Discombobulated with Bobby Jaycox

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 ran...

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 unti...

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...

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,...

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-mou...

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...

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 some...

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 und...

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 bou...

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 y...

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 afte...

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 al...

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 cr...

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-boile...

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 bet...

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 fu...

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 wh...

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 ab...

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 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 respec...

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 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 pur...

Support the show https://www.patreon.com/c/DiscombobulatedwithBobbyJaycox

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 wo...

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 hon...