Discombobulated with Bobby Jaycox

A perfect fall morning can make you feel unstoppable, and it can also make you say absolutely unhinged things alone in your car. I’m driving through my old Illinois stomping grounds with the windows cracked, losing my mind over how good the trees look, and then somehow ending up at the real question: why do the hobbies we love get so hard to keep once we’re adults?

I get into improv comedy nostalgia, what it was like doing it in my twenties, and why adult improv classes can feel like joining a band with too many...

Halloween isn’t just costumes and candy when you’re an adult. It’s that moment you realize you can talk big all day about not being scared, then you turn off a basement light and sprint like something is chasing you. I’m in full spooky-season mode, bouncing from the weird comfort of horror to the very real fear of getting older, more tired, and somehow less flexible every single year.

We get into scary movies and horror TV with a stand-up comedian’s brain: why some films (Midsommar, Hereditary) stick to your ribs, why The Shining is...

A layover at Dallas Fort Worth airport turns into a full-on brain dump about travel chaos, body temperature betrayal, and the tiny social negotiations that make flying feel like group therapy with strangers. We’re coming off a cold Portland morning and landing in Texas heat, which sparks a chain reaction of plane stories: the middle seat, the window shade standoff, and the constant math of “can I get up again without becoming the villain?”

From there, the road stories open up. Portland shows lead to late nights with the club staff and a truly unbelievable combo: a stri...

Portland claims it’s “not raining,” and that’s exactly where we start: outside, caffeinated, and recording from the edge of a protest while the city does what it does best, which is be beautiful, messy, and impossible to ignore. We talk about why protesting is deeply American, the wild mix of people you meet on the street, and the awkward line between laughing at what you see and still caring about what’s happening around you.

From there we slide into politics the only way we know how: brutally honest and a little unhinged. We poke at the con...

I’m about to hit the road, and before I can even settle into the day, I end up in a full-blown showdown with the biggest spider I’ve ever seen. It’s not just a gross-out story. It turns into a real little spiral about anxiety, getting the willies, and how you can do the “brave” thing and still feel rattled right after. If you’ve ever tried to relax and life immediately hands you something feral, you’ll get it.

From there I bounce around the stuff my brain actually obsesses over: why snakes feel scarier than s...

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I’m headlining the Gathering of the Juggalos, and I can’t decide if it’s a dream gig or a one-way trip to “outer Insane Clown Posse space.” I talk through the hype, the fear, and the oddly sweet hope that a blazing hot sky full of clowns might actually bring people together. If you’ve ever looked at a big opportunity and thought, “I’m ready,” followed immediately by, “I’m going to die,” you’ll feel seen.

The road stories get gross fast in the best way: too many Zevias, mystery bug bites, and the constant touring-comed...

Everything I own is in my car, the suspension is begging for mercy, and I’m driving far enough that even my thoughts start to echo. That is the headspace for this Discompopulated road episode: downsizing a life that no longer makes sense, ditching the storage unit bill, and trying to figure out what is actually worth keeping when space, money, and energy are all capped.

Then the trip swerves into a full-blown Home Depot truck rental disaster. I break down what happens when you rent a “cheap” van that will not start, the doors will not lock...

I’m recording this one outside, and you can feel it immediately: the mic keeps slipping, the sunscreen is the wrong kind, and I’m basically troubleshooting a podcast setup while trying not to get eaten alive by bugs. It looks insane, it sounds a little unhinged, and it’s also the most honest version of what “creator on the road” actually feels like. If you’ve ever wondered what a comedy podcast sounds like when there’s no studio, no comfort, and no reset button, this is it.

While I hike around Lake Tawakoni trying to figure out whe...

You ever notice how one awkward hug can set the tone for your whole day? We start on the road with upcoming stand-up dates, then immediately spiral into the social physics of post-show interactions: when a hug is sweet, when it’s a trap, and why the “I’m not a hugger” confession always arrives after the damage is done. From there we hit the underrated menace of the too-long handshake, the kind where you’re smiling for a photo while your hand is getting crushed and your brain is screaming for a clean exit.

Then the riffing ta...

I recorded this one from a park while my brain did what it always does on tour: bounce between pure gratitude, dumb jokes, and the kind of thoughts that hit harder when you’re alone with a microphone. I run through upcoming stand-up comedy shows, then veer straight into the big news I still can’t believe I get to say out loud: I’m headlining the Gathering of the Juggalos, in the butcher tent, on August 20. If you’ve ever wondered what a comedy tour diary sounds like when it’s unfiltered, you’re in the right place.

Fro...

Recording a podcast from a beach sounds relaxing until your phone is overheating, the ocean looks suspicious, and a family nearby is yelling like it’s a competitive sport. We’re out on the road with Discombobulated, posted up in the shade on the Georgia coast, letting the scenery steer the conversation: Sea-Doos ripping past, vacation chaos, and that specific touring-comedian brain where every random moment becomes a bit before it becomes a feeling.

We bounce from pure riffing to real-life honesty fast. There’s the strange emptiness of “I love you” rituals, the whiplash of drunk “I miss you”...

I recorded this one on a real hike, which means you get everything unfiltered: sunscreen melting off, DEET getting sprayed on anything that isn’t my face, and me trying to sound calm while quietly assuming a bear is about to collect me. We start with tour dates (Raleigh, Indianapolis, St. Charles) and then head straight into Raven Rock State Park, where the quiet trails feel peaceful right up until your brain decides silence is the perfect time to spiral.

Somewhere between bad angles, loose shoes, and trail signs that make me question my sense of direction, I...

A vibrating wellness gadget, a brain that will not sit still, and a comedian trying to hold it together between tour stops. I’m on the road and I decide to record while sitting on a vibration plate that is allegedly here to “center” me, but mostly it turns my inner monologue into a live-action stress test. If you’ve ever tried to self-care your way out of a messy week, you’ll recognize the feeling: you want relief, you want progress, and you want it to happen right now.

Along the way, I talk stand-up comedy tour life...

Six Flags as a kid is pure chaos. Six Flags as an adult is a different kind of chaos, and honestly, it might be better. I’m talking hands-up bravado, “I forgot my phone was in my pocket” panic, and the realization that some rides you loved at 12 now feel like a personal attack on your neck. I share what it’s like going back to Six Flags St. Louis for its final season, chasing the biggest coasters, and trying to enjoy the day without turning it into a whole production. 

We get into the stuff you only noti...

The Atlantic Ocean tries to end my podcast in real time, and honestly it almost wins. I’m posted up at Myrtle Beach State Park with sand, wind, and high tide creeping closer to my cables while I ramble through the kind of touring details you never see on a poster: park fees, refusing overpriced ferry rides, sleeping in my car when hotels feel like a scam, and the low-key paranoia of those wall-mounted hotel soap dispensers that make you feel like you’re going to prison if one pops loose. 

I’m also fresh off the road wi...

We’re recording from the side of the road because the sunset is too good to ignore, even if the “studio” is parked next to a porta potty. That’s the vibe: stand-up comedy tour life at its most honest, where a beautiful view and a disgusting reality can exist in the same frame, and the jokes come from trying to act normal anyway.

We talk through the grind of traveling for shows, the mental math of parking fees, gas prices, and why touring comics end up making weird choices that somehow feel logical at the time. From the...

The wind in Oklahoma isn’t background noise. It’s a loud, invisible bully that yanks car doors, knocks you off balance, and somehow makes you question your entire personality. I’m outside trying to record in peace when a fisherman sets up nearby, and it spirals into a bigger thought about what people do for fun, what we pretend to understand, and why “self-sufficient” always seems to end with somebody asking, “You guys want Dominoes?” 

Then the real chaos hits: customer service culture. I walk into a Waffle House polite and hungry, and the vibe is instantly hosti...

The wind is loud, the sunset is unreal, and the Oklahoma City Wharf lighthouse is way smaller than it has any right to be. I’m posted up outside trying to beat the sun, keep the gear from flying away, and somehow turn a chaotic day into a real podcast. What starts as a scenic rant turns into a string of painfully relatable moments: getting humbled at a drive-thru coffee spot, realizing I don’t understand modern coffee menus, and questioning why everything needs a script just to buy caffeine. 

From there, I slide into the stuff peopl...

He walked past the pond like he owned the whole morning, and I’m telling you it was Ethan Hawke. I’m sitting in an Oklahoma garden recording a comedy podcast because it felt peaceful for five minutes, and then the road brain kicks in: spring can’t decide what it’s doing, a lawn blower is always nearby, and my thoughts start sprinting.

I talk through what touring actually feels like when you’re bouncing between Tulsa and Oklahoma City, chasing stage time, and trying not to spiral about money. There’s a lot of joy in the dream...

I’m recording from the car again, somewhere in Illinois, trying to stay funny while my body stages a full-on rebellion. The road has a way of turning tiny moments into big thoughts: someone almost cuts me off, a cop appears, the speed limit drops out of nowhere, and suddenly I’m spiraling into questions about luck, aging, and why I ever thought drinking green beer in the cold was a good idea. If you like a comedian road diary with real tour life energy, you’re in the right place. 

We get into St Patrick’s Day cultu...

A scraped shin, a breezy dock, and the Gulf stretching out like a stage—this one starts chaotic and turns strangely tender. We set up at the bay in Corpus Christi, swing by the Selena statue, and talk about what it means when a city adopts an artist as family. That sparks a music thread—how Selena’s warmth and Pantera’s grit both shape identity—and why certain songs become rallying cries long after the amps go quiet.

From there we roll into the craft. Two shows in one night deliver a split-screen lesson in crowd work: a fi...

A sunset, a splinter, and a 24-hour solo drive collide with the loudest kind of joy: watching your favorite band turn a release show into a family reunion. I hit record in a field as the light dropped and ended the night backstage at Story of the Year’s album celebration, where kids took the stage, a proposal stole the breath from the room, and the music hit like a brand-new memory that somehow already knows your name.

We start with chaos—the mic slipping, a four-wheeler buzzing past, and my hand bleeding from a stubborn shard of w...

A chaotic love letter to Story Of The Year spirals from copyright hesitation into an improvised a cappella of Disconnected, with riffs on depression, presence, nightmares, and the urge to chase magic even when life feels off-kilter. We share road stories, a monkey encounter, and a hopeful nudge to go hear the real song.

• fan devotion to Story Of The Year and Disconnected
• copyright limits and creative workarounds
• dreams of playing guitar onstage despite doubt
• humor about lawsuits and judge show fantasies
• presence as a tool for anxiety and burnout
• road life, long drives...

Ever had a week where your nose, wallet, and patience all tapped out at once? That’s where we start—sinus pressure, neon boogers, and a confession that sometimes the only thing standing between you and a breakdown is a dumb joke that lands just right. From there, we spiral into money stress, tax avoidance fantasies, and the rude awakening of tracking protein like it’s a second job. Four hard-boiled eggs, a shake, a slab of beef, and still barely hitting the number—because apparently survival now requires a spreadsheet.

The turning point arrives at a small Me...

New Year’s fireworks fade fast, and what’s left is the same life you had yesterday. That’s the starting point we embrace: skip the performance, keep the humor, and pick choices that make today feel lighter. We riff on sleeping through midnight, bailing on loud parties, and why Times Square’s diaper culture is the opposite of a good memory. The throughline is simple and stubbornly human—feeling better beats pretending to be better.

We go from body comedy to honest care: yoga mishaps, back gripes, and the art of not sitting on your own anatomy be...

A snowbitten comic lands in Orlando and immediately melts—layers on, ear out, patience thin. That whiplash becomes a perfect lens for everything we talk through: why airports turn decent people frantic, how airline rules make standby feel mythical, and what it means to chase a dream that pays in drink tickets and doubt as often as it pays in cash. We stay with the mess long enough for it to get funny, then keep going until it gets honest.

We pull apart the logic of customer service mazes and the silent tax of being broke on th...

The night your back decides it runs your life, every choice turns tactical. That’s where we start: a no-move sleep position, a desperate attempt to dodge sciatica, and the inconvenient comedy of crying quietly at 4:30 a.m. without alarming the house. From there, the ride swerves through canceled gigs, algorithm pep talks that last exactly one second, and the weird economy of making people laugh while your spine negotiates with gravity.

We get honest about money, pride, and the grind of being an “unknown comic” who still has to wake up grateful, lace shoes, and stretch before...

A beach, a phone on 0.5 zoom, and a comedian trying to outrun a stubborn year—this one starts fast and refuses to walk it back. We kick things off with a flurry of winter tour dates and then throw ourselves into the Gulf-side chaos: strangers staring, cargo ships hulking on the horizon, and the mind game of recording while the world pretends not to notice. It’s messy, it’s loud, and it’s honest about what touring feels like when the budget is thin and the calendar is full.

We dig into concert joy and the sacred a...

The day starts with a jolt: I wake up on the wrong piece of furniture and my back files a formal complaint down both legs. From there, everything turns into an offbeat survival guide—how to stand when you can’t, why stretching is the new humility, and what happens when laughter is the only thing that keeps a pain spiral from eating the whole day. Along the way I confess my love-hate with AI, the climate guilt that had me one click away from ordering bug protein, and the ridiculous debate over Vans versus Hokas when your spine is c...

The plan was simple: leave St. Louis before the snow hits, beat the storm, make it back in time for tour. What actually happens is a slow-motion thriller on unplowed highways that morphs into a funny, unguarded exploration of fear, masculinity theater, and the messy work of healing. I talk through the white-knuckle ramps, the “sport mode will save me” delusion, and why following a semi at a respectful distance can feel like spiritual practice when the lanes disappear.

Between jolts of panic and relief, I aim the jokes at big-truck swagger, Bass Pro cosplay, and the myth...

The day starts with fart etiquette and donuts and somehow ends with a heartfelt riff on friendship, parenting, and the strange rules of public bathrooms. That’s tour life: messy, loud, and full of tiny moments that turn into the stories we repeat for years. With our favorite chaos magnet Cactus Tate back on the mic, we stumble through airport bathroom mix-ups, “rocks don’t float” river logic, and the unflinching honesty that only comes from living shoulder to shoulder on the road.

We go there: hemorrhoids, period logistics, and why menthol pads are a war crime. But the...

The day starts under a gray sky and a loud pavilion, and somehow that flimsy roof becomes a philosophy. We kick off by turning “you can’t corner me, I’m in a pavilion” into a whole worldview about space, safety, and the strange etiquette of public shelters. From there, the story jumps to Peoria’s Jukebox Comedy Club, where a broken chair and a grumpy Richard Pryor portrait spark a set built on pure presence. It’s a reminder that the best bits often arrive when you stop trying to force them and just play with what’s in front of yo...

Support the show

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A closed hotel pool, a hot parking lot, and an angry ant hill aren’t the villains—they’re the chorus. Episode 100 lands mid-bite and mid-thought, which turns out to be the most honest place to take stock of a life on stage. We talk about addiction-level love for Story of the Year’s new song Gasoline, daydreams of skipping lunch for a KTM, and how the road strips away your excuses until only the work is left. That’s where the real conversation starts: anxiety that pretends to be effort, the strange ritual of staying calm all day just to sp...

A sunrise at the Arch, a long overnight drive, and a confession most of us dodge: sometimes the tears just don’t stop, and the only thing that steadies you is the road. We head back to St. Louis to face a stack of old memories—prom photos, a busted elbow, a skyline that still knows too much—and use humor to navigate the heaviness. It’s raw without being bleak, funny without being flippant, and honest about how weird and human it is to cry next to someone you love while pretending you’re fine.

We dig into t...

What happens when you combine perfect hoodie weather, exceptionally potent cannabis, and sidewalks that require the vigilance of a bomb squad technician? Welcome to Portland, Oregon – a city that demands you look up at its breathtaking beauty while carefully watching every step.

The contradictions of Portland create the perfect backdrop for reflection. One moment I'm admiring the stunning architecture and fall colors painting the sky in magnificent hues, the next I'm dodging "dog" waste with the agility of an Olympic athlete. This constant shifting between appreciation and avoidance becomes a metaphor for life itself – finding beauty despite obst...

The open road has a way of pulling profound thoughts from even the most distracted minds. Cruising down highways lined with autumn-kissed trees, this episode captures the stream-of-consciousness reflection that can only happen behind the wheel.

Bobby dives deep into the peculiar hill he's willing to die on – hot coffee versus canned coffee – and why he'll defiantly order a steaming cup even in the sweltering Texas heat. The conversation shifts to life's small revelations, like his first childhood discovery of cruise control and how it terrified him to see his aunt seemingly driving without feet on the peda...

What happens when musical talent meets comedic genius? In this episode, we dive deep with multi-talented creator Chandler Cooper, whose unique blend of music, comedy, and authenticity has captivated audiences across social media platforms.

Chandler takes us through his fascinating journey from performing Stitch impressions as a child to developing his distinctive musical style. With remarkable candor, he shares the stories behind songs like "Looking for Sarah" and "Funny," revealing how personal experiences transform into art that resonates with thousands. There's something magical about how Chandler crafts lyrics with meticulous intention while maintaining an openness to collaboration...

Bob takes us on a wild journey through his recent gambling misadventures, road trip observations, and poignant reflections on aging in this deeply personal episode of Discombobulated.

The casino has a way of making us forget everything we know about math and probability. Bob's $240 loss becomes a springboard for exploring the psychology behind gambling – the magical thinking, the superstitions, and the desperate attempts to recoup losses that only lead deeper into the hole. Despite the financial setback, he finds humor in the situation, celebrating the small victory of not visiting the ATM or bumming a cigarette.