Podcasts about Good Die Young

The Good Die  Young

William Martin Joel – better known to the world simply as Billy Joel – is one of the defining American popular music artists of the late 20th Century. From the 1970s to the early 1990s, he released a dozen studio albums, selling more than 160 million records worldwide on the strength of numerous hit singles that were embraced by both audiences and music critics alike. Billy Joel's music crosses generations, genres, and moods, entertaining and delighting us while also providing a reminder that the good old days weren't always good, and tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems. Join the Great Pop Culture Debate as we discuss 16 of Billy's most beloved songs as we attempt to name the Best Billy Joel Single of all time. Songs discussed include: “Movin' Out (Anthony's Song),” “The Longest Time,” “Allentown,” “Big Shot,” “My Life,” “It's Still Rock and Roll to Me,” “Just the Way You Are,” “The Entertainer,” “Piano Man,” “Pressure,” “Uptown Girl,” “And So It Goes,” “Only the Good Die Young,” “She's Always a Woman,” “You May Be Right,” “The Stranger.” Join host Eric Rezsnyak and GPCD panelists Amy Pilott, Brendan Hay, and Joelle Boedecker as they discuss 16 of Billy Joel's biggest hits. Play along at home by finding the listener bracket here. Make a copy for yourself, fill it out, and see if your picks match up with ours! For more exclusive content, including the warm-up in which we discuss even more Billy Joel hits that didn't make the bracket, become a Patreon supporter of the podcast today. Looking for more reasons to become a Patreon supporter? Check out our Top 10 Patreon Perks. Sign up for our weekly newsletter! Subscribe to find out what's new in pop culture each week right in your inbox! Vote in more pop culture polls! Check out our Open Polls. Your votes determine our future debates! Then, vote in our Future Topic Polls to have a say in what episodes we tackle next. Episode Credits Host: Eric Rezsnyak Panelists: Amy Pilott, Brendan Hay, Joelle Boedecker Producer: Bob Erlenback Editor: Bob Erlenback Theme Music: “Dance to My Tune” by Marc Torch #billyjoel #billyjoelmusic #music #70smusic #80smusic #90smusic #pianoman #uptowngirl #thestranger #allentown #stillrockandrolltome #theentertainer #pressure #youmayberight #mylife #bigshot #thelongesttime #shesalwaysawoman #podcast #musicpodcast Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This week we have “The Good Die Young,” the February 27, 1944, episode of The Mysterious Traveler as it aired over the Mutual Broadcasting System. Find our store at AThrillingPublication.com or visit BrickPickleMedia.com/podcasts for more information.

The Good Die Young

This weeks episode was recorded after Luka's Laker debut with Ken Grinell & Ian burke! We riffing about Luka's first game, the Superbowl, Yeezy T-shirts, gaslighting a cancer kid, kidnap LeBron & fake his rescue or he falls in love with because of Stockholm syndrome.

Haunted by the legacy of his superstar father and by an old family curse, Brandon Lee tried to outrun the past. But the past came after him all the same. It was said that his father, Bruce Lee, was taken by that family curse at just 32 years old, and that it then followed Brandon to the set of The Crow, a cross between a superhero blockbuster and a brooding art film that was all goth. The shoot was plagued by injury, electrocution, storms, fires, and car crashes – and culminated in tragedy when a prop gun fired a real bullet. To see the full list of contributors, see the show notes at www.disgracelandpod.com. The loss of Brandon Lee has Jake thinking about that old Billy Joel lyric: "Only the Good Die Young." What other artists were taken from us too soon? Let Jake know at 617-906-6638, disgracelandpod@gmail.com, or on socials @disgracelandpod. Purchase Tickets for Disgraceland's Special Live Stream Event on Oct. 9, 2024: https://www.moment.co/disgraceland/disgraceland-we-are-not-alone-music-wont-save-us-but-tom-delonge-might To listen to Disgraceland ad free and get access to a monthly exclusive episode, weekly bonus content and more, become a Disgraceland All Access member at disgracelandpod.com/membership. Visit www.disgracelandpod.com/merch to see the latest Disgraceland merch! Sign up for our newsletter and get the inside dirt on events, merch and other awesomeness - GET THE NEWSLETTER Follow Jake and DISGRACELAND: Instagram YouTube X (formerly Twitter)  Facebook Fan Group Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This week in the After Party, Jake weighs in on the latest development in the explosive Diddy saga: the 120 alleged victims being represented by Texas attorney Tony Buzbee, the man who previously represented the victims of the Astroworld tragedy. As we prepare for next week's episode on the late actor Brandon Lee, we're reminded of the Billy Joel song "Only the Good Die Young" and we want to know: Which artists, musicians, actors, or athletes died too young ? Let Jake know at 617-906-6638, disgracelandpod@gmail.com, or on socials @disgracelandpod. For more great Disgraceland episodes, dive into our extensive archive, including such episodes as: Episode 167 - Van Halen Episode 51 - Jay-Z Episodes 155 - Sean "Diddy" Combs Episodes 69 & 70 - Tupac Shakur Episodes 80 & 81 - The Notorious B.I.G. Purchase Tickets for Disgraceland's Special Live Stream Event on Oct. 9, 2024: https://www.moment.co/disgraceland/disgraceland-we-are-not-alone-music-wont-save-us-but-tom-delonge-might To hear an extended version of the After Party and to hear more from the DISGRACELAND community, become a Disgraceland All Access member at disgracelandpod.com/membership. Visit www.disgracelandpod.com/merch to see the latest Disgraceland merch! Sign up for our newsletter and get the inside dirt on events, merch and other awesomeness - GET THE NEWSLETTER Follow Jake and DISGRACELAND: Instagram YouTube X (formerly Twitter)  Facebook Fan Group Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This episode covers a broad spectrum of heavy and extreme metal styles, featuring well-established and up-and-coming artists. It begins with death metal from Nails, highlighting their new release, *Every Bridge Burning*, as the featured album, and includes tracks from Mastodon and Lamb of God. Listeners will encounter a mix of subgenres such as melodic death metal, NWoBHM, hard rock, and black metal. Essential tracks include Satan's "Turn the Tide" from *Songs in Crimson*, Behemoth's "Cursed Angel of Doom" from their 30th-anniversary live set, and Tremonti's "The Mother, The Earth And I" from their upcoming 2025 release. The episode also brings folk metal from Wardruna and a symphonic metal cover of Iron Maiden's "Only the Good Die Young" by Death of Giants, providing a wide lens on the current metal scene. 1. **Nails** – "Dehumanized" from *Every Bridge Burning* 2. **Mastodon & Lamb of God** – "Floods of Triton" 3. **Scale of Attrition** – "Panacea" from *Spyridon and Drowning* 4. **Satan** – "Turn the Tide" from *Songs in Crimson* 5. **Black Label Society** – "The Gallows" 6. **Fuming Mouth** – "Metal On Metal" 7. **Tremonti** – "The Mother, The Earth And I" from *The End Will Show Us How* 8. **Myles Kennedy** – "Miss You When You're Gone" from *The Art Of Letting Go* 9. **Richie Kotzen** – "Insomnia" from *Nomad* 10. **The Electric Mud** – "Ashes and Bone" from *Ashes and Bone* 11. **Laurie Luke** – "Breaking the Chain" 12. **Seether** – "Lost All Control" from *The Surface Seems So Far* 13. **Decimator** – "Killdozer" from *Til The Enemies Are Gone* 14. **Tazer** – "Rebel Yell (I Taze More)" 15. **Grand Magus** – "The Wheel of Pain" from *Sunraven* 16. **God Bullies** – "I Am Mighty" from *As Above, So Below* 17. **Demiser** – "Hell is Full of Fire" from *Slave to the Scythe* 18. **Wolfbrigade** – "Life Knife Death" from *Life Knife Death* 19. **Behemoth** – "Cursed Angel of Doom" from *XXX YEARS OV BLASPHEMY* 20. **Nails** – "Punishment Map" from *Every Bridge Burning* 21. **Deadspace** – "Fanged Noumena" from *The Dark Enlightenment* 22. **Neckbreakker** – "Horizon Of Spikes" 23. **Coffin Rot** – "Perverted Exhumation" from *Dreams of the Disturbed* 24. **Distant Dominion** – "Ripping Through Time" from *Ripping Through Time* 25. **Herakleion** – "Blood Of Nessus" from *Necroverse EP* 26. **Maatkare** – "Rise To Power" from *Rise To Power* 27. **Kryptonomicon** – "Satanama" from *Daemonolatria* 28. **Nails** – "Give Me The Painkiller" from *Every Bridge Burning* 29. **Bleeding Through** – "Dead, But So Alive" 30. **Until I Wake** – "The Reverence" 31. **Dungeon Crawl** – "Red Shadows" from *Maze Controller* 32. **Contrition** – "Not Today" 33. **Haggus** – "Putrid Infestation" from *Putrid Infestation* 34. **Haggus** – "Like Maggots To A Corpse" from *Three Cadavers, Two Corpses And A Carcass EP* 35. **Go Ahead And Die** – "I.C.E. Cage (Live)" from *Better Dead Than Mainstream: Live At The Marquee Theater* 36. **156/Silence** – "Character Development (Cold Start)" from *PEOPLE WATCHING* 37. **Oceans** – "Spit Happy" 38. **Nails** – "Lacking The Ability To Process Empathy" from *Every Bridge Burning* 39. **Mother of Graves** – "Upon Burdened Hands" from *The Periapt Of Absence* 40. **Wintersun** – "Storm Time II" 41. **Wardruna** – "Himinndotter Birna" 42. **Marko Hietala** – "Frankenstein's Wife" 43. **Death of Giants** – "Only the Good Die Young" from *Ventesorg* Love the new music show? Make sure you never miss an episode by bookmarking this page: https://scarsandguitars.com/monthly-music-show/  

You saw what I wrote last time. Did you really think I was gonna put anything this time?? Just go ahead and listen.

In this episode, we dive headfirst into the world of celebrity deaths and the intriguing emotional rollercoaster they stir up. Inspired by Billy Joel's hit song "Only the Good Die Young," we ask: why are we so fascinated by celebrity death? Why does it seem like so many of our icons, from Amy Winehouse to Kurt Cobain and Heath Ledger, leave us too soon? And what's up with the infamous 27 Club? We take a deep dive into parasocial relationships—the one-sided (but totally normal!) bonds we form with celebrities we've never met but feel like we know. It's wild how deeply we can grieve someone we've only seen through a screen or heard through speakers, but it's real, and we're here to explore why that happens. Social media has turned these experiences up to eleven, giving us constant access to tributes, memorials, and even AI-generated versions of our lost icons. Could AI and holograms change the way we grieve in the future? Will we still mourn when we can ‘see' a performer on stage after they're gone? Through some personal stories and relatable reflections, we'll look at how mourning celebrities can mirror our own grief for loved ones, and how these public losses shape the way we navigate our private grief. Join us for a thought-provoking and maybe even healing conversation about the lasting influence these stars have on our lives, even after they're gone. Check out⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Keep Grief Weird on Substack⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ for exclusive episode notes, resources, and opportunities to connect! Instagram: -⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@keepgriefweird⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ -⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@mc.phd ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ -⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@shutterbean⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ -⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@thehandwritingclub⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ TikTok: -⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@mc.phd⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ X: -⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@shutterbean⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Facebook: -⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@tracyshutterbean⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ -⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@emseyphd⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Music kindly provided by⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Tom Rosenthal⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. The song excerpted at the beginning and end of each episode is "⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Have We Met Before? feat. Fenne Lily"⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ from the album⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Z-Sides⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, released in 2018. MC McDonald and Tracy Benjamin host Keep Grief Weird, produced by Tracy Benjamin. For questions, stories, or comments, please reach out via DM on Instagram (⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@keepgriefweird⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠) or email at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠keepgriefweird@gmail.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.

Lapsed catholic woman finds need to confess. By MarthaMcKinley - Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. I'm driving back to see my priest, from the college parish.  Yeah, this catholic girl needs deliverance from some major guilt. No, let's see; how many years has it been? It hit me yesterday, as Robbie & I were driving home. Oh, Gawd! Oh Gawd!Why shouldn't I worry? This probably changes things. No. It definitely changes things! Every thing. I had sex with Bart, a married man. Get it, you rash brain. I'm a married woman who just had sex with another woman's husband. And not simply another woman, but one of my friends. What was I thinking? Obviously, I wasn't. There we were. Robbie was driving. I glanced over at Robbie, driving us home, tapping on the steering wheel and belting out the words to Billie Joel's Only the Good Die Young coming over the radio. “You Catholic girls start much too late.” Did Billy Joel know, too? The irony of it all. I was one of them: a graduate eight years ago of St. Margaret's Academy, an all girls' high school run by the Sisters of Notre Dame. In my four years there, I had had negligible experience with boys-just a handful of dances in the gym at the neighboring Catholic boys' school. I never had a boyfriend. I was never even confident enough in myself to flirt, for I never found the girl looking back at me in the mirror to be anything but plain. In college, no one had even asked me out until my junior year when Robbie did. I was so flummoxed, so flattered, so sure it must be a charity act that I spent the next two years at Macalester in perpetual gratitude, satisfying his every need. And right after graduation, with a BFA in painting, Miss flat chested and shy, but virgin no more Mary Johnson married Mister handsome, self-assured, going places Robbie Dwyer. “I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints…” he sang, glancing over at me, suggestively. Did he do it, too? Did he have sex with Robyn in the hot tub after Bart and I got out? It was entirely possible. In the four years since we were married, he had confessed to at least a half dozen women who turned him on. The Swedish lab tech at work with the impossibly long lashes. The buxom Australian hostess at the Sunshine Factory, our friday night watering hole. The neighbor from Kenya with the wide hips and muscular buttocks bulging out her short shorts as she dragged the sprinkler across the lawn. The Vietnamese manicurist, where I got my nails done, with the alluring-demurring smile on her face. My God, he had a fantasy girl from almost every continent. At least he was ecumenical. But had he ever acted on any of these urges…other than acting them out in our bedroom? For whatever reason, his fantasies turned me on. They were so absurd, and far from making me suspicious, when he brought them up in bed at night, I wanted to play along. I became the big-bosomed Aussie who smothered him with her tits, or the wide assed African who yanked on his hose. We would start assuming these roles in all seriousness, but soon be laughing so hard that Robbie would get massive, I would become sopping wet, and we'd fuck fast and furious until we came in great gasps. Then we would kiss and hug, saying all those wonderful words of love to each other, before falling asleep entwined. You know, it's amazing when you find yourself. All my scholarly life I had struggled with reading, writing essays, taking multiple-choice tests. But one thing I loved to do-and was good at-was rendering landscapes in pastel: layering wheat fields with raw sienna, coating barns and silos in brilliant cad red and alizarin crimson, foliating giant cottonwoods with varying shades of sap green, and stretching cobalt shadows across lawns and patios, bending them up walls of grand white farmhouses. I guess, in retrospect, it was how I sublimated my sexuality as a teenager. Years later, post art school-and after having given up on Catholicism-I discovered the co-existence of the creative impulse and drive for sexual gratification. It was then that my artistic successes began. People seemed to respond passionately to my new work. Collectors bought four, five, or six of my pieces. Each new series-the Dakotas, the Mississippi-won me acclaim at venues in Minneapolis, Santa Fe, Denver, and Chicago. I almost couldn't make enough for all the enthusiastic gallery owners. The result was gaining a measure of confidence, not only in art, but in love, which I had formerly never known, and which seemed so natural for others, like Robbie, Bart, and Robyn. Oh my God, I forgot about Robyn, the red-haired nurse-midwife whose house we were just leaving. Robbie fantasized the most about that little spitfire-at least, she's the one who seemed to augment his cock the greatest. I remember his last “Robyn dream,” a mere week ago: he and she were wrestling at the pond's edge after they emerged from a skinny dip on a sultry afternoon. They had started slinging playful insults at one another, until one literally slung a handful of mud, at which point the real fun began. Soon they were coated with a burnt sienna glaze and needing to go back into the water to wash each other off. It made sense, that fanciful notion of his. Water was their thing. Robyn got covered in amniotic fluid when her patient's “water” broke, and Robbie worked as a field biologist with lake flora and fauna. Two science types, always with liquid things to talk about. We had left them in their element, soaking in the hot tub, when Bart and I got out to look at one of his new pastel paintings-our element. Robbie drummed on the steering wheel. “You know that only the good die young…Tell you baby…Only the good die young…” I was feeling really clammy now. What if he and Robyn did fuck in the hot tub? Would that be better-for me? After all, if he did it, why couldn't I? Or… did it spell the end of our marriage? Were we going to become one of those pairs of swinging couples whose relationship divided along fault lines? Little things that once seemed endearing qualities-my need to have everything in its place at home-would become an annoyance to him and an excuse for fleeing to Robyn. Or his insistence in correcting my retelling of a mutual experience-that I formerly had allowed with amusement-would become the hurt driving me to Bart and the consolation of his touch. Jesus, what have I done? What have we done? We? Maybe we didn't do anything. Maybe only I did? And Robbie's trust in me will be shattered forever. I reached over to touch his head, to pull my fingers through his dark, dark umber hair, with waves as luscious as my grassy prairies at sunset. He looked over and smiled, his gaze penetrating my eyes briefly before it returned to the road. “I love when you do that, Georgia,” he teased, using the name of the artist, Georgia O'Keeffe, whom I had been the most influenced by in college. He hadn't fucked Robyn after all. Great. Now I'm the fucker. “I love doing that,” I replied. “You know how much I crave your textures!” Did I sound like the same me? Could he tell anything from the dampness of my fingers? “We'll be home in ten minutes,” he proclaimed. "Can't wait to be in bed with you.“ Suddenly feeling queasy, I replied, “Are you wide awake? I'm so tired, I think I'm going to close my eyes for a bit.” “I'm fine. Another good song!" And he was off, singing in perfect pitch, "But you gotta keep your head up, oh-oh, and you can let your hair down, eh-eh…” Maybe he's too exuberant? I bet he did do it? Do it. Do it. Did I really do it? Did we? Bart and I? Do it? Oh, Father Duffy, it's times like these when I miss those confession sessions… …Bart and I had dried off in front of his fireplace. The bromine from the hot tub was so strong we had taken turns rinsing off in the shower. With towels wrapped around us, we ascended the stairs to his studio and his magnificent nudes. If I relished the feel of textures through my fingers, my eyes delighted in the virtual touch of the skin tones in his paintings: strokes of raw sienna melding into caput mortuum, Indian red into purple violet and Thalo blue. His pastels had been blended with infinite patience, layer upon layer of pigment to create arm, chest, torso, groin, giving the effect of a radiance emanating from within. For someone not in possession of the endowment, he painted the most sensuous breasts-with thick areolas and erect nipples-seemingly emerging from the paper, begging to be sucked. I touched his arm to point out, on a nearby easel, the pair of lovers he was finishing, a man standing behind a woman, their hands holding five passion fruits against her chest. Excitedly, I inquired as to how he got her skin to glow with such warmth of golden ochre and crimson. He nestled my elbow in his palm as he eased me toward the painting and explained his artistic process. It was fun having another artist to talk with, to puzzle out problems of color and value, to compare favorite painters and art philosophies. In college, I had been so head over heals involved with Robbie, that I did my course work, rushed back to the dorm to be with him, and didn't give myself the time to make friends, let alone hang out with established teacher-artists in the art department. My BFA degree had landed me a graphic arts job with Minnesota Life, a glossy recreation magazine, and I spent over a year doing computer artwork, but again, no real artist contacts-and no art opportunities. When my school loans were nearly repaid, and Robbie was making enough for both of us to live on, I went back to painting with pastels. Within two years, I was showing in the Twin Cities; then, six months later, in three other major metropolitan areas. That experience brought me into contact with other artisans, most of them women, all of us doing different subjects. We exhibited together on occasion, got together for group-show receptions, but I never really developed an artistic kinship with any painter-until I met Bart. He leaned into me as we conversed, and I maintained our inertia by pressing back. He took my left hand in his, and slipped his right arm around my back, supporting me as we talked about his lovers' faces; the aura of contemplation; the mysteries of connection, communion, and commitment. I told him how much I liked the piece, and he hugged me with appreciation. And that's when we should have stopped. I could have inquired about the adjacent painting, the woman with the large guava facing the viewer and the man turning away with his smaller one. But I didn't. His hug felt so good. As did the wine, our soak in the hot tub, my newly-found confidence. We rotated toward each other. He brought his lips to mine, and, rather than turn to accept his kiss on my cheek, I met him full on with my own. As our embrace progressed, intoxicatingly, I encircled his lanky waist and felt our towels drop away. With his manliness expanding against my belly and his hand raising tingles up my spine, I devoured his lower lip, squeaking a little in excitement when I felt his tongue enter my mouth. With both hands he lifted up my tiny breasts, his fingers running over my nipples, as ripe as his painted ones, then pulled each with gentle traction, making them ache all the more. I moved off his mouth, and began kissing his chest, lightly brushing the russet hairs with my lips in an ever-expanding oval. Initially passing over his nipples, I returned to suck each to hardness and heard him groan as I bit down on them tenderly. His finger pads moved down my spine to buttocks, backs of thigh, up to hipbones, and, twisting his hands around, his finger nails grazed across to my pussy tuft and up my abdomen to my back again, in a repeating hypnotic loop of arousal. When my tongue repaid his kindness, creating a saliva trail down his midline, my cheek butted into his erection. I turned deftly toward the large head, now deeply violet and glowing as hot as his figures' skin tones. Clumsily, we maneuvered our entangled selves to his model stand, and found our way to sitting upon the shag carpet remnant atop the platform, my mouth locked around him, my juices oozing into the rug. His hand found my slot, and as I drew my teeth up and over his rim, I felt his fingers close around my clit, pinching it rhythmically to our breathing. My shrieks of pleasure were stifled by taking more of his cock deeper in my throat, and, as I rocked onto his hand, he began thrusting into my mouth. “I'm gonna come,” he whispered, urgently. Having climaxed once already, and about to scream again, I was fully prepared to grant him his pleasure. Within seconds a hot bolus shot into my mouth, and this time I gurgled with delight as his flood of warmth quieted my cries. One hand circled my head, his fingers pushing through my perspiring hair. The other, perfumed by my cunt-flower, was rubbed against cheek, neck, and shoulder, all the while he praised my beauty in muffled tones. I regained my resting breathing tempo, but all I could mumble was, “Wonderful, wonderful,” as his cock slowly deflated in my mouth. “You guys up there?” Robbie had hollered from the bottom of the stairs. “Just gazing at some nudes,” Bart had called back, so nonchalantly, I thought that perhaps I had been dreaming all the while. But of course I wasn't. Bart and I had hurriedly wrapped our towels around us. He went ahead of me down the stairs, as I ducked into their bathroom to do a bidet-cleansing of my mouth, then joined everyone below to get dressed and prepare for our departure. “We're home,” announced Robbie. “Let's get right to bed. I love it when you're brominated.” I awoke from one nightmare to go back into what I feared was another. What Robbie pronounced was true. Being brominated meant that by soaking in the hot tub, I was disinfected everywhere, and his tongue could explore my private place with relatively impunity. Any other time, his suggestion would have made me forgo my nightly mouth care, but this evening, I delayed our entry into bed by flossing and brushing-with lots of toothpaste. That would cover up any telltale tastes, but I didn't know if the delay would allow my brain to become re-engaged in love making. Robbie and I have been very honest with each other. Well, I felt I have been completely honest, and I trusted full revelations would have been forthcoming from him. So as we pulled the sheets over our nakednesses, I wondered if I should bare all? “Do I tell him,” I asked myself? Did I want him to tell me-if there was anything to tell? What I knew more than anything was that I needed to have Robbie inside me right now. I had made a terrible mistake, but I needed to be loved by him for who I was-his imperfect wife. The one he comes home to. The one he treasures. The one to him, for all her faults, is the most important woman in the whole world. That's the way I felt about him, after all. My decision was made by default. He began to kiss me on my mouth, his hands roaming over my breasts, his warmth surrounding me, making me forget all about the tryst of two hours prior. I felt wholly consumed by this man, desired in a way I hadn't felt before. He was possessed it seemed, and he ravaged me with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, gnawing on my neck muscles, biting my nipples, tonguing deeply into my belly button as his fingers poked into my buttocks, scraped down my outer thighs and stroked back up the fronts. His rigidity pressed against me, but I wasn't about to let this end too quickly. I kissed him back. Roughly. Biting his lip, his chin, then along jaw bone to ear lobe. He writhed with the discomfort, but moaned in pleasure, calling out, “Mary Johnson, I love you, love you.” In a trice he was upon me, kissing me with abandon. I carved my nails down his backside, and his tempo accelerated. “Fuck me, Robbie! Fuck me hard!!” I urged. As I gripped his flanks, he pounded me, rocking our bed, the headboard cracking like a sledgehammer against the wall. In a voice an octave higher, I began to whine, inhaling sharply to fill my chest, about to explode into an earsplitting orgasm, when Robbie stopped. Pulled out. Rolled me over. “What the…?” “I need you completely tonight, M.J. All of you.” And he separated my ass cheeks and began nibbling that tender flesh around my anus, which drove me into the pre-ecstasy shudders. I knew what was coming next: his tongue would dive deeply into me, and I would light up our room with carmine, magenta, and cerulean lightning bolts, before flooding the bedsheets with a cloudburst from my womb. And he did. And so did I. I screamed and screamed. When I was sated and the bed soaked, he turned me over and had his way with me, and I came for a fifth or sixth time-but who's counting when your man is shouting into your ear and filling your vaginal cup with the most exquisite of liqueurs. As we lay aside each other in the warm puddle of us, both sweating from the physical effort, he professed just how much he cared for me. I knew exactly what he meant: I couldn't imagine loving another being more. Well, yes I could. With his hand moving over my hair, and warm exhalations against my cheek, he offered, “M.J., I got something to tell you.” Sighing in relief, I answered, “And I got something to tell you, too.” Which leads me to say; Bless me father; for I have sinned. By MarthaMcKinley for Literotica

Lapsed catholic woman finds need to confess. By MarthaMcKinley - Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. I'm driving back to see my priest, from the college parish.  Yeah, this catholic girl needs deliverance from some major guilt. No, let's see; how many years has it been? It hit me yesterday, as Robbie & I were driving home. Oh, Gawd! Oh Gawd!Why shouldn't I worry? This probably changes things. No. It definitely changes things! Every thing. I had sex with Bart, a married man. Get it, you rash brain. I'm a married woman who just had sex with another woman's husband. And not simply another woman, but one of my friends. What was I thinking? Obviously, I wasn't. There we were. Robbie was driving. I glanced over at Robbie, driving us home, tapping on the steering wheel and belting out the words to Billie Joel's Only the Good Die Young coming over the radio. “You Catholic girls start much too late.” Did Billy Joel know, too? The irony of it all. I was one of them: a graduate eight years ago of St. Margaret's Academy, an all girls' high school run by the Sisters of Notre Dame. In my four years there, I had had negligible experience with boys-just a handful of dances in the gym at the neighboring Catholic boys' school. I never had a boyfriend. I was never even confident enough in myself to flirt, for I never found the girl looking back at me in the mirror to be anything but plain. In college, no one had even asked me out until my junior year when Robbie did. I was so flummoxed, so flattered, so sure it must be a charity act that I spent the next two years at Macalester in perpetual gratitude, satisfying his every need. And right after graduation, with a BFA in painting, Miss flat chested and shy, but virgin no more Mary Johnson married Mister handsome, self-assured, going places Robbie Dwyer. “I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints…” he sang, glancing over at me, suggestively. Did he do it, too? Did he have sex with Robyn in the hot tub after Bart and I got out? It was entirely possible. In the four years since we were married, he had confessed to at least a half dozen women who turned him on. The Swedish lab tech at work with the impossibly long lashes. The buxom Australian hostess at the Sunshine Factory, our friday night watering hole. The neighbor from Kenya with the wide hips and muscular buttocks bulging out her short shorts as she dragged the sprinkler across the lawn. The Vietnamese manicurist, where I got my nails done, with the alluring-demurring smile on her face. My God, he had a fantasy girl from almost every continent. At least he was ecumenical. But had he ever acted on any of these urges…other than acting them out in our bedroom? For whatever reason, his fantasies turned me on. They were so absurd, and far from making me suspicious, when he brought them up in bed at night, I wanted to play along. I became the big-bosomed Aussie who smothered him with her tits, or the wide assed African who yanked on his hose. We would start assuming these roles in all seriousness, but soon be laughing so hard that Robbie would get massive, I would become sopping wet, and we'd fuck fast and furious until we came in great gasps. Then we would kiss and hug, saying all those wonderful words of love to each other, before falling asleep entwined. You know, it's amazing when you find yourself. All my scholarly life I had struggled with reading, writing essays, taking multiple-choice tests. But one thing I loved to do-and was good at-was rendering landscapes in pastel: layering wheat fields with raw sienna, coating barns and silos in brilliant cad red and alizarin crimson, foliating giant cottonwoods with varying shades of sap green, and stretching cobalt shadows across lawns and patios, bending them up walls of grand white farmhouses. I guess, in retrospect, it was how I sublimated my sexuality as a teenager. Years later, post art school-and after having given up on Catholicism-I discovered the co-existence of the creative impulse and drive for sexual gratification. It was then that my artistic successes began. People seemed to respond passionately to my new work. Collectors bought four, five, or six of my pieces. Each new series-the Dakotas, the Mississippi-won me acclaim at venues in Minneapolis, Santa Fe, Denver, and Chicago. I almost couldn't make enough for all the enthusiastic gallery owners. The result was gaining a measure of confidence, not only in art, but in love, which I had formerly never known, and which seemed so natural for others, like Robbie, Bart, and Robyn. Oh my God, I forgot about Robyn, the red-haired nurse-midwife whose house we were just leaving. Robbie fantasized the most about that little spitfire-at least, she's the one who seemed to augment his cock the greatest. I remember his last “Robyn dream,” a mere week ago: he and she were wrestling at the pond's edge after they emerged from a skinny dip on a sultry afternoon. They had started slinging playful insults at one another, until one literally slung a handful of mud, at which point the real fun began. Soon they were coated with a burnt sienna glaze and needing to go back into the water to wash each other off. It made sense, that fanciful notion of his. Water was their thing. Robyn got covered in amniotic fluid when her patient's “water” broke, and Robbie worked as a field biologist with lake flora and fauna. Two science types, always with liquid things to talk about. We had left them in their element, soaking in the hot tub, when Bart and I got out to look at one of his new pastel paintings-our element. Robbie drummed on the steering wheel. “You know that only the good die young…Tell you baby…Only the good die young…” I was feeling really clammy now. What if he and Robyn did fuck in the hot tub? Would that be better-for me? After all, if he did it, why couldn't I? Or… did it spell the end of our marriage? Were we going to become one of those pairs of swinging couples whose relationship divided along fault lines? Little things that once seemed endearing qualities-my need to have everything in its place at home-would become an annoyance to him and an excuse for fleeing to Robyn. Or his insistence in correcting my retelling of a mutual experience-that I formerly had allowed with amusement-would become the hurt driving me to Bart and the consolation of his touch. Jesus, what have I done? What have we done? We? Maybe we didn't do anything. Maybe only I did? And Robbie's trust in me will be shattered forever. I reached over to touch his head, to pull my fingers through his dark, dark umber hair, with waves as luscious as my grassy prairies at sunset. He looked over and smiled, his gaze penetrating my eyes briefly before it returned to the road. “I love when you do that, Georgia,” he teased, using the name of the artist, Georgia O'Keeffe, whom I had been the most influenced by in college. He hadn't fucked Robyn after all. Great. Now I'm the fucker. “I love doing that,” I replied. “You know how much I crave your textures!” Did I sound like the same me? Could he tell anything from the dampness of my fingers? “We'll be home in ten minutes,” he proclaimed. "Can't wait to be in bed with you.“ Suddenly feeling queasy, I replied, “Are you wide awake? I'm so tired, I think I'm going to close my eyes for a bit.” “I'm fine. Another good song!" And he was off, singing in perfect pitch, "But you gotta keep your head up, oh-oh, and you can let your hair down, eh-eh…” Maybe he's too exuberant? I bet he did do it? Do it. Do it. Did I really do it? Did we? Bart and I? Do it? Oh, Father Duffy, it's times like these when I miss those confession sessions… …Bart and I had dried off in front of his fireplace. The bromine from the hot tub was so strong we had taken turns rinsing off in the shower. With towels wrapped around us, we ascended the stairs to his studio and his magnificent nudes. If I relished the feel of textures through my fingers, my eyes delighted in the virtual touch of the skin tones in his paintings: strokes of raw sienna melding into caput mortuum, Indian red into purple violet and Thalo blue. His pastels had been blended with infinite patience, layer upon layer of pigment to create arm, chest, torso, groin, giving the effect of a radiance emanating from within. For someone not in possession of the endowment, he painted the most sensuous breasts-with thick areolas and erect nipples-seemingly emerging from the paper, begging to be sucked. I touched his arm to point out, on a nearby easel, the pair of lovers he was finishing, a man standing behind a woman, their hands holding five passion fruits against her chest. Excitedly, I inquired as to how he got her skin to glow with such warmth of golden ochre and crimson. He nestled my elbow in his palm as he eased me toward the painting and explained his artistic process. It was fun having another artist to talk with, to puzzle out problems of color and value, to compare favorite painters and art philosophies. In college, I had been so head over heals involved with Robbie, that I did my course work, rushed back to the dorm to be with him, and didn't give myself the time to make friends, let alone hang out with established teacher-artists in the art department. My BFA degree had landed me a graphic arts job with Minnesota Life, a glossy recreation magazine, and I spent over a year doing computer artwork, but again, no real artist contacts-and no art opportunities. When my school loans were nearly repaid, and Robbie was making enough for both of us to live on, I went back to painting with pastels. Within two years, I was showing in the Twin Cities; then, six months later, in three other major metropolitan areas. That experience brought me into contact with other artisans, most of them women, all of us doing different subjects. We exhibited together on occasion, got together for group-show receptions, but I never really developed an artistic kinship with any painter-until I met Bart. He leaned into me as we conversed, and I maintained our inertia by pressing back. He took my left hand in his, and slipped his right arm around my back, supporting me as we talked about his lovers' faces; the aura of contemplation; the mysteries of connection, communion, and commitment. I told him how much I liked the piece, and he hugged me with appreciation. And that's when we should have stopped. I could have inquired about the adjacent painting, the woman with the large guava facing the viewer and the man turning away with his smaller one. But I didn't. His hug felt so good. As did the wine, our soak in the hot tub, my newly-found confidence. We rotated toward each other. He brought his lips to mine, and, rather than turn to accept his kiss on my cheek, I met him full on with my own. As our embrace progressed, intoxicatingly, I encircled his lanky waist and felt our towels drop away. With his manliness expanding against my belly and his hand raising tingles up my spine, I devoured his lower lip, squeaking a little in excitement when I felt his tongue enter my mouth. With both hands he lifted up my tiny breasts, his fingers running over my nipples, as ripe as his painted ones, then pulled each with gentle traction, making them ache all the more. I moved off his mouth, and began kissing his chest, lightly brushing the russet hairs with my lips in an ever-expanding oval. Initially passing over his nipples, I returned to suck each to hardness and heard him groan as I bit down on them tenderly. His finger pads moved down my spine to buttocks, backs of thigh, up to hipbones, and, twisting his hands around, his finger nails grazed across to my pussy tuft and up my abdomen to my back again, in a repeating hypnotic loop of arousal. When my tongue repaid his kindness, creating a saliva trail down his midline, my cheek butted into his erection. I turned deftly toward the large head, now deeply violet and glowing as hot as his figures' skin tones. Clumsily, we maneuvered our entangled selves to his model stand, and found our way to sitting upon the shag carpet remnant atop the platform, my mouth locked around him, my juices oozing into the rug. His hand found my slot, and as I drew my teeth up and over his rim, I felt his fingers close around my clit, pinching it rhythmically to our breathing. My shrieks of pleasure were stifled by taking more of his cock deeper in my throat, and, as I rocked onto his hand, he began thrusting into my mouth. “I'm gonna come,” he whispered, urgently. Having climaxed once already, and about to scream again, I was fully prepared to grant him his pleasure. Within seconds a hot bolus shot into my mouth, and this time I gurgled with delight as his flood of warmth quieted my cries. One hand circled my head, his fingers pushing through my perspiring hair. The other, perfumed by my cunt-flower, was rubbed against cheek, neck, and shoulder, all the while he praised my beauty in muffled tones. I regained my resting breathing tempo, but all I could mumble was, “Wonderful, wonderful,” as his cock slowly deflated in my mouth. “You guys up there?” Robbie had hollered from the bottom of the stairs. “Just gazing at some nudes,” Bart had called back, so nonchalantly, I thought that perhaps I had been dreaming all the while. But of course I wasn't. Bart and I had hurriedly wrapped our towels around us. He went ahead of me down the stairs, as I ducked into their bathroom to do a bidet-cleansing of my mouth, then joined everyone below to get dressed and prepare for our departure. “We're home,” announced Robbie. “Let's get right to bed. I love it when you're brominated.” I awoke from one nightmare to go back into what I feared was another. What Robbie pronounced was true. Being brominated meant that by soaking in the hot tub, I was disinfected everywhere, and his tongue could explore my private place with relatively impunity. Any other time, his suggestion would have made me forgo my nightly mouth care, but this evening, I delayed our entry into bed by flossing and brushing-with lots of toothpaste. That would cover up any telltale tastes, but I didn't know if the delay would allow my brain to become re-engaged in love making. Robbie and I have been very honest with each other. Well, I felt I have been completely honest, and I trusted full revelations would have been forthcoming from him. So as we pulled the sheets over our nakednesses, I wondered if I should bare all? “Do I tell him,” I asked myself? Did I want him to tell me-if there was anything to tell? What I knew more than anything was that I needed to have Robbie inside me right now. I had made a terrible mistake, but I needed to be loved by him for who I was-his imperfect wife. The one he comes home to. The one he treasures. The one to him, for all her faults, is the most important woman in the whole world. That's the way I felt about him, after all. My decision was made by default. He began to kiss me on my mouth, his hands roaming over my breasts, his warmth surrounding me, making me forget all about the tryst of two hours prior. I felt wholly consumed by this man, desired in a way I hadn't felt before. He was possessed it seemed, and he ravaged me with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, gnawing on my neck muscles, biting my nipples, tonguing deeply into my belly button as his fingers poked into my buttocks, scraped down my outer thighs and stroked back up the fronts. His rigidity pressed against me, but I wasn't about to let this end too quickly. I kissed him back. Roughly. Biting his lip, his chin, then along jaw bone to ear lobe. He writhed with the discomfort, but moaned in pleasure, calling out, “Mary Johnson, I love you, love you.” In a trice he was upon me, kissing me with abandon. I carved my nails down his backside, and his tempo accelerated. “Fuck me, Robbie! Fuck me hard!!” I urged. As I gripped his flanks, he pounded me, rocking our bed, the headboard cracking like a sledgehammer against the wall. In a voice an octave higher, I began to whine, inhaling sharply to fill my chest, about to explode into an earsplitting orgasm, when Robbie stopped. Pulled out. Rolled me over. “What the…?” “I need you completely tonight, M.J. All of you.” And he separated my ass cheeks and began nibbling that tender flesh around my anus, which drove me into the pre-ecstasy shudders. I knew what was coming next: his tongue would dive deeply into me, and I would light up our room with carmine, magenta, and cerulean lightning bolts, before flooding the bedsheets with a cloudburst from my womb. And he did. And so did I. I screamed and screamed. When I was sated and the bed soaked, he turned me over and had his way with me, and I came for a fifth or sixth time-but who's counting when your man is shouting into your ear and filling your vaginal cup with the most exquisite of liqueurs. As we lay aside each other in the warm puddle of us, both sweating from the physical effort, he professed just how much he cared for me. I knew exactly what he meant: I couldn't imagine loving another being more. Well, yes I could. With his hand moving over my hair, and warm exhalations against my cheek, he offered, “M.J., I got something to tell you.” Sighing in relief, I answered, “And I got something to tell you, too.” Which leads me to say; Bless me father; for I have sinned. By MarthaMcKinley for Literotica

Your Humble Host has returned with The Mysterious Traveler. Today the Mysterious Traveler has traveled by train only to realize The Good Die Young as it was originally heard February 27, 1944. All aboard!! Our Mysterious Travel train is about to chug off for another mystery. Hope we're not to late, better run for it, the train is moving down the tracks.

On this week's episode, Samboner Mick pays his respects to his sister and thanks Sambone Nation for supporting him and his family through these tough times.  You only have one shot at this thing, Sambone Nation… Keep on Samboning! Mick talks about the trending Dad Bod, his new venture at the Samboners, South Philly, The Masters, and more! Special thank you again to Sambone Nation for your support, we love you all!  Take a look, take a bite, and take a listen! What is a Samboner? Let us know your thoughts @TheSamboners! Special thanks to our sponsors! The Original Fudge Kitchen - fudgekitchens.com Hank's Sauce Promo code: SAMBONE @TheSamboners @TheSambonerShow Want to join the podcast or support/partner with the show? DM @TheSamboners Want to get involved with our charity event this fall? DM @TheSamboners NotForLongMedia.com

-It's a Bugaboo Tuesday…what's bothering Bill today?-Also, SONG OF THE DAY (sponsored by Sartor Hamann Jewelers): "Only the Good Die Young" - Billy Joel (1977)Show sponsored by GANA TRUCKINGAdvertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

Kemia had a great career, a beautiful family, and in laws that thought the world of her. Tap in to find out how she lost it all.

Kaum fünf Jahre blieben Giovanni Battista Pergolesi für sein Gesamtwerk: 1736 raffte ihn in Neapel die Tuberkulose dahin, da war er gerade 26. Kurz vor seinem Tod vollendete er aber noch das Werk, mit dem er Unsterblichkeit errang: sein "Stabat mater". Von Volker Sellmann.

In this hour, the RSMS crew discusses Kanye West and Ty Dolla $ign being sued for copyright infringement by Donna Summer's estate for sampling her song I Feel Love. The song is featured on the pair of hip-hop stars album Vultures 1 track Good Die Young. Kanye West and Ty Dolla $ign asked the estate to use the song for the sample but were denied due to West's comments in the media. President Joe Biden and former president Donald Trump win big in the primaries in Michigan. Trump winning closes the gap even more between he and Nikki Haley.  See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

It is Hump Day on The Rickey Smiley Morning Show Podcast. In this episode, the RSMS crew discusses Kanye West and Ty Dolla $ign being sued for copyright infringement by Donna Summer's estate for sampling her song I Feel Love. The song is featured on the pair of hip-hop stars album Vultures 1 track Good Die Young. Kanye West and Ty Dolla $ign asked the estate to use the song for the sample but were denied due to West's comments in the media. During Madonna's Celebration tour, she is paying tribute to celebrities who died from AIDS in a video montage. One of the videos included the late R&B singer Luther Vandross. The issue is that Lither Vandross died from complications due to a stroke he suffered two years prior to his death. Luther Vandross estate demanded that Madonna take his image down immediately because that was not the cause of death and he had never been diagnosed with HIV or AIDS. Ja Rule has been denied entry into the United Kingdom. This is based on his criminal past and his time in prison due to gun charges and tax evasion. The bad news is that Ja Rule has a tour scheduled overseas, which is 85% sold out, that now he cannot attend. And of course, 50 Cent had to join in this conversation. All of this and more on The Rickey Smiley Morning Show Podcast.  See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Two + hours of MysteryFirst a look at this day in History.Then The Mysterious Traveler, originally broadcast February 27, 1944, 80 years ago, The Good Die Young. Young Sondra detests her new step-mother and is determined to get rid of her as soon as possible. Followed by Suspense, originally broadcast February 27, 1947, 77 years ago, Three Faces at Midnight starring William Bendix. "Muscles" applies for a job, and finds himself blackmailing the Governor! Then The Shadow starring Orson Welles and Agnes Moorehead, originally broadcast February 28, 1938, 86 years ago, The Plot Murder. A hypnotist has sabotaged an aerial torpedo to destroy America's military experts. An early guided missile!Followed by Quiet Please starring Ernest Chappell, originally broadcast February 27, 1949, 75 years ago, If I Should Wake Before I Die. An excellent story about the future in which a patriotic scientist destroys the Moon, kills off most of the Earth, and has bigger plans for the future! A well-written tale of astronauts and atom bombs.Finally Lum and Abner, originally broadcast February 27, 1942, 82 years ago, Strange Happenings At Night. Mousie reports that honest Diogenes has been getting strange visitors at night. Thanks to Doug for supporting our podcast by using the Buy Me a Coffee function at http://classicradio.stream

Mysterious Traveller The Good Die Young Feb 27 1944 radio script

For our season-ending "Listener's Choice" epipod, we dive into Billy Joel's fifth album, his 1977 offering, "The Stranger." The album made it to No. 2 on the US Billboard 200 thanks to singles such as "Just the Way Your Are," "Only the Good Die Young," and "She's Always a Woman," but it has long since become critically appreciated (especially by fans) due to Joel's ability to capture the Big Apple via tunes "Movin' Out (Anthony's Song)" and "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant," along with "Vienna."   You can listen to The Stranger by Billy Joel on Apple Music, Spotify, Tidal, and those little juke boxes in the booths of those old school pizza restaurants in New York.

As the .44 Caliber Killer continues to terrorize the city we investigate the motive, and the inspiration, behind Berkowitz's madness. We also spend some more time with Dr. Vronsky as he explains "The Golden Age of Serial Killers". Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Dudes are mostly back, one is on vacation, with a thrilling uplifting episode about death. You are not going to want to listen to this one without a box of kleenex. Only three things certain in this life, death, taxes, and the Dudes will always be drinking some tasty brews on the podcast. Originally published on Sep 5, 2020.

Welcome back to Mutual Presents. This week, we're back with The Mysterious Traveler! This tremendously popular radio show was truly an all around favorite for any mystery lover of the time. Tonight's double feature is "The House of Death" and "The Good Die Young"! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Welcome back to Mutual Presents. This week, we're back with The Mysterious Traveler! This tremendously popular radio show was truly an all around favorite for any mystery lover of the time. Tonight's double feature is "The House of Death" and "The Good Die Young"! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The post Why Do the Good Die Young? 2 Samuel 1:17 appeared first on SHBC.

In this episode, the Hot Widows welcome Katie, the hot widow of Mark. / The Hot Widows Club Podcast chronicles Crystal & Allie's grief journey, navigating a life they didn't choose. Widows who are tired as hell from raising kids, wiping asses, making decisions & being both parents; if you know, you know. Speaking freely about why being a widow sucks, they are simply pining for the love of their lives to come through the door one more time. Madly in love with their dead husbands, the duo fills the conversation with humor, life lessons, & a path forward. Yes, they're smoking hot, yes, this is funny, yes, they swear, & yes, they're sadder than you could imagine.

Choice Classic Radio presents The Mysterious Traveler, which aired from 1943 to 1952. Today we bring to you the episode titled "The Good Die Young.”  Please consider supporting our show by becoming a patron at http://choiceclassicradio.com We hope you enjoy the show!

Welcome back to Mutual Presents. This week, we're reintroducing our Tuesday Terror feature from the classic days of the Mutual Broadcasting System, and this time the incredibly eclectic anthology series- The Mysterious Traveler! This series ran on Mutual from December 1943 until about September of 1952. This tremendously popular radio show was truly an all around favorite for any mystery lover of the time. It was the brainchild and magnum opus of golden age writing greats Robert Arthur and David Kogan. The series was nominated for the coveted Edgar award for "Best Radio Drama" in 1949, 1951 and finally garnered a hands down win in 1953. The only show to have more nominations was CBS powerhouse Suspense. The Mysterious Traveler scripts totaled nearly 400 with only about 70 surviving today! Of those seventy we begin our voyage with the Traveler with "The House of Death" and "The Good Die Young"! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Welcome back to Mutual Presents. This week, we're reintroducing our Tuesday Terror feature from the classic days of the Mutual Broadcasting System, and this time the incredibly eclectic anthology series- The Mysterious Traveler! This series ran on Mutual from December 1943 until about September of 1952. This tremendously popular radio show was truly an all around favorite for any mystery lover of the time. It was the brainchild and magnum opus of golden age writing greats Robert Arthur and David Kogan. The series was nominated for the coveted Edgar award for "Best Radio Drama" in 1949, 1951 and finally garnered a hands down win in 1953. The only show to have more nominations was CBS powerhouse Suspense. The Mysterious Traveler scripts totaled nearly 400 with only about 70 surviving today! Of those seventy we begin our voyage with the Traveler with "The House of Death" and "The Good Die Young"! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In this episode, we discuss the song recorded in 1997 by John, Brian and Roger: No One But You (Only the Good Die Young). || Talk to us on Twitter @LapPods || Get more content at lappods.scot || Donate via Paypal at paypal.me/lappods ||Thanks for listening and please subscribe. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

This week we look at The Stranger, Billy Joel's 1978 tour de force. Teaming up with producer Phil Ramone for his fifth LP The Stranger,  Billy Joel finally found the critical and commercial success that had eluded him previously.  Recorded with his own band, the album represents Joel at the pinnacle of his art. Containing such Joel standard's as "Just the Way You Are", "Movin' Out (Anthony's Song)", "Only the Good Die Young", and "She's Always a Woman"; as well as fan favorites "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant" and "Vienna,” The Stranger  would eventually sell over 10 million copies on it's way to become Columbia's bestselling release of all time.

The Mysterious Traveler - The Good Die Young -- Thank you for listening to this episode of the Foggy Jack Old Time Radio Show - Podcast!  Also make sure to follow us on our social media accounts! @Foggyjack13 Thank you to our sponsors and our fans! Please stay tuned for more spooky and awesome Halloween stuff!! -- SHOW FOUND AT ⁠https://archive.org/  --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/foggyjack13/message

Yolanda was always looking for the next thing to make her happy. She thought she found it being the leader of a fan club, but no such luck. Tap in to find out how this toxic love story went wrong!

Children live in a world all their own. Sandra is daddy's little pet, but causes grief for all her housekeepers. When daddy is to be married, Sandra hates the intrusion…

In February 2015, a gruesome discovery behind a vacant building revealed a twisted plan to murder 29-year-old mom-to-be Samantha Dean. This web of deceit would involve multiple (pretty dumb) hitmen and take the FBI all the way to the island of Bali in Indonesia. Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/badactspodPodMoth: https://podmoth.network/Ad: https://saturdaysarefortheghouls.podbean.com/ Episode Source List:https://www.austintexas.gov/sites/default/files/files/Clark_-_07.23.15.pdf https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/2179005-vontrey-clark-search-warrant https://casetext.com/case/in-re-moore-4242041 https://www.texasattorneygeneral.gov/news/releases/ag-paxton-announces-guilty-verdict-freddie-smith-capital-murder-trial https://www.kxan.com/news/local/bastrop-county/timeline-the-murder-of-samantha-dean/ https://people.com/crime/samantha-dean-murder-ex-texas-cop-and-father-of-child-detained-in-indonesia/ https://www.wltx.com/article/news/local/warrant-dean-murder-scene-appeared-staged/269-152624959 https://people.com/crime/former-texas-police-officer-pleads-guilty-to-killing-girlfriend-who-was-7-months-pregnant/ https://www.kxan.com/news/local/bastrop-county/vontrey-clarks-longtime-girlfriend-issues-statement/ https://www.statesman.com/story/news/2022/07/08/man-found-guilty-in-murder-for-hire-death-of-pregnant-samantha-dean/65369567007/ https://www.kgw.com/article/news/local/state-to-pursue-death-penalty-against-former-austin-officer-vontrey-clark/269-488087056 https://www.porterloring.com/obituaries/Samantha-Elizabeth-Dean?obId=18143261 History Nerds UnitedLet's make history fun again! Come listen to interviews with today's best authors.Listen on: Apple Podcasts SpotifySupport the show

Billy Joel says, "I would rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints." This is a line in "Only the Good Die Young" that has always intrigued me. This would mean that living for God is a life fully of mourning, sorrow, and pure misery. The Apostle Paul does not command us to weep, but to discern what is pleasing to the Lord. In fact, as a Christian we would say that living for God is the source of our joy. In this sermon we consider what it means to live for God and discerning what pleases him.

After the September 11 attacks, several songs were banned from being played on the radio by Clear Channel, now iHeart Radio, due to their lyrical content or perceived association with the terrorist attacks.One of the most notable songs that was banned was "Imagine" by John Lennon. The song was banned because it was seen as too pacifist and too critical of the United States government's response to the attacks.Over time, most of these bans were lifted, and the songs were once again played on the radio and TV. No one seemed to know what to do, but in retrospect, many of the excluded songs were done so brashly. Of 164 songs banned songs, we chose to talk about these:AC/DC, "Safe in New York City"Louis Armstrong, "What A Wonderful World"Bush, "Speed Kills"Blue Oyster Cult, "Burnin' For You"Slipknot, "Wait and Bleed"Billy Joel, "Only the Good Die Young"Korn, "Falling Away From Me"U2, "Sunday Bloody Sunday"Savage Garden, "Crash and Burn" all of Rage Against the Machine

This episode is brought to you by Sendlane.   Brian says, “I just hope that [hair and color] could be the catalyst of a conversation that becomes a friendship that becomes more. Maybe it saves someone's life because they didn't feel alone that day.”   Today, we interview Brian O'Connor, Co-founder of Good Dye Young. Good Dye Young was created by Hayley Williams, lead singer of the Grammy Award winning band Paramore, and her longtime hair stylist and makeup artist, Brian O'Connor.   Good Dye Young cultivates a safe and inclusive community that values vibrant self-expression and creativity. They also make bad ass hair products.   We discussed:   * What he's grateful for * How he met his co-founder Hayley Williams and their relationship * How & why they started the brand * Brian's origins including growing up in a broken home, experiencing loneliness, depression, shame, and finding safe harbor with his grandparents * His “bag of ash” idea and how he wants to leave the world with something bigger  * Why he is passionate about Good Die Young being a place for every body, every shape, size, color, and walk of life * Building a family and creative, safe space and how hair/color could be a gateway to a human connection * Giving people a DIY-at-home experience * A review of products, where to buy, and so much more…   Join Ramon Vela and Brian O'Connor as we break down the inside story of Good Dye Young on The Story of a Brand.   For more on Good Dye Young, visit: https://gooddyeyoung.com/   Subscribe and listen to the podcast on all major apps. Simply search for “The Story of a Brand” on your favorite podcast player.   *   This episode is brought to you by Sendlane.   Here's the deal: I have a gift for you from our primary sponsor — Sendlane. They're giving away their online course eCommerce Academy - Email & SMS Marketing!   This course gives you the step-by-step playbook to drive more revenue and retention with email & SMS. This is typically a $500 package, but for our listeners, it's entirely FREE when you get started with your FREE 14-day trial of Sendlane.    When you do, chat with their support team and let them know you're one of our listeners to get full access to hours of course content that will help you make email marketing your #1 growth engine.   Visit https://storybrandgift.com to get the details, sign up for a free trial and get your gift!

Peter finishes the final hour of the show joined by Dan Graca to preview the Knicks-Kings game, college basketball tourney, Kevin Durant injury update and celebrating the life of The Notorious B.I.G. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Steph and Anne engage in a much needed catch-up session on ***Catholicism In The News*****. College students are sharing dorms with nuns. The FBI is targeting Catholics (but in a needed way). Francis extolls the virtues of....flipping the bird (?!??!). The hosts know an embarrassing number of lyrics to Billy Joel's “Only The Good Die Young.”LINKSNeumann University needed housing. A local convent had space. Now, nuns and students share a 'dorm'The FBI has their eye on radical traditionalist CatholicsPope Francis Briefly Gave the Middle Finger His Blessing in Since-Deleted TweetA nun and a monk fell in love, quit their monastic lives and got marriedPope warns Vatican staff an 'elegant demon' lurks among themFormer teacher says wrongful termination due to sexual orientation; Archdiocese of Denver says she broke contractRecommendations:“Bad Catholic” by the MetzingersOnly the Good Die Young by Billy JoelMike Birbiglia's podcast Working It Out with guest Jimmy Fallon Abby Wambach's commencement speech at Loyola Marymount. We're HereCollection Basket:BrondihouseShare your stories, thoughts, and questions with us at lapsedpodcast@gmail.com or at www.lapsedpodcast.com or call us and leave a message at 505-6-LAPSED.Follow us on Twitter (@lapsedpodcast) Instagram (@lapsedpodcast) and Facebook.Subscribe. Rate. Review. Tell your friends!

Dem Vinyl Boyz are dropping the needle this week from the Franklin Social House taking their vinyl on the road for all to hear. 'Billy Joel's Greatest Hits' was released in 1987 which includes the artist's work from 1973 to 1985 and contains some of his most renowned records such as “Piano Man”, “Uptown Girl”', and “The Longest Time”. The album is certified double diamond and has sold over 23 million units tying Pink Floyd's 'The Wall' for the sixth most certified album of all time in the United States.  The album kicks off with "Piano Man," the first disc runs through a good chunk of his early work before arriving at his golden age of the late '70s; some of these songs, including "Captain Jack" and "New York State of Mind," weren't strictly hits, but were popular within his stage show and became radio hits. Over the next disc and a half, there's so many hits, it's inevitable that some are left off such as "Honesty" and "Sometimes a Fantasy" but still includes "Just the Way You Are," "Only the Good Die Young," "My Life," "You May Be Right," "It's Still Rock and Roll to Me," "Don't Ask Me Why," "Allentown," "Tell Her About It" and "Uptown Girl," among many others are present and accounted for. In short, Greatest Hits, Vols. 1 & 2 encapsulates exactly why Billy Joel was one of the most popular singer/songwriters of the late '70s and early '80s and is still described as a legendary artist today. Thanks for tuning in to Dem Vinyl Boyz, like and subscribe!! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It's all about Jay Briscoe. A Professional Wrestling whom passed and I reflect on his life and career. Then I discuss the changes coming to YouTube and it going to effect youtubers. The I discuss the Detroit Independent Movie scene. I talk about Actress Mena Monroe and her performance in the TV series "The Dirty D" and I marvel at the writing of Lisa Brown. --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/smokethisova/message

R.I.P. to PNB ROCK, the 30 year old artist was gunned down while eating in Los Angeles. We would like to express our condolences to his family, friends, and fans. We discuss the violence in LA, possible motives, and theories surrounding the event, and compliment the man Rakim Hasheem Allen was. Speaking of loss we recorded this on September 13th which is a day to live in infamy in hip hop as it marks 26 years since the passing of Tupac Amuru Shakur, and the release of Notorious BIG's Ready To Die. Two artists that will forever be linked together, but should they be? We breakdown the differences between the two and their legacies. Nicki Minaj is claiming a famous artist we all know has gone to the lengths of performing voodoo in an effort to get her out of the way. We'll let you know who the internet says she's talking about and what that artist had to say in response. Then an Illinois law titled the SAFE-T Act sounds like it's anything but safe. A new no bail system is concerning to say the least in an already violent state. We'll give you the facts and what some officers and officials have to say about it. Plus we breakdown week 1 of NFL action. The wins, the losses, injuries, and their impacts on our Fantasy League. All that and more on episode 118 of Unprofessional AF! --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/unprofessionalafpodcast/message

Liberty DeVitto Live on Game Changers With Vicki Abelson I can't stop smiling. How I adore Liberty DeVitto, and would even if he wasn't one of the greatest drummers of all time––Billy Joel's, iconic partner in music for 30 years. I've known Lib for 30-something years and every time I see him it's better than the last. Like fine wine, except neither of us is having any––unlike how it was when we met. We talk about that - his climb to stadium rock, the magnums of red, throwing up on his shoes––before Billy, Mitch Ryder, Vanilla Fudge, meeting Billy, Stevie Nicks, Only the Good Die Young, what Lib brought to it, love and their marriages, and marriages, and marriages, Richie Cannata, Russell Javors, Doug Stegmeyer, The Billy Joel Band, how Billy gave up an enormous opportunity out of love, loyalty and respect for them, and how it fell apart after 30 years of stellar music, fame & friendship. Sobriety, perhaps contributing to Lib's demise. We talked about the silence between them in the years that followed, Lib's resurrection, NYC Hit Squad with Ricky Byrd, The Lords of 52nd Street with the original BJ band, his bestselling memoir, https://amzn.to/2CP8qrg, an upcoming book about Santa https://amzn.to/3dS13li, and, his girls, girls, girls. Wife, daughters, and a new baby granddaughter, that is. The reconciliation with Billy, the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame Foundation Band— playing and getting inducted into the Long Island off-shoot, and being featured in the rock doc, Hired Gun. Life is grand, better than ever. Lib is happy and grateful. And so much damn fun! Couldn't adore him more. Sitting down with Lib is like going home and being with family. The one you dig. Liberty DeVitto Live on Game Changers With Vicki Abelson Wednesday, 8/24/22, 5 pm PT, 8 pm ET Streamed Live on my Facebook Replay here: https://bit.ly/3PTcDK1 All BROADcasts, as podcasts, also available on iTunes apple.co/2dj8ld3 Stitcher bit.ly/2h3R1fla tunein bit.ly/2gGeItj Also on iHeartRadio, SoundCloud, Voox, OwlTail, Backtracks, PlayerFM, Himalaya, Podchaser, and Listen Notes Thanks to Rick Smolke of Quik Impressions, the best printers, printing, the best people people-ing. quikimpressions.com Nicole Venables of Ruby Begonia Hair Studio Beauty and Products, for the best tressed. http://www.rubybegoniahairstudio.com/ And, Blue Microphones

Children, teens, and even young adults possess the power of imagination. They're not weighed down by the rules of the world. They have the ability to see the paranormal and experience things adults cannot connect to. But being young means they're also more susceptible to the evil's of the world and the afterlife, after all, only the good die young.  First, surviving high school  Followed by haunting childhood memories Then, the missing children headcount Finally in our featured story, Tragedy never strikes twice To match with a licensed therapist today, go to Talkspace.com. Make sure to use the code SCARY to get $100 off of your first month and show your support for the show.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Game and Adventure Path by Paizo Publishing- www.paizo.com Background music provided by Tabletop Audio - http://tabletopaudio.com Theme music by Angelo Di Loreto - https://angelodiloreto.com/ Visit us at www.thecrackeddiepodcast.com or email us at show@thecrackeddiepodcast.com Please consider supporting us on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/crackeddiepodcast Grab a shirt to support the cast https://www.redbubble.com/people/CrackedDie/shop Ask us a question for a future episode: https://forms.gle/83xmbYCnwAjeVA5y9

Another absolute classic today as we discuss Only the Good Die Young. Only the Good Die Young is the sixth song off Billy Joel's mega sensation fifth studio album, The Stranger. It was released as a single on May 13, 1978 and peaked at number 24 on the billboard charts. This is the first song Billy Joel ever played on his first of four appearances on Saturday Night Live. He missed his 10 year High School Reunion to be there. Also, if anyone knows Virginia Callaghan, who is the Virginia he is referring to in the song, we'd love to have her on the podcast so. . . .we already missed out on Anthony from Movin' Out darn it! See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Uh oh, another song you've never heard of BUT, it's a good one. Only a Man was recorded in between Cold Spring Harbor and Piano Man. Oh it's Beatlesesqe of course, but what Billy Joel song isn't (or so he says)? We think you'll like this song too, and if you don't -- our next episode is Only the Good Die Young and if you don't like that -- you're listening to the wrong podcast