like a normal dream. I woke at three thirty, could not sleep, and just worked out in silence.

Wild how a non-event can stamp itself as a memory. I fall asleep to podcasts, which is probably dumb. Next thing you know we are talking Rasputin’s jar, Russian hardiness, rewatching Game of Thrones, Kramer’s meltdown, and how Chevy Chase’s falls probably scrambled him.

Media can cement myths. Bill Murray said Wired miscast Belushi, which made him realize how they set up Nixon. Tucker laid out the Watergate angle—FBI and CIA orchestration with Woodward as ex–naval intel—like a deep state op.

Every outlet picks a lane now. I miss straight reporting.

They even beauty-filtered a shooting victim on TV. Go to independent reporters if you want less spin. Deep Throat was the FBI’s number two, which tells you plenty. Big advertisers also keep touchy topics, like vaccine harms, off-limits.

I got four J and J shots for work and travel and still caught COVID a ton. Anyway, I have been binging fights and I am curious how greats from different UFC eras would stack up under today’s rules.

Some early UFC legends would still cause chaos today. The heavyweight field is thin, so a brawler like Tank Abbott could crush plenty of lower‑tier guys, same as a huge puncher like Derek Lewis. Elite wrestlers such as Dan Severn or Mark Coleman would dump folks on the mat and maul them. Royce Gracie’s striking was just a doorway; on the ground he was a nightmare. No gi changes grips, but with modern training he’d still be a problem at the right weight.

I’m reading Wright Thompson on Jordan struggling to leave the throne at fifty, and it tracks with fighters. That identity pull is real. How did you keep your life from becoming your job?

I break myself with brutal workouts. That’s what keeps me sane. When the bell says three more minutes and I want out, that’s who I am, not the headlines. I could disappear, but I love this. In another life I’d tour as a pro pool player. I have to manage my obsessive streak in small bursts for a special or a hunt so it doesn’t eat my whole life.

I wish I listened earlier. You once told me to chase being less famous and I laughed. Now I get it.

That’s why I took Spotify. Fewer eyeballs sounded great. We lost half the audience at first and I went, perfect. Fame is strange anyway. The crowd that loves you doesn’t know you. If the people who do know you hate you, you’re living a fake life. I also remember calling you in Vietnam and saying, quit the day job and go all in. The world had shifted.

I’m lucky I had the right voices at the right time. The blood clot scared me straight. I used to take month‑long breaks to prove I could, then go back to bad habits. Flying sober changed everything. I started seeing how often I disrespected my health without noticing.

You’re tough and your labs hid it, which is a trap. At fifty‑three it hits different. Ask for a D‑dimer to check for clotting. There was a Canadian doc screaming about microclots after multiple boosters and he got crushed, then the conversation shifted. Even a lot of doctors stopped pushing boosters. Why did that stop if nothing else changed?

So why is COVID less scary now?

Viruses often evolve to spread easier while hitting softer, and our antibodies grow. Delta hit hard. Later waves got milder, then they stopped naming every offshoot. I think vaccinating during a pandemic pushed escape. Geert Vanden Bossche has yelled for years that you never do that.

COVID never wrecked me like swine flu did. I was drinking on a flight to a gig and felt like I was dying. Lesson learned: never drink when you’re sick.

Booze hammers your immune system mid‑fight. What drove me nuts was how no one talked about basic support. Vitamin D, C, zinc, real sleep, simple stuff. They mocked me over ivermectin while ignoring the whole protocol, including monoclonal antibodies, which worked so well they became hard to get. I paid to send nurses with IV vitamins and monoclonals to at least a hundred people, famous and not. Your wife bounced back fast, but recovery still means chill. I finally caught it after a late pool night and margaritas. Felt rough a day, did the meds, and bounced. Media didn’t want a healthy guy in his fifties saying, you can get through this, because pharma money pays their bills.

I don’t trust how many folks get a sleep‑apnea machine. Feels over‑prescribed. What else helps?

Nose breathing matters. I use a tongue‑holding mouthguard and tape my mouth so I sleep through my nose. I wake up better on less sleep. Nasal breathing filters and warms air, boosts nitric oxide, helps oxygen uptake, reduces snoring, and keeps the airway open.

Okay, mean pranks aside, the money thing bugs me. Corporate cash wrecks truth. Do you see that?

You stop getting objective reality. You get advertiser‑friendly narratives. That’s why my fast recovery was a problem for them. I tell people to load up IV vitamins when they’re sick. I did it for Bill Burr and he turned a corner in a day. Same with Dana White and monoclonals. I stack D with K2 and magnesium, plus zinc with quercetin. They still branded me horse paste guy.

Podcasting feels more corporate. Even awards like the Golden Globes leaned toward company shows.

They asked me to submit and pay a fee. I passed. I’ve been number one for years. I don’t need a tuxedo room to tell me I’m not. Amy Poehler’s show might be great, Dax is great, lots are great. But I’m not playing that game.

I made a show built to binge, like Slow Horses or Black Doves. Six episodes as one arc, and the last line of the pilot hooks you into the next. Netflix didn’t get it at first, then watched and said, you nailed it. The real win is private texts from people who don’t need to say anything, like Luke Combs or Bradley Cooper. That means more than a trophy.

Awards for art are nonsense. A friend’s recommendation beats a statue. If you want gems, watch American Movie or Vernon, Florida, and Happy People. That Siberian village shows how daily struggle makes people content.

When my family kept chickens and a garden, we were weirdly happy. Small chores and fresh eggs felt good. Is that the same circuit you hit in the gym?

Totally. Humans are wired for work. If you don’t spend it, your brain invents threats. The laziest doom‑scrollers are the loudest haters. When we did those fitness challenges, the chatter in your head quieted. I have to watch my obsession though. I prefer competing with myself. Every cold plunge is me telling my inner whiner to shut up and get in.

I shelved career rivalry. I used that energy to build what wouldn’t invite me, like a touring festival. As a kid I even invented opponents, which worked in sports, not in stand‑up.

My only competition is doing my best, prepping hard, and only talking to guests I’m truly curious about. I turn down famous folks I don’t want, especially the ones who shamed people over shots. In comedy, the internet flipped us from rivals to a rising tide. Haters online are usually mediocre and project. Look at Nikki Glazer; she works. Do the work and protect your inputs.

You get better by standing next to killers. Watching you and Burr use the stage made me add act‑outs. Comics spark each other’s bits. Then we messed around with Helen Keller and Stevie Wonder stories and it spiraled.

I’ve seen posts claiming Keller had partial vision or hearing and that her handler controlled the myth and the money. Who knows a century later. Same with the Stevie rumors; the jokes never stop. And Lance? Everyone was juicing in that era. He still won in a field of dopers.

Quick notes: Vernon, Florida is an Errol Morris film that Herzog supported. Keller’s archives don’t show full function, and Stevie had retinopathy of prematurity. Rumors carry, but the records are messy.

Free Bert is streaming on Netflix right now. I’m down about forty and seventeen days sober. Tom’s slammed, we’ve got a vodka company and a five‑kay. You running it?

I love you, brother. You look great. I’m not going to Los Angeles. That place feels like a bad ex. I moved on.