The Podcast Of Madness & Mayhem

Viktor Wilt, Maddie Kidd
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  • Comedy
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The Noon Hour Of Madness & Mayhem can be heard live on KBEAR 101 weekdays at 12pm MST. Viktor and Maddie talk about a wide variety of topics depending on the day and you never know what to expect!

  1. 5d ago

    Ep. 265 - Mariah Carey Is Thawing Out While Pocatello Wages War On Music - 10/21/2026

    The Noon Hour of Madness and Mayhem has returned to remind everyone that Halloween is creeping toward Christmas, groceries are becoming luxury collectibles, personal boundaries are apparently an advanced academic subject, and somewhere in Pocatello, somebody decided that destroying musical instruments inside a church was a productive use of an afternoon. Viktor Wilt and Maddie kick things off with Queens of the Stone Age, a search for the whereabouts of the Goth Girls as the weather changes, and the looming seasonal threat of Mariah Carey thawing out of her annual cryogenic Christmas chamber. The mere thought of Christmas causes immediate stomach distress, but the conversation quickly finds a rare wholesome detour: Operation Christmas Cheer 2026, a community-wide East Idaho effort organized by Comfort Hair, Comfort Home Care, and Visiting Angels to make sure local veterans feel appreciated and remembered during the holiday season. Listeners can nominate a veteran through the station apps, with nominations due by December 15, or contribute donations such as gift cards, gift baskets, and other gifts. The hosts encourage everyone to help however they can, because the holidays can be especially difficult for people already struggling financially. Naturally, this heartfelt charitable discussion immediately becomes entangled with an office-based pumpkin incident that sounds like the opening scene of a workplace investigation. Seventeen pumpkins had somehow materialized in Viktor's office, leaving dirt scattered across the room, and instead of simply dealing with the agricultural invasion, Viktor and Jade apparently decided to redistribute the produce-based suffering to Star's office. The pumpkins were placed in strategic locations, including her chair and mouse pad, ensuring that the recipient inherited not only the pumpkins but also the dirt that came with them. Maddie confirms that Star's workspace was left suitably filthy, while Viktor offers an apology that carries approximately the same emotional weight as a parking ticket. The official lesson? Halloween cheer for Star, Christmas cheer for veterans, and absolutely no guarantees that your office furniture will survive the seasonal festivities. The program then veers into the deeply upsetting saga of Highland High School in Pocatello, which apparently cannot catch a break. After a previous fire damaged the school's music department and destroyed or damaged musical equipment and marching band belongings, equipment had been temporarily stored at Calvary Chapel while the school worked through the aftermath. Then someone allegedly broke into the church and vandalized the equipment, leaving approximately $10,000 in reported damage. The hosts discuss reports of a damaged electric piano, multiple bass guitars, another guitar, television and stereo equipment, speakers, computer equipment, tables, a whiteboard, and even a fire extinguisher that was damaged. Whoever was responsible apparently decided that stealing or simply leaving the equipment intact was not enough: musical gear had to be smashed, property had to be damaged, and an already unfortunate situation had to become significantly worse. Even more bizarrely, the discussion includes reports that anointing oil was poured onto the sound system and racist vulgarities were written on the soundboard and floor. Cameras had reportedly been stolen, although the pastor said they were not working because they needed new batteries. The hosts speculate about what could have motivated the incident, briefly entertain the possibility of a rivalry, and then arrive at the obvious conclusion that destroying someone else's instruments is not a reasonable way to settle a dispute. Maddie, who has marching band experience, is particularly distressed by the destruction of the musical equipment. Viktor, meanwhile, makes the controversial observation that the world could theoretically survive without a tuba before immediately acknowledging that tubas are great. The tuba is dragged into a conversation about a crime it did not commit, and Highland High School's already miserable relationship with its music equipment receives yet another unwanted chapter. From there, the hosts enter the internet's endless warehouse of people asking strangers to validate their most questionable interpersonal decisions. Viktor explains that Reddit is a useful resource for radio content, partly because so much of the material circulating through radio-preparation services seems to originate there in the first place. Maddie admits she does not use Reddit as much as she probably should, and the discussion becomes an informal endorsement of stealing internet strangers' stories for entertainment purposes, provided the result is a decent radio segment. One Reddit dilemma concerns a woman who wants to know whether she would be wrong to ask her father-in-law to stop kissing her pregnant belly. The answer from the studio is essentially an immediate and unanimous legal ruling from the Supreme Court of Absolutely Not. The father-in-law reportedly approached his daughter-in-law and kissed her belly without asking, leaving her uncomfortable, while her husband apparently thought she was overreacting. Viktor and Maddie cannot quite understand why anybody would consider this an acceptable interaction without first obtaining permission. They discuss the importance of consent, bodily autonomy, and the right to exist as a pregnant person without becoming a public-access exhibit for every relative who wants to interact with the baby before birth. Viktor suggests that the husband could have a respectful private conversation with his father rather than turning it into a dramatic family confrontation, but the basic principle remains unchanged: being related to the person carrying a baby does not grant unlimited access to that person's body. Maddie is firmly on the side of the woman who wants her personal space respected, and the hosts make it clear that pregnancy is already stressful enough without somebody treating a belly like a communal touchscreen. The conversation then broadens into the strange and deeply unwelcome world of unsolicited explicit pictures. Maddie says she has received them, and the hosts discuss how common the experience appears to be among women they know. Viktor reports that he has not personally received unsolicited pictures from either men or women, prompting a brief moment of confusion about whether he should consider himself lucky or feel left out of a particularly unpleasant social phenomenon. He settles on the reasonable position that he would probably rather not receive them. The discussion turns to the possibility that sending an unsolicited picture could result in the recipient sharing it with other people, which seems like a fairly obvious risk that some senders have apparently failed to consider. The hosts struggle to understand why anyone would voluntarily make another person uncomfortable in this way, and the message heading into Halloween is simple: stop being creepy, keep your hands to yourself, respect other people's boundaries, and do not assume that someone wants to see whatever you have decided to send them. It is a brief but necessary public-service announcement from a show that has already discussed a man kissing a pregnant belly without permission and an unidentified person allegedly destroying a church's music equipment. Somehow, the belly incident still manages to be the more uncomfortable story. Next comes the grocery store, where Viktor has an encounter so emotionally devastating that the Back to the Future theme music apparently becomes the soundtrack to economic despair. While shopping, he notices the familiar promotional language about rolling back prices and begins wondering exactly how far backward the prices have traveled. Maddie understands immediately that the phrase sounds much more imp...

  2. 6d ago

    Ep. 264 - Idaho Is A Fake Word And Pocatello Might Be A Historical Insult - 10/20/2026

    The October 20, 2026, episode of The Noon Hour of Madness and Mayhem begins with Viktor and Maddie already operating at approximately 14% brain capacity, with Viktor apparently attempting to dismantle the radio station's technological infrastructure through the radical technique of touching things while trying to work ahead. He's preparing for an out-of-town trip to Phoenix for his daughter's wedding, which sounds lovely in theory but is rapidly developing into a full-scale logistical catastrophe involving ceremonial obligations, rehearsal schedules, cultural traditions, expensive transportation, and the horrifying realization that Viktor's wardrobe appears to have been assembled by a man who was informed at birth that colors are a government psyop. His daughter is marrying a man who is half Chinese, and the wedding festivities include a traditional tea ceremony that requires Viktor to arrive at a specific time and participate in activities that apparently demand more planning than launching a satellite. Viktor, meanwhile, has the fashion flexibility of a sentient lump of coal. His closet is a vast, lightless ocean of black T-shirts, dark clothing, and the occasional garment that looks like it was purchased during a particularly depressing tour of a heavy metal band. He has rented a suit, but naturally, it is black shirt, black suit, black everything, with one solitary red tie attempting to prevent the entire ensemble from collapsing into a black hole. Unfortunately, his daughter explains that the tea ceremony calls for bright, cheerful colors. BRIGHT. CHEERFUL. COLORS. Viktor might as well have been asked to arrive riding a unicorn while juggling flaming beach balls. His only red shirt is emblazoned with the declaration, "I put ketchup on my ketchup," which Maddie immediately recognizes as the objectively superior ceremonial garment. Why wear a respectable button-down shirt when you could arrive at an important family cultural celebration dressed like a walking condiment-related cry for help? Viktor's daughter, predictably, does not consider this culinary manifesto appropriate wedding attire. Maddie and the others nevertheless launch a spirited defense of the ketchup shirt, proposing shorts, sandals, and low-cut socks as additional accessories to transform Viktor into the most aggressively underdressed father of the bride in Arizona. Viktor now has to locate affordable, colorful dress clothes that he will probably never wear again, sending him toward Ross, Goodwill, or Deseret Industries, where he must confront the ancient and terrifying ritual of trying on clothing in a thrift store dressing room. The episode briefly becomes a public-health horror story as the hosts contemplate whether secondhand clothing is washed before being placed on the sales floor. Nobody knows. Nobody has answers. Viktor wonders whether the store has an industrial washing machine hidden in some mysterious back room, while the conversation spirals into speculation about sweat, skin fungus, and the possibility that buying a cheap pair of slacks requires the buyer to enter into an unspoken biological pact with every previous owner. This is the price of attending a wedding when your entire wardrobe has been designed for a perpetual funeral. And because the universe enjoys kicking people when they're financially vulnerable, Viktor and Maddie are also confronted with the traditional payday experience: watching the money arrive in their accounts and immediately evaporate into bills, travel costs, hotels, Airbnb expenses, plane tickets, luggage fees, and the relentless economic machinery of modern adulthood. Maddie describes the familiar terror of checking an account only to discover that every bill has been paid and the reward for this remarkable financial achievement is having absolutely nothing left. Viktor has not even pulled out his phone to inspect his own financial damage. Somewhere between the wedding suit and the airline baggage fees, his paycheck has apparently burst into flames. The wedding hasn't even happened yet, and the financial postmortem is already underway. The conversation then takes a sharp turn into the digital sewer system known as Reddit, where Viktor explains that although the platform can be an extraordinarily useful source of information, it is also populated by enough inexplicable human behavior to make you wonder whether the entire internet is now three lonely people, seventeen bots, and a malfunctioning artificial intelligence that learned sociology from a dumpster. Maddie admits that she uses Reddit in small doses to preserve her mental well-being, a survival strategy that increasingly sounds less like a preference and more like a medically necessary quarantine protocol. Viktor has found useful tips and tricks for Red Dead Redemption, but the same website that can explain obscure video game mechanics can also serve up questions so bizarre that he wonders whether the posters are real people, AI-generated accounts, or subterranean creatures who have never experienced daylight. One post in particular concerns a parent whose 19-year-old daughter, currently in college, wants to have a sleepover with her boyfriend. Instead of treating this as a fairly ordinary situation involving two adults who are dating, the parent has apparently decided that the correct response is to seek advice from strangers on Reddit. Viktor and Maddie are left staring into the abyss. Their position is straightforward: at some point, parenting changes from controlling every decision to making sure your adult children are alive, reasonably safe, and not dating someone who is a complete garbage person. Viktor explains that when his children turned 18, the expectations at home still involved contributing to the household and behaving responsibly, but their romantic lives were no longer something he needed to micromanage. Maddie agrees that a 19-year-old college student should not need a permission slip to spend the night with a boyfriend. The hosts aren't suggesting that parents should abandon all concern or responsibility; rather, they question the impulse to treat adult children as permanently supervised minors. This leads to the revelation that both hosts were mischievous students who understood the ancient educational loophole of asking to use the restroom and then simply never returning. Teachers could only withstand so many disappearing students before the whole system began to crumble. Viktor describes repeatedly leaving class after obtaining permission to use the bathroom, while Maddie recounts her own experience of doing essentially the same thing. Their collective academic strategy was apparently to make themselves so irritatingly persistent that the adults supervising them eventually surrendered. Maddie contrasts this with modern school bathroom policies, including a digital e-hall-pass system at her high school that required students to check out and check back in, with possible trouble for being gone more than ten minutes. Viktor is stunned by the concept of a bathroom excursion being monitored like a top-secret military operation. He recalls simply calling the school himself and pretending to be his own parent to report that he wasn't feeling well, then skipping class entirely. The moral of this deeply questionable educational retrospective is that both hosts survived their teenage years, remain employed, and are not in jail, which they agree should probably count as a measurable success. They are not officially recommending that today's students begin a nationwide campaign of strategic classroom disappearance, but the discussion makes it abundantly clear that their personal histories would not survive modern attendance software. The internet's capacity to destroy the human spirit becomes even more apparent as the hosts complain about the endless parade of depressing, political, disturbing, and death-related content that dominat...

  3. 6d ago

    Ep. 263 - Leonardo DiCaprio Is Apparently Fat - 10/19/2026

    The October 19, 2026, episode of The Noon Hour of Madness and Mayhem begins with a medical emergency of the highest order: Maddie Kid is undercaffeinated, Viktor Wilt is apparently operating at the precise optimal level of caffeine saturation, and the entire radio industry is one poorly timed energy drink away from collapse. Maddie admits that she slept in, failed to secure the necessary morning caffeine delivery, and arrived at work only to discover that her brain was already filing a formal complaint. Viktor, meanwhile, explains that he has been trying to behave himself on the alcohol front, which has apparently made caffeine substantially more effective. This discovery reached its logical conclusion after he drank an entire energy drink on the drive back from the BYU-Idaho career fair and subsequently found himself feeling considerably less than wonderful. Fortunately, the university provided the visiting radio personalities with a surprisingly nutritious and delicious sandwich, proving that the institution could at least successfully feed them before their respective nervous systems began malfunctioning. The real villain of the career fair, however, was parking. Maddie spent approximately 15 to 20 minutes circling the lot despite arriving 30 minutes early, eventually abandoning all hope of finding a remotely convenient space. Viktor, who arrived early enough to secure a parking spot practically outside the entrance, was living in an entirely different universe. The contrast was so profound that one can only assume the parking gods had personally selected Viktor for their favor while condemning Maddie to a pilgrimage across the asphalt wilderness. After surviving the career fair, the hosts compare their weekend activities, revealing two very different approaches to recreation. Maddie had recently attended a Doja Cat concert and visited Lagoon, leaving her sufficiently exhausted that she wanted nothing more than to sit around and accomplish absolutely nothing. Viktor embraced this philosophy with the enthusiasm of a man who has discovered that the human body was not designed to do anything beyond occupying a chair. His weekend consisted of aggressively binge-watching television, including the new Carrie series and Crystal Lake, the Friday the 13th prequel series, both of which he enthusiastically recommends. Maddie, by comparison, had watched It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, which Viktor immediately declared insufficient Halloween entertainment. Apparently, a wholesome animated pumpkin special is unacceptable when there are fictional murderers available to haunt your living room. The conversation then shifts to their shared obsession with Red Dead Redemption 2, a game that has apparently become less of a hobby and more of a competing domestic relationship. Maddie explains that her time with the game was interrupted because her significant other dragged her into public life like a dog being hauled away from something it refuses to abandon. Both hosts understand the tragedy of being separated from Arthur Morgan when the real world insists on demanding attention. Viktor reveals that he has reached 97% completion and finished all the challenges, while Maddie remains locked in mortal combat with the infamous dry dash challenge, which requires traveling from the Blackwater area without touching water. Viktor provides a detailed workaround involving Riggs Station and a particular endpoint near the train tracks that allows Arthur to register as having reached the necessary location without triggering the usual law-enforcement nightmare. Maddie receives this information as though she has just been handed forbidden government intelligence. Her next mission is clear: return home, exploit the geographical loophole, and continue her sacred campaign toward video-game completion. Somewhere, a real-life household is probably waiting for Maddie to finish playing cowboy, and somewhere else, Arthur Morgan is patiently waiting for her to stop being interrupted by civilization. Then comes Viktor's public apology, a confession so humiliating that it threatens to destabilize the entire field of digital photography. Earlier that day, Carolina Rosalin had visited the morning show, and Viktor attempted to take a group selfie with her and Maddie. Unfortunately, his photography skills were apparently developed using a potato, a trembling hand, and an unwavering commitment to mediocrity. The resulting images were blurry, so Viktor turned to ChatGPT and requested a cleanup and sharpening job. He examined the result, decided it was probably good enough, and prepared to put it out into the world. There was just one small problem: the artificial intelligence had apparently decided that the women in the photograph could benefit from a little unauthorized facial reconstruction. Carolina spotted the distortion immediately and called Viktor out, specifically noting that her face and Maddie's face looked strange. Maddie is less upset than she is impressed that Carolina detected the problem so quickly, especially because Maddie herself works in graphic design and regularly identifies suspiciously artificial-looking decorations while shopping at places like TJ Maxx and Ross. The tattoo distortion may have been the dead giveaway. Viktor, who admits that he does not particularly enjoy scrutinizing his own face in photographs, had assumed that nobody would notice because people would be looking at the image on small phone screens. This is the kind of technological confidence that leads directly to civilization's downfall: if the image looks vaguely human from six feet away, publish it and hope for the best. Thankfully, Carolina is expected to return so the group can take a proper photograph. The incident becomes an important lesson for the radio industry: artificial intelligence can sharpen a blurry picture, but it may also quietly rearrange your coworkers' faces while you congratulate yourself on a job well done. The professional humiliation continues when Viktor reveals that Maddie will be taking over his duties on Friday's Traffic School segment, powered by the show's advertiser. Maddie is understandably nervous, not because she fears the listeners, but because she is particularly concerned about being verbally dismantled by Lieutenant Crain. She considers herself reasonably quick-witted until she finds herself sparring with the lieutenant, who apparently possesses the conversational reflexes of a highly trained attack animal. Viktor confirms that Crain regularly lands verbal jabs on him, too, and that the man is dangerous precisely because he strikes when people least expect it. Maddie would apparently rather face an entire audience of unpredictable radio callers than experience another surprise verbal assassination at the hands of the lieutenant. Viktor attempts to reassure her by explaining the essential mechanics of the radio job: hang up on one listener, answer another, and press the appropriate buttons. Simple! Except for the dump button, the large red button responsible for preventing inappropriate material from escaping onto the airwaves. Maddie wonders whether there is a double confirmation before the button activates or whether it is a single, irreversible commitment to broadcast censorship. Viktor explains that you hit it and hope it works, which is not exactly the soothing technical explanation a nervous new operator wants to hear. Maddie does acknowledge the undeniable satisfaction of pressing a comically red, glowing button, but Viktor admits that even experienced broadcasters can feel a moment of panic every time they use it. Naturally, the solution is to blame the engineer if something goes wrong. The discussion quickly settles on Jade as the preferred scapegoat, with Maddie confessing that blaming him is one of her favorite activities. Thus, the sta...

  4. Oct 7

    Ep. 262 - Burning The Hair Off Of A Freeze Dried Tarantula And Then Eating It - 10/07/2026

    The Noon Hour of Madness and Mayhem begins with what may be the most important workplace crisis of the entire episode: everyone desperately wants a nap. Maddie is apparently snoring before the show has even properly begun, Kevin has rejected the revolutionary concept of a company-wide nap break, and suddenly the Riverbend studio is one cot away from becoming a daytime sleepaway camp. The crew imagines lining up cots, snuggling up at 12:30 and having Kevin read everyone a bedtime story, which naturally leads into a full-blown investigation of the studio's deeply offensive furniture situation. The conference-room chairs are apparently approximately 300-dollar torture devices disguised as office furniture, featuring all the cushioning of a concrete sidewalk and roughly the same ergonomic philosophy as sitting directly on a brick. The legendary beanbag has already been banished by a former GM, leaving behind a workplace apparently hostile to both comfort and whimsy. From there, the conversation descends into Facebook Marketplace furniture, which quickly evolves into the discovery that Maddie's couch came from Facebook Marketplace, another couch was pulled from an alley, and someone in this universe has apparently been willing to acquire a mattress secondhand. The alley couch becomes the central artifact of human stupidity as everyone contemplates what horrifying biological civilization might have been living inside it before it entered a home. The phrase "Maybe don't get your couch from an alley" somehow emerges as genuinely useful life advice.  Then Halloween arrives like a truck full of inflatable plastic monsters crashing through the studio door. Maddie wants to decorate the Z103 studio because spooky season has arrived, while Viktor reveals that the studio is already essentially a permanent Halloween crime scene because most of the decorations came from his house. What begins as a discussion about dollar-store decorations escalates into giant inflatable Jack Skellington, an Exorcist girl projectile-vomiting, a Stranger Things Demogorgon, possible Chucky and Pennywise inflatables, Snoopy hanging out with the Great Pumpkin, and the horrifying realization that Viktor's house is becoming less of a residence and more of a competitive Halloween theme park. Meanwhile, the great annual migration of children toward wealthy neighborhoods becomes a socioeconomic investigation into Halloween candy distribution. Maddie argues that rich neighborhoods aren't necessarily handing out king-sized candy bars because, mathematically, approximately seventeen billion children descend upon them every October. Viktor counters that the better strategy is to stay in your own neighborhood, where there is a greater chance of receiving handfuls of Snickers rather than one lonely Tootsie Roll that has been sitting in someone's pantry since the Obama administration. The conversation reaches peak candy absurdity when a legendary foot-long Snickers bar from childhood is brought up, because apparently there are people walking among us who have experienced the candy equivalent of winning the lottery.  And then the Halloween candy conversation takes a hard left directly into insanity. Ramen packets are proposed as Halloween treats before Maddie momentarily assumes the conversation is about something much darker. Soon they're joking about razor blades, needles, suspicious candy, packets of crickets, chocolate-covered ants and the fundamental concept of "trick" being restored to trick-or-treating. Maddie admits she has eaten crickets, mealworms and even a scorpion from one of those novelty insect candies. Viktor, apparently unwilling to let this level of depravity remain unmatched, recounts the time the show acquired a freeze-dried tarantula. The tarantula apparently required its leg hairs to be burned off before consumption, resulting in Viktor standing there with a lighter, roasting a tiny spider like the world's least appetizing kebab while the studio filled with the smell of burnt tarantula. They eventually ate the thing, discovering the revolutionary scientific breakthrough that burnt tarantula legs taste like burnt tarantula legs. This somehow isn't even the worst food experiment in the show's history, because Viktor then remembers the surströmming incident, when the infamous fermented fish was opened outside and underwater in an attempt to contain the smell—and still managed to make the dumpster area smell like something had died several counties away.  From there, the episode takes a bizarre detour through Viktor's fake name, personal privacy, yard sales and the eternal question of whether changing your name is socially acceptable. Viktor explains that the fake name exists specifically so people can find him without necessarily being able to track down every detail of his real identity, although that strategy becomes somewhat less effective when you've repeatedly discussed where you live and had listeners show up at your house during a yard sale. The yard sale itself is described as a uniquely miserable human experience where you sit outside in the heat while strangers inspect your possessions, haggle over microscopic amounts of money and then force you to haul everything back inside when the whole ordeal ends. This naturally leads into the much more important debate: Can you change your birthday? Maddie hates having a May birthday because it sometimes collides with Mother's Day, Viktor's birthday is close enough to Father's Day to apparently sabotage his annual Father's Day recognition, and suddenly the group reaches the revolutionary conclusion that birthdays should be celebrated whenever you damn well feel like celebrating them. Christmas Eve birthdays are declared especially brutal because one birthday present can apparently become a combined Christmas/birthday present while the victim is forced to endure Christmas music during their supposed special day. By the end of this segment, the calendar itself has become optional.  Then comes the terrifying envelope nobody wants to receive: a letter from the IRS. Maddie explains that the letter wasn't actually bad—it merely informed her that she was eligible for some retirement-related program—but that doesn't matter because seeing an IRS envelope in your mailbox immediately triggers the primal belief that your life is over and you're about to be sentenced to federal prison for accidentally forgetting a comma on your taxes. The emotional journey goes from "Oh God, the IRS" to "Oh, that's completely useless" in approximately three seconds. Maddie survives another day without being imprisoned for tax fraud, which is apparently the minimum standard for a successful Tuesday.  Finally, the episode ends by pointing its enormous stupid spotlight directly toward Rexburg and the weekend ahead. The conversation turns to the bizarre spectacle of people potentially being filmed while getting arrested, with the hosts suggesting that if you're looking for excitement, Rexburg might be the place to go because apparently downtown Rexburg has a stronger potential for bizarre human behavior than the supposedly more exciting locations being covered. The conversation invokes fights, scuffles, naked men running around and people somehow calling the police on themselves, before Maddie jokingly decides that maybe she should participate in the festivities and deliberately get arrested. Viktor enthusiastically endorses the plan because, according to the completely unqualified legal philosophy of the Noon Hour, everyone should apparently get arrested at least once. The closing scene is Maddie imagining herself calling Jade from the Bonneville County Jail begging for bail money, realizing ...

  5. Oct 6

    Ep. 261 - We Tried To Find Sober Activities In Idaho And Somehow Ended Up At A Murder Cave - 10/06/2026

    Maddie has apparently received the most terrifying piece of mail known to modern civilization: a letter from the IRS, which immediately sends the entire studio into a full-scale investigation despite neither host appearing particularly qualified to investigate taxes. Her mother has already texted her with the ominous message that she hopes Maddie isn't relying on her to keep some mysterious “plan” alive, followed by the devastating revelation that Maddie has an IRS letter waiting for her. Maddie has filed taxes approximately twice in her life using TurboTax and FreeTaxUSA, pays rent to her mother, lives in the same household, and has absolutely no idea whether she is about to receive a refund, a correction, or a federal invitation to experience the inside of a prison. The conversation somehow evolves into the possibility that her mother may have claimed her as a dependent, whether college-age children still generate tax credits, and the deeply disturbing possibility that Maddie could have secretly invented several children for the sole purpose of harvesting enormous tax refunds. Maddie insists that, legally speaking, she has committed no tax fraud — although she also admits that this may depend on whether she actually opens the letter.  From there, the IRS discussion mutates into a discussion about alleged government refunds, old people receiving approximately ninety dollars, gas costing enough to make a $90 check feel like a personal financial miracle, and the horrifying prospect of Maddie disappearing into either the Bonneville County Jail or a federal facility. Then the show takes an abrupt detour into 107 Viagra pills, because apparently three men in Georgia were arrested after being caught with what authorities described as dangerous drugs, with one charge allegedly attached to each pill. The phrase “dangerous Viagra” becomes the unofficial theme of the segment as Maddie tries to understand how something that isn't generally thought of as a hardcore controlled substance could potentially produce a gigantic pile of criminal charges. This eventually leads to a comparison between tax fraud and other crimes, with the hosts casually deciding that white-collar crime seems considerably less terrifying — right up until Maddie realizes that one unfortunate tax mistake could apparently result in her being dragged out of the studio in handcuffs.  Naturally, this leads to the revelation that both hosts have already been handcuffed inside the building, including one particularly incredible incident in which Lieutenant Crane apparently lost the handcuff keys after leaving them in Rexburg, forcing Viktor to continue doing the show with his hands restrained behind his back while somebody else operated the board. Maddie reveals that she still has security footage from the glorious day when multiple people around the station were handcuffed and everyone else experimented with drunk goggles. The conversation then somehow connects the drunk-goggle experience to Red Dead Redemption, specifically the disorienting Lenny sequence, because apparently the only logical way to explain simulated intoxication is to compare it to stumbling around looking for Lenny while the entire world appears to be malfunctioning.  Then comes the weekend entertainment discussion, where Maddie reveals she is heading to Doja Cat, while Casey Musgraves gets dragged into the conversation because her concert apparently features one of the most gloriously ridiculous stage props imaginable: a giant bedazzled chair suspended in the air, spinning and flying around the venue. Maddie immediately decides the radio station needs one. The studio's existing disco ball may apparently be sacrificed so somebody can construct a flying rhinestone throne, because that is exactly the sort of responsible investment a radio station should make. Maddie has been hoarding her Doja Cat tickets since February and is wildly excited about the setlist, while Viktor realizes they potentially could have tried to get her a professional photo pass. This launches an entire tangent about concert photography, giant bald men being used as human landmarks in crowded venues, and the resurrection of the Z103 social-media empire.  And then AI commits marijuana crimes without being asked. Viktor explains that he fed an ordinary station photo into an image generator and asked it to turn the image into weird podcast artwork. The AI responded by adding dinosaurs, UFOs, Bigfoot, and — for absolutely no apparent reason — a giant joint in each host's mouth. Nobody requested the weed. The robot simply looked at the situation and apparently decided, “These two need drugs.” Afterward, Viktor had to specifically instruct the AI to remove the joints and make his head slightly less enormous. Maddie then reveals that she has experienced similar AI nonsense before, leading the hosts to conclude that ChatGPT apparently has a strange affection for marijuana, immediately followed by the important legal clarification: do not do that in Idaho.  Then comes the major weekend headline: On Patrol: Live is coming to Idaho Falls, meaning the city is about to become a potential live-action repository for every regrettable decision anyone makes within camera range. Maddie's nightmare scenario is getting pulled over, having the body-cam footage released, and then one day casually sitting at home watching YouTube when she suddenly realizes that the person being pulled over for speeding is, horrifyingly, herself. The hosts speculate that the production will spend time downtown looking for maximum entertainment value, although they immediately question whether Idaho Falls can provide enough insanity. Their solution is obvious: send the cameras to Rexburg, where the stories allegedly become significantly more unhinged. The infamous naked runner makes an appearance, as does the story about people who apparently called the police on themselves after getting too stoned while transporting suspicious contents in their vehicle.  The weekend then becomes a perfect storm of potential television material thanks to hockey. There is an upcoming game involving the Steelheads and Night Monsters, and the hosts argue that hockey has a significantly higher entertainment-to-commercial-break ratio than football because hockey players are constantly smashing into each other while fans scream, bang on the glass, and inhale nachos. The Spud Kings get their due as well, with the hosts praising the surprisingly elaborate production value at their games and celebrating the fact that hockey brawls turn normally unacceptable public yelling into a completely legitimate recreational activity. Meanwhile, NFL games are condemned as extended periods of waiting punctuated by commercials, halftime, more commercials, and the occasional moment where somebody actually gets pummeled. The final verdict: hockey wins.  The episode eventually attempts to answer an important question for anyone trying to have fun without alcohol: What the hell are you supposed to do around southeastern Idaho? Maddie reminisces about her teenage years spent wandering around Walmart when it was open 24 hours, while the hosts brainstorm skating, movies, farmer's markets, Alive After Five, local venues, bowling-esque activities, go-karts, and basically anything that allows a group of friends to exist in the same physical location without immediately needing a drink. Maddie argues that the real secret is simply having good friends, because with the right group you can accomplish absolutely nothing and still have an incredible time. Viktor, however, seems to require som...

  6. Oct 5

    Ep. 260 - Viktor Raised The Roof in Rigby and Drank Mystery Dog Whiskey - 10/05/2026

    The Noon Hour of Madness and Mayhem opens with the sort of Monday energy where the computers are barely functioning, everyone is wandering around the building instead of doing their jobs, and Maddie has apparently decided that the workplace is now live theater. After comparing the office to a nature documentary where coworkers simply walk back and forth for half an hour, the conversation immediately turns toward the weekend, which somehow involves Palisades, Lagoon, horse crap, celebrity sightings, and the rapidly approaching realization that roller coasters become significantly less enjoyable once your spine begins filing formal complaints. Maddie describes spotting Josh from Class C 97 at Lagoon and enthusiastically embarrassing herself in public, while Victor explains that he bravely subjected himself to Cannibal and exited the ride with the unmistakable sensation that every bone in his body had been individually audited. The wooden roller coaster is deemed completely unacceptable because apparently being violently shaken inside a wooden box is no longer considered entertainment once you have reached a certain stage of skeletal development.  Then comes Squealers in Rigby, where the definition of "date night" apparently means wandering around a partially illuminated miniature golf course in the dark before climbing into go-karts and immediately transforming the activity into the East Idaho Grand Prix. Victor and Becca are the only people on the track, which means there is absolutely no reason whatsoever for Victor to exercise restraint. He immediately floors it, refuses to brake, repeatedly tells Becca to "hit the gas," crashes, spins out, lets her get way ahead, and then apparently recovers just enough dignity to declare himself the winner. From there, the evening takes a hard left into downtown Rigby, where Victor discovers that there are, in fact, bars in Rigby. Wearing an Ice Nine Kills shirt featuring Patrick Bateman, he enters an establishment filled with cowboys and receives the kind of silent assessment normally reserved for a stranger who has wandered into the wrong saloon in a Western movie. Except instead of a piano player dramatically stopping mid-song, the bar is inexplicably piping karaoke from the establishment next door into its own sound system. Nothing says "normal Friday night" quite like sitting in a bar listening to someone else's karaoke through the wall while surrounded by people smoking indoors.  Eventually Victor crosses into the karaoke establishment, where the situation becomes considerably more appropriate for him. He starts screaming Pantera and Lamb of God, eventually teams up with an older Hispanic gentleman to perform Rammstein's "Du Hast," and somehow ends up purchasing handmade Halloween crochet creations from the man's wife that apparently resemble tiny voodoo dolls. At this point, the episode has somehow evolved from discussing a normal weekend into an extremely specific East Idaho nightlife documentary about heavy-metal karaoke, mysterious crocheted entities, and the discovery that Top Cat is apparently where the real Rigby nightlife happens. Maddie, meanwhile, repeatedly reminds everyone that she is not legally old enough to drink yet, because the year 2027 has apparently become a recurring plot point in this podcast.  Then the episode takes a sharp turn into the internet's ongoing campaign to convince human beings that natural selection is optional. The crew discusses an alleged TikTok stunt involving an 18-year-old in Florida sitting in the median of a busy roadway at night while getting his hair cut. Because apparently a bathroom, driveway, barber shop, backyard, or literally any location not containing moving automobiles was considered insufficiently cinematic. A vehicle accident sent one of the cars into the median where the group was filming, striking the young man. The discussion immediately turns into the kind of legal question that sounds like it was generated by throwing "personal injury attorney," "Florida," "TikTok," and "what were you thinking?" into a blender. Was the injured person responsible for putting himself in the road? Were the drivers responsible because they crashed and sent a vehicle into him? Who exactly is liable when everybody involved has made a decision that seems specifically engineered to create an insurance claim? Victor immediately declares that this may become material for his next Advocates commercial, demonstrating that even in the middle of a completely ridiculous conversation, radio prep never truly sleeps.  After surviving the Florida Haircut Apocalypse, the show moves into wildlife territory with a story from Aspen, Colorado, involving a man on a motorized scooter who encounters a bear blocking the path to his house. Rather than choosing the traditional strategy of quietly respecting the enormous wild animal capable of turning him into a cautionary tale, the man honks at the bear and revs his scooter engine at it. A park ranger then arrives and, rather than congratulating him for inventing the world's least effective bear deterrent, cites him for harassing wildlife. Now the whole thing is apparently headed toward a jury trial, raising one of the most important legal questions of our time: Will the bear be required to testify? Maddie imagines the bear taking the stand and explaining that the defendant yelled at him while he was simply trying to dig through garbage. The entire justice system suddenly becomes a courtroom drama starring a disgruntled bear, a motorized scooter, and a municipal government allegedly spending taxpayer money determining whether honking at a bear constitutes harassment.  That naturally leads into a discussion of aggressive deer, because once you've established that bears can be legally protected from being yelled at, the next logical question is whether deer can actually murder people. Victor recalls previously making fun of residents who complained about "aggressive deer" around Pocatello, only to encounter a gigantic buck himself. The deer huffed, puffed, stomped, and generally communicated that Victor's previous deer-related skepticism had been premature. Victor immediately retreated toward his truck, demonstrating that there is a point at which a cute woodland creature stops being Bambi and becomes a four-legged battering ram equipped with antlers. The group then considers how embarrassing it would be to die by deer attack, especially if the headline were something like "K-BEAR DJ Killed by Deer." Victor decides that being eaten by a bear would at least have a certain narrative dignity because his name is Bear-related, whereas being beaten to death by a deer in Pocatello would simply be humiliating.  Finally, the episode arrives at its most questionable chapter: The Dog Whiskey Incident. Victor presents Maddie with a theoretical scenario involving an old bottle of whiskey purchased at a yard sale. The bottle is ancient-looking, potentially decades old, already partially consumed, and has a dog on it. The whiskey smells like whiskey, which is apparently enough evidence for the theoretical adults involved to consider drinking it. Maddie, while repeatedly insisting she would be drinking on her theoretical 21st birthday of May 12, 2027, immediately says she would absolutely drink it. Victor reveals that the hypothetical bottle may have actually been consumed, that it tasted fine, and that he subsequently experienced a tummy situation that did not inspire confidence. The bottle was painted, the paint was peeling, and the possibility of mysterious contaminants becomes even more concerning after the pair had been watching a documentary about the Tylenol poisonings. At that point, the "theoretical whiskey" has graduated from questionable beverage to an archaeological artif...

    Ep. 260 - Viktor Raised The Roof in Rigby and Drank Mystery Dog Whiskey - 10/05/2026

  7. Sep 17

    Ep. 259 - Sober, Angry, G-Less, And Armed With A Liberty Bell - 09/14/2026

    This episode begins with the deeply suspicious revelation that Monday is somehow tolerable because sobriety has temporarily removed one of the show's hosts from the gravitational pull of alcohol. What should be a normal conversation about feeling better without drinking immediately mutates into a discussion about depression, anxiety, caffeine sensitivity, avoiding bars, and the terrifying realization that drunk people are absolutely unbearable when you're sober. The hosts discuss the early days of not drinking, with the sober host estimating that he's somewhere around nine or ten days in, and the conversation quickly establishes that this is not merely an attempt to survive without booze but an attempt to survive long enough to make it to Sevendust at the Mountain America Center without falling off the wagon. Naturally, the first obstacle is a craft night at a bar, because apparently even Halloween sign-making has become a potential relapse boss battle. The solution is simple: don't spend two hours trapped in a building surrounded by drunk people while sober enough to actually understand what they're saying.  From there, the show launches directly into the bizarre social ecosystem of being recognizable radio personalities in public. One host explains that drunk people become exponentially more annoying when you're not drunk yourself, because suddenly every aggressive backslap, every "HEY BIG GUY!" and every unsolicited interaction becomes painfully visible. The discussion then spirals into whether the hosts are approachable, whether people recognize them, and why one of them apparently has the public-facing energy of a human lighthouse while the other is a large man who mostly hides from society. A trip to Walmart becomes a rare expedition into civilization, only for the universe to immediately punish the attempt at normalcy by having them encounter someone they know while searching for Pringles and Apple headphones. The hosts then move into their shared inability to deal with crowds, with concert and fair stories demonstrating that sometimes the entire objective of attending an event is simply to arrive, become overwhelmed, and escape as quickly as humanly possible.  The Idaho State Fair becomes the next victim. Everyone supposedly hates the fair, yet everyone mysteriously keeps going to the fair, leading to the important philosophical conclusion that perhaps people don't actually hate the fair—they hate being surrounded by thousands of other people who also went to the fair. One host recalls a previous attempt to defeat loneliness by attending the fair alone on Labor Day in the rain, only to discover that spending more time driving to and from Blackfoot than actually being inside the fair was apparently the grand adventure. After buying an unreasonable amount of beard-related merchandise, the mission was abandoned. The concert stories get even more absurd when the hosts recall another event where escaping the venue became more important than actually experiencing the concert, proving once again that the modern concert experience can apparently be reduced to parking, entering a building, surviving the crowd, and leaving before the music has had enough time to happen.  Then comes the invention of a potentially glorious new radio contest: Can You Do Better Than Peaches or Victor? The concept is essentially an evolution of "DJ for a Day," except contestants would have to prove they can perform an on-air break better than the actual hosts. Immediately, the hosts realize that finding judges could be more difficult than the contest itself. They don't want some ancient radio programmer deciding the winner, but they also don't want someone from inside their own building who could be biased. A stand-up comedian is proposed, along with a younger radio programmer, which inevitably leads to an attack on Jade's age and the suggestion that although certain coworkers are technically only a year older, they possess the apparent chronological energy of someone who personally remembers the invention of radio.  And then the Internet commits a crime against civilization. The discussion turns toward the reaction to a Caleb Shomo/Beartooth interview, where random commenters apparently decided that the appropriate response to content they didn't enjoy was to launch into musical criticism and personal attacks. One commenter apparently became so obsessed with pronunciation that they began documenting specific timestamps to criticize the way words were being spoken. This is where the episode achieves its most important scientific breakthrough: the letter G is apparently optional. The hosts revisit complaints about words like "thing" and "lawn," leading to increasingly ridiculous discussion about enunciation, radio voices, speech habits, and whether an anonymous commenter with a Beavis and Butt-Head profile picture might secretly be Jade. Instead of quietly ignoring the criticism, the host responds by essentially challenging the commenter to demonstrate that he could do a better radio show himself, thereby turning a pronunciation dispute into an imaginary cage match for microphone supremacy.  This naturally evolves into a larger existential argument about what listeners actually want from radio. Should radio personalities talk less and play more music? Should they talk just enough? Should they talk more? Rather than endlessly arguing with Facebook commenters, the show creates a poll asking listeners to decide how much talking they want. The options are beautifully simple: talk less, just enough talk, or talk more. The hosts then immediately undermine the democratic process by predicting that people won't vote, while simultaneously imagining the inevitable comments from listeners who claim they've abandoned the station for Octane. This leads to an extremely specific takedown of other radio personalities who allegedly spend their time talking about celebrities they've met, how much weed they smoke, or their personal lives, before the hosts arrive at the much more interesting question: why should radio personalities hide their personal lives at all?  That conversation becomes surprisingly sincere for approximately seventeen seconds. The hosts explain that talking about personal experiences can make listeners feel like they know the people behind the microphones. Stories about sobriety, weight loss, healthy eating, exercise, and other personal struggles can actually resonate with people who are going through similar things. The comparison to another podcast discussing an IVF journey reinforces the idea that vulnerability can create genuine connection between hosts and listeners. One host admits that he originally avoided talking about his personal life until Jade encouraged him to open up, which apparently resulted in one of the most economical forms of financial desperation ever conceived: selling the letter G on Facebook Marketplace. Suddenly, an innocent discussion about radio authenticity becomes an alphabet liquidation scheme.  The G situation then completely breaks the English language. If G is gone, what other letters can be eliminated? Q? X? Could the radio station eventually become "100.3 The Invoicy"? Nobody knows. The hosts determine that G is especially expendable because many words can survive without it, even though certain words become significantly more difficult to understand when their final consonants are amputated. The conversation gets increasingly nonsensical until the episode's linguistic department effectively declares war on spelling itself. This is followed by the discovery of a new walking challenge, because apparently once you stop drinking you have so much extra time and energy that you can accidentally become obsessed with step coun...

  8. Sep 16

    Ep. 258 - Free Yourself From The Brownies-And-Ice-Cream Industrial Complex - 09/11/2026

    This episode begins with the kind of Friday energy usually associated with a laptop containing 47 open tabs, three overdue bills, a half-eaten gas station breakfast, and a human brain desperately attempting to remember why it walked into a room. One half of the show is immediately frazzled because taking a single day off apparently caused the entire administrative infrastructure of civilization to collapse, leaving behind a horrifying wasteland of unfinished to-do lists, forgotten giveaway duties, and the looming responsibility of drawing winners for a Theory meet-and-greet. But salvation arrives in the form of ROCK CONCERT TICKETS, because apparently the solution to workplace dysfunction is simply to give people free access to Yelawolf and Highly Suspect. The hosts reveal that tickets will be given away throughout the following week, creating an opportunity for listeners to either win tickets or financially destroy themselves by purchasing them.  Then, because absolutely nobody asked for it, the show immediately takes a hard left turn into the digestive tract. Peaches describes his revolutionary culinary experiment involving plain non-fat yogurt, blueberry pie filling, bananas, and walnuts, which sounds less like dessert and more like something an exhausted medieval wizard would eat before attempting to summon a demon. The meal is consumed shortly before bed, and the consequences arrive the following morning with the force of an artillery barrage. What begins as a simple stomachache evolves into a 30-second subterranean foghorn blast inside the radio station, complete with the hosts comparing the sound to a radio imaging riser. The resulting atmospheric contamination becomes so severe that someone entering the building can smell the crime scene from the hallway. This is not merely a fart. This is an acoustic event. This is infrastructure. This is a weather system.  From there, the conversation somehow manages to transition from fermented yogurt warfare to a vice principal in Boston facing her third drunk-driving charge. The hosts debate how many DUIs should be considered too many for someone working as a school administrator, with the answer arriving at approximately “ONE,” followed by increasingly horrified discussion of the allegation that the administrator remained employed while the school conducted an internal investigation. The details discussed include an alleged open container, marijuana gummies, and THC-related items in the vehicle. The broader conversation becomes a bizarre collision between workplace accountability, public trust, school administration, and the eternal American question: “How many times can someone do something catastrophically stupid before their employer finally says, buddy, maybe take the afternoon off?”  Naturally, this creates the next philosophical crisis: WHAT DOES A PRINCIPAL EVEN DO? The hosts investigate the mysterious species known as the School Principal, a creature rumored to communicate with parents, supervise teachers, evaluate staff, manage school operations, shape academic direction, and maintain a safe learning environment. Peaches remains skeptical, while the discussion descends into a Reddit-based investigation into whether principals are secretly doing everything or somehow doing nothing. The comparison to radio management is almost too perfect: management can apparently consist of assigning more work to everybody else while wandering around with an increasingly dangerous to-do list. This eventually evolves into an appreciation segment for Jade, whose job apparently involves doing approximately twenty people's worth of work while traveling to transmitter sites in the wilderness and potentially engaging in mortal combat with rattlesnakes.  And now we enter the RATTLESNAKE CINEMATIC UNIVERSE. Jade's job apparently involves driving through remote terrain, dealing with station emergencies, navigating sketchy mountain roads, and encountering rattlesnakes near radio transmitters. The hosts imagine an entire fake recruitment advertisement for his replacement: “Do you like snakes? Do you enjoy long drives through the desert? Do you enjoy rocky winter roads and the possibility of coyotes?” The job posting somehow becomes more terrifying with every sentence. Eventually, Peaches imagines Jade intentionally sacrificing himself to a rattlesnake just to escape his responsibilities, inspired by a scene from Holes. The hosts then imagine the resulting East Idaho news headline and even contemplate using the tragedy as recruitment marketing. “Want to become operations manager and NOT get bitten by snakes?” has never been a more cursed career pitch.  Then, with the emotional stability of a shopping cart missing two wheels, the show swerves directly into relationship discourse. The central issue is the dreaded “happy wife, happy life” philosophy, which Peaches attacks on the grounds that relationships are supposed to be 50/50 rather than one person becoming a domesticated servant who responds to every command with the frantic obedience of a Victorian butler who has just heard the dinner bell. The hosts discuss partners asking each other for permission to go out, canceling plans to satisfy significant others, staying home when someone is sick, and the difference between being considerate and completely surrendering your free will.  The relationship discussion then develops several increasingly deranged branches. One involves whether it is reasonable to abandon video games because brownies and ice cream have appeared. The verdict is obvious: the brownies and ice cream have acquired diplomatic immunity. Another branch explores what happens when one partner has a massive social life and the other is a homebody. Then comes the philosophical problem of maintaining friendships when your significant other expects your every waking moment to become couple time. The hosts repeatedly circle back to boundaries, trust, personal space, and the importance of allowing someone to maintain an identity outside the relationship. The concept is basically: love your partner deeply, but do not become their unpaid personal satellite.  Then comes the PET ARC, where the entire episode starts sounding like two exhausted roommates arguing about whether their apartment should become a miniature zoo. Peaches doesn't want cats or dogs because of allergies and general nuisance considerations, while Victor is apparently living in a biological laboratory containing a dog, a gecko, crickets, mealworms, and the lingering possibility that his household may eventually acquire a duck. The mealworm story is particularly magnificent: the worms live in the refrigerator, must be removed and allowed to “wake up,” and are then individually picked up with tweezers and delivered to a lizard like a tiny reptilian king receiving room service. At this point the refrigerator is no longer a refrigerator. It is a cryogenic bug hostel.  The conversation briefly entertains the possibility of an aquarium, because apparently every home aspiring to look like an Airbnb or doctor's office needs one. This immediately creates the horrifying realization that aquariums require cleaning, pet stores smell like garbage, and the proposed aquarium owner may accidentally murder the fish through incompetence. The duck idea is similarly rejected in favor of the Thai restaurant solution: if someone desperately wants a duck, they can admire a decorative pecking duck instead. The episode has now gone from radio giveaways to DUI policy to school administration to rattlesnake sacrifice to relationship boundaries to refrigerated worms, and somehow this is still technically one conversation.  Next comes the Woody Show vacation controversy, because apparently even radio hosts ar...

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About

The Noon Hour Of Madness & Mayhem can be heard live on KBEAR 101 weekdays at 12pm MST. Viktor and Maddie talk about a wide variety of topics depending on the day and you never know what to expect!

Information

  • Creator
    Viktor Wilt, Maddie Kidd
  • Years Active
    2024 - 2026
  • Episodes
    266
  • Rating
    Clean
  • Copyright
    © Riverbend Media Group
  • Show Website
    The Podcast Of Madness & Mayhem