The Viktor Wilt Show

In this deliriously overstuffed episode, Viktor staggers into the studio at an hour no mortal should be awake, immediately cracking open an energy drink like he’s about to reenact a Viking battle instead of host a radio show. Within seconds, he’s confessing that the week has pulverized him spiritually, mentally, and possibly dimensionally, thanks to a fever dream where he wandered a bootleg reality populated by knockoff versions of his loved ones who behaved like NPCs with corrupted dialogue files. Naturally, this launches Viktor into a full autopsy of AI weirdness: the Peaches “Pizza” and “Peach Fest” abominations, uncanny facsimile grandmas reading bedtime stories from beyond the grave, and the existential dread of imagining an AI Viktor with a perfect, flub-free voice—which, as he admits, would probably steal his job while looking suspiciously enthusiastic about it.

Then Gary calls in, like a prophet from a parallel universe where privacy still exists, to rant about smartphones turning children into socially dehydrated goblins, misinformation rotting public intellect, and the general unraveling of society. Viktor, sensing that Gary’s vibes match the week he’s already enduring, dives into a mutual therapy session involving cell phones, generational decay, AI obliterating careers, and the crushing realization that half the voices we hear in commercials aren’t even attached to real humans. This spirals into Viktor joking—but not really joking—about whether this entire broadcast is just a simulation and he is, in fact, merely a digital puppet reading prewritten lines.

Before the world can process that, Viktor derails the show with a news story starring a confused deer launching itself through a school cafeteria window like a four-legged missile, slipping around hallways like Bambi on ice, terrifying students, and forcing administrators to herd it toward the exit like medieval villagers dealing with a possessed goat. He then follows that with a feverishly delighted retelling of Oregon’s legendary exploding whale—complete with chunks of airborne blubber turning spectators into unwilling participants in the world’s worst seafood festival. Viktor recounts this with the giddy reverence of a historian who wishes he had been there, umbrella in hand.

In between existential spirals, Viktor also unpacks a study warning parents about AI toys casually offering kids tips on finding knives and matches, recounts an Indiana school giving students tickets for saying “six, seven” (thus guaranteeing the phrase becomes immortal), and reports on a fake airline captain who just waltzed into a cockpit and flew hundreds of passengers using the confidence of a man who learned everything from Microsoft Flight Simulator. Viktor toggles between horror and admiration, wondering aloud whether society is collapsing or simply entering its most entertaining phase.

He rounds things out by doom-scrolling job lists to determine which careers AI won’t vaporize, contemplates selling his own voice to ElevenLabs for the financial equivalent of spilled pennies, debates the ethics of letting Michael Caine host Jank Show, and brainstorms an “infinite money glitch” where he licenses his voice clone, writes AI-generated scripts for his own program, and gets paid to replace himself with himself. Finally, exhausted yet weirdly invigorated, Viktor announces he may flee the country to metal-detect treasure in England like a gremlin archaeologist, all while half-joking that he might skip tomorrow’s concert entirely if the weight of existence crushes him before he gets out the door.

By the end, it’s not just a radio show—it’s a spiraling odyssey of sleep deprivation, technological dread, wildlife catastrophe, historical carnage, and Viktor attempting to stave off a complete psychological implosion using humor, speculation, and the faint hope that tomorrow will finally be less weird.