It was the giggle heard 'round the podcasting world. For years, the dynamic was simple. Tim Dillon would sit in a moderately priced Airbnb, ranting about the crumbling fabric of American society, and Ben Avery would sit off-camera, laughing. That was the magic. Ben wasn’t just a producer; he was the audience’s proxy, the "straight man" to Tim’s chaotic, Long Island energy.
Then, in late 2022, the laughter stopped.
If you were on the Patreon or lurking in the subreddit at the time, the split felt like a messy divorce. It wasn't just a business move. It was a cultural shift for a show that had reached the absolute peak of the independent podcasting boom. People still argue about who was right, who was wrong, and whether the show ever recovered.
The Breakup That Caught Everyone Off Guard
The news didn't come through a formal press release. That’s not how the "Pig" operates. It leaked through Discord messages and frantic Reddit threads before Tim finally addressed it on air. Ben Avery was out.
Honestly, the initial explanation was vague. Tim framed it as a "mutual parting of ways." He suggested Ben wanted to pursue his own creative interests and that the bit—Tim constantly berating Ben—had perhaps run its course. But the internet doesn't do "mutual."
Fans noticed the tension long before the announcement. In the final months, the banter felt sharper. Meaner. Tim’s jokes about Ben’s "value" or his wife started to lose that playful edge. When the split happened, Ben’s Discord messages hinted at a much darker reality. He mentioned "the truth coming to light" and flat-out stated he had been fired.
"I was fired." — Ben Avery, via Discord.
That three-word sentence sent the fanbase into a tailspin. Tim later admitted on a Patreon episode that things had gotten heated. There was an argument. There was an overreaction. Apparently, Tim fired him in a moment of pique, tried to hire him back with more money shortly after, and Ben said no.
Why Ben Avery Was More Than Just a Producer
You’ve gotta understand the "Tim Dillon Show" lore to get why this mattered. Most producers stay quiet. They check levels and pull up Google images. Ben was different.
- The Vibe: Ben’s laugh provided a rhythmic structure to Tim’s rants. It signaled to the audience that, yes, this is insane, and yes, we’re all in on the joke.
- The Aesthetic: Ben handled the sketches. The high-production-value "fake" advertisements and cinematic intros were largely his doing.
- The Dynamic: He was the punching bag that punched back just by existing. Tim’s best material often came from trying to shock the "wholesome" kid from Texas.
When Ben left, the show changed overnight. The silence during Tim’s pauses felt heavy. The solo shows, which used to be rare treats, became the standard, and some fans felt the energy had curdled. Tim is a generational talent, but even the best boxers need a sparring partner.
The "Lemonparty" Era and Moving On
Life didn't end for Ben after the split. In fact, he did exactly what Tim suggested: he went and built his own thing.
Lemonparty, the podcast Ben started with his brother Jace Avery and friend Devan Costa, serves as a direct rebuttal to the idea that Ben was just a "giggler." It’s dark, absurd, and deeply niche. It’s also successful. It proved that a significant portion of Tim’s audience was actually Ben’s audience too.
Meanwhile, Tim moved through a string of producers. He eventually settled into a new rhythm, bringing on guests more frequently and leaning into his role as a touring powerhouse. But if you look at the YouTube comments on any new episode, you’ll still see it. "I miss Ben." "Where’s the giggle?"
It’s been years now, and the two haven't publicly reconciled. Tim has made a few peace-offering comments in passing, acknowledging Ben’s talent, but the bridge seems pretty scorched.
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What This Teaches Us About the "Creator" Economy
The fallout between Ben Avery and Tim Dillon is a case study in the fragility of creative partnerships. When a show is built on "being real" and "saying the quiet part loud," the behind-the-scenes drama eventually becomes the content.
- Ownership is everything. Ben was an employee, but in the eyes of the fans, he was a co-star. That discrepancy is where the friction started.
- Burnout is real. Producing a top-tier comedy podcast is a 24/7 grind. Add a volatile boss into the mix, and it’s a miracle it lasted as long as it did.
- Audience loyalty is fickle. Tim lost thousands of Patreon subscribers in the weeks following the firing. People don't just subscribe for the "star"; they subscribe for the ecosystem.
How to Follow Their Current Projects
If you're looking to catch up with either of them today, here is the best way to dive in.
For the classic, high-octane Tim rants, The Tim Dillon Show still drops every weekend on YouTube and various podcast platforms. He remains one of the most sharp-tongued critics of modern culture, even if the "Ben era" is a distant memory.
If you want to see what Ben is up to, check out Lemonparty. It’s not for everyone—it’s significantly more "internet-brained" and chaotic than the old show—but it shows off Ben’s specific comedic voice. He also directs sketches that have a very distinct, cinematic feel that fans of the old Tim Dillon sketches will recognize immediately.
Keep an eye on the Lemonparty YouTube channel for their "best of" clips to see if the humor sticks for you. If you're a Tim loyalist, his recent solo episodes from his tour dates show a man who has fully embraced being a "solo act."
Understand that the split wasn't a "fake" bit for clout. It was a genuine breakdown of a professional relationship that simply couldn't handle the pressure of its own success. Both have thrived in their own ways since, proving that sometimes, a "messy divorce" is the only way for both parties to actually grow.