Found writing, read straight, torn apart out loud.
Each episode gathers a rotating group who take turns reading found text — conspiracy forum posts, fast-food complaint letters, cryptocurrency rap lyrics — in mock-serious voices. The material barely survives the first sentence before the room starts interrupting, misreading, and repeating the weirdest phrases until they fall apart.
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The premise fits in five words: terrible things, read with enthusiasm. What that looks like in practice is a room full of people taking turns performing documents that other humans wrote in complete sincerity, and then refusing to let those documents stand. The panel rotates. Names like Boots Rangier, Frank West, Zarla, Lemon, Shell Game, Poor Tax, and John Toast get introduced at the top of each episode, each attached to a line of quoted absurdity from whatever material is on deck. Someone inevitably says a catchphrase too early and gets called on it. Subject matter is wide but the flavor is consistent. One episode moves through conspiracy forum posts about kundalini energy and something called a luge farm nightmare, with the readers noting when a sentence achieves peak internet-forum syntax. Another tackles cryptocurrency songs, where the lyrics stack hyphenated rhymes until someone points out that a submission is not a song at all, just paragraphs with no line breaks. A third works through plasma-energy wellness claims — testimonials about water systems and specialty solutions, promises of illnesses resolving over months, a knowledge-seekers workshop delivering missing commandments. The fourth is fast-food correspondence, which produces a genuine masterpiece in someone asking whether Applebee's fans should develop a secret sign. There is also an episode devoted to hyperdimensional chakra counts, reptilians who reportedly completed therapy, and a claimed marriage to a very large dragon. The delivery is dry by default. Reactions swing to incredulous, mock-instructional, or delighted, and the group is quick to adopt any phrase strange enough to survive repetition. Long passages never get read cleanly; they are punctured by side comments, fake expertise, and pile-on riffing that somehow circles back to the text. Episodes close loosely — a request for document submissions, a viewing recommendation, a callback to an old episode about vacuum cleaner enthusiasts. After more than four hundred and fifty entries, the format has not changed and does not need to. Find something overblown, read it out loud with total conviction, and let the room do the rest.
Made for: Listeners who enjoy panel comedy built on riffing and escalation rather than scripted bits, and who find internet subcultures funniest when quoted verbatim. Suits anyone who has ever read a conspiracy forum post or a product testimonial and wished a room of people were reacting to it in real time.
What sets it apart: Rather than summarizing weird internet material, the show performs it — long passages read aloud in earnest voices — so the humor comes from the source text's own language rather than from commentary about it. The rotating panel format means the jokes are built collectively in the moment, with constant interruption and repetition, instead of written in advance.
Terrible things, read with enthusiasm.
Based on 5 episodes we listened to · September 2026
The F Plus turns online pseudoscience, conspiracies and dreadful lyrics into fast ensemble riffs built around the source material's accidental jokes.
The F Plus turns dubious corners of the internet into ensemble comedy. Participants read claims about miracle technologies, cosmic conspiracies, spiritual devices and cryptocurrency songs, then worry each strange phrase until it produces an even stranger joke.
A $1,500 vibration plate enters the reading circle, and your disbelief gets cast as the straight man.
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