#0435 - Idaho Apparently Has A National Reputation Problem - 10/12/2026

Viktor Wilt enters Monday morning operating at approximately 4% battery life, with two concerts behind him, a suspiciously powerful need to sleep for an entire geological era, a laundry load he forgot to switch, and an upcoming trip to Phoenix that promises to replace Idaho's chilly rain with the sort of heat that makes the pavement question its existence. After attempting to watch the Idaho Falls Police reality series, spending Friday hanging out with Peaches, catching Godsmack and Dorothy on Saturday, and attending Yelawolf and Highly Suspect on Sunday, Viktor is back behind the microphone wondering whether modern society might benefit from a mandatory national nap day. Unfortunately, the radio does not operate on the same sleep schedule as a hibernating bear, so he has to drag himself through the morning while nursing an ocular migraine, accidentally knocking over an unopened energy drink, and desperately searching for material entertaining enough to distract him from the fact that he would rather be horizontal. At least the prize cupboard is stocked: listeners have opportunities to win A Perfect Circle and The Cult concert tickets, haunted attraction passes, and tickets to the Theater of the Lost Souls or Hospital of the Lost Souls in Shelley. The A Perfect Circle giveaway requires listeners to catch the announced Song of the Day, “The Doomed,” and become caller number 20 when it plays. Somewhere, a lucky listener is preparing to scream into a phone while Viktor attempts to remember what day it is.

Things get immediately uncomfortable when Viktor reveals that he has a story he was planning to share but is reconsidering after people reacted furiously to something he posted online. He thought his comments were hilarious. Other people apparently treated them like evidence in an international tribunal. Rather than risk a telephone ambush from someone prepared to explain why his joke personally ruined their afternoon, Viktor temporarily shelves the story and leaves listeners wondering what sort of forbidden comedy could provoke such an intense response. Then the conversation takes a turn into horror territory, where the biggest monster might actually be a disappointing movie review. Viktor has barely survived watching The Visit because he kept falling asleep, and now he's reconsidering his excitement about a new Carrie adaptation after encountering sharply negative reactions online. Another horror title, Other Mommy, also appears to be receiving a critical beating. With spooky season underway and more movies waiting to be watched, Viktor begins worrying that the horror-movie calendar might finish the year with a cinematic face-plant. He refuses, however, to accept the idea that horror needs to become respectable, delicate, or sufficiently artsy for film critics. Stephen King is one of the biggest authors around, horror audiences keep showing up, and some of the strongest recent movies have been terrifying, strange, ambitious productions. If a film critic thinks horror is beneath the dignity of a prestigious festival, Viktor's message is essentially to take that opinion, place it in a decorative envelope, and mail it directly into the nearest available trash can.

Then comes a job-market discussion that threatens to make every listener reconsider their career choices. Viktor explores an online conversation about jobs that supposedly pay absurd amounts of money for surprisingly little effort. Real estate agents are nominated, followed by a person allegedly working at a nuclear power plant for ten 12-hour shifts per month, making approximately $130,000 annually while performing periodic fire inspections and spending much of the remaining time watching television. Viktor immediately wants to know whether the Idaho National Laboratory has an application form for this magical arrangement. Congress members enter the firing line next, with their salaries, travel, and perceived work schedules becoming material for a round of verbal target practice. Owning a downtown parking lot sounds even more attractive: install the payment equipment, let drivers hand over money, and enjoy the rare business model in which your property can apparently generate income while you are somewhere else entirely. Parking lot security jobs, remote mine haul-truck drivers reportedly earning $250,000 to $300,000, and union machinist positions also make the discussion. Viktor acknowledges that some of these jobs involve real demands, including brutal shifts, long hours, and physical strain, but the fantasy of being paid handsomely to do relatively little has already taken root. Naturally, this career symposium is interrupted by Viktor's ocular migraine, which introduces floating shapes into his vision at precisely the moment he needs to read the internet. The dream job discussion will have to continue after Tylenol and a quick trip into the news cycle.

The news cycle responds by throwing a mosquito-shaped biological hazard directly at his upcoming travel plans. Los Angeles is reportedly enduring one of its worst mosquito seasons in recent history, with heat, humidity, and elevated West Nile virus activity turning the city into a destination Viktor suddenly has even less interest in visiting. He already has a flight coming up in about a week and a half, and now his social feeds are full of people discussing COVID, other illnesses, and assorted reasons to regret having a respiratory system. Naturally, this leads to an investigation of airplane etiquette, because if you are going to spend hours trapped in a metal tube with strangers, you might as well learn exactly which behaviors make everyone silently hate you. Walking around barefoot earns an immediate condemnation. Playing music out loud is also unacceptable, especially when the person responsible has questionable taste or decides that a commercial aircraft is the appropriate venue for viewing something deeply inappropriate on a laptop. Viktor is less sympathetic toward complaints about reclining airplane seats, arguing that the seats barely move backward at all and that calling the movement reclining is practically a linguistic exaggeration. Blocking the aisle during boarding is a crime against everyone's remaining patience, while failing to sanitize your hands is an especially questionable decision during a period when people are reporting illnesses. The airplane bathroom creates an entirely separate diplomatic crisis: an article recommends bringing toilet spray, prompting Viktor to wonder why the Transportation Security Administration might object to an ordinary bottle of water but apparently permit a mysterious container of fragrant chemicals. Airline rules, he concludes, have apparently been assembled by a committee that communicates exclusively through riddles.

The animal kingdom then provides a story so ridiculous that a screenwriter would probably be accused of trying too hard. In Russia, a teenager is attacked by a grizzly bear, attempts to escape by climbing a tree, and discovers that bears did not receive the memo about humans owning the upper branches. The bear climbs after him, drags him back down, and begins biting him. But the teenager has a smartphone in his back pocket, and the phone reportedly explodes during the attack, frightening the bear away. The unfortunate kid is left dealing with bear injuries and burns from the blazing device, requiring serious surgery, but he is expected to recover. Viktor's immediate reaction is to reconsider where he carries his phone when hiking in bear country. A device that can spontaneously become an improvised bear-deterrent grenade is certainly an interesting addition to the outdoor survival checklist, although probably not one that anyone should deliberately attempt to replicate. The mystery of what happened to the bear remains unresolved, as does the question of which smartphone manufacturer would like ...