Welp. I guess you’re wondering where I’ve been. So allow me to explain why you haven’t heard from me in three weeks.
While I was wasting away at the Margaritaville Resort in Fort Myers Beach, I received the worst phone call of my life. Covered in tanning oil and holding a piña colada the size of my head, I learned that my big sister, Rosie, passed away unexpectedly at just 47 years old.
That’s an experience that is noticeably absent in Jimmy Buffett’s music catalog.
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Since then, it’s been a whirlwind of traveling, funeral planning and trying to figure out how you’re supposed to keep functioning when your world gets flipped upside down. And needless to say, writing Nightcaps wasn’t exactly at the top of my priority list. Truth be told, I’m still struggling to care about most things related to my work — sports, politics, celebrity gossip, whatever’s viral on social media. I’m numb to it.
But I know what Rosie would tell me, and it’s the same thing she told me when I’d throw a tantrum as a little kid: “No one wants to listen to you whining and crying.”
So I’m going to suck it up, pour another cup of coffee, and we’re going to get through this column together.
Many of you saw the news on my Instagram or Facebook and reached out. So if you’ve emailed, messaged or checked in on me lately, thank you. This community we’ve built through ‘Caps and OutKick is really something special.
I wrote about my sister yesterday, and I welcome you to read it if you’re interested. But make sure you come right back, pour a cold one in honor of Rosie, and dive into your daily Nightcaps.
Because if we couldn’t laugh, we would all go insane.
That’s something Jimmy Buffett was pretty clear about.
Try not to get whiplash from that transition. Welcome back to Nightcaps, am I right?
I’ll start by saying I have never watched a single episode of “Euphoria.” I don’t even know what it’s about — only that the whole show is seemingly just Sydney Sweeney soft porn. Because every single week, Twitter and the “New York Post” detail all of her character’s latest sexual antics. For example, I believe this week she was crying while washing her sex toys.
And, apparently, Sydney wouldn’t have it any other way.
In this season, the actress plays an OnlyFans model. Some of her scenes were so explicit and weird, in fact, that even the show’s creator — noted creep Sam Levinson — thought they needed to be toned down a little.
“Well, it’s funny,” Levinson told The New York Times in an interview published Monday. “When I first wrote it, I was like, ‘Maybe we shoot all of this, and we don’t have any nudity. Maybe there’s ways to shoot around certain things?'”
But Sydney was not having that.
“Are you kidding?” she reportedly told him. “I’m playing an OnlyFans model. You’re telling me you’re going to, like, skirt around it?”
Fair point, I guess. Although if I never have to see that screenshot of her spread eagle dressed like a baby ever again, that would be OK with me.
I’m not a prude or a Sweeney hater, but hopefully we can all agree that catering to a pedophile kink is a step too far.
Sydney stands by everything she’s done, though.
Not long after the finale aired, she defended her sexy scenes on Instagram by posting a carousel of behind-the-scenes photos from the show.
“It’s called… acting,” she wrote.
Power to you, girl. Whatever pays the mortgage on that insane mansion in the Florida Keys.
And speaking of people who make a lot of money and live in huge houses…
Forgive me for being late to this party. I first saw this video for Luke Bryan’s new song “Fish Hunt Golf Drink” making the rounds while I was at the beach a couple of weeks ago, but it needs to be addressed.
I mean, please take a moment to behold this tune in all its glory:
Wake up / coffee / camo / climb tree / wet line / eighteen / fish / hunt / golf / drink
It took three people to write that song, by the way.
Listen, I don’t expect some sort of deep musical masterpiece from a guy who once rhymed “boom boom” with “mm-hmm.” But this is inexcusably bad.
And I don’t dislike Luke Bryan. He seems like a genuinely good dude, and I don’t blame him for selling out to the bro country movement. If I could cash million-dollar checks by making derpy country party songs, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
This is essentially the same song as “Huntin’, Fishin’ & Lovin’ Everyday” and “Sunrise, Sunburn, Sunset, Repeat.” Except it’s worse. And I’m not the only person in that camp. If you read the comments on that post above, Luke is getting absolutely dragged on his own account.
He’s being really defensive about it, which is the wrong way to handle this. Not that anybody asked me, but what Luke should do is own it. Own the fact that this song is epically corny and sounds like ChatGPT vomited into a microphone.
Then print some camo T-shirts that say “CLIMB TREE” and sell them for $40 at your concerts. Cash money, baby.
You gotta be able to laugh at yourself, you know? Like Emma Slater after she wiped out on the runway during the SI Swimsuit show.
I love country music — particularly from the ’80s and ’90s era. I’m not super into a lot of the mainstream radio music that’s popular now, but I love outlaw country and a lot of the stuff coming out of Texas.
My husband, on the other hand, hates almost all country music. As a former drummer in a rock band, he just doesn’t get the twangy good ol’ boy thing. It’s really his only flaw, as far as I’m concerned.
One time, he jokingly spent five minutes writing a song called “Beers, Deers, Tractors and Steers” and told me he was going to send it to Luke Bryan.
I said, “Babe, that’s too lame even for Luke.”
But… after hearing “Fish Hunt Golf Drink,” I’d like to retract that statement. So call me if you’re interested, LB.
(By the way, I requested an interview with Luke Bryan for OutKick Outdoors a few months ago, and his publicist shot me down. Maybe I’ll try again now that he needs some good pub. Hopefully she doesn’t see this column.)
And if you watch multiple daily bird calling videos, your life is probably really exciting.
Look, most of the time social media is just an amalgamation of AI slop, influencers begging for attention and people fighting over nonsense. But every once in a while, you run across a young king named Samuel absolutely slaying it at a talent show.
Suddenly, my day is looking up. Let’s open the mailbag.
📩 Email: amber.harding@outkick.com (Send your thoughts, stories, tips, rants and photos of your dog.)
🐦 Twitter/X: @TheAmberHarding
📸 Instagram: @amberharding
Amid the sh*t sandwich that was last week, I got a big smile when I opened an email from Drew in Katy, Texas, saying, “Two Tuesdays without Rocky?!?!?”
If my dog could read, he’d be thrilled to know that people are asking about him. So here’s a photo of Rocky with his new patch.
Shoutout to PatchBuilt for customizing their German Shepherd patch for us and giving him a floppy ear.
Gene Writes: You go girl! I watched every second of your hang glide, and I know that look. I wore exactly the same one for probably the first 500 miles after I learned to ride a motorcycle. Some things in life are fundamentally different in ways that no one ever realizes ahead of time, and the amazing feeling of G-forces in my butt, very like flying on the ground, was at once a 10/10 gratifying and terrifying experience. I’m sure I spent my whole first few weeks in the saddle with that same crazy, scared-but-secretly-delighted smile on my face. Fifty-some years and 180,000 miles later sciatica has ended my riding days, but now you have me seriously considering a hang glider. Doesn’t look like it requires reliable hips.
The only advice I have for you right now is, next time the pilot offers you the control bar… don’t say no. Fly.
Amber:
Gene didn’t mean to, but he accidentally ended that email with a post-it-note-on-the-mirror-worthy motivational quote.
Also, the next goal: paragliding with Rocky.
BigDen Writes: Yes, our dog is allowed on the bed. Not all night but typically around 3 or 4am she helps herself to wife’s side, to keep her feet warm apparently. Sue us up around 530am every day,then rolls over to my side like a portable furnace.
True story: when we rescued her about 40 lbs. ago, she went right into the crate next to our bed. Not argument, no whining.
Until I closed the door. SOMEONE in the bedroom couldn’t handle the whining, thus Clover gets on the bed.
Cattle dog, St. Bernard, Chow, and other indecipherable mutts DNA couldn’t determine. 60 pounds, spoiled, sheds profusely, loves snow, never cold. Almost 9 years old. This is her, lounging on HER sofa, not others that people use.
Attitude??? Did I mention barking at anything that moves?
OutKick Nightcaps is a daily column set to run Monday through Friday at 4 p.m.
