Hey,Joe.

Just Passing Through Podcast

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Episode 151
Watching Joe Biden in the presidential debate was like watching your grandad try to operate an iPad for the first time—painful, confusing, and slightly concerning. There he was, the most powerful man in the world, fumbling around with his words like they were a set of keys he’d lost down the back of the sofa. You could almost hear the collective groan of a nation thinking, "This is the guy with the nuclear codes?"
Biden's performance was a bit like that one uncle at Christmas dinner who insists on telling a story but keeps forgetting the punchline, so he starts over five times and somehow ends up talking about a completely different subject. At one point, he was so lost in his own sentence I half expected him to pull out a map and compass.
There was that moment when he seemed to zone out completely, staring blankly into the camera like a deer caught in the headlights—or perhaps more accurately, like someone who just realized they left the oven on at home. It's one thing to forget where you left your car keys, but when you start losing track of basic points in a high-stakes debate, you can’t help but wonder if he’s also forgotten what day it is and who’s meant to be picking him up after the debate.

In the end, watching Biden debate is like watching someone juggle knives while riding a unicycle—you’re not sure if you should be impressed or call for medical assistance. Either way, you can’t look away, partly out of morbid curiosity and partly because you’re desperately hoping he doesn’t fall off and take us all down with him.
England squeaking past Slovakia in the Euros was a spectacle that had all the suspense and drama of a toddler trying to navigate a stairway. It was one of those games where you could almost hear the collective sound of English fans' teeth grinding from across the channel.

Jude Bellingham’s wonder goal was an overhead kick that could only be described as pure football poetry. Imagine the grace of a ballerina combined with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker, all while defying the laws of physics. As he launched himself into the air, you’d think he was auditioning for a role in "The Matrix," dodging bullets and defenders alike. When the ball hit the back of the net, it was like watching a magic trick unfold—spectacular, unbelievable, and leaving you questioning reality.

Then there was Harry Kane, England’s knight in shining armor, coming through in extra time to seal the deal. Kane’s goal was like that last-minute save you see in a disaster movie—just when you think all hope is lost, in comes our hero to save the day. You could almost see the relief on his face, a mix of "Thank God" and "Did I really just do that?" As he celebrated, you half expected him to pull out a cape and start flying around the pitch.

But let's not kid ourselves; England didn’t exactly waltz to victory. It was more like they stumbled and tripped their way there, with Slovakia putting up a fight that was more stubborn than a two-year-old refusing to eat vegetables. The whole match felt like a never-ending tug-of-war, with both teams refusing to let go of the rope.In the end, England’s narrow escape was akin to watching a cat narrowly avoid disaster by landing on its feet—ungraceful but effective. It wasn’t pretty, but it got the job done. And as the final whistle blew, fans were left to breathe a collective sigh of relief, already dreading the next match where, no doubt, their nerves would be tested once again.
Music:
Hey,Joe - Jimi Hendrix
Alive - Pearl Jam

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