This isn’t Nancy Reagan’s “Just Say No”—it’s “Just Say WTF”, as Nick and Ryan stumble through the rise of fentanyl: the drug so potent it makes heroin look like chamomile tea. The boozed up brothers discuss the rise of fentanyl, the opioid crisis, and why Big Pharma basically turned America into one giant painkiller trial nobody signed up for.

Highlights include:

• Funeral Rave Grandma Edition — where Xanax gets passed out like Werther’s Originals and the front row looks like a nursing home zombie apocalypse.
  
  
• Bottom-Shelf Bourbon Science — because apparently whiskey reviewers can taste “sawdust and wood oil” (translation: that guy was already on fent).
  
  
• Paging Dr. Dumbass — the medical philosophy that “you can’t get addicted if you’re in pain,” which is the scientific equivalent of “calories don’t count if you eat standing up.”
  
  
• Drug Pigs & Charlotte’s Web 2.0 — because why shouldn’t children’s books double as narcotic branding guides?
  
  
• The Russian Hostage Rescue Plan™ — nothing says “strategic genius” like hosing down 800 civilians with fentanyl gas and then shrugging when 120 don’t make it.
  
  

By the time the rogue chemist with “prison ethics” shows up, and cocaine retirees start dropping like flies, you’ll realize the opioid epidemic isn’t a crisis—it’s a Coen Brothers dark comedy accidentally directed by Michael Bay.

Bottom line: Fentanyl isn’t just a drug, it’s Darwin’s favorite party trick—and your only defense is praying your dealer owns a calculator.

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Buckle up, because this episode is what happens when Back to the Future gets filmed behind a Missouri trailer with a stolen transformer and absolutely zero adult supervision.

In this week’s Conspiracy of Two, Ryan drags Nick into the electrified fever dream of Mike “Madman” Markum—the redneck backyard genius (or backyard menace) who allegedly built a time machine out of coat hangers, scrap metal, and enough voltage to make OSHA faint. Forget MIT. Forget CERN. This man said, “What if I just crank it?” and then actually did.

What starts as a humble Jacob’s Ladder experiment turns into energy vortices, couches vanishing into thin air, hamsters achieving interdimensional travel, and police wondering why the power grid in Missouri suddenly looks like it’s being siphoned by Doc Brown’s drunk cousin. Then comes the jail time. Then comes Art Bell. Then comes the claim that Markum stepped into the vortex… and something stepped back out.

Nick and Ryan unpack it all the only way they know how: bourbon in hand, side-eye locked in, and absolutely no respect for basic electrical safety. We get into:

• The “science” (heavy air quotes) behind the machine
• Coast to Coast AM fame and late-night radio chaos
• The teleportation tests that may or may not have fried the couch
• And the ultimate question: did Madman Markum crack time travel… or just crack?

Somewhere between whiskey reviews, Yeti inventory checks, and calling Missouri’s power company the real victim here, the brothers accidentally invent a new business model: redneck junk removal via space-time portal.

Was Markum a misunderstood genius? A charismatic bullsh*t artist? Or just the only man alive bold enough to look at a humming vortex of death and say, “Bet.”

Grab your Busch Light, your Marlboro Reds, and maybe unplug your garage before listening.

Bottom line: it’s less “theoretical physics” and more “hold my beer and watch this”—a booze-soaked tale where two slightly buzzed uncles try to explain quantum mechanics, Missouri electrical theft, and a man who might’ve ripped a hole in time… all without spilling their drinks.

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This episode plays out like Mad Max: Hippie edition, with Charles Manson leading a ragtag gang of desert weirdos who thought they were preparing for the apocalypse but really just look like extras from a bad B-movie. By Part 2, Manson’s “Family” has fully drunk the Kool-Aid (or maybe just the bad acid) and they’re carrying out his insane vision of Helter Skelter—a race war supposedly hidden in Beatles lyrics that only he could decode.

Nick and Ryan, sipping their way through the madness, paint the picture of Manson directing chaos like an off-Broadway producer with zero budget and way too much LSD. The “Family” isn’t so much a group of killers as they are the world’s worst improv troupe: Yes, and… let’s stab strangers to start the apocalypse

The comedy comes from the sheer absurdity: dune buggy war squads, desert hideouts that were supposed to be “end times headquarters,” and a cult leader whose only real talent was making nonsense sound profound to people who were too high to notice.

At its core, it’s an unflinching look at how one delusional wannabe rockstar managed to turn peace-loving hippies into the world’s least competent death squad.

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