Some stories you tell because you're proud of them. These are not those stories. This week, Wayne talks Greg into confessing two tales he'd otherwise take to the grave — one involving a pony, one involving Wayne's own wedding reception — and both come with an unmistakable whiff of something gone wrong.

First up: Greg and a retired pony have a reckoning, which somehow opens onto carnie ethics, the real differences between ponies and horses, and what it means to finally make peace with an equine. Then it's off to the old Transbay Terminal, where Greg's quest to reach Wayne's wedding reception runs headlong into the limits of what the human body can endure, plus a side trip into mens room etiquette rules pushed well past their breaking point. Also, Wayne discusses his physical challenges regarding alcohol.

Along the way: getting your name in the paper as a young man, the strange fatalism of parents, whether you actually need a church to get married, the quiet trauma of depressing children's books, sour apples, the Apple II, Wayne's first foray into branding, silver anniversaries, and — because every episode should have one — a man with a cat on his shoulder.

It's mildly disgusting. It's mostly true. It's Hella Shocking.

With the sort of hubris that only two guys with microphones can muster, we spend an episode putting San Francisco on trial against many cities, foreign and domestic. Pretty presumptuous, we know.

But first, a first: an actual guest. Monte, dot-com era veteran, joins Wayne from his porch in Breezy Point, Queens, to relitigate the strange, beer-soaked boomtown SF once was. Rugby, free dot-com beer, burritos as a food group, the tyranny of hills on a bicycle, the slow surrender to SF's chill, the correct way to pronounce our street names, and a gentle but firm note to Raiders fans that it's time to move on. Monte also confesses he never quite made peace with the moody climate. Honestly, same.

Back in the virtual studio, we widen the lens to answer the question nobody asked: what even is LA? Tokyo has Japanese food, London's got a lot of old Roman stuff lying around, and Wayne loves his Hong Kong. Eventually we decide international comparisons are a fool's errand and stay domestic. Seattle earns hill-respect. Detroit is flat in a way that feels wrong, but redeems itself with genuinely great pizza. Chicago is crowned Most American City, while Philadelphia is like a sadder Boston. New York is wonderful, of course.

Also covered: Is Evening Magazine some how punk?, the shockingly low bar for 1980s hotel safety, and — stated with the full force of conviction — the Jets suck.

Wayne and Greg fire up the overrated/underrated machine and let the Bay Area have it — soccer, al fresco dining (Greg says nonsense, Wayne hedges), Angel Island and the immigrant experience, and Northern California's impossible summer weather (hot, cold, dusty, damp, all at once, somehow).

There's a London mission burrito sighting, a detour into educational PSAs, and a loving stare at the brutalist bones of the Oakland Coliseum, plus the East Bay's odd Rolling Stones legacy and Candlestick Park's questionable architectural due diligence. Napa's mystique takes a small hit, fancy coffee gets a reality check, and Wayne finally finds his favorite San Francisco movie (not Mrs. Doubtfire).

There's a confession about a weirdly specific young-professional commute ritual, a full-throated case for the Oakland Museum, a surprising defense of SFO, and a very sincere plug for Benicia. Also: the Dungeness vs. blue crab debate returns, and Dungeness wins. It always wins.

Oh — and Greg's mic is bad again. New mic, same problem. Sorry

It's the big one — twenty episodes in, and Greg and Wayne finally take on Bay Area music, a topic so sprawling and so foundational to the region's identity that they were dreading it long before they hit record. The shadow this place casts on music is enormous, and this episode tries to walk through as much of it as two guys can manage in one sitting without getting dehydrated. What comes out the other side: New Jack Swing, a night at the club, a romantic gesture that may or may not earn marriage points, and a strict Metallica non-aggression pact (the band, they agree, doesn't need the exposure).

Greg gets chased after a concert and, separately, mugged — a rough stretch for a guy just trying to talk about music. Wayne name-checks the radio personalities he wants to hug and goes hunting for alternatives to MTV; Greg mourns his childhood radio reception. The Grateful Dead go politely ignored by a young Wayne — good instincts, Wayne. Professional tennis shows up uninvited. There's a tour through record stores, a heartfelt tribute to East Bay suburban dirt bags as unsung cultural tastemakers, a stern word for Slayer's eyeliner era, a swerve into mutual friends more talented than themselves, and love for the Pointer Sisters, the Uptones, and the United States of America (the band), plus a genuine, nerdy detour into the legacy of Mills College and the Buchla 100 series of portable synthesizers. Wayne edited this one down from a monster to a manageable hour-plus — a heroic act of restraint.

The Bay Area is a place that has consistently, and somewhat quietly, punched above its weight as a center of visual culture. Not just tech aesthetics — but the longer, stranger history of a region that has produced an outsized number of visual thinkers and image-makers without always getting full credit for it.

The episode opens with a question that turns out to be genuinely hard to answer: what exactly is Oski? The UC Berkeley bear mascot rewards scrutiny poorly — the closer you look, the less sense he makes. This leads into the odd history of college mascots as a visual genre, a category of design that combines deep institutional seriousness with complete formal absurdity.

From there: Coit Tower, which manages to function as both a convincing three-dimensional landmark and an almost impossibly clean two-dimensional graphic — it looks like a logo of itself. The bridges get their full due: the Golden Gate's promiscuous elegance versus the Bay Bridge's beautiful brutality, two completely different visual philosophies sitting within eyeshot of each other across the same water. The theme to Taxi comes up. It belongs.

San Francisco's graphic design community gets examined, with particular attention to the remarkable concentration of influential designers in the city's history named Michael. This is a real phenomenon. San Mateo, it turns out, has mighty iconography. Levi's gets a moment for a genuinely clever piece of creative maneuvering around FIFA's notoriously aggressive trademark enforcement. Tom Waits comes up as a man who has spent decades carefully tending his image and gone to considerable lengths to defend it — discussed here with admiration.

Then there's the format problem: how do you talk about fonts on a podcast? Typography is a stubbornly visual subject and audio is a stubbornly non-visual medium, and Greg and Wayne attempt to bridge this gap with varying degrees of success. Billboards follow — the great ones, past and present — operating under conditions of fog and topography that don't apply anywhere else.

This episode's Star Wars reference is grounded in the massive container cranes at the Port of Oakland, which famously may or may not have inspired the AT-AT walkers. The 49-Mile Scenic Drive gets examined — specifically how you route 49 miles through a city that is, relative to its own legend, quite small. Greg shouts the phrase RAINBOW TUNNEL with earned enthusiasm. Wayne goes philosophical on the Transamerica Pyramid, which is the correct response.

The corpse flower arrives, raising genuine questions about what nature is trying to communicate and whether we should be concerned. Broadway's strip club signs get their moment as vernacular icons of a vanishing San Francisco — and yes, there is a weird death in the history of at least one of them. The old Tower Records on Bay Street is remembered as a defiant LA outpost in enemy territory, a Sunset Strip energy the city didn't ask for and kind of loved anyway.

And then the Laserium — lying on your back in a domed room while lasers traced psychedelic patterns across a fake sky and something between Pink Floyd and a dream played through the speakers. It was a lot. It was also exactly right.

A quick note: the audio of this episode is not our finest hour. Something happened. Gremlins, atmospheric conditions, the general hostility of technology toward ambition — the cause remains unclear. What is clear is that Wayne performed what can only be described as an act of heroic editing to get this thing into listenable shape, and he deserves acknowledgement for that. You'll notice it's fine. It's legible. It sounds like a podcast. That is entirely because of Wayne.

Episode 18 lands on Father's Day, so Greg and Wayne do what any reasonable sons and fathers would do: they talk about hair for an alarming amount of time. Baldness, combovers, Chris Mullin's flattop, and the Fuzzy Pumper Barber Shop all get their due. First haircuts come up too—the trauma, the ritual, the inexplicable lollipop at the end.

From there, things open up into the full archaeology of Bay Area fatherhood. Faded memories of Emporium-Capwell’s. Tobacco Pipes that were somehow considered sophisticated and may have permanently altered one host’s lung capacity. Cheap Chablis over ice, which someone's dad thought was classy, and he wasn't entirely wrong. The Scots of Santa Barbara. The cars of James Bond (well, two of ‘em. The best ones.)

There are dads who sold medical supplies and somehow made it interesting. Dads who ditched church with a frequency that suggested a private arrangement with God. Old-school salesmen who taught the correct handshake like it was a martial art. Wayne's dad's CD-ROM—singular, mysterious, never fully explained. The particular and inherited tragedy of rooting for the New York Jets. Dads swearing at moments that were either completely inappropriate or absolutely called for.

There's also a Pixar side quest to parenting glory, and the complicated, occasionally glorious fruits of coaching a traveling team.

Oh, and they forgot to do a Mother's Day episode. Sorry, moms.

Greg and Wayne put each other on the hot seat with a Bay Area-adapted version of Stephen Colbert's famous Questionert — and things get weird fast. A regular listener gets lovingly roasted, a hippie named Manny makes an appearance, and the sandwich discourse gets contentious (Greg says something about Philly cheesesteaks that will not go over well with certain people). Wayne recalls a youthful stint in detention, Greg wears a carpet and nearly passes out, and somewhere in there a pony may or may not have been won. There are sharks. There are Africanized bees. A Monty Python figure stands alone.

The guys also tackle the deep questions: Is The Rock actually a good movie? What's the deal with that smell on BART? What 49er was also in Duran Duran? Is Colma the world’s more charming necropolis? They pay tribute to Willie Mays and the strange loneliness of celebrity, Chris Mullin's flattop, the redemptive power of Journey, and the very specific childhood betrayal of discovering that sparkling water from Calistoga is not what you hoped it would be. Plus: Wayne's cousins, Mrs. Doubtfire, Star Wars, 3D movies, Godzilla, and the eternal fog-shrouded pursuit of likes and subscribes. Happy to have you listen! Have fun.

It's trivia night at Hella Foggy, and it goes exactly as well as it needs to. Two people wander into a forest of anecdotes and find, against the odds, there is content to be found there. Huzzah!

Wayne brings the questions. Greg brings the answers—some of them correct. From this modest premise, Episode 16 expands to encompass Information Theory, Bay Area geology, the actual crookedest street in San Francisco (not Lombard), apple pie with cheddar discourse, a sports legend encounter no one comes out of cleanly, Czech witch-related vocabulary, the full Mrs. Doubtfire extended universe, and a camping trip that is—yes—Bay Area content. Haight Street gets its moment. Xerox PARC gets its moment. A Star Wars reference lands, and is appreciated for exactly what it is.

A listener writes in to say the hosts are clever. The hosts dispute this. The hosts may be right. Greg's past romantic partners are mentioned briefly, and with the appropriate level of discretion. There is bickering, mostly about the apple pie with cheddar thing. The bickering is minor, genuine, but it ends with no hard feelings.

Is anything truly trivial? Unclear. But very little here stays small for long. Enjoy the show.