Washed Weekly: Dave's Little Breakfast Blog

Unreal aura.

May 23, 2025

Welcome to Washed Weekly — a weekly newsletter that will feature original columns, quick reads, exclusive product drops, and an offering of some of the best content we’ve created throughout the week that was. Read it, enjoy it, and pass it on to anyone you think will enjoy it, too. You can also check out the Washed network of podcasts.

Stop What You’re Doing and Get a Load of This Dog’s Aura

Dillon Cheverere

A series of videos has been playing in my head on a loop for the past week. There is a grizzled dog walking this earth that commands the respect of kings, is feared by all, and is cowered upon in their presence.

His stature is as mundane as his aura is apparent. A born leader, what he may lack in size, he overcompensates for in sheer alpha.

There is a lab-terrier mix patrolling the grounds of what seems to be some sort of dog boarding facility that you have to see. With a name I can only assume is Butch or Chief, this dog’s duty is to break up scuffles, generally keep order, and to strike fear among the many dogs staying in the facility. All without so much as a single bark or bite.

Exhibit A: A kerfuffle breaks out, which you’ll soon learn is common in this facility, and our alpha is seen approaching the scene from the distance. The biggest dog in the joint, a black Great Dane, cowers at the sight of him and a German Shepherd flees as our man makes his way through the curious onlookers.

Our main perpetrator is greeted with two paws to the chest as he lies on his back and pleads for his life. Without saying a word, Butch or Chief quells the fighting merely using the respect he’s earned.

It’s clear that these dogs have a LOT of unsettled beef they’re sorting through. It’s like they’re rival gang members forced to live among each other, fighting over turf. The Bloods and the Crips going at it, only to be controlled by our alpha. He keeps the streets clean. He succeeds where the human authorities have failed.

Exhibit B: He maintains authority as he stands over the cowering dog until the noise quiets down and order is restored.

Meanwhile, a bitch (calm down - that's the term for a female dog) meanders up to steal a gentle kiss from our king. He’s uninterested, as duty takes priority over a cheap thrill from one of his many admirers. A combination of unrelenting embarrassment and unrequited love would send her retreating back to her pin for the remainder of the day, full of shame.

Exhibit C: Another fight breaks out, probably over a bitch this time (again, that means female dog). A human futilely attempts to break it up using a push broom like a total moron, but you never send a beta human to do an alpha dog’s job.

Our guy quickly mounts that one dog as a little tease before laying down the law like only he can. He’s able to, once again, calm the skirmish before blood is shed as others look on in admiration and amazement. Again, not a single bark leaves his mouth.

Exhibit D: Here he is quieting the aggressor with merely his presence. Imagine the embarrassment as your peers gather to spectate the alpha standing over you with his paw resting on our chest and keeping you at bay until he decides you’ve earned your freedom once again.

The casual walk away to piss right in the middle of town square to let em know that no matter who’s fighting over this turf, it really belongs to just one hombre.

Unreal aura.

Some of Y’all Aren’t Making Enough Playlists For Your Absolute Boys

Will deFries

Kendall Roy Was Right About Logan on 'Succession'

We’re losing art.

Modern skyscrapers are replacing buildings from centuries ago. Books are being removed from libraries. No one burns CDs for their absolute boys anymore. Where does it stop?

Earlier this week, I received a DM from a listener who I correspond with fairly often. We have a similar taste in music so it’s easy. In this case, however, it wasn’t just back-and-forth banter. He made me a playlist of his favorite Phish versions.

It took me back. Back to those feelings when someone would break out a blank CD from their backpack with permanent marker doodles covering the top. Back to when I’d sit on my parents’ stereo system trying to time the right start to record songs from the radio onto my mini-discs. Back to when music was shared physically rather than on an Instagram story.

There was a CD that circulated our friend group in high school: Big Booty Mix. While I can’t remember the entire track list, I do know that “We Be Clubbin’” by Ice Cube was toward the beginning. CDs like this — not just Big Booty Mix — became the recipes that shaped our taste today. I didn’t know it at the time, but those burned OAR mixes changed me more than I realized.

Making playlists to fit a certain vibe is something I’ve always enjoyed doing. This process became far easier with Spotify, but it also became less meaningful in a way. Not only are you not taking the time to create it and hand it to someone, but Spotify’s recommendations take the legwork out of crafting a really good and genuine playlist that comes straight from the heart.

The last playlist I made was for a weekend away with my wife. 24 songs, 95 minutes of enjoyable driving music, tasteful “getting ready” music, or simply some plane music to remember the vacation by. But the process of making it myself — sitting down, manifesting the situations we’d be in, deleting, adding, etc. — was something I hadn’t enjoyed in far too long.

And now that someone’s taken the concerted effort with me? Well, I’m flattered. Like, when’s the last time your absolute boy slid through with a playlist crafted for you? Has it happened since high school? I didn’t think so.

In the spirit of making playlists for my ‘lutes, I’ve decided to make a playlist that I dumped some recent listening into. These are generally not new songs, but solely the stuff that’s made me smile while driving from here to there — especially any song from The Road to Escondido album.

Do it. When’s a better time than now to make a playlist than right before Memorial Day Weekend? Get those juices flowing. Picture those beers on the boat. Imagine those ski poles shoved into the ground on that lawn. Just think about those moment on the porch right before dinner.

Alright, now what’s playing? That’s for you (and your absolute boys) to decide.

The Boring Little Breakfast Blog

by Dave

The majority of my morning meals are cooked up with two things in mind: Protein and good, not great, taste. We’re not posting pics to the story. It’s a utility play. Unless it’s the weekend, I’m not looking impress myself, as I’m the only person who will enjoy what I throw together. If it provides sustenance and doesn’t make me feel bloated, I’m fine with it. Of the big three meals, I have the least amount of taste expectations from breakfast.

With that being said, it dawned on me that I’ve been eating the same pre-work meal for the last two years. I’m proud of myself for finding something and sticking with it, but I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this run up. With some slight deviations, it goes as follows:

1. Three eggs, scrambled or fried, with a splash of egg whites for some extra ‘tein.

2. One large piece of sourdough toast with unsalted Kerry Gold butter and either honey or strawberry preserves.

3. One cup of Siggi’s Skyr yogurt. Any flavor besides blueberry. Nothing against blueberries, but it’s easily their weakest flavor.

A few things are probably jumping out at you right now. First, there’s a glaring lack of meat on my plate. Everyone knows I love meat, so what gives? Well, it’s just not worth it. I’m not going to take out another pan and fry up three strips of bacon for 9 grams of protein. That’s not an efficient use of my time. Every time I try sausage patties, I remember why I stopped buying sausage patties. They suck. They burn way too easily and taste like a Yokohama tire. Don’t ask me how I know. Alright, it was pledgeship, and we were the worst fucking pledges of all time, and… never mind.

And where’s the fruit? Fair point. We’re typically stocked with bananas, blueberries, and pineapple for the kids. I’ll take down nature’s glizzy every now and then if I’m worried about powering through one of my vigorous training sessions later in the day. I’ll do better on this forward.

I think I’m approaching the point of being tired of eggs altogether, and that scares me. Plenty of people I know have reached that point. Eating them in mass quantity day after day wears on a man. And if you’re like me and in it for the gains, you’ve probably thought, “Only 6 grams of protein per egg, huh?” Feels like it should be more! I’m not one to criticize our creator, but what if next time around we make it 10? Double digits seem more than fair.

I wish I had the ability to skip breakfast altogether. Although I do intermittent fast intermittently, I find it quite difficult to hit my vaunted 150 grams of protein number when doing so. It’s hard enough when I’m not fasting. In fact, I’m almost definitely mixing in a protein shake if I want to sniff 150 on a normal day. I think the science would say that fasting is a better longevity move than worrying about one gram of protein per pound of body weight, but that science isn’t worried about holding onto muscle after 40. We’re not doing TRT yet.

Am I going to have to become a ham guy? Ham doesn’t move the needle for anyone. I think the move here is to have a couple mornings each week where I go silly on a protein shake and hope it gets me to lunch. Hell, I’m not above pulling out last night’s leftovers and seeing how chicken parm sits at 7:45 a.m. Even typing that out felt pathetic. May as well mix in a Bud Light and toss on Sportscenter. If you’ve got any ideas for mixing up breakfast, hit my line.

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