From Workhouse Connect and aj Benze fame.

Uh, he'd liked to be walked on a leash and play really dirty, kinky sex games.

He's uh the guy put the cock in the peacock network.

Okay, bitch, Hey, everybody aj Benzi here with fame is a bitch.

This is your daily Unfiltered podcast for August fifth, twenty twenty five.

Oh eight oh five two oh two five sounds good.

I like the cadence of that.

Oh eight oh five too.

Oh to five sounds cool.

By the way, I didn't get a chance.

I don't even know why I missed this opportunity.

But when I said yesterday that it was Joey and Julia's seventh wedding anniversary, when we went all went to Florida to be with them, which was a great trip.

I just sent them a gift certificate certificate to eat at the really great restaurant we went to.

Andrew and I went there.

We loved it, so Endzo and Michael.

It's in Laurel Grove, what a great restaurant.

It's in a big house.

And I didn't mention that Rosalie and Jack on the same day August fourth, were married fifty seven years.

Jesus Christ.

That's something else.

I know.

Every year ain't great.

I'm not trying to say fifty seven years are fantastic jubilation.

No, it's not what marriage is.

But still, in all, fifty seven fucking years unbelievable on well believable, and I hope it goes on.

You know, there's an Italian expression.

It's a weird thing.

It's what we say when we're leaving someone's house, or they're wishing us a safe drive home, whatever it is.

You you, you say givitine gimbtye as you're leaving.

It's an Italian expression.

It basically means if God wants, but the way it's really pronounced is c divoli, citivoli or diovolndo.

But because scilion is so crazy that sidivoli becomes givitem I don't even know why, and calibrace is even crazier.

I don't know what they would say, But so to that, I say, more years for Roslie and Jack, more years for Joey and Juliet, givety, even though doesn't make much sense.

I'll tell you what really threw me the other night.

You know, I got an email I got so many emails and texts from you folks who care about me and you know, wish me well, and I love you all.

I don't want to dwell, but you know I do because you're the best.

But of course there's some emails that come in from people who just they don't know what to say, you know, and I just I'm not going to get mad, but I hear you know, there's some emails that come in and go bro, dude, dude in all capitalists, Dude, you got to stop talking about yourself.

That's the problem.

That's the problem with your show.

Stop talking about yourself.

Take two weeks off, like the normies do, go play golf.

Dude.

I'm like, I'm not a fucking normy and golf's for fags, don't.

You don't know what I go through every day.

I don't mean golf for fags.

I'm just saying it's not my sport.

I still want to play contact sports, but I enjoy the fact that there's golf out there.

And if you're with your best friends and you're hitting balls across a beautiful green course, yeah it's fun three hours, four hours, I get it.

But I want to play pick up basketball.

I want to play tackle football, even at my age.

I don't give a shit.

Let's get it on, Honeyham, Where was I?

Hey?

So I get these emails and I appreciate all of them.

You guys have you know, you've made me cry many times, so I don't want to keep talking about it.

But you know who you are.

You know what you said and sent and offered, and it's absolutely amazing.

I mean, for a Boston Red Sox fan living in Massachusetts to invite me to stay at his home and take me to a Yankee Red Sox game in September and agreed to cheer for the Yankees.

Do I have any idea how over the top that is?

That's Paul went Ahead.

Never knew I'd meet people like that in my life, never never knew.

But let me take you into a little bit of a ghosty situation which to me made me feel great, made their hair stand up on my arms, and you know, made me more of a believer than I've always been.

Saturday night, or as my mother would say, Saturday night, Saturday night taking Roco to his buddy's house.

It's like seven point fifteen Pacific Coast time, and on the radio, Bohemian Rhapsody comes on from Queen loved the song.

I remember when it first came out, all the kids from the neighborhood screaming, when is it gonna come on again?

We would wait by the radio for hours to hear that.

I see you, little little I mean, you know, it was like it was like nothing ever we've heard before.

So Bohemian Rhapsody comes on, and I say to rock Or you know, this is Chico's song.

Yeah, yeah, I said.

He would sing it at the top of his lungs.

And Chico had a great voice, and he would sing from the diaphragm the right way, not the top or the back of his throat like most of us do.

He sang down low, and he could belt out Elvis Skinny or Fat Elvis.

He could belt out Humperdink, Tom Jones.

And we used to sing in his basement for the acoustics.

His basement had great acoustics, and him and I did a great rendition of you don't bring Me Flowers.

I know sounds gay.

We're sixteen years old, seventeen, whatever the hell, and going down to his basement to sing you don't bring me Flowers, and he would graciously take the streisand part because Chico had a higher octave than I did.

And I took Neil Diamond because I could imitate him and we'd sing and he would go up with high.

You don't me flower, you don't send me love songs, and I come in hardy only talk to me anymore when it comes to the end of the day.

I'm not doing Neil Diamond justice right now.

But yeah, we killed it in that basement.

So let's go back to the last phone call, the last talk.

The last time I heard Chico's voice he was telling me is twenty eleven.

He was telling me he was looking at twenty five years of federal prison time for crimes he committed with some young mafiosa kids in Florida.

He was involved with these kids, well not kids, they were young men.

They were all sons of fathers and uncles who served time.

So for them, going to prison for five, six, seven years was a right of passage.

They could stand on their head and do that time.

In fact, one of Chico's friends told me that at his funeral, he says, you know, our guys like us.

His name was Frankie, No frank He says, you know, Chico wasn't cut out for prison.

You know, guys like us, our dads, our uncles did it.

It doesn't mean nothing to us.

We go away five years to come back bigger than ever.

But guys like us, we grew up on Long Island, you know, we didn't think that way.

So Chico's on the phone telling me I'm at Rosley's house on Long Island and he's calling me from Florida.

He says, you know, Pope, they're throwing it.

They're throwing twenty five years at me like it's candy.

They want me to talk.

They woman to name names to reduce my time, or maybe even skate.

I can't do it, Pope.

I'm not a rat.

And I knew he wasn't, you know, because when we lived in New York City together on Madison Avenue, the FEDS would show up at our building right and come home from work, and I'd see Chico on the couch with two or three Feds with the windbreakers on and the fucking Joe Biden sunglasses.

And before I even got upstairs, I'd see their car parked out front the Crown Victoria with no white walls.

I mean, we all know the signs.

And I'd walk in and I'd hear them say the cheek hey you know, hey, Tim, will you joined Team America and beat the bad guys.

Let's let's beat the bad guys.

Tim, what do you say, joined Team America?

He'd looked at me and laugh.

He wouldn't do that.

But they they, they came.

They came by a lot because he eventually decided to leave because they kept coming to our apartment and he knew I had a big job at the Daily News.

I was a big columnist and I didn't need that heat.

He had an organized crime file.

They were compiling one on myself because I was with them constantly, so we both had OHC file.

So that's not good.

So he says, Pope, I gotta go.

I'll go to Florida.

I'll get out of you.

I'll got out of your hair.

Hugged and kissed and cried and he split.

But that day on the phone in Long Island was so weird, and I flat out and asked him, what are you telling me you're gonna split?

Is this curtains?

What do you He says, I don't know, I don't know.

I don't want the twenty five years, you know.

And I'm not gonna rap, he says.

It's different from me.

You know, I got nobody.

You got a family, you got beautiful kids and a wife.

I don't know.

There's nothing tying me down.

I can leave whatever I want.

That was August twenty third, twenty eleven.

That was when around the time Hurricane Irene hit and there was a five point eight magnitude earthquake that hit Virginia and was felt in a lot of states around, including New York and even on Long Island.

It's actually still the large tremor to hit the East Coast in the last one hundred years.

And I'm on the phone with him, and he's telling me this about I don't know, I said, he is it Curtains.

I don't know, Pope, but you know, And I look at the ceiling fan in the bedroom I'm sleeping in with my son, and it's shaken, it's moving.

And I said, cheek, I think we're having a fucking earthquake.

He says what I said, Yeah, the fans are moving.

I'll call you back.

Never called him back.

It was an earthquake.

Never called him back.

We hung up.

The next day I get the phone call from his brother that he killed himself.

So how about this?

That night, I took Rocko to his buddy's house.

I came home to hear that a small earthquake had just rocked parts of New Jersey and New York.

This is Saturday night when I took him to his buddy's house.

It was a three point ero quake.

It was six miles beneath the earth in New Jersey ten eighteen pm, thirteen miles from midtown Manhattan, and tremors were felt everywhere from the Bronx to Staten Island to Long Island, you name it.

And you know these things, Matt, I mean these things.

These are signs to me.

It just signs to me.

The last time we talked as an earthquake.

Then I hear his song on the radio, and I say to rock Oll, I gotta hear this song.

It's Chico's song.

And then they come back to the apartment and there's another fucking earthquake.

And don't forget this.

Some of you are new you don't know this.

The night he died, after I cried a good cry for a minute because I didn't want my kids to see me, and I ran downstairs to Roseley's launger room and I buried my face and towels and I cried for a good minute or two, and then I cleaned myself up and got back to being daddy.

But after that I went to the supermarket to get some stuff.

What have you?

Bohemian Rhapsody comes on the goddamn radio.

Okay, so I know there's something going on.

And in addition to that, I'm not making this up.

I'm not that creative, and I've said this story before.

In addition to that, I get to the front windows of the supermarket and there's a poster or a piece of paper on the window, a missing pet poster.

It's a parakeet or a parrot named Chico.

I wish I rely on, but I'm not tried to do what you can to get in touch with that part of life.

If you can do it, I'm not sure how to explain to you how to do it.

But if you can do it, if he sits still and let the music and the memories of the people you love wash over you, you might find yourself in situations where you just can't believe this is really happening.

Unbelievable I finally sat down to watch Netflix has a documentary on the great Sam Cook and his music.

Sam Cook was great man, beautiful voice.

We did an episode on Mysteries and Scandals all about him, obviously, but guy was shot and killed at a three dollars fucking motel down and comped it the same area I used to go to to hit the after hours clubs and mingle with the gangs and the pimps and the hookers and the people will come out at night.

I did that for several years.

I liked it.

I enjoyed it.

I like seeing the undersided life.

I wanted to come back and report those stories.

I believe that's what a good journalist is.

And you just got to stay nosy.

I mean I overdid it.

I had a pension for drugs and alcohol, and it was there.

Whatever you wanted, alcohol, guns, you name it, black superstars, gangsters, they were all there.

But when you look at the Sam Cook documentary, and you should watch it, it's something else.

It's a lot of talking heads who give their opinion.

Smokey Robinson, a lot of guys like that Quincy Jones that you go wow, I mean, these guys know what it was.

There's a part in a documentary where Quincy Jones says, can you believe this?

And Quincy john is there is there a better composer, a better producer in our lives than Quincy Jones, from Frank Sinatra to Michael Jackson, get the fuck out of here.

But he says there were times where they performed down South with the Jim Crow Laws, and you know, they couldn't stay at hotels.

In fact, they slept sometimes in more cheerees.

And Quincy Jones said, with me and a few guys from the band would be sleeping up in a room with six or seven caskets of dead people upstairs in a mortuary that was our motel.

Unbelievable.

And Sam Cook was a good looking kid, and he was brought up in the church, you know, brought up down south.

Grandmother was a slave.

His daddy figured out how to get them from Mississippi up to Chicago, and he was a preacher.

He got at church, and of course he put his kids up front to sing.

And it's an amazing thing when you think about religion.

And you know now that I'm getting into it, or at least really trying to understand it, and reading parts of the Bible and parables, et cetera.

You know that when things are really bad, you turn to God like this, You just I don't care who you are.

I don't care how agnostic or atheist you are.

When you're getting wheeled down that cold hallway in the hospital and you see those overhead fluorescent lights and you're almost in the operating room, you will begin to talk to somebody that is God.

That's just the way it is.

You'll see.

If you haven't done it yet, you'll see.

And if you've done it and you talk to him and you still here, maybe you ought to thank him.

But Sam Cook is young and hot and cute, and the girls like him.

And you know, he wanted to sing God's music, which he's been singing all his life as a kid.

But that devil music got him dancing.

He saw people dancing to devil music.

By that I mean rock and roll, rhythm and blues, and that devil music got him wanting a woman, got him wanted to taste of some liquor, got him wanting to let loose.

And you know what, we all deserve to let loose.

And you know, back then, if you switched over and you know, you were singing rhythm and blues and didn't work out.

You wanted to go back to go to church or go back to your band.

It was a big risk.

They wouldn't the public wouldn't accept it.

So it's a big risk.

Guys like Chuck Berry, little Richard, you know, playing the piano, his leg up on top of the baby Grant.

That was a devilish kind of look.

You know, Sam was singing, I know you send me very pretty, little Richard Cook, Golly, miss Bolly.

I mean, come on, completely different songs, Johnny be Good.

I mean, that's devil music.

Back then, Sam Cook knew like I could.

I got that in me, man, I want to see the women dance.

I'm want a little liquor in my tongue.

That happens, man, that happens.

And his voice was so amazing, and he knew he made the girls go crazy.

But I'm gonna tell you something that maybe a lot of people won't tell you.

I understand what happens when you hear that kind of music and you have those kind of desires.

It tends to hit a certain base tone in your body somewhere very low.

Let's call it your balls right, and it just makes you want to get yourself carnally satisfied.

That's it.

You can feel it from the bottom of your feet, from to the top of your heart.

You just need to get with someone, get a girl, find a chick.

I need to love someone up, even for a night, even for a few hours, because that's what humans do, because we're animals, and sometimes, you know, we just act on how we feel.

And he goes on and he sings you send me, and this is one of the most beautiful songs.

Or you know that people hurt.

Never says I love you in the song, but we all know what it means, and every girl swooned over it.

He did it on that Sullivan, by the way, put a pin in that.

Tom DeNardo, one of my patrons, O God, after I mentioned the Ed Sullivan doc last week Sunday Best, he put up a post on the instant on the Facebook page saying that he knew someone who knew someone that Ed Sullivan liked to be shit on and actually eat shit sandwiches.

I don't know if that's true.

The same can be said about Danny Thomas.

I don't know if it's true, but I love the thought of it.

Just anyhow, Sam Cook makes his way to Hollywood, and you know, you could even hear some of the hosts on these different TV shows and the way they spoke about it, it was almost like, you know, it was such a weird time.

It was almost like, please excuse this negro on the stage, but you might like to hear what he has to sing.

It's embarrassing to watch these old white people introduce this young black guy.

And he would just kill it every single time he sang.

And he was right underneath Elvis Presley in sales.

That's some heady stuff.

And then one day Elvis came to the studio where Sam was singing, and he was singing, we have it a party, dance into the music, and he was a great songwriter, by the way, and Elvis joined in and they had a great old time.

But once Sam Cook got too close to James Brown, Malcolm X, and Muhammad Ali, well then his life got more difficult.

He began to be looked upon as a militant, dangerous and back then those fucks in the FBI and what have you, they had their eyes on black performers like nobody's business.

And it's really sad what they did, but his life got more difficult.

I understand because I would have been the same guy if I were black during that era.

You know, if I were dark skinned, wide nosed, big lips, I'd be the same motherfucker.

Trust me, I wouldn't have listened to anybody, and I'd be up for a fight every goddamn day.

You know, I just I have an anger in me.

For instance, I didn't finish the story the other day.

Remember the girl across, the woman across the alleyway and the apartment complex who was fucking with my pots and took a cat pole off my stoop.

Well met her outside.

Uh, and I just and this is before I took my break.

This is what I knew.

A j Calm the fuck down.

You're chasing people who give you the finger in your car, you're cursing out your naghbor.

Stop it.

But she comes out and I said to her, excuse me, are you moving this cat bowl off my stoop?

Well, me and my husband feet my boyfriend feed the cats and we'd like to keep the balls on the floor.

Okay, this is on my stoop.

Okay, what's the worry?

Well, the cat could fall the cat's gonna fall twelve inches and not land on his feet.

I could throw a fucking cat over three story building.

It'll land on his feet and it will not be injured.

What is the don't touch my shit on my stoop?

She couldn't believe her.

What excuse me?

Don't touch my shit?

You even move my potted plants around you don't like the way they look?

No, I just thought that, maybe stop talking, don't touch my property.

I'm from New York.

I was born in Brooklyn.

I'm from there.

You don't touch people's shit.

Well this you know you're not in New York anymore.

I said, fuck you.

New York's in my heart.

Brooklyn's in my heart that never goes away.

Don't touch my shit.

I'll tell your boyfriend to come see me.

Came in the house.

I felt like shit.

And by the way, she had two uh gorge you know the gorge you buy for Thanksgiving during that time, right?

She has them want to step and they're on top of each other.

I said, what if I took one of your gorgs and I moved it on the other side of us?

Doew?

Could that be okay with you?

I said, why do I just move your gorge.

It was ridiculous.

Anyhow, I stopped feeding the cats.

I don't want to hear when I see her, I apologize profusely.

But what I'm saying is we all got this anger in us.

At least many of us do.

Maybe some of you don't.

God bless you if you don't.

But you know, I just I understand to a degree what it must have felt like to have been black in that era and not be allowed to do anything, drink from the faested water felt, swim in the pool, sleep in the room, perform at a club.

I can't even imagine how you could walk around and maintain your composure without killing a motherfucker.

I would have so bad.

Anyhow, Obviously, Sam Cook made white women very happy with his music, and that was a no no.

And then we got to fast forward to nowadays when we contrack these white women's interest on Instagram, on Facebook and tiktop, and you know, all these white girls now you see want to have a black boyfriend.

Unbelievable.

Travis Barker, the drummer who's got a daughter, you know, Alabama Barker, who's white as the day is long blonde hair.

All she does is talk black act black, tries to date black men, does date them, goes to parties and flirt with them.

I don't even know what I would do if I were him.

I can't believe this, but this is the kind of shit that was happening when Sam Cook was singing and white women were getting woozy from his voice, and that was it didn't make American men feel good.

Now I really don't understand it, you know.

I mean, I'm not saying a white woman and a black guy shouldn't be together.

I've been with black women.

I have no problem with interracial relationships.

They're fine.

I don't give a shit.

But why do these young white girls with white fathers show themselves as girls who just want black rappers with their pants below their assholes?

I'll never understand that.

Didn't you look up to your father or your brothers?

Well, who did you see?

Did your uncles wear their pants that way?

What is it?

Anyhow?

Back to Sam Cook, a horrifying thing happened.

His young son drowned in a pool.

I don't know how you keep walking going back to that house and passed the pool where your kid drowned, and it fucked him up, as it would all of us.

He was married, so he began to go out and he began to taste that liquor, and he began to be a bigger womanager than he ever was.

And he poured himself into work and wanted to go on tour to hopefully forget about that awful death of his young kid.

You know, I mean, it's funny.

There are people on the show that I knew when I was a journalist that are talking about Sam Cook because they knew him, and it's crazy.

Look, we're all getting older, you know.

I Smokey Robinson who I know, Quincy Jones I know, and a few others who are journalists and I look at them and actually, one guy named Jerry Brandt v R A N d T.

He was really big in the music scene back in the day.

I used to have lunch and breakfast with him because when I was a gossip calmnist, Jerry Brandt was still hanging around and he was still pushing, you know, pushing music acts and trying to get people in the columns.

It was a hard hustle.

And he's there and he was there when Sam was big, and when Sam got killed, I didn't know that back then.

I was too young to understand the history of a guy like Jerry Brandt and what he went through and the magnificent artists he dealt with.

And that's what history does.

You look back and go, holy shit, that was the guy that blew off for lunch.

He could have told me everything I didn't know.

But there came a point where Sam Cook got in a pickle with his contract and he called Jerry Brant before he died and he said, I'm going to get this asshole because he felt he was being robbed of money.

So he's angry and he's drinking and he's carousing.

So one night he goes to some Hollywood joint named Martoni's and a couple of Martine's in.

He sees he wants to do a blues album and he's talking to some people.

He pulls out a big bunch of money from his pocket.

Is that just finish this blues album.

I'm cool, I'm happy, All things are going to be great.

And his friend says, hey, Sam, don't flash that money, bro.

People don't want to see you have that kind of money.

He didn't think that was important, so he shushed his fier.

Come on, man, fuck that shit.

So he gets up to leave, but before he left, he went to the bar and met this hot chit.

I mean she ain't hot.

You look at her now when they show you a video for Jesus Christ.

San ho.

But who am I to say?

It's that animal instinct, it's that I need a woman thing.

And he starts chatting her up and laughing and carrying on.

And they decided to go to a motel and it's a three dollar a night motel.

That's how I remember going to motel's back in the nineties, late eighties.

Thirty bucks but three dollars.

Jesus Christ and this black chick he picked up.

Now, that turned out to be the worst thing he ever did.

They were fucking around, you know, having sex, what have you.

But clearly she had him marked.

There was there was something going on.

And at some point she ran into a police booth, I'm sorry, a phone booth and call the cops, just five o'clock in the morning, and she's telling the cops that this guy blah blah blah, and I'm afraid for my life, that kind of bullshit.

And it's five o'clock in the morning.

The phone rings, and his friends here that Sam Cook was shot.

That nobody could believe it because he wasn't that kind of guy.

His friends went to the police.

They said, what's going on, and the police kind of acted like, hey, it's just another N word killed.

But he went to this place called the Hassi End, the motel three dollars it up, and the chick said.

He dragged her into this room and she started playing please take She said, please take me home.

I don't want to be here.

But that's bullshit because she's a whore or was a hooker.

So he pushed her on the bed, she says, and she said, he said, we're just gonna talk.

She said this in court, but she also said, I knew he was gonna rap me.

So I picked up my clothes in my hand back and I opened the latch and I ran out the room.

In the in the situation, in the in the hurry, she picked up his pants too.

So now Sam Cook is alone, He's got no fucking pants on it, and this chick is split.

So he runs to the manager the front desk.

He runs to the back then and as it is sometimes now, you can't walk in.

There's a window out front, and he goes to the window to say, you know, he's banging on the door.

This chick just stole my shit.

Ba ba bah.

He's asking for help, and eventually he breaks the door open, and this woman who was the night manager there, said that he grabbed her arms and she started kicking and screaming, and she tried to bite him through his jacket, and she said he was fighting and there was scratching and biting and screaming, and she got up, grabbed the pistol she had behind the desk and started shooting him.

She said she fired it three times, and she said his last words were, lady, you shot me.

Everybody knew Sam Cook wasn't that kind of guy.

He wasn't that kind of aggressive guy when it came to women.

He wasn't domineering of people that didn't want to be around him.

The check was a hooker.

She was a Hollywood prostitute.

She always went to that place.

And this bitch threw his pass out the window and his pants pocket he had five thousand dollars cast and somebody was out there, probably her pimp, grabbed his pants and then she ran out with that with that guy and The rumor is that maybe there was the mob involved.

Who knows, but it was ruled a justifiable homicide.

But there have to be something more at play.

I understand he answered his darkest, deepest addictions for wanting a good time and a woman and some liquor and some fun and some sex.

As I said earlier, we are all animals, and I don't know if you've been there yet, but it's there.

There are times when they can get very dangerous.

And yet there are people who think Sam Cook was getting too powerful and needed to be stopped.

I don't believe that.

There's also crazy theory that this guy named Klein killed Sam Cook.

He loved Sam Cook, but he was also a thief.

He also, you know, sold one of his songs.

Alan Klein did some of the same shit to the Rolling Stones too.

He was also one of the forces that broke up the Beatles allegedly.

But back in nineteen sixty four, Alan Klein didn't have that kind of power to make this big, elaborate murder plan with the police.

They wouldn't understand.

It wouldn't have worked.

He wasn't that powerful yet.

But it's still something to think about, and the trippy thing is Sam's wife, Barbara sold Sam's music for fifty thousand dollars when it was clearly worth millions and millions, but she needed money fast.

Now.

The kicker is because there's not one death to Sam Cook, as the documentary says, the two deaths of Sam Cook.

When he was dead.

At his funeral, the singer Bobby Womack, who was Sam's friend and his protege, went to the funeral alongside his wife Barbara, actually wearing one of Sam Cook's suits and even driving his car.

And Barbara and Womack married just three months after Sam died.

How fucking awful is this?

What a great life?

It began in Squalor.

It began with a grandmother who was a slave, a father who somehow found a way to move his family from that horrible place up to Illinois, having a church on State Street, where back then in Illinois that was like Black Wall Street.

There were black owned businesses for only black people.

It was a complete opposite of what it was down south.

And then this kid leaves the church where he was singing like a lark and decides to become a star and becomes a star, and it's second to Elvis Presley in sales and is budding up to mohominally Malcolm x Martin, Luther King, James Brown, and he snuffed out because in my opinion of what many men suffer from at times when they're lonely, which is some place to find a girl and just be together.

Doesn't matter if money is exchange, it don't matter.

You could take a girl out to dinner and drop two hundred bucks and go back to your house and have sex.

It's the same shit.

She's not a hooker, but this money involved, right, Maybe you send her an uber, maybe you send her fight.

Whatever it is money involved.

Feel so bad for this kid, Sam Cook, because I think we've all been there.

I mean, I've not been to a three dollar hotel in Compton, but I understand the demons that sometimes want you to think about going there.

And many times you agree with the demon and you take that chance.

And Sam Cook took that chance one night and it just wasn't in the cards room.

It's just something to think about, because, like I said, we're all animals.

Events And that was your Daily Untiled the podcast for August fifth, twenty twenty five.

I'll talk to this tomorrow,