Podcasts about immodest

COHOSTS! Crishaun the Don and Joel Friday on SOTU, diabetes, TikTok daughter, black testosterone, "racism," and an immodest neighbor! The Hake Report, Friday, March 8, 2024 AD Crishaun the Don (Misfit Nation) Links  https://www.youtube.com/@MisfitNation  |  https://twitter.com/crishaunthedon  |  https://twitter.com/TheMisfitNation  |  https://rumble.com/user/TheMisfitNation  Joel Friday TV live M-Th 11a PT (1CT/2ET) https://www.youtube.com/@joelfridaytv  |  https://www.instagram.com/joelfridaytv/  |  https://allmylinks.com/joelfridaytv  // Hake's GWH tee (from JLP) today https://society6.com/art/great-white-hope-black-ink | https://rebuildingtheman.com/stores (JLP Society6) TIME STAMPS * (0:00:00) Start w/ Joel Friday, Crishaun the Don; (Jake Hudson Sat!)* (0:03:15) Hey, guys!* (0:04:54) Crishaun on SOTU * (0:16:46) Girl vs breakdancer dad * (0:23:05) Blacks, aggression, testosterone * (0:34:18) RONNIE, OH: USA a racist country* (0:43:35) RONNIE vs Joel: Discrimination, "Racism," Anger, Love * (0:54:36) JEFF, LA: SOTU, diabetes * (0:59:22) JOHN, FL: black violence, European wars, "African American" * (1:04:43) JOHN vs Joel: blacks and all people sinning * (1:12:40) Joel Friday TV story: Immodest neighbor gal * (1:28:20) Super: Minimum wage? * (1:30:40) Super: FE, NASA money * (1:31:58) Super: Higher T by lifting weights * (1:32:24) Super: Mixed race identity issues? * (1:36:31) Super: Hake bkgd * (1:37:08) ALEX, TN: Base nature, nepotism, race before nationality * (1:44:10) RICK, VA: black vote for laws they don't like * (1:49:14) MAZE, OH: Joel dance interest; races * (1:54:29) Pär Hagström - Ode to What Could Have Been (2021) BLOG https://www.thehakereport.com/blog/2024/3/8/crishaun-the-don-misfit-nation-and-joel-friday-tv-fri-3-8-24 PODCAST / Substack  Hake News from JLP  https://www.thehakereport.com/jlp-news/2024/3/8/biden-and-rinos-pushed-mess-at-sotu-hake-news-fri-3-8-24 Hake is live M-F 9-11a PT (11-1CT/12-2ET) Call-in 1-888-775-3773 https://www.thehakereport.com/show VIDEO  YouTube  |  Rumble*  |  Facebook  |  X  |  BitChute  |  Odysee*  PODCAST  Substack  |  Apple  |  Spotify  |  Castbox  |  Podcast Addict  *SUPER CHAT on platforms* above or  BuyMeACoffee, etc.  SHOP  Teespring  ||  All My Links  JLP Network:  JLP  |  Church  |  TFS  |  Nick  |  Joel  Get full access to HAKE at thehakereport.substack.com/subscribe

There's a powerfully connected right-wing organization operating at every elite law school in the nation. It built itself by leveraging the conservative victim complex, the Reagan revolution, networks of judges and activists, and cold hard psycho millionaire cash. This is the story of the Federalist Society.If you can't get enough of these monsters, you may want to read The Rise of the Conservative Legal Movement: The Battle for Control of the Law (Princeton, 2008) by Steven Teles, or listen to ProPublica and WNYC's "We Don't Talk About Leonard" series on On the Media.If you're not a 5-4 Premium member, you're not hearing every episode! To get exclusive Premium-only episodes, access to our Slack community, and more, join at fivefourpod.com/support5-4 is presented by Prologue Projects. Rachel Ward is our producer. Leon Neyfakh and Andrew Parsons provide editorial support. Our researcher is Jonathan DeBruin and this episode was fact checked by Arielle Swedback. Our website was designed by Peter Murphy. Our artwork is by Teddy Blanks at Chips NY, and our theme song is by Spatial Relations.Follow the show at @fivefourpod on most platforms. On Twitter, find Peter @The_Law_Boy and Rhiannon @AywaRhiannon. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Rabbeinu Yonah continues to list violations of prohibitions that warrant a punishment of Mitah B'Ydei Shamayim.

I rant about the popular trend of women dressing immodestly and Molech worship. My brief guitar playing brakes up the talking segments.

Writings by Steve Hulshizer are being presented by Irv Risch on the Down to Earth But Heavenly Minded Podcast. Steve Hulshizer devoted his life to his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Giving up a career at Merck in the early 1980s, he chose to trust the Lord to meet his family's needs and be a minister of the Gospel through preaching, teaching, writing books and tracts, publishing Milk & Honey, serving at Greenwood Hills (youth congress, challenge week boys camp, couples retreat, conferences, board member), and creating and managing Spread the Word, a non-profit organization (publishing, York Bible Study Program, giving to workers). His ministry has reached countless individuals all over the world. Through his administrative, teaching, and shepherding efforts, many saints have been built up and have a lasting appreciation for his example of living the truth that Christ is alive and eternity is real. As we remember Steve, our minds jump to one of his short definitions (to disobey is to hear beside), concise summary of Scripture (Psalm 1:1-2 separation and saturation), or pointed exhortation (faith believes God and acts accordingly). Praise the Lord for his tender heart and backbone in standing steadfastly for the Gospel and Word of God in the face of pressure to cave into society such as the symbolic practice of headship. He and his wife Nancy have been a fervent, loving team of sacrificial laborers for the Lord Jesus, an excellent example to imitate! Steve's godly influence in the lives of young people in particular is still felt today as many of them are carrying on in various ministries for the Lord. Throughout his years of service, Steve was a spiritual mentor and cared deeply for individuals, challenging them to serve the Lord first always. Steve went home to be with the Lord in 2019. https://voicesforchrist.org/speakers/show/195

Today's Topics: 1) Freemasonry and women's immodest fashion https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySLMUtkGh5Q&lc=Ugz1eyYvARvhI-3SGCd4AaABAg 2, 3) Saint José Luis Sánchez del Río: Hero for Christ the King https://www.tfp.org/saint-jose-luis-sanchez-del-rio-hero-christ-king/ 4) Catholic 101: Many Catholic dioceses have come to rely on lay Extraordinary Ministers of Communion to distribute Holy Communion to the sick in hospitals or at home. How did this practice come about and is it licit? https://www.simplycatholic.com/communion-for-homebound/

Today's Topics: 1) Freemasonry and women's immodest fashion https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySLMUtkGh5Q&lc=Ugz1eyYvARvhI-3SGCd4AaABAg 2, 3) Saint José Luis Sánchez del Río: Hero for Christ the King https://www.tfp.org/saint-jose-luis-sanchez-del-rio-hero-christ-king/ 4) Catholic 101: Many Catholic dioceses have come to rely on lay Extraordinary Ministers of Communion to distribute Holy Communion to the sick in hospitals or at home. How did this practice come about and is it licit? https://www.simplycatholic.com/communion-for-homebound/

Today we're looking at the Immodest side of Halloween and why Christians must avoid it... Thanks for hanging out with me today! If you have been blessed by this content and would like to help support the things we do here, you may do so by visiting: https://www.sheepamongwolves.org/support For everything SAW related, check out our official website: www.sheepamongwolves.org For exclusive content join The Flock, our official community: https://www.sheepamongwolves.org/forum Questions, comments, concerns, snarks, or conundrums? E-mail me: chuck@sheepamongwolves.org THEME MUSIC - Above The Clouds by | e s c p | https://escp-music.bandcamp.com Music promoted by https://www.free-stock-music.com Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en_US You are now free to roam about the countryside! #christianity #apologetics #discipleship

Today we're looking at the Immodest side of Halloween and why Christians must avoid it... Thanks for hanging out with me today! If you have been blessed by this content and would like to help support the things we do here, you may do so by visiting: https://www.sheepamongwolves.org/support For everything SAW related, check out our official website: www.sheepamongwolves.org For exclusive content join The Flock, our official community: https://www.sheepamongwolves.org/forum Questions, comments, concerns, snarks, or conundrums? E-mail me: chuck@sheepamongwolves.org For more resources including free books: https://www.sheepamongwolves.org/resources If you're more into listening instead of viewing, check out the Podcast Directory: https://www.sheepamongwolves.org/podcast-directory If you're more into viewing instead of just listening, check out our YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/c/SheepAmongWolves THEME MUSIC - Above The Clouds by | e s c p | https://escp-music.bandcamp.com Music promoted by https://www.free-stock-music.com Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en_US You are now free to roam about the countryside! #christianity #apologetics #discipleship

Immodest dress in Sunday morning church service. Rowdy children during fellowship time. Sin issues. Conflict. Confrontation. How does a church navigate these matters? Are they leadership issues or matters that need to be worked out one-on-one between members? It takes faith and love NOT to confront. It takes faith and love to confront. It takes faith and love to forgive, and to seek forgiveness. It's the warp and woof of the church. How does a church navigate sensitive issues without relationships coming apart? What's a healthy church look like?

Immodest dress in Sunday morning church service. Rowdy children during fellowship time. Sin issues. Conflict. Confrontation. How does a church navigate these matters- Are they leadership issues or matters that need to be worked out one-on-one between-members. It takes faith and love NOT to confront. It takes faith and love to confront. It takes faith and love to forgive, and to seek forgiveness.--It's the warp and woof of the church.--How does a church navigate sensitive issues without relationships coming apart- What's a healthy church look like---This program includes---1. The World View in 5 Minutes with Adam McManus -Boy finds 4,400-year-old fossilized shark tooth, Texas public schools proclaim- In God We Trust, Fauci out---2. Generations with Kevin Swanson

Liza and Danielle begin the conversation around modesty when it comes to social media and being a public figure - is it modest to share your life with a large audience? If so, where do we draw the line with what to share and what not to share?

A new MP3 sermon from Long Run Baptist Church is now available on SermonAudio with the following details: Title: Why She Isn't Married (Immodest Dress and Life) Subtitle: Marriage Speaker: Joey Faust Broadcaster: Long Run Baptist Church Event: Midweek Service Date: 4/20/2022 Bible: 1 Timothy 2:9; 1 Timothy 5:14 Length: 57 min.

A new MP3 sermon from Long Run Baptist Church is now available on SermonAudio with the following details: Title: Why She Isn't Married (Immodest Dress and Life) Subtitle: Marriage Speaker: Joey Faust Broadcaster: Long Run Baptist Church Event: Midweek Service Date: 4/20/2022 Bible: 1 Timothy 2:9; 1 Timothy 5:14 Length: 57 min.

How can you not believe what I believe... Oh I can, and even if I don't, I can love you regardless...

Christian Confronts Women For Immodest Swimsuits At Beach- Our Thoughts Imagine you're at a beach and see a young man go up to a group of college age girls and confront them on their immodest swimwear. The scene gets heated as the girls push back, and one of them films it and puts it up on TikTok where it goes viral. Now the world is weighing in, and so are we.   Thanks for being part of the P&M Fam!! SUBSCRIBE!

Ilana goes on a rant about the dangers of modesty culture and how it affected her life growing up. She shares how she felt more true to herself when she wasn't dressing "modestly" anymore, and feeling better in her own skin.  --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/ilana-pinsky/support

The third chapter of Ruth draws our attention to various responses to God's providence. Speaker: Jude St. John

Picture it: It's a sweltering summer day, ninety degrees in the shade, heat mirages glimmering on the horizon. Can your characters strip down to their skivvies? Roll up their sleeves? Hike up their skirts? Or might they be shamed for so much as unbuttoning their collar? What cultural factors of religion, economy, gender, and sexuality play into that decision? In this episode, we discuss conventions of modesty, nudity, bragging, virtue-signalling, and other details of culture that you can use when building a multi-faceted and nuanced fantasy world! We also take a few moments to (immodestly) discuss our new status as Hugo Finalists for Best Fancast and to introduce ourselves to new listeners! Transcript for Episode 49, with thanks as ever to our wonderful scribes!

Are Modestly Dressed People Becoming More Immodest In Their Behaviour - Ml S Ravat And Ml A Akoo by Radio Islam

Immodest Dress: The Mind of the Church by Louise Martin

Gabriel gives a proposal on how we can refocus the abortion debate in a more constructive direction. And Nick and Gabriel discuss the sickness plaguing America.

Gabriel gives a proposal on how we can refocus the abortion debate in a more constructive direction. And Nick and Gabriel discuss the sickness plaguing America.

Hosted by junior Hamsa Madhira, this podcast talks about various socio-political issues, ideas, and experiences that are personal to her identity as a South Asian and Immigrant. This week, Hamsa will talk about the foundation of feminism and one of the many issues that women face when they speak up against injustices. 

“Instructio Ad Ordinarios Dioecesanos: De Inhonesto Feminarum Vestiendi More” from the Acta Apostolicae Sedis

(Source: Rev. Stanislaus Woywod, Canonical Decisions of the Holy See [New York: J.F. Wagner, 1933], pp. 222-223; Latin original in Acta Apostolicae Sedis XXII [1930], pp. 26-28.)

Extracts from 'Purgatory' by Rev. F.X. Schouppe, S.J. “Matter of Expiation of Scandal from Immodest Paintings”

“Marylike Modesty Handbook of the Purity Crusade of Mary Immaculate” by Rev. Fr. Bernard Kunkel

What do wussy men, ankle socks and church liturgy have in common? This podcast episode. You should listen...and not be a wuss.Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/the-reformatory3070/exclusive-content

In this episode, I talk with one of my very good friends about her journey navigating the modesty lessons taught in her religion, body shaming throughout society, and the Puritan culture affecting her mindset on sex, her body, and modesty. //Resources:Websites:beautyredefined.orgtiffanyroe.comCourses:Body Image Course Intro to Intuitive Eating CoursePerfectionism + Self Love CoursePodcast Episodes:Modesty by Q MoreBody Image by Tiffany RoePostpartum Body Image by Tiffany RoeInstagram:@beauty_redefined@angelina_hill07@heytiffanyroe//Follow along with the rest of my journey.Instagram: @whytliWebsite: whytli.comContact me here.

1 Timothy 2:8-10 • Matt Glezos

Oh, the HORRORS of camping. Awkward sex, bloody clumps of fur, engagement rings... Eew. WILLOW CREEK, KIDS! Bigfoot, ahoy.

Oh, the HORRORS of camping. Awkward sex, bloody clumps of fur, engagement rings... Eew. WILLOW CREEK, KIDS! Bigfoot, ahoy.

Mandeville's analysis of acting for reputation -- does it, can it, make sense, and if so how?  Here's the fascinating passage we began looking at:   The Soldiers, that were forc'd to fight, If they surviv'd, got Honour by't; [p. 22, l. 1]   [From Mandeville's notes:] The Man of Manners picks not the best but rather takes the worst out of the Dish, and gets of every thing, unless it be forc'd upon him, always the most indifferent Share. By this Civility the Best remains for others, which being a Compliment to all that are present, every Body is pleas'd with it: The more they love themselves, the more they are forc'd to approve of his Behaviour, and Gratitude stepping in, they are oblig'd almost whether they will or not, to think favourably of him. After this manner it is that the well-bred Man insinuates himself in the esteem of all the Companies he comes in, and if he gets nothing else by it, the Pleasure he receives in reflecting on the Applause which he knows is secretly given him, is to a Proud Man more than an Equivalent for his former Self-denial, and over-pays to Self-love with Interest, the loss it sustain'd in his Complaisance to others. If there are Seven or Eight Apples or Peaches among Six People of Ceremony, that are pretty near equal, he who is prevail'd upon to choose first, will take that, which, if there be any considerable difference, a Child would know to be the worst: this he does to insinuate, that he [72]looks upon those he is with to be of Superior Merit, and that there is not one whom he wishes not better to than he does to himself. 'Tis Custom and a general Practice that makes this Modish Deceit familiar to us, without being shock'd at the [79] Absurdity of it; for if People had been used to speak from the Sincerity of their Hearts, and act according to the natural Sentiments they felt within, 'till they were Three or Four and Twenty, it would be impossible for them to assist at this Comedy of Manners, without either loud Laughter or Indignation; and yet it is certain, that sucha Behaviour makes us more tolerable to one another than we could be otherwise. It is very Advantageous to the Knowledge of our selves, to be able well to distinguish between good Qualities and Virtues. The Bond of Society exacts from every Member a certain Regard for others, which the Highest is not exempt from in the presence of the Meanest even in an Empire: but when we are by our selves, and so far remov'd from Company as to be beyond the Reach of their Senses, the Words Modesty and Impudence lose their meaning; a Person may be Wicked, but he cannot be Immodest while he is alone, and no Thought can be Impudent that never was communicated to another. A Man of Exalted Pride may so hide it, that no Body shall be able to discover that he has any; and yet receive greater Satisfaction [73]from that Passion than another, who indulges himself in the Declaration of it before all the World. Good Manners have nothing to do with Virtue or Religion; instead of extinguishing, they rather inflame the Passions. The Man of Sense and Education never exults more in his Pride than when he hides it with the greatest Dexterity;1 and in feasting on the Applause, which he is sure all good Judges will pay to his Behaviour, he enjoys a Pleasure altogether unknown to the Short-sighted, surly Alderman, that shews his Haughtiness glaringly in his Face, pulls off his Hat to no Body, and hardly deigns to speak to an Inferior.    

This episode we review the cult classic Sleepaway Camp. This campy slasher combines the most horrifying elements of the eighties: over-the-top teen bullies, and casual pedophilia. Listen to Horror Movie Talk's take on this fun thriller. 0:50 - Intro4:45 - Trailer6:31 - Synopsis/Review9:17 - Score9:28 - Discussion13:16 - Spoilers and More Discussion54:50 - Taglines59:01 - Kill Count1:09:51 - Outro Sleepaway Camp is a 1983 teenage slasher that has become a bit of a cult classic. The film follows Angela Baker (played by Felissa Rose), a painfully shy girl recovering from the psychological trauma of a tragic boating accident as she attends a Summer Camp filled with 80’s teen movie villains. She is accompanied to camp with her cousin Ricky (played by Jonathan Tiersten) who at times is very protective towards her. Pretty soon after camp starts, there are a series of murders. The camp owner Mel (played by Mike Kellin) does his best to keep the murders under wraps and becomes increasingly suspicious of Ricky as the victims seem to be people that have bullied Angela. Sleepaway Camp Trailer https://youtu.be/T9K2ARikYzE This movie is a lot of fun and maintains a great balance of passable quality, campiness, and tastelessness that is essential for being granted cult status. The film gets most of its cred from its surprising conclusion, but it isn’t defined by it. This is a great time capsule of eighties teen movies that have that “Should I be watching this” vibe. Too mature for young viewers, and too much teenage sexuality for adults to feel comfortable watching. It’s that elusive 80’s vibe that Stranger Things, IT, and other shows that attempt to exploit. Check Out Our Review of Child's Play (1988) https://www.horrormovietalk.com/2019/06/24/childs-play-1988-review/ The special effects sequences range from 50’s workplace safety videos to straight up graphic, gooey 80’s horror. The real charm of the movie comes from it’s non sequitur writing and acting. I found myself saying “What?!” or laughing out loud at unintentionally ridiculous moments. My Rating 7/10 Sleepaway CampWatch it now or add it to your collection.Rent/Buy on Amazon What works well about this movie This is a very campy movie, and as such, is tonally all over the place in a good way. Angela's mother seems picked straight out of a 1930's talkie. The teen villains are the kind only found in 80's teen movies. Finally, Artie, the openly casual pedophile could only exist on film in the 80's. I particularly enjoyed the score of the film. It was repetative, but featured a full orchestral sound, with real orchestra stings to emphasize the horror. I wish more modern horror movies wouldn't rely so much on ambient spooky soundscapes, and go back to full orchestras. Check Out Our Review of The Dead Don't Die https://www.horrormovietalk.com/2019/06/19/the-dead-dont-die-review/ What really steals the show is the abundance of cock outlines. If you can remember that one scene in Juno where she is ogling the cross country team in their runner shorts, imagine that stretching for about 80 minutes. It's distracting, and dare I say... Immodest. Sleepaway Camp features dick outlines pretty heavily. Most of all, what makes this movie great is it's charm. What doesn't work This mustache: Fakest mustache in horror Spoilers for Sleepaway Camp This is the rare occurrence where naming the killer is the least relevant spoiler in the movie. If you don't know the "twist" at the end, I won't spoil it here. But just look at Angela's face. You know she's hiding something. That being said, Angela was definitely the killer even though they heavily alluded to her brother being guilty. The filmmakers went as far as to have the actor playing her brother appear as a silhouette wearing a wig during one killing. Final Recommendation I highly recommend Sleepaway Camp.

In this Chops, the team chats with historian Dr Fern Riddell, author of The Victorian Guide To Sex and Death In Ten Minutes: Kitty Marion: Activist, Arsonist, Suffragette. Dr Fern explains the joys and importance of being an #immodest woman, what the Victorians can teach us about sex (spoiler: it's a fuckload), and talks about the life of Kitty Marion, music hall actress, fierce woman, suffragette and Fern's original #MeToo moment. We also discover that Captain Offord does NOT find scary raves a turn on and that Hannah's some sort of airforce royalty. See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Support the show on Patreon OR Buy me a coffee In this episode of the Black history Buff podcast, we look at the life of Alexandra Pushkin. I also look briefly into the Russian "Caucasian War" at the end of the show. Born in 18th century Russia, Alexandar Pushkin was Russian nobility and would eventually become immortalised as the “Father of Russian literature.” Pushkin was born in Moscow, on the 26th May 1799. His great-grandfather was Abram Petrovich Gannibal. Gannibal (sometimes written Hannibal), was very young when he was kidnapped from Africa and sent to Constantinople as a captive. From there, he was brought to the Court of Peter the Great in St. Petersburg. The Csar became very fond of the young boy. He made him his godson, giving him his name, Petrovitch, meaning son of Peter, and sent him to study in France. Gannibal’s rank and accomplishments eventually permitting him noble status. This status permitted Pushkin, aged 12 to enter the freshly created Imperial Lycee ( A school for the elite) at St. Petersburg. Described at the time by his teachers as “Lazy… Inattentive in class…Immodest” and as making "mediocre progress,” Pushkin stunned those very same teachers three years later when aged only 15 he published his first Poem to national acclaim. The fantastic thing about this poem was that it was written in Russian and not French which was the language of the Elite at that time. You can find the Black History Buff Podcast at: Spotify https://open.spotify.com/show/6CDExrHONAzUy8ksCgXsYy Anchor https://anchor.fm/blackhistorybuff Google Podcasts https://www.google.com/podcasts?feed=aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy8yNzMxMDIwL3BvZGNhc3QvcnNz Breaker https://www.breaker.audio/black-history-buff Pocket Casts https://pca.st/H9y8 RadioPublic https://play.radiopublic.com/black-history-buff-WezjVV Stitcher https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/anchor-podcasts/black-history-buff Credits: Music by - @blackmusichistory & @jsymoezart Cover art by @black_history_buff_777 Special credit and thank you to: @mum_life_with_toni @artishldn @chris_antonie7 @eye_black_man_podcast Thank you for all your support Find more at Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Blackhistorybuff/posts Find us on Instagram: @blackhistorybuff777 and finally Support Black history buff at Paypal: paypal.me/blackhistorybuff777 Thank you for your time and attention it means the world to me Ase #alexandarpushkin #onegin #quote #literature #painting #nature #art #juxtaposition #blackhistory #blackhistorybuff #history #russia #poetry #love #slavery #serf Become a friend of the show Show Notes: --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/blackhistorybuff/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/blackhistorybuff/support

#What made the internet angry this week? The midterm elections have come and gone, and the #BlueWave was more of a light splash. Donald Trump, noted troop-respecter, fails to commemorate World War I. People should only be allowed to vote between the ages of 30 and 50. Electoral reform is a hot-button topic in BC, but nobody really understands what it means! Young white males in Wisconsin are unsurprisingly racist! The 'OK' sign has been co-opted by racists. People are HEATED about one dude's innocuous proposal! Dale tells us about his dream wedding! Trumpy Bear is the most genius thing we've ever seen, until we release the Freedom Holster™! Stan Lee, creator of a bunch of shit near and dear to our nerdy-ass hearts, has died while still looking younger than Bernie Sanders. Talking points: The Midterm Elections, explained Voter turnout hits a historic high, kind of The world's dumbest president BC's electoral reform What the fuck, Wisconsin The internet is pissed about this NYC Marathon Proposal Coming soon to a QAnon supporter near you's bedroom RIP, Stan Lee

The church is DYING! Well, that's what some folks claim. Today on the show the guys welcome a guest who has an...interesting...proposal for change in moving church forward. It looks like facing up to fears and living out words from Jesus. It looks like sacrifice and death, but trusting that it leads to beautiful resurrection. Featuring- Tim Brown Rate! Review! Share! Subscribe! Buzzwords: Taco Tuesday!, Weather wrap-up, Buzzmarketing Bojangles, Lorne's foodie intentions, Dying well, Scarcity mentality. Naming fears, One church-one mission-multisite, Called and challenged, Consumer model, Faithful or successful? Check out tohellwiththehotdish.com for show notes, to subscribe to the e-mail and more!

In 1 Timothy 2, the Apostle Paul lays out guidelines for how men & women should behave in church. In this message, we look at how to study these text & what they might mean for men & women today.

Chicago's most valuable natural asset is its lakefront, forever free, public, and protected by law. This lakefront is so valuable, argues the architects at Port Urbanism, that we need more of it to pay off the city's massive debts. Or (if you ask the designers at UrbanLab) newly built islands in the lake must be drafted into relieving pressure from an overstressed storm drain system by filtering and cleaning the city's water. Featured at the 2015 Chicago Architecture Biennial, Port Urbanism and UrbanLab's lakefront proposals offer infrastructural fixes to some of Chicago's most dire emergencies. They also colonize a near-sacred urban vista with varying degrees of public and private space; not the type of thing you can do without getting through some pretty contentious community town hall meetings. Hosted by Zach Mortice and Newcity Design Editor Ben Schulman, with guests Andrew Moddrell of Port Urbanism and Martin Felsen of UrbanLab. Special thanks to recording studio engineer Tim Joyce.     

It's a lazy snow day kind of show this week. Ginny and Charlie share their adventures from the week and then make an immodest amount of Blood Mary for a taste test on the best spirits to use. They close with a song from the Scottish band Texas which features Alan Rickman.

Stalemateby Rose Lemberg He wakes to warmth. The floor beneath his head. He stares at the spider-patterns etched into the ceiling, tiny and dense, gray against darker gray. No power runs through them. Inert now. Unneeded.He wants to make the patterns work again.—how could anyone survive a descent through Calamity storms?  Above him, someone’s shiny dark shirt smells of static, a faraway storm passing. How are they still alive?Alive, forever, trapped inside this loneliness.A full transcript appears under the cut:----more----Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode seven for May 21st, 2015. I'm your host, Keffy, and I'm super excited to be sharing this story with you.Our story this week is "Stalemate" by Rose Lemberg.Rose Lemberg is a queer bigender immigrant from Eastern Europe. Her work has appeared in Strange Horizons, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Interfictions, Uncanny, Sisters of the Revolution: A Feminist Speculative Fiction anthology, and other venues. Rose co-edits Stone Telling, a magazine of boundary-crossing poetry, with Shweta Narayan. She has edited Here, We Cross, an anthology of queer and genderfluid speculative poetry from Stone Telling (Stone Bird Press), and The Moment of Change, an anthology of feminist speculative poetry (Aqueduct Press). She is currently editing a new fiction anthology, An Alphabet of Embers. You can find Rose at http://roselemberg.net and @roselemberg, and support her on Patreon at patreon.com/roselemberg.Stalemateby Rose Lemberg He wakes to warmth. The floor beneath his head. He stares at the spider-patterns etched into the ceiling, tiny and dense, gray against darker gray. No power runs through them. Inert now. Unneeded.He wants to make the patterns work again.—how could anyone survive a descent through Calamity storms?  Above him, someone’s shiny dark shirt smells of static, a faraway storm passing. How are they still alive?Alive, forever, trapped inside this loneliness.—where is their ship then? The Machine detected nothing—Two people. A dark face leans over.Who are you? Can you understand me?Oh, yes. The language is familiar—like the warmth of meals shared between friends unknown, like the glinting of the tall glass domes, their shadows trembling in the heat of double suns. The memories dance and reflect off the polished blank steel of his mind, then scurry away.“I remember,” he says, curling his tongue to make the clicking sounds this language requires.Your name, they ask. He knows one: Kabede, but it is not his. He rolls his tongue around it, shakes his head—a no.They take him away on a gurney. His eyes latch again onto the inert designs on the ceiling, and hold, and hold. A room. The person from before is here. The serial number stitched upon their sleeve reads 050089. This person—Eighty-nine—fiddles with the displaywall.Who are you? they keep asking. What is your number? What is your Q? Are you a miner? Did you fall from some other Habitat?Some other habitat? The displaywall shows only one, this one, Neriu Habitat, the single rotating sphere encapsulated in light—but he knows of a hundred siblings, spheres of metal free-floating in Calamity season. Upon the displaywall the storms come together and break, toss the Habitat upon the face of the ocean. Under the wave the storms are snakes of green that spit and lash their tails; above the wave the storms are dense gray columns that funnel up and consume the sky.Nothing can land on Gebe-2.Who are you? What is your number? What is your Q? Do you know this interface?Does he know this interface? His fingers trace a glyph in the air. The storms on the screen disappear, are replaced by an engineer’s dissection of the sphere along the vertical, showing the habitat’s levels—residential, control, mining, the engines with their clever navigating and locking mechanisms. He makes another glyph, flips the display to perimeter—the habitat’s receiving cavities and the inverted protrusions that are there to join seamlessly with—he counts—five other habitats, which, in turn, will join with others during the brief period of Convergence.Someone enters the room, and Eighty-nine turns away from the display. There’s a sewn badge upon Eighty-nine’s tunic—a grebe, a diving bird. Security commune? He’s not familiar with the sigil.They used the interface. They must be ours.No. The new person is squat and powerful, with wiry hair and piercing eyes. Their skin is dark like Eighty-nine’s. No, they cannot be ours. Their memory has been erased. They had to pass through the atmosphere for that. And that offworld suit—His eyes seek the newcomer’s badge out. Cormorant, for Control commune.  No, they will not let him hook up to the Machine until they know more. He could be dangerous to the Machine.If they are ours, the Machine will recognize…Shut up, Eighty-nine. How will the Machine recognize an off-worlder?But so much of it is familiar. He must have been here before. Will the Machine return his name? But he doesn’t want to know it.He doesn’t know why, but he had wanted this. His name is an empty cavity after a rotten tooth has been drawn. Will the Machine put the pain back?He feels its humming all around him. The Machine maintains the grass-cloth patterns of the display-free walls. It spreads warmth through the brick-patterned floor. It is in the displaywall, and in the silent ceiling grid. It waits for him now, an embrace of empty light.The two argue about his Q now. The Machine must assign it. How will he work if they don’t know what commune he belongs to?“Engineering,” he mutters. “Just put me in Engineering.”They take him back to the room, nothing more than a detention cell, where he spent the last night. Eighty-nine settles him into the hammock. The person’s hand briefly squeezes his. On Gebe-2, being alone is a punishment beyond measure.“I won’t be lonely here,” he says to the closing door, not sure what moved him to say it. On a ship full of people he is a stranger, but the place makes him feel like three hundred years of companionable silences. Not a ship. A habitat. He tries to adjust to the hammock, his body too broad and too pale in the artificial half-light. The coarse brown strands in the hammock’s weave smell like basket reeds, but they too must be artificial.—Dream with me.He dreams of Gebe, a city paved with reinforced cinnabar and etched with mazes, a city of soaring spun glass and masonry coffeeshops—but now its beauty’s been smothered under the red skies marred with streaks of black fume. Dead engines hurtle from the sky like bugs sprayed with insecticide, and he barely dodges to avoid the smoldering, screeching debris. He runs, choking on the smell of burning meat and charra oil, resin and feces. He screams at the sharp cries of wild birds released from their protected wildspaces, the crashing glass spires that only a short while ago danced gracefully into a fearless sky.Kabede. He must find Kabede.The university. How they’d cursed the architect who slapped a utilitarian concrete rectangle in the middle of blown-glass dreams, but the engineering school is the only one left standing. It is whole on the inside as well, and softened by age-old Gebian crafts; thousands of people, students and faculty, crowd here on embroidered lotus carpets, argue loudly under chandeliers of blown glass shaped like ibises. They grab his hands, smile up his face and ask for news, but he doesn’t have time. He smiles back, pushes past them to the stairs. Downward. Each level is plainer than the one above —no hand-loomed carpets or chandeliers here, and even the ebony stairs give way to metallic railings painted in pale green. Kabede must be here. It’ll be all right.His friend is at the bottom level, pacing in front of a huge black surface covered densely with blueprints and reading-screen files. Their eyes lock—Kabede’s pupils dilate, and their gaunt dark face splits into a grin. They embrace fiercely, then push away from each other. Kabede speaks, their words disjointed in a way of dreams and scientists. I must take them away from this war, from all wars, I must hide them away in a world without riches, a world undesirable to conquerors, a world stripped of all decoration with only what’s necessary to survive, like the Engineering building survived…Help me, my friend. Help me.He frowns back at Kabede. “You’d strip them of beautiful things just because other people would strip them of beautiful things?” It is, after all, what they are. The people of Gebe are artists, scientists, poets, craftsmen, yes, artisans, makers—it is because of this beauty that they are now hunted.Kabede’s arms fly, accompanying the frantic flight of their speech. A commune where everyone is together and everyone is needed, without trinkets or petty obsessions, without possessions, nothing to distract from the threefold purpose of efficiency, survival, refuge—“You will unmake them.”But Kabede won’t listen. We’ll measure people’s aptitude, and each will be assigned to a commune according to their Q—“You cannot take anybody off-world, Kabede. It’s a fantasy.”Build me a ship, Kabede pleads. You’ve been working on something— but it isn’t anyone’s business what he’s been doing out on the asteroid belt for the last thirty years.“No. No. I’m sorry.”He offers Kabede a game of chess; they’ve always played before parting. But no, there is no time today, and Kabede’s hands curl into fists.This war must end. He hangs in the hammock, neck bent like a trussed bird’s, while shadows regard him across the threshold. The Control person, and a visitor, a frail and ancient darkness against the door’s bright light. More ancient than he is? Impossible.The Keeper of Neriu Habitat gestures the light on and enters, but darkness steps in with them—a face mashed and old like a dried plum, eyes bright but crackled with a minute spiderweb of red around pupils the color of congealed blood. They speak, they praise the Control person’s caution. He is an unknown entity, possibly dangerous, but they are stretched thin and cannot waste workers, not with the Convergence only a month away. If there is danger, I trust the Machine can take it. Plug them in. More people come to take him to a room as faceless as the others, painted a different shade of rough tan, with the same spider-maze ceiling and warm floors. He doesn’t even try to memorize the faces, sounds, smells of the people that surround him. They aren’t his friends. And like with people everywhere, he cannot afford to become attached. Like the savannah blooms they will wither and die, and even when these people’s speech reminds him of someone he misses with every breath, it’s not the same. He cannot become attached.They clip the headset to his head. His eyes roll back. He is in a brown cube without smells or sounds, a space defined by grid-like shining walls. The middle of the room flares up with a projection of three transparent pails. The first is filled with some substance, darker than water.A disembodied voice speaks. Two miners are friends, but one got sick. The healthy friend had mined eight liters of gillium. The healthy one has two empty vessels. One vessel holds five liters, and the other three. How can the miner equally divide the fuel, so that both friends meet their quota?That voice—it hovers on the edge of recognition. It speaks of friendship. Does this Machine have a friend, one it would share everything with, equally, if it could, if it knew where to look?Solve the puzzle.He has no voice here, no hands, no body, no eyes. He cannot touch the jars, but when he wills them to move, they do. He solves the problem in seven turns. It cannot be done in less.The room flickers, and the amount of pails increases by one. The large vessel holds twenty four liters of gillium. The empty ones can hold five, eleven, and thirteen liters…Good-naturedly he finds a solution, and the pail puzzle is replaced by an equation exercise, and after it, another. He remembers how to solve such problems by solving them, but there’s disappointment growing inside him. He opens his mouth to speak.“Do you know Kabede?”The room flickers, displaying now basic trigonometry problems. He solves one, two.“Where is Kabede?”The room blurs, reforms around holographic engineering designs—an airflow node first, then some complex console wiring, then a mining chute, all with nontrivial, tricky repairs. Lovely work. At last, his mind pulls reluctantly back.“I want to speak to Kabede.”The room is extinguished. He is expelled back into his long sweaty body sprawled on the floor.  They drag him up, slap a bird-badge upon his left shoulder. An ibis. He’s been assigned to Engineering commune.At night in the Engineering dormitory he tosses and turns in his hammock, stumbling into dreams. He dreams of Gebe, a city once paved with reinforced cinnabar and etched with mazes, a city of soaring spun glass and masonry coffeeshops—but now its beauty’s been erased, drowned in shrapnel, reformed and erased again under the perpetual red skies choked with toxic fumes. There is no sign of spun-glass spires. The museums have been leveled long ago, their contents evacuated, fought over—so many sacrifices to keep the treasures safe, but now they’re lost. Forgotten. He looks up, but the sky is empty of birds; no avian species are left on Gebe. No animals of any kind, not even insects. Only the humans survive.The university is a compound, the concrete rectangles of buildings crouch low to the ground. He remembers the poetry buildings, and history, art practice, music—but the arts and humanities had long ago been razed. Anthropology’s gone, too, once the most beautiful structure of all, with ornamental spires like cottontail reeds. The hot air smells of smoke and tar, fried canned meat and coffee. He doesn’t bother locating the cafeteria.Engineering is crowded, but the students are all silent, all crouching on the concrete floor, working on small electronic tablets. The carpets are gone, and the glass chandeliers had been replaced by military-grade lamps. Not a single student lifts their head as he passes through to the staircase.Kabede paces in the basement, room and person untouched by the two hundred years that elapsed since their last meeting. His friend’s always been here, framed between the concrete and the smoky air. Behind Kabede, on the table, a holographic image of a dome-like structure breaks into a hundred polished metal spheres that hurtle away from each other and join again. And have you built the ship for me, old friend?The ship, yes, a vast entity of metal mined from the asteroid belt by his bots. The ship—his ship—all complex designs and warmth, always incomplete, always growing. His home.“I haven’t promised you anything.”But this coming war will be the fifth, Kabede says, and the world has been drained of solutions. I need to take them off-world now, my friend, or this war may well be their last.“What are you trying to save?” Whatever’s been beautiful and sacred about Gebe has been destroyed by the wars, or by the Gebians themselves. “There’s nothing left here, Kabede. What value do your people have now, how are they better than millions of others dying on thousands of different worlds? Humans kill each other.” Or else they live small insignificant lives, and only the art they create will remain as they pass, only the art will matter long after they go.But of course, Kabede doesn’t believe in art. Art creates commodities desired by others. They come to trade for it first, then they come to steal, then they come to destroy it because we have too much, and then they come because they always came. It is a mistake to think that art survives death. You can’t survive your death, unless you choose not to die.“We may not die, my friend, but we are the children of loneliness.”I am not lonely, Kabede says. My people are with me. You do not see them, but I do. They are my family, my living, breathing people—and they are everything to me. As you are, old friend. And you are my friend. So help me.“Yes,” he says. “I’ll see what I can do.”Kabede nods, produces an ancient ebony-and-ivory chessboard. They sit down together at the table.Engineering brings his memories back, slowly. He’s always been good at making things work. As a child, he fixed the broken toy trains for the dimly-remembered children next door, he flushed toys down the toilet to see how much the drain would take before clogging, and then unclogged it again using a very long stick and an improvised drill. He fixed the grandfather clock silent since his grandfather’s youth. He cannot quite recall his grandparents, but he remembers how the cogs shone inside the clock, silent first, then shrill in hurried, disbelieving reawakening.He knows that even if all the memories return, the faces of his family won’t be among them.‘We may not die, my friend, but we are the children of loneliness...’How long ago? He remembers now how a scholarship took him away from his homeworld and brought him to Gebe, Kabede’s home—a world famous for its arts, a world illustrious with science. He’d learned so much there—engineering, of course, but also other things. The beauty of glass and groove and light. The Gebian language, with its seventeen emotions to experience art, that marked no genders in speech or custom.He remembers Kabede at the university, bent over some antique flimsy-display reader. Kabede couldn’t make it work again, being always far better at new designs. He remembers repairing the reader for Kabede, bits of century-old diplastic warped and soft like clipped-off fingernails. They learned about the Boundless from that flimsy—the most talented scientists chosen somehow to discard death forever, chosen perhaps by the older Boundless always secretly on the prowl, always searching.They found more information about the Boundless at the great library of Gebe, and a mention of a hidden meeting-place, a planet of wonders. But they have never met a single Boundless other than themselves, not to recognize. Death-lack seemed splendid at twenty, doubtful at best at four hundred or so.Four hundred years. Long enough to unlearn about love if one didn’t pay any attention to it in the first place.He shakes his head. People do not matter. Work matters. Work and art— those things that can be salvaged after the people leave you. Tangible things. Except, of course, Kabede. There’ll always be Kabede. Neriu Habitat is painfully small. The forty three engineers in his commune do not talk much, but sometimes they nod at him. Work matters—repairing the ailing Habitat, with never enough workers to direct. Always repairing, never expanding. Again he asks about Kabede. You must wait for the Convergence to see him, they say. Just do your work. He does—and it is soothing, like the air that circulates through the habitat, purified but always the same, never changing. They make nothing here that is beautiful. Only bland warmth. How is it better than pain? Eighty-nine comes to visit him in the dorms one evening, to play a game, like everyone does here. Eighty-nine teaches him games from Security commune, first simple and then increasingly elaborate clapping games that require coordination and quick thinking. He loses cheerfully to Eighty-nine, engrossed until his fellow dorm-mates intervene. Engineers don’t play such games, they say. “Chess?” he asks, but they don’t know the word, even though he speaks their language. They do not use any game-pieces, no frivolous objects shaped into arbitrary designs that serve no immediate purpose. Too much like art. Instead, they teach him games that require only the mind—language puzzles in which every letter is assigned a numeric value, and the value of whole words is calculated through complex equations. These he enjoys, but Eighty-nine doesn’t, and he does not want Eighty-nine to feel left out.“Let’s play something else,” he says.There’s an old game they play here that the people of Gebe played also. The questioner asks a quick question, any question, tricking the players into responding with the word yes; if they do, they lose.  Are you from here? Eighty-one asks him, an easy question. Then, is your Q higher than mine? Question after question, round after round in rapid succession to trick the players to respond with a short truthful yes in response to a trivial query. One after one, his Engineering fellows lose, and leave the game. Nine out of twelve remain. Seven out of twelve. Do you like it here? The yes is frozen on his lips. What’s not to like? The warm air, calculated to the perfect pleasantness he remembers from his university days, never changes here to a winter storm’s intensity or the sun’s summer scorching; fascinating detailed work; the Machine everywhere, comforting on the edge of his senses. Even the lack of adornment seems soothing now. What’s not to like? Only himself, his returning identity that’ll spit him out in the end, back into the vacuum of loneliness. He can unlearn it with these people. But they… The old Gebians—the people he came to love are burned, are buried, forgotten under the rubble of dreams. He cannot allow himself to become attached again.“I do not like myself,” he says.And us? Do you like us?“Yes,” he lies. Loses. His dreaming drains him further into memory. Ten thousand people on a ship that could hold thirty thousand more. The ship is huge—in the two hundred years since Kabede’s first question he’d perfected his miner bots and dismantled a few small moons. His modular designs for it are genius. Immodest, but true enough; after all, only geniuses become Boundless, only geniuses are punished for their competence with this unending pain.Forty thousand people could fit here easily, but the fifth war really is the last. Only ten thousand survivors, wounded and bleeding. Adults clutch emaciated children, elders crouch quietly, their toothless mouths open; those who still can walk around, frantically trying to be useful to someone, somehow, anything to escape the staring stillness. And Kabede—Kabede is not among them; his friend lies stretched out under the medi-dome, dying from a head wound that cannot possibly be repaired. A Boundless cannot die, but a Boundless can still be killed.It was a mistake to agree to Kabede’s request. They should have left the war behind, gone away together like he wanted. But instead he’d said yes. He’d found a world, a watery planet plagued by storms—increased by Kabede’s designs to such vehemence than nobody would bother to come here. The storms would hide Kabede’s world from curious eyes, prevent the colonists from leaving. Forever, peace—sheltering the people from all wars, taking them away even from themselves.He remembers wondering if the people would find a way to make art, but the walls of the engineering dorm are bare. The reeds of his hammock are woven into uneven patterns that dig into his skin and signify nothing.The ancient Keeper of Neriu Habitat comes to see him once more, in the Engineering dorm. The Convergence is coming, and Kabede, the keeper says, will see him in three days’ time.His eyes trace the spiderweb patterns of the ceiling. He designed them for his ship, just for beauty. Lit up, they were thin lines that rotated and danced, forming an imaginary starmap of the universe, with confirmed constellations warming up to an orange and the unconfirmed to a shimmery gray. Once he’d thought it Kabede’s mistake to believe that art doesn’t survive death, for if he were somehow to die, this ship of his, these minutely patterned ceilings would survive.He is alive yet, but his art, his ceilings are not in use here. Kabede would never approve of something so frivolous.Three days’ time.He remembers most of it now. Kabede gave him the memory leecher, to be installed in the upper atmosphere. If strangers came to Gebe-2 to wage their war, intent and knowledge would be drained of them before they fell into the storms.Once you have the habitats defined, transfer me, Kabede asked, back when they’d made their plans. I want to be embedded in my world. He begged against it, when Kabede was alive. “You won’t have a body anymore…” But his pleading didn’t matter. Kabede was dead now. There wasn’t enough left to exist when the hundred specified nodes were separate. Kabede would only be whole and aware when the habitats came together, briefly, once every three or four years, to synchronize their memories and share mined fuel. The rest of the time Kabede’s mind would be divided into a hundred pieces and scattered across the ocean, memoryless, friendless. A hundred habitats, Kabede had insisted—even if war were somehow to find this world, the people would be divided, easy to hide, safe.Such a waste. They should have left Gebe together to search for the hidden planet of the Boundless, on his ship. This ship.He remembers now how he broke it down. Unmade his home. Reforged it into a hundred Habitats for his only friend.Neriu Habitat screeches in joining others, like a flock of birds pressed together into a ball. Eighty-nine is there when they come to transfer him from Neriu to Deselin, but there is nothing to say.Deselin Habitat corresponds to the medical wing where Kabede had died. Most of what’s left of them survives here, and now, joined with other bits of their scattered cognition, Kabede is as whole as they will ever be. There is no need to don the headset—a hologram appears to him in the room recreated to be identical to the Gebe basement. It is Kabede as they were in death, tall and gaunt, their dark face glistening with projected sweat, but there is nothing to embrace. Only bits of colored light. “It’s good to see you.”I am glad you visit me, Kabede says.“How many times have I done this?”This is the third time. Every sixty years. Every twenty Convergences. Kabede’s image flickers. I’m sorry about your memory, old friend, but I have to protect my people. I will return it to you when you leave, and erase you again from the system. I wish…“Don’t say it, please.” But there is no need to speak. They know the dialogue by heart.I wish so much you’d stay.‘But nothing changes here, Kabede. Nothing evolves.’My people—‘—are ghosts.’They survive. It is peaceful, efficient—‘There is no hope.’Yes, he remembers now. They played this game before, went through the same moves over and over. And I will come again, and lose my memory, to see you. But no matter how we play this, it’s a stalemate, Kabede.There are no chairs for them to sit. They squat on the floor, with the holographic chessboard between them.END"Stalemate" was originally published in Lackington's issue 4, in 2014.This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library.Thanks for listening, and I’ll have another story for you on May 28th.[Music plays out]This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

I appear to have forgotten how walking works and maybe broke my toe.  So take that in as you listen to me try being immodest for a moment... Anyway, this is a follow up on our self-image episode.  I thank you all for your input, and am really glad that it is still reaching people out there.  And in gratitude, I give you homework. Sweet glorious homework. I also squee over the new Monster cereals being available and wonder where Weird Tales magazine went to. As a bonus, I give you "Hobo Humpin' Slobo Babe" by Whale.  I don't know why, other than I just like the song.   Thank you so much for all the support, and we look forward to catching you all tomorrow. More Geek Than Gay on Twitter - twitter.com/MoreGeekThanGay                               on FaceBook - www.facebook.com/MoreGeekThanGay Four Color Story Time - fourcolorstorytime.libsyn.com/webpage Math Monkeys - mathmonkeys.libsyn.com/webpage Compete Sports Magazine - competenetwork.com/magazine Boom Boom LaRue's - www.boomboomlarue.com Joshua Tree Feeding Program - www.jtfp.org Partylite Candles from Joseph - www.partylite.biz/sites/flamer

Would the way your appear in public ever cause Jesus to say you were naked? That is, as the Bible uses the word “naked”? Answer: No clothes…

Makes a lot of sense, doesn't it?...Ignore the threats to behead female newscasters that expose their faces on Palestinian Authority TV...Boycott the academic institutions in Israel making some of the greatest contributions to mankind in the world...And still more to come...From the country that brought you tea and crumpets...Now brings you the spokesman for the Hamas terrorist organization sitting at the dais in England alongside former and future British prime ministers...Harry Potter, where are you when we need you?...All this and more on "The Marty Roberts Show"...