Podbit · 2 Bears, 1 Cave with Tom Segura & Bert Kreischer
Tracy Morgan's unhinged Chicago morning show appearance — taking his shirt off, laying on the desk, hollering at Oprah — wasn't a gag. It was pure instinct, and it paved the road that Sam Morril, Bert, and every comic who 'fucks off' on morning TV has walked ever since. Tracy genuinely did not care, and that's exactly why it worked.
Where this was said
At 28:20 · chapter starts 12:20
After the ShipStation ad, Bert Kreischer finally gets to tell the full story of the Tracy Morgan near-collaboration. Ari reveals he made multiple trips to New York to make it happen, and that the failed inclusion of Bert, Carlos Mencia's stand-in character Diaz, and Sean Patton were the three biggest regrets of the show's production. The centerpiece is the Chrysler Building meeting: Ari reached out through mutual connection Frosty, Tracy FaceTimed Bert out of nowhere demanding to hear the story, and an in-person meeting was arranged at CAA. Tracy arrived convinced he was there to make a movie, demolished multiple Chick-fil-A breakfast sandwiches, and proceeded to corroborate every detail of Bert's story from the blunt (he called it a blunt, not a joint) to the champagne toast at the bar. Ari, sitting silently, was repeatedly mistaken for Bert's Jewish lawyer. The whole room was magic — but Tracy's team called shortly after to say he was too busy, and Bert was left with only verbal permission to tell the story that people still don't believe. [1] — Bert Kreischer "Bert Kreischer has told a Tracy Morgan story for years that people assumed he fabricated. Ari arranged a meeting at the Chrysler Building w…" 09:30
Tracy Morgan told Bert and Ari that in 1999, when the blunt/bar story took place, he had just gotten on Saturday Night Live and 'wasn't even famous yet, but I could get in trouble.'
Tracy Morgan agreed to a general meeting with ICM talent agents at a Dave Buster's but used it to throw his kid's birthday party, making the agents pay for it.
Robby Hoffman isn't fearless — she's terrified all the time. The difference is she does it anyway, because not doing it feels worse than the fear itself.
John Mulaney texted Robby Hoffman out of nowhere saying he'd been a fan for a while and wanted to make a Netflix special with her. Robby called it 'shocking, horrifying, anxiety-inducing, surreal and thrilling' — and said yes.
Mulaney is buttoned-up, suit-wearing, classy. Robby is gritty, raw, and undefined. Together they made the collab nobody expected. Batman and Robin. Eminem and Dido.
Music had Pope Gregory forcing notation. Comedy has had 'magical thinking' — he's just got funny bones. But jokes work through discoverable, teachable mechanics. Writing down the rules doesn't kill the magic; it gives more people access to it.
Howard Ashman had one insight nobody else had: animated Disney films should be Broadway musicals. The third song of every great musical is the character sitting alone explaining what they want. That's 'Part of Your World.' That structure — combined with Alan Menken's compositions — generated Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and The Lion King, and turned Disney Animation into the most profitable creative engine in entertainment history.
The Lion King musical has been running for 30 years across Broadway, London's West End, and global touring companies. It has grossed over $11 billion in total revenue — more than Avatar, more than Avengers: Endgame, more than any album, more than any video game. It generates an average of $350 million in revenue every single year. Disney owns it outright.
The anonymous French artist Invader has hidden 1,500 pixelated mosaic artworks across Paris alone, with thousands more scattered across 80+ cities — affixed to the Eiffel Tower, the Hollywood sign, and even sent to the International Space Station. He might be even busier than Banksy.
The Flash Invaders app turns city streets into a treasure hunt, letting players scan Invader's hidden mosaics for points. Players have collectively logged over 47 million flashes. Unlike most mobile games that glue you to a screen, this one forces you to look up and engage with your surroundings.
New York draws thousands of young, talented performers every year chasing Broadway stardom — but the hard truth is that most of them never make it. Zelig Williams was one of the rare exceptions.
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