Podcasts about shrieking

"Anticipatory Obedience." It's what's in your cup o' morning joe. Nancy Mace brings the Potty Wars to Congress because a trans woman has been elected. Shrieking idiots howl over Ukraine getting to use long range missiles. 

Ripley's Believe It Or Not - 1 Minute Episodes xx-xx-xx (311) Shrieking Statue

The fellas chat about the death of Yuzu and Rooster Teeth, Toys For Bob going independent, chat with Lisa Blakie from Atawhai Games about funding games, and finish with a discussion about Yakuza 0! Check out our merch! ▶ https://pleasestopshopping.com/ Support the podcast on Patreon ▶ https://www.patreon.com/SirMeowMusic Join the PST Discord server! ▶ https://discord.gg/YNqTT65 Check out Toroa: Skycall! ▶ https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/atawhaiinteractive/toroa-skycall Wishlist Toroa: Skycall! ▶ https://store.steampowered.com/app/2003490/Toroa_Skycall/ Links: Billy ▶ https://twitter.com/SirMeowMusic Cameron ▶ https://twitter.com/SuperSneakSheep Brendan ▶ https://twitter.com/BrendanielH Ten ▶ https://twitter.com/TenWebbs Podcast ▶ https://twitter.com/PSTPodcast Art by Yves ▶ https://twitter.com/hangingrabbit News Sources: "Switch emulator Yuzu is dead: abruptly settles lawsuit with Nintendo for $2.4 million in an enormous blow to console emulation" ▶ https://www.pcgamer.com/software/nintendo-v-yuzu-switch-emulator-shut-down-settlement/ "600 Activision QA workers unionize, Microsoft voluntarily recognizes" ▶ https://www.polygon.com/24093254/activision-qa-600-workers-union-microsoft "Rooster Teeth Shut Down By Warner Bros. Discovery, The Roost Podcast Network To Continue'" ▶ https://deadline.com/2024/03/rooster-teeth-shut-down-warner-bros-discovery-roost-podcast-continue-1235847264/ "IWGB And Union Members Criticize Rockstar For Return to Office" ▶ https://insider-gaming.com/iwgb-and-union-members-criticize-rockstar-for-return-to-office/ "Toys For Bob: We're Going Indie!" ▶ https://www.toysforbob.com/blog/2024/WereGoingIndie

A Bridge of AdversityA 5-part story By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida Ad Me. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.The sky was still dark when they dragged Unami from her hut. A plump midwife, purring quietly, carried her newborn, Kra'ar, away while the hunters herded her up the steep ascent to the ancient temple. Unami was too exhausted from giving birth, too tired to bite and claw, so she let them do as they pleased.Through the great hall they went, empty save for the fire pit in the center and the twisted columns trying to stem the weight of the temple’s crumbling roof, down into a chamber she had never seen before. A singular oil lamp provided scant illumination, barely enough to see the carvings adorning every inch of the walls. Gaping maws, unblinking eyes leveling accusing stares, and half-formed limbs danced along the frieze.She clutched her aching belly and lashed the hunters to either side of her with an imperious stare. “Kra'ar needs me,” she growled. “I must feed my son.”Stone doors on the opposite side of the room opened, the towering slates scratching along the floor with some reluctance. Three elders emerged, their grayed whiskers and blunt snouts hidden behind ornate golden masks, their heads bloated and deformed by feathered headdresses. Long, colorful robes had been wrought around their slumping shoulders and withered groins.“What do you want from me at this hour?” Unami barked, masking her fear with feigned rage. She bared her teeth, a challenge rising in her throat. Her growl echoed off the carved walls. Unami slapped the hunters’ claws away and stood alone, shaking like a defiant, storm-tossed reed.“Silence!” one of the elders barked. The mask he wore was the sharp-beaked Condor, keen eyes and mighty wings. “Do you not grasp the gravity of your situation, whelp?”“Who do you call a whelp, you decrepit fossil?” Unami snarled. “I have just delivered my firstborn! I have seen the jungle! I have-”“You have stolen our sacred treasure and given it to an outsider!” the second elder roared. His mask showed the Serpent, venomous fangs and crushing strength. “Once they realize what can be found here, they will come and demand more and more! First they will bring honeyed words and lies, then they will bring warriors and weapons!”“Ha!” Unami spat. “First they would have to cross the jungle. Don’t you teach that only the strong, only the hunters can brave the hostile wilderness? How many outsiders will perish on the journey? How many of them will be able to even lift a weapon if they even find us? How many will be able to stand against our fierce warriors?”“Insolent child,” the third elder hissed. He wore a skull, the guise of Death Inevitable. “Traditions and rules have a reason. Your reckless actions prove why not every member of the tribe can be a hunter. Strength has to be tempered by wisdom, fury tempered by mercy. Your brash disregard of the rules clearly shows you are nothing more than a foolish whelp still, unfit to walk among the adults!”“I have followed the rules. I came back to give the tribe another hunter. What else do you want from me?”“Kra'ar will be well-fed and taken care of,” Condor proclaimed. “But your penance has only just begun.”“Normally we would bind you in stones and drown you in the swamp, as befits a lowly thief,” Condor said.“But the volcano’s awakening has roused The Sleeper,” Serpent said. “Someone has to placate him. This is a task for a woman. You have been chosen as penance for your transgression.”“What? No. I will go into exile. I will return to Aelric! I want to see the frozen water come from the sky!” Unami howled.“I am afraid you won’t leave the temple, foolish, insolent child,” Death Inevitable whispered. “Giving birth to a hunter does not absolve your sins. It is your solemn duty to the tribe. But if you can placate The Sleeper, all will be forgiven.”“All will be forgiven,” the other two rumbled. Condor bowed his head and the hunters grasped her shivering arms.“Placate The Sleeper? I am no priestess!” Unami wailed. “What am I to do?”Death Inevitable crossed the chamber, reaching into the gaping maw of a hideous stone effigy. His paw depressed the sculpted tongue within and the floor opened before her like a ravenous maw.“Deliver her,” Serpent said, motioning for the pit. The air wafting from the orifice smelled wrong. Sweet and thick was the scent, causing her ravaged sex to weep in heat.The hunters first dragged, then shoved her forwards. Unami stumbled into the pit and fell. Like every member of the tribe she knew how to fall, even if her weakened body was slow and clumsy. Instead of breaking her legs, she curled up into a ball and dropped onto a slope of smooth stone. There were no holds, no purchase for her claws or scrabbling feet. Unami slid frantically into the lightless depths underneath the temple. Above her, the floor rumbled closed.The slope curled downward like the blasted serpent before delivering her into a lightless space that she judged huge by the sound of emptiness. The sweet stench was thicker here. Her teats ached and her sex seemed to overflow. Her breath threw shuddering echoes from the far walls.Blind like a newborn, Unami pawed on all fours, trying to earn a feel for this space. The floor was made from stone, large, regular tiles neatly fitted. The tip of her tail still touched the slope and there was no wall in easy reach. She took another step. Her paw landed on a bone. Unami gritted her teeth. She would not grant the elders the satisfaction of hearing her scream. She pulled the bone closer. It was long and stout. It would make a fine club.There was a soft noise ahead, a shy rustling.A grim smile stole onto Unami’s lips. If there were animals down here, they would probably be as blind as she was and easily hunted. At least she wouldn’t starve.“Come, come, little ratty,” Unami sang. “Mother has need of you.”The rustling came again, closer now. Using her sensitive ears, Unami aimed and swung the bone with murderous intent.There was swift movement, a powerful whiff of that sticky, sweet air. The cudgel hit the floor with crushing force and splintered into a thousand pieces like a hollowed twig.More rustling. Four, five sounds of movement at once. Unami bared her claws and teeth. How many rats were there?Something long and serpentine curled around her leg. It was soft and wet and moved with shocking speed, coiling around her calf and knee.Then came a jolt and she was unceremoniously dropped on her back. All Unami could do was to protect her head by twisting her spine and curling up as best she could. The impact cracked a few ribs and her elbows.Gasping in the thick, clingy vapors, she slapped at the soft, writhing tissue grasping her leg. Another tendril came, slick and wet and it curled around her other leg. With inexorable force, they pried her thighs apart. Shrieking, Unami clamped both hands over her gaping sex - to no avail. Another tendril came, binding her wrists and yanking her hands aside with contemptuous ease.She wasn’t sure if the fall had rocked her head or if she really heard it, but there was a low, growling noise. It grew louder and louder, mounting in front of her. She couldn’t see! She could only hear the noise, writhe as the tendrils slithered over her. No, not over, but into her! One, then two invaded her, probing at her ravaged insides.The gurgling stopped on a strange note. For one breathless moment Unami thought to hear a wordless question. The disgusting tendrils withdrew from her insides, leaving her spread open and shivering in the chamber’s rank air.Then the noise returned, loud and angry and so very close.A mighty weight settled onto her helpless body, covering her feet, legs, belly, chest and finally her snout. She sank her teeth into soft, warm tissue, tearing long, weeping gashes into malleable flesh. The noise changed as hitherto closed orifices gaped, adding a horrific wheezing to the cacophony.Unami added her own incoherent screams as acid poured from numerous maws, burning her limbs, dissolving her helpless body until nothing remained but a sweet-smelling puddle of goo.The Sleeper lapped at it, a satisfied purr echoing off the walls.Shala’s patience grew thin. What hope of finding Kelgore had she if these fools that carried her fell victim to some easily avoided calamity and left her stranded in this gods-forsaken wilderness?She had tumbled from the whore’s back as the claws of a dead man seized the crude pack full of carrion and tore it away. She could not see how her captors fared against the undead horde until the fop had knocked her aside to hastily gather the scattered meat and supplies.The buffoon’s man and the traitor both fell to the horde of corpses that had dragged themselves from the haunted swamp. Shala feared for a moment that all of her captors might perish and leave her stranded in the mud. But the whore fought bravely and well. With axe and sword she hacked a path through the grasping hands of the hungry dead. The fop followed in her wake and the buffoon held a lackluster rearguard.Almost as an afterthought, he reached down and plucked her out of the muck by her hair. The leather strap that secured her gag shifted, but only slightly.It would have been so easy to turn back the horde with just the right words of power and a bit of fire and flesh. But it would require hands that Shala did not yet have.She watched as the buffoon’s sword lodged in the ribs of a flanking corpse and the thing reached for him with rotting hands. She tried to scream in furious protest as the impudent fool swung her like a flail, slamming her skull against the head of the accursed ghoul. Through some intervention of the fate spinners, the impact knocked her gag askew.Working her tongue and jaw, Shala was finally able to spit out the shard of wood and let the leather strap fall away, just as the buffoon tucked her up under his arm.Shala nearly cried out at the insolence, but then she caught a tantalizing whiff of blood. There was a gash on the buffoon’s arm. The blood coagulated against her cheek, but her tongue could not reach. She was jostled in his grip as the buffoon ran limping after his companions, stumbling and fumbling blindly through the jungle boscage. Bit by bit she shifted until she could press her thin lips right to the wound, and taste the ferric tang on her tongue.“You can stop now,” Shala called out, once she had lapped her fill of the buffoon’s essence. “Do you hear me? You’ve fled beyond the reach of the dead.”“And why should we believe you?” asked the whore, panting. Before Shala could answer, the whore added “Joras, find another gag.”“Because if you die then I am abandoned out here. Do you think this is how I wish to end my existence? Lying in the muck, helpless as the scavengers pick at my flesh until nothing is left? My only chance at life is if you reunite me with my son. While you may well choose to slay me once my usefulness is done, I’ll take a slim chance over no chance at all, and help you where I can.”The fop scoffed. “And what help can a disembodied witch offer?”“While you dithered at a crossroads, I felt the jungle life fade away before the great predator that stalked you. And you ignored my warnings,” Shala spat.“I alone recognized the rancid scent of death tinged with the ozone of magic and knew the undead were nearby. But again you ignored me and two of your number paid for your negligence with their lives. How many more will die because a reckless whore refuses to heed my counsel?”“Your point is made,” the whore growled. “There is no need for more insults.”“Oh, do my words hurt your poor little pride? Perhaps you’d feel better if you were gagged and hauled around like chattel.” The whore glowered at her, but did not retort. “I have eyes to see and senses attuned to powers from beyond the veil. Give me a mouth to speak and heed my counsel and your chances of living to find Kelgore will improve! You’ve lost two pairs of eyes already. Are you so foolish as to throw away a third?”“I don’t trust it or its counsel,” the whore said. Being referred to so coarsely would have raised the bile in Shala’s throat, if she had bile, or more than an inch of throat. She let the insult pass.“Neither do I,” agreed the buffoon. “But I have known many men I did not trust, and I have never known it to be a lie when a man says ‘I want to live’.”“Our resources are few enough,” the fop agreed. “I don’t think we’d be any worse off if she betrays us.”“Fine,” agreed the whore through gritted teeth. “But if you lead us into danger, I shall smash you with a rock before I die. Understood?”“Agreed." Shala swallowed her pride."Unless our new advisor knows of a safer camp, I think we should get some rest,” the whore decided. “Joras, skin our dinner. Ambrose, see if you can spark a fire. I’ll gather you some wood. Shala…” she paused as if it pained her to speak the words. “You’re on watch.”In the distance, from every direction, the drums continued.In the chamber above The Sleeper’s lair, Condor sighed. “One malnourished whelp won’t do, you know?”Death Inevitable touched his golden forehead. “The Sleeper is mightily displeased indeed. Unami was but a morsel for it.”“At least his hunger will be sated for the moment,” Serpent muttered. “We might find a bit of respite tonight.”Together, the elders returned to the great hall. The rumble of the drums was loud and clear, reverberating from the walls.Condor cocked his head. “A hunting party returns. They have brought an outsider.”“Fortunate tidings indeed,” Serpent said, a smile in his voice. “The Sleeper might feast again shortly.”“Let us see what the hunters have brought then,” Death Inevitable purred. “Hopefully this new sacrifice will send The Sleeper back to sleep. I dread the day when the temple and the offerings can’t contain its might no longer. The Sleeper might devour reality itself.”“If it is an outsider woman, we should avail ourselves of her services before tossing her into the Pit,” Condor said. “To make sure The Sleeper will be properly serviced, of course.”Chuckling softly, the elders headed for the exit, eager to meet their next sacrifice.As dawn broke, they strode into the village. Hunters prepared for another expedition into the jungle, sharpening their spears or wrapping rations. Passing females, their young scurrying between their feet, offered bows of respect. The midwife clutched Unami’s newborn to her bosom, allowing the pale blond whelp to suck at her teat.“Let’s hope the outsider was strong,” Death Inevitable muttered. “His offspring looks disgusting, so pale.”“We will see in a few years’ time,” Serpent said. “Ah, there they are.” He gestured towards a tangle of tribesmen, clustered around the hunting party. Adults and whelps alike muttered among themselves.“As if they’ve seen an outsider for the first time,” Death Inevitable murmured. “How different can they be?”The knot of tribesmen split, allowing the elders their first glance at the outsider. He stood unbound, surrounded by three hunters who gazed upon him in open admiration. The fourth, a female, had her tail raised high, the scent of her cunt announcing to all downwind how desperate in need of a thorough railing she was. The outsider was odd. Too scrawny to be a warrior, he nonetheless bore himself with the stance of a chieftain. What little fur he wore on his head was long, slick and the color of night. But most odd were his eyes, featureless black orbs of night. He raised his voice, speaking the strange words of the outsiders. None understood the strange syllables he used, but all felt the power radiating through his voice. It commanded their full attention. Transfixed, the elders, the tribesmen, the women and whelps watched, their gazes fixed on the strange man. Each one of them he bathed in his obsidian gaze and one by one they became his unquestioning servants. Not even the Sleeper could help them now.“Stop it!” Ambrose screamed into the night. “Stop the fucking drumming all day and all fucking night. Just fucking stop it!”The distant drum beat continued unabated by the outburst. The sonorous rhythm had followed them from the beach, through the jungle, surrounding them, moving with them like the stench of a beggar. They had tried more than once to follow the sound and find one of the natives, but always the drum they approached fell silent and a distant drum joined the chorus.“What do you want?!” Ambrose continued, stalking from one edge of their campfire light to the other, yelling into the darkness at the top of his voice. “Do you want us to go? Do you want us to follow? We don’t know what the drums mean! We use words! Do you hear me? Words! Show yourselves and tell us what you want! Kill us or capture us if you must, but for the love of all that is holy, stop the gods-damned drumming!”His injured foot throbbed. His whole body ached. Nicks and cuts and lacerations bedeviled his face and arms after being thrashed through the underbrush by that slavering beast. The midges and mites of the swamp had fed on him mercilessly and if it hadn’t been for Tsonia and Joras, the shambling dead would have finished him, just as they had poor Montu and Sethos. Ambrose was a man of the sea. The perils of this mad and alien landscape perturbed his senses and flustered his wits.“It’s not even good drumming, damn it!” Ambrose saw Tsonia and Joras scowling in the firelight at his agitated pacing. He didn’t know if his ranting had awakened them, or if they like he had laid awake, unable to sleep with the constant racket. “A poxy toddler banging on his mother’s pot with a spoon can come up with a more inventive rhythm! But not you lot, no! Your primitive fucking brains can’t come up with anything more original than just bum bum bum over and over and over again and again and again!”He grabbed up a heavy stick from their dwindling pile of firewood and banged it back and forth in a forked tree trunk, bang, bang, bang, in time to the distant drums’ cadence.“You hear that? Huh? How do you like it? How about if I keep it up all fucking night so you can’t sleep?”“Peace, Ambrose,” Joras implored, rising to soothe his friend’s discomfiture. “This raving does no good and it wastes the vitality you’ll want for tomorrow.”“I don’t care!” Ambrose screamed, and continued to beat the tree trunk. “I don’t fucking care anymore. I want them to stop or to show themselves or to attack us or something! Anything! Anything but this infernal drumming! It makes me wish I had drowned, Joras! I would rather die with the sound of the sea in my ears than live another hour beset by this ceaseless racket.”“I know it’s trying,”“Trying!? It’s maddening! This whole damn place is maddening!” Ambrose’s arm gave out at last and he let fall the stave from his hand even as he collapsed to his knees with a sob of exasperation. “Why won’t you stop!?” he cried again into the darkness. "Why won’t you show yourselves!?“"You are loud,” grunted a coarse voice in the simple words of the Trade Tongue used among sailors. Into the firelight stepped a tall native, his mottled green fur broken in places by ancient scars. His hands, though tipped with razor sharp claws, were empty, and held out in a gesture of parley.Tsonia, lithe as a panther, came to her feet with blade in hand, ready to smite the intruder. The towering, beast-headed native dodged and came to face Tsonia, still empty-handed. A leather bandolier bisected his broad chest. Spears and a pack rested on his back while a woven cord around his waist was hung with pouches, a sling and dagger and a simple loincloth.“We will fight,” he growled. “First, I will make the drums quiet for your loud friend.”The fire-haired warrior stayed her blade, curious to see what the newcomer would do next. “Slow,” she told him, speaking the same pidgin trade language. “I am watching.”The native bared his fangs, his ears perking up. Tsonia wasn’t sure if he was threatening her or if that was the stranger’s idea of a grin. Slowly, he reached for the pack he had slung over his back and placed it on the ground in front of him.“Watch,” the stranger said, kneeling. He opened a flap and pulled a small drum from his pack, which he struck in a certain rhythm, bam, bam, rap. He repeated the cadence, then again. And around them, the drums echoed the new beat, and fell silent. In the distance, the sonorous rumble continued, but in their immediate vicinity, there was nothing but the wind rustling in the trees and the occasional chirp of surprised nighttime birds.“What did you, say?” Joras asked, intrigued. Next to him, Ambrose sighed. The exhausted sailor settled down with his back against a tree, and despite his curiosity his head fell onto his chest almost immediately.The native offered Joras the same strange visage, open jaws and hanging tongue. “I found what I want. I need quiet to, see, watch, find,” he seemed to be searching for a word.“Hunt?" Joras asked, backing away from the beastman."Yes. Hunt.” the stranger agreed. “They are quiet. They will listen.”“Hunt, eh?” Tsonia sneered. “Will you, make us sick with, small spears?” She held up a finger and thumb spaced about two inches apart to show how small the darts were. Tsonia also struggled to find appropriate words in a vocabulary meant for trade and barter, but she lowered neither her guard nor the sword.The stranger sank onto his haunches, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering flames of the campfire. “No small spears. I am proud. I do not hunt with small spears.”“Your people are not proud two yesterdays,” Tsonia growled. The Trade Tongue didn’t concern itself with such lofty concepts as the past or the future. It was a language for discussing the here and now. “They hunt me with small spears by the good water. They make me sick.”“My tribe who hunt are not smart two yesterdays. Many outsiders come to our beaches and cannot leave again over many moons. My tribe thinks you are weak and not smart, like the other outsiders.”So they were not the first sailors to be marooned on these shores, Tsonia realized. Clearly the native had learned the Trade Tongue from somewhere, so castaways must be fairly common. It did not bode well for them that none had ever returned to tell the story of this place.The stranger hissed several times in quick succession. Maybe a laugh?“You kill two of my tribe. They know they made a mistake so they choose to hunt easy outsiders.” His eyes roamed over Tsonia and she could hear his satisfied purr. “I hunt you.”Tsonia raised an eyebrow. “Me?”“Two of my tribe are dead. I want, the death price.”Tsonia sighed. He wanted revenge for the two natives she had killed. The stranger before her was no savage. He obviously had intelligence and honor, perhaps even wisdom. But she didn’t have the vocabulary to explain such a complex situation, much less negotiate a peaceful solution.“Joras, you’re better with words than I,” she said in their native Thelyrian. “Tell him I killed two of his kind while driven half mad by their poison in my veins. Ask him why he thinks he can beat me now when I have my wits fully about me.”There was a struggle over words as Joras and the stranger exchanged the terms they knew and agreed to what they meant. Tsonia was beginning to regret involving her friend in the conversation. As her patience grew thin, he seemed to be enjoying the give and take and the accomplishment of finally conveying the whole idea.Again, the stranger laughed. “I watch you yesterday and two yesterdays, fire-hair. I watch you fight. I watch you walk far. You are tired, so I offer a bargain.”“Kaela…” Joras implored in Thelyrian, his voice laden with dread. “Don’t do anything foolish, please.”“I haven’t agreed to anything just yet.” Tsonia snorted in exasperation. “Are you blaming me for our misery too?”“I would never-” Joras began.“Let him talk then,” Tsonia snapped. “And don’t call me Kaela in front of everyone!”The stranger placed his clawed hand upon his chest. “I am called T'pek.” His voice, although struggling with the Trade Tongue, had a formal, almost ritualistic tone about it.Tsonia bowed her head. “I am called Red Tsonia. What do you offer?”“I ask you to fight, Red Tsonia. You owe me two hunters.”“You-kill-me is not equal to two hunters. They will not live if I die,” Tsonia said. It was another hard concept to convey, but she’d be damned if she was going to let Joras spend all night trying to negotiate poetically. “I see, a fight for pride, is a waste. A waste for me. A waste for you.”T'pek bared his fangs again. “We will fight. If I win, you will be, my tribe.” T'pek immediately waved away that idea as if it wasn’t exactly what he meant to say. “Just my tribe,” he amended, thumping his own chest.“Mate?” offered Joras. It was a Vizangian word that had made it into the Trade Tongue and was used to refer to any woman a man had sex with, be she joined by holy ritual, or just a concubine, slave, or whore.“Yes!” T'pek agreed. "Mate. You will be my mate. We will make strong children. My tribe will get more than two hunters.“A laugh escaped Tsonia’s lips. "You are too proud, T'pek. You are too proud of your fighting skill and your fucking skill. What will I get if you lose?”“I do not insult you, but you are slow and loud. You walk like blind and deaf children. You see bad signs but you still go forward. You risk weak people.” T'pek nodded towards battered, blissfully snoring Ambrose. “I offer that I will lead you and be smart for you, And I will also give you children.” He caressed his loincloth.Tsonia laughed again, a full-bellied sound of unbridled mirth. “You are smart. If you lose, you still fuck me. Is that right?”“A good hunter is strong and smart,” T'pek said with that uncanny grin.“Your tribe, Where do they take 'easy’ outsiders?” Tsonia asked. “What do they do with him?”“My tribe take your outsiders to our village. The leaders decide outsiders’ fate.” T'pek shook his head.“How many outsiders go to your leaders?” Joras interjected. “What do they say to your leaders?”“Some want to trade. Some are held to work. Some breed. Some fight.”“The unlucky ones are tossed into the swamp,” Tsonia added darkly in Thelyrian. Her brow creased in thought. “If I win, you will lead us to your village. You will teach us about your tribe and the village.”“Yes." Said T'pek."If I lose, I will be your mate, right?”An eager nod set T'pek’s mane aflutter.“Will I stay here,” Tsonia indicated their campsite with a sweep of her hand, “until I make children?”“No,” T'pek said with emphasis. “You will be my mate in the village. My people will take care of you. I will protect you and love you.”“If I lose, will they stay here?” she asked, indicating Joras and Ambrose.“I will take them to the village,”“For our fate to be decided by some chieftain or shaman or council we have no knowledge of?” Joras interrupted in Thelyrian. He sought Tsonia’s gaze. A flicker of dread was clearly visible. “I have a bad feeling about this.”The fire-haired warrior rose to her feet and planted her sword into the ground. “We have a deal, T'pek. How will we settle our fight? I will not be your mate if I am dead. You will not lead us if you are dead.”“No,” T'pek agreed, undoing his cord and placing the dagger, sling and pouches atop his pack. “We will stop when one of us is not proud and says 'stop’. Your people will know the agreement.”“'Yield’ is the word you want,” Tsonia said, watching the beastman strip away his kit. “We will stop when you yield or I yield.”“Yield." T'pek nodded his agreement and unknotted his loincloth, letting his manhood hang free."I believe he means to distract me by waving his lance in my face,” Tsonia joked to Joras in Thelyrian.“Yes, well, it’s distracting me quite nicely,” he agreed.“You show weakness there,” Tsonia pointed to T'pek’s naked crotch. His face scrunched into a look that Tsonia interpreted as indignation and realized he had taken her warning as an insult to his masculinity. “No, no, no,” she waved in correction and sought a better word. “Soft? Um, bad fight place?”Comprehension dawned on T'pek’s face and he snorted. “I will have no burden. Nothing to grab. Children of my tribe learn to fight with nothing.” His grappling gesture put Tsonia in mind of the formalized wrestling that was taught in the Green Cities. "Only fur. Belts hold tools. Packs hold food and water. They are bad for fighting.“So these people fought their duels of honor naked. It wasn’t a totally foreign concept. There were stories of great heroes from ages past who also dueled in the nude. It certainly ensured that neither party carried any hidden weapons.Tsonia pulled off her tattered chain hauberk with a resigned sigh. "Why have clothes at all then?” she asked, gesturing to the discarded loincloth lying on the ground in the firelight.T'pek’s gaze roamed over her rosy skin like a lover’s caress. He barked with mirth. “Soft,” he said, gesturing to his groin. “Weak. Sharp plants and rocks and bugs are bad. But Red Tsonia is good. It is strong for Red Tsonia.”“You are too proud, T'pek,” she smirked.Tsonia’s chain skirt hit the ground with the soft rattling of metal on packed earth. She tossed her armor at Joras’ feet and began to circle the camp site, taking the muscular native’s measure as he fell into step opposite her. He was taller than her, with wider shoulders and longer arms. Some earlier fight had left his chest and shoulder marked with ghastly scars, the otherwise lustrous fur refused to fully grow back there. Her lips curled into a playful grin as her gaze wandered lower, over his fur-covered abdomen and towards his groin. The fur was almost black there, long and shaggy and nowhere enough to cover a prodigious member which proudly curved towards his navel. His oddly bent legs didn’t seem to hinder his movement one bit and his sinuously weaving tail allowed him to easily keep balance.“If you want the death price for your tribe, you will fight me,” Tsonia remarked. “If you just look at me and I just look at you, we will not fight all night.” A smile flickered across her lips. “Or would you like to just look at me?” She caressed one of her breasts.The next moment, T'pek was on her, effortlessly closing the distance in one ferocious leap. His bulk tore Tsonia off her feet and together they crashed to the ground. Strong hands closed around her arm, one above and below the elbow each and when the world stopped spinning, Tsonia was face down in the dirt, with T'pek’s clawed foot between her shoulder blades and her arm bent at a very uncomfortable angle.She had clearly underestimated her opponent’s speed and reach, but he didn’t know any of her true strength either. Tsonia bucked, hard, unbalancing T'pek. For a heartbeat, his grip on her arm waned and she rolled, tearing her arm free, not caring if his claws tore open her back or the arm creaked in its socket. The sharp jabs of pain, if anything, only fuelled her battle-lust.In the time it took T'pek to regain his balance, Tsonia came to her feet. She was upon him, a blur of fists and kicks as she employed every trick she had gleaned from the fist-fighters in the Xhastrian coliseums. T'pek blocked some of her blows, took others with merely a grunt of annoyance and countered others. If he pulled any punches, Tsonia didn’t notice.One blow hit her clavicle, cracking it with the sickening sound of bone on bone. T'pek grunted, shaking out his rattled fist. Tsonia dove in, landing a solid hit to his gut which sent T'pek stumbling backwards.“Lift me up higher,” she heard Shala jeer. “I can’t see a damn thing!”“Shush you,” Joras muttered. “Don’t make this any more awkward.”Shala’s gleeful cackling gave T'pek pause. His eyes widened in horror as he beheld the disembodied head, held aloft by a disgusted Joras. Tsonia pressed her advantage, following up her attack with a furious shoulder charge.T'pek’s tail slapped across her breasts, leaving a stinging line of fire across them. Tsonia, not even fazed by the attack, barreled into him with enough force to spill both of them to the ground again. She pinned T'pek’s arms to the ground with her knees, her forearm firmly lodged under his maw, pressing hard against his throat.“Yield,” Tsonia hissed, putting her weight onto her arm. T'pek’s maw hung open, his tongue lolling to one side, his eyes rolling madly in their sockets. Suddenly, there was a soft sensation writhing between her thighs, tickling her sex. Tsonia’s hand flashed downwards, closing around T'pek’s nimble tail. Her tight grip elicited a hoarse yelp from the prone beastkin. Too late she realized how much of an advantage she had squandered. T'pek growled, fighting against her weight into a sitting position. Tsonia evaded a vicious head-butt by rolling backwards.Gasping, she came to her feet. T'pek followed suit, albeit a bit slower.“You, are strong,” he gasped. “You are tired, from two yesterdays, but you are strong. How?”“It will take more than a primeval forest and some rotting dead to wear me down,” Tsonia snarled in Thelyrian, then added for T'pek “You are not weak, T'pek, but not strong like me. Do you yield?”“No,” the beastkin growled something else in his own language, shaking his head in defiance. “I will make you yield!” He raised his fists.“Many people try to make me yield,” she spat. “All have failed.”“I will be the first,” T'pek roared, pouncing again.This time, Tsonia was ready. As he came flying, jaws open, hands ready to grasp and wrestle, she intercepted him. One hand caught his wrist, just behind his splayed claw, the other dug into the thick fur by his loins. Her demonic blood roared as Tsonia redirected his momentum, sending T'pek crashing to the ground back first. Breath exploded from the stunned beastkin in a hollow bark. Tsonia didn’t wait for him to recover, instead she mounted his hips, trapping his throbbing lance between them and pinning his arms to the ground with brute strength.“Yield,” Tsonia gasped. His lance underneath her was already drenched and she had to force herself from grinding herself against its searing heat.“No,” T'pek growled, trying to raise his arms. He could have tried to uproot a tree with his gaze alone, the effect was much the same.“Yield, you oaf,” Tsonia snarled. In Thelyrian she added “I could break your bones like rotted driftwood if I so desired.”“I am proud. I will not,” T'pek gasped as Tsonia ground herself against him, a languid, lust-driven roll of her full hips.“But you are worthless to me as a cripple,” Tsonia purred, then in the simple Trade Tongue she said “If I yield and you yield, we both get what we really want.” She reached backwards, guiding his shaft. Her sex swallowed his tip eagerly. T'pek’s breath caught in his throat as she claimed the full length of his spear.Tsonia’s voracious appetite, never easy to sate, had grown tremendously during their weeks at sea without any privacy and no suitable lovers. She had pondered asking Ambrose for a rowing slave or three, but even she knew how much trouble that could cause in the volatile confines of a warship. Not even pleasuring herself was an option, not with dozens of eager men devouring her every move. Not that she minded an audience, but again, the discipline aboard and the hope of finding and apprehending Kelgore had been more important than her own pleasure. Now, with T'pek writhing under her, she could finally indulge! She pushed herself away from him, only to reclaim his monstrous pole in a slow, breath-stealing descent.T'pek’s growl was the only warning she got. Too late Tsonia realized that she had relinquished her death grip on his wrists, to play with her tits and finger her clit as she rode his massive shaft.“No!” the beastman snarled. His claws slid under her ass and he pushed her away.“No?” Tsonia gasped, coming to her knees.“My tribe do not fuck this way,” T'pek growled, towering over her, his glistening shaft pointing at her.Tsonia glared at him. “What-?” she began, but T'pek was on her again, forcing her onto hands and knees. Before Tsonia could even protest his rough handling, his teeth clamped onto her shoulder, his clawed hands carved furrows into her hips as he roughly adjusted her position.Tsonia relaxed, anticipating what would happen next. T'pek did not disappoint. His bulbous tip forced her rosy curtains apart and in one fell swoop, he buried his sword to the hilt in her, his hot breath and spittle pouring down her shoulder. Tsonia wailed as he pounded into her, but it was no cry of pain, the demonic cock of Q'alan had more than seasoned her nethers. If anything, T'pek’s proud lance was a potent reminder of what she had been missing ever since the God-King had tasked her with finding and killing Kelgore.“Yes,” Tsonia growled, pushing back her hips on his next thrust. T'pek grunted with the effort of keeping her pinned beneath him, his spear slashing deep into her hungry tunnel. His claws found her breast, roughly kneading her supple flesh. Another wail tore from her lips, once more she pushed back against him. Blissful release tore through her already and every thrust only heightened her delirious ecstasy.“More!” Tsonia howled, answering each of T'pek’s thrusts with a roll of her hips. His furry sack slapped against her with blistering abandon each time he bottomed out. Hot blood trickled down her shoulder, his teeth sunk deep into her flesh.Tsonia tossed back her head, jubilating at the pain, the pleasure tearing through her body. T'pek’s tail slapped her ass, the squirming appendage caressing the valley between her cheeks like a second phallus. His paw mauled her breasts, but she only spurred him on with wordless moans and grunts. Another climax tore through her.Tsonia reared up, heedless of T'pek’s considerable bulk, heedless of his teeth sunk into her shoulder. She needed all of his delicious cock, buried deep within her hungry cunt!T'pek suddenly opened his jaws, his shockingly large tongue lapping at the bloody gashes his teeth had dug. He whined in surprise as the black blood oozing from the wounds seared his tongue.Tsonia rode him like a woman possessed, driving herself onto his shaft for all she was worth. Their bodies made lewd, slapping and squishing sounds as they collided.Suddenly, T'pek slammed his hands upon her hips and pinned her in place, his breath coming in unnaturally quick gasps. And then he erupted, spewing burst after burst of hot, sticky seed into Tsonia, filling her up to bursting and then more, leaking from their union in thick rivulets, dripping down into the ravaged earth.For a moment, there was nothing but the sounds of rasping breath and the occasional drip of thick liquid spattering on the ground.Then Shala raised her voice. “I hope you had your fun, whore. Can we go find my son now?”Ambrose groaned as the light of the relentless morning sun attacked his eyes. He sat up and blinked, trying to dislodge the grit caking his eyelids. The drums, although not entirely gone, had at least quieted down and were more akin to the volcano’s distant rumblings than the oppressive, maddening drone which had almost broken him. Joras slept behind him, the artist’s arm a soothing weight on his waist. Ambrose pushed some of Joras’ locks from his angelic face and breathed a kiss of thanks onto his prickly cheek.“Good morning.” The voice was Shala’s, a mirthless, venomous rasp. Her head rested on a tree stump nearby. “Please don’t start another round of fornication. I was forced to behold entirely too much of it last night.” She made a disgusted sound. “Just look at them. Animals, truly." Her tongue came out, a shriveled lump of flesh, and pointed to the side.Ambrose gently moved Joras’ arm and gazed in the indicated direction. On the other side of the stump, curled into a tangle of limbs, were Tsonia and a monstrous being, naked both and obviously spent. The newcomer had a bestial snout resting on her shoulder, a powerful paw cupped her ample breast. Tsonia had a satisfied grin on her features and the stranger’s cock wedged between her ass cheeks."Can you believe it? They had me keep watch the entire time.” Shala gnashed her teeth. “Twice I had to endure their vulgar rutting. After that, hours of boredom. If I had my hands back I would throttle that whore!”The stranger raised his head, alert eyes meeting Ambrose’s. “Explain why the head talks,” he growled. “And why you keep such a thing.” He looked down to Tsonia’s shoulder. Faint bite marks marred her otherwise fair skin. “She tastes like poison and death,” the stranger said, his fur bristling. “Why?”“I have questions of my own,” Ambrose said, his hand inching towards his cane. He doubted he would be a match for the stranger’s prowess, but he felt better with a weapon at the ready. “Who are you? What do you want from us?”“I am T'pek, the hunter,” the stranger said. “I came to challenge fire-hair. Tsonia.”“And then the whore allowed the beast to breed her. Twice at least,” Shala added.“How did I miss that?” Ambrose asked.Stories about Tsonia’s amorous exploits were as numerous and outlandish as those of her prowess on the field of battle. He chuckled softly, knowing at least one of them to be true. It involved him, Tsonia and Joras after all.That particular tale ended with the fire-haired vixen spurned and furious after she caught Ambrose and Joras, naked, sweaty and curled around each other after an afternoon of lovemaking in a nameless pirate inn. She had been so obsessed with sating her own desires, so fixated on bedding Ambrose that she did not, for one moment, consider that Joras’ classical beauty and his youthful body were much more to his liking than Tsonia’s carelessly presented curves.T'pek rose, his muscular frame easily towering above sitting Ambrose. With enviable grace, the beastkin crossed the small clearing they had chosen as their camp site and dug into a pile of gear. Carrying a small bundle in his paw, he returned to the stump and knelt down next to Ambrose.The captain forced himself to look anywhere but the stranger’s groin. He had to admit, T'pek’s form, though alien to his sensibilities, exuded power and virility he would find utterly irresistible under other circumstances. After all, curiosity was a prized trait in any explorer.T'pek offered the bundle. It was wound in thick, crimson leaves, with pale yellow and white ribs. The smell emanating from it was at the same time mouth-watering and stomach-churning.“Do I want to eat that?” Ambrose asked, a tad suspiciously.“Yes. Eat. You are hurt. It will help.” T'pek nudged the bundle into his hand.“He might be lying,” Shala spat in Xhastrian. “You and Joras are of no concern to him. All he cares for is-”The hunter turned on his heels, claws out. A dangerous, low growl escaped T'pek’s throat. The undead witch closed her mouth, spearing the beastkin with baleful glares instead.“What does it say?” asked T'pek, circling Shala’s perch as if looking for just the right angle to punt her into the treetops.“Treachery and insults that will get her smashed with a rock and then burned to ash if she isn’t careful,” Ambrose chastised Shala. To T'pek he said “She says bad words about you. Bad words about Tsonia.”“The bad words it says have no use. Why keep it?” T'pek asked again.“Uh, magic. Strong magic,” Ambrose said. He was well acquainted with the words of trade on his tongue, but they were usually spoken across a table over tankards of wine, or between two ships lashed together in the open sea, or between merchant caravans meeting at a crossroads. Hearing the words, simple and ineloquent as they were, spoken by the beastial newcomer gave him a disquieting sensation along the length of his spine. “She promised to bring us home with magic. If we find the man she wants,” he continued, fighting to keep a straight face. The bundle’s scent was becoming utterly vile the longer he held it.“Do you trust it?”Ambrose sighed. “We have no ship. We cannot build one. We can wait many many tomorrows and moons for a ship to come. Or we can gamble.” He wasn’t certain how to express the concept of 'Hope’ in the simple Trade Tongue so in his own words, to settle his own mind, he added. “I’ll take a little hope over no hope at all.”“We gamble,” he concluded to T'pek.Gathering all his courage, he bit into the bundle. Rancid juices poured into his mouth. Strange clumps of an alien texture were borne on that vile torrent, their taste unfathomable. Coughing, he dropped the morsel, trying to wipe sticky remains from his lips. They burned as if touched by Thelyrian devil’s peppers.“Are you trying to kill me?” he snarled, raising his cane. T'pek shook his head and left him, sputtering and close to retching.Joras stirred next to him, no doubt roused by his violent hacking. Tsonia woke up too, disheveled but alert. Her gaze swept the campsite. When she spotted no immediate danger, she fussed about the stains and dirt caking her naked skin. Eventually, she sighed and stood.“I will bring water,” she said, grabbing the water skins. “Good water is not far.”“I will lead you,” T'pek offered. “The jungle is hungry in the morning.”“Not as hungry as his appetite for her cunt,” Shala muttered to their backs, already halfway across the clearing. Aloud she said: “If you wanted succor for your injuries, sailor, you had but to ask. I can easily restore your lost vigor.”“The price will be higher than you’d wish to pay, Ambrose,” Joras warned, then turned to the witch’s severed head. “Besides, don’t you need hands to work your magic?”“Small minds ask stupid questions,” Shala sighed dramatically. “Not every spell requires elaborate gesticulation. Sometimes a sip of blood and a few well-chosen words are all that is needed to weave the powers of the ether into a useful tapestry.”“Do you trust her?” Joras asked, the second time Ambrose had heard the question this morning.Ambrose gnashed his teeth. Sleeping on the forest floor had done little to dull the numerous aches he harbored. His sprained ankle was a dull throb even when sitting, but he knew it would flare into a beacon of agony after another day of walking for miles on end. Every nick and cut he had suffered stung from his own sweat, every insects’ bite itched worse than the caress of a jellyfish’s tendril.“I’m at my wit’s end, Joras!” he sobbed. “On the sea, there is a time to wait for the wind to shift and fill your sails, and there is a time to break out the oars and row. The wind is not shifting, Joras. Unless you want to drag or carry me to whatever fate awaits us, I’m going to die here in this jungle, unless I row.”He limped to the tree stump and picked up Shala’s head with both hands. Holding her up to his face, he stared into her undead eyes. “Speak, witch. What do you need me to do?”“Kiss me, oh captain of the seas,” Shala purred. “It will be over in no time.” The witch started to mutter, knotty words not meant for mortal tongues.“You have to be joking!” Joras gasped. “Put your lips to that, thing?”“Either that or dying on a nameless jungle path,” Ambrose said, gritting his teeth. He puckered his lips and pulled the witch’s head close. Shala, having finished her incantation, gazed at him with pursed lips, her wicked eyes wide with anticipation.“There’s a good boy,” the witch cooed. “Be strong. It will be over very soon.”Her clammy, withered lips touched his. Then came her tongue, probing into his mouth. He tried to clench his teeth against the intrusion, but the glutinous texture of the organ so repulsed his sensibilities that his jaw opened in revulsion instead. He very nearly dropped her then, but forced himself to endure the horror.The witch’s tongue delved impossibly deep, caressing his teeth, tracing unknown sigils on the roof of his mouth, coddling his own tongue. Ambrose had eaten raw fish tasting better than the curling flesh, but there was no escape from the loathsome kiss. He was transfixed by her undead eyes as her tongue explored his mouth, fouling it with her rotten taste.At last the organ withdrew and Ambrose began to relax- until her teeth gouged a bloody furrow into his lower lip. He dropped the head, but Shala did not fall. His lip, clamped tightly in her teeth, distended from the weight of Shala’s head hanging off of it. With pain lancing through his jaw Ambrose swatted at the witch, but every blow that landed only tore his flesh.Joars finally intervened with a cry of protest. Seizing the witch’s head, he supported its weight, alleviating the pull on Ambrose’s lip. He twisted Shala’s ear until she finally released her grip sputtering one last breathless word, her maw stained crimson with blood.Ambrose held his mouth, close to losing his stomach for the second time this cursed morning. As Joras asked after his state, Ambrose’s heartbeat throbbed through the deep gash in his lip and he itched to cave in that undead skull with his cane. A tingling, burning sensation started in his lips, then spread.“What manner of curse have you-” Ambrose spat, bloody spittle flying from his lips. But then he noticed it, the pain was receding! The mutilated lip was knitting itself closed! Like hundreds of stinging fire ants, the sensation traveled down his body, leaving nothing but the absence of pain behind. Even the ever-present throbbing in his ankle abated!“No curse.” Shala grinned up at him from Joras’ grip, her cheeks flushed with an infusion of life. “I have told you again and again, until we find my boy, I will do my best to help.”Ambrose mulled the words over in his mouth, but as a man of honor, he had no choice, even if it galled him. Taking a deep breath, he bowed.“Thank you, Shala.”The witch’s grin was loathsome. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”Suddenly a long, drawn wail echoed through the jungle.“That’s Tsonia!” Ambrose exclaimed, reaching for a sword. “She’s in trouble!” As if to answer him, a second wail followed.“No,” Joras sighed, setting Shala back down. “That is not the sound of Tsonia in distress I’m afraid.”“The whore is in heat, like a mongrel bitch” Shala spat dismissively.“She is having all the fun, is she?” Ambrose asked, placing an arm around Joras’ shoulders.The artist scowled. “Sometimes it is very difficult, being her chronicler.” He gently laid his head upon the taller man’s shoulder. “It may be a while before we get that water.”Ambrose chuckled. “I’d rather half a keg of Debon’s Winter Mead right about now.”He shifted his weight to embrace Joras. Had it been only a few days since they’d been swept upon these dreadful shores? Ambrose had almost forgotten how it felt to stand without favoring his bad foot.Joras looked up at him, a sly cock to his eyebrow. “Oh, you do remember our first night then?” he asked. “I thought all that mead had muddled your memory.”“I remember enough,” Ambrose affirmed, and then he kissed Joras in a way he’d not soon forget. Maybe, he thought, they’d make it out of this hellish jungle alive after all, if Tsonia’s recklessness didn’t kill them all.With Ambrose’s body mended and T'pek leading them, they traveled at a much faster clip. The soggy, swampy soil gave way to firmer ground, with the occasional rock formation jutting up between the trees. By midday, the jungle seemed much less dense and oppressive, with pools of golden sunlight cutting through wider gaps in the leafy canopy.Shortly before dusk, with thick clouds pooling overhead, they reached a wide, gaping chasm. Deep below was the glitter of a rock-strewn river, its rush and roar echoing off the sheer cliffs to either side.Ambrose peered over the edge, shuddering. “What are those dark shapes clinging to the walls?” He pointed.“Death on wings,” T'pek said. “They hunt fish below.”“I hear a 'but’ somewhere,” Joras quipped, then turned to T'pek. “How do we cross? Climb?”T'pek shoo

Shrieking onto the scene in 1984, Violence and Force was Exciter's second studio album that left a notable mark on the early 80's Power Metal scene. Featuring fast-paced double bass drum work, lightning speed guitar solos, and blood-curdling screams from Dan Beehler, Exciter made sure their fans got more of what they loved from the band's debut album and took it to the next level. --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/heavylutionpodcast/support

Ann has her head torch on and is off to discover animals that wake up when the sun goes down in the Blue Mountains. Soon she spies someone with big, round eyes and a heart-shaped face.

We premiere new music from Mila Stern who features on Kisok I.D. alongside Camea, Öona Dahl, mytripismytrip, and Hardt Antoine on remix duties. We feature ‘Deadline Disco', an off-kilter progressive cut that thrives on shuffling percussive rhythms and screeching synth lines to devasting affect. DJ-producer Mila Stern is the latest addition to the Kiosk I.D. crew – the in-house label of Kater Blau Club Berlin. The rising producer serves up a six-track EP entitled ‘Five Finger EP' featuring remixes from Camea, Öona Dahl, mytripismytrip, and Hardt Antoine. The ‘Five Finger EP' turns up the heat on the floor with thick tech house kicks and jagged electroclash-style sawtooth leads. With touches of industrial and post-punk, the ‘Five Finger EP' follows in the footsteps of left-field producers such as Lena Willikens and Inga Mauer. Sonically ‘Five Finger EP' bears all the hallmarks of tough decision making during the creative process. “Sometimes you have the obvious route,” Stern explains. “And sometimes you have the second or third or fourth route that is not that obvious.” In her world, that means uncomfortable or jarring, a key element in all Stern's work. We premiere ‘Deadline Disco', a left-field look at the contemporary big-room prog sounds. Mila Stern leans into jagged percussive rhythms on this one, creating a rigid groove that is made the challenge dancefloors in the best kind of way. Shrieking synths and sinister effects creating a menacing undertone acroos the face of a marching band-style snare shuffle. “It reminds me of an angry child sitting there with a snare drum in a room, and just being noisy.” Mila Stern ----------------------- SC: https://soundcloud.com/mila-stern IG: https://www.instagram.com/milastern1234/ FB: https://www.facebook.com/mila.mila.stern Four Four Magazine --------------------------- FB: www.facebook.com/FOURFOURDANCE/ IG: www.instagram.com/fourfourmagazine/ Web: www.fourfourmag.com/

Ripley's Believe It Or Not - 1 Minute Episodes xx-xx-xx (311) Shrieking Statue

When a group of teenage friends sneak into a local retention pond in their neighborhood, they run into more scares than the thrill of trespassing after dark. In our second listener submission, we detail a man's various apartments and homes over the years that is incredibly sensitive to the paranormal. From shadow figures and screams to fingers lurking between grates, there are plenty of horrifying tales. But, are these stories believable?Patreon: Support Believing the Bizarre and get tons of extra content by joining our Patreon.For updates, news, and extra content, follow Believing the Bizarre on social media:InstagramFacebookTwitterDiscordWant to discuss the episode on the day it drops with Tyler and Charlie? Follow on Twitch and check out the extended Twitch streams every Tuesday.Shop Merch: You can rep Believing the Bizarre and buy some unique merchThis show is part of the Spreaker Prime Network, if you are interested in advertising on this podcast, contact us at https://www.spreaker.com/show/5780832/advertisement

The AV Club has a plan. A good plan. A solid plan. A plan with very few holes. How well does it hold up against ravening mutant baboons? That's a rhetorical question. Watch and listen to find out! Feats of Exploration achieved during this session can be perused here. The Halls of Arden Vul is by Richard Barton, Andreas Claren, and Joseph Browning, published by Expeditious Retreat Press.  Purchase it ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠here⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Old School Essentials is a restatement of the Basic/Expert (B/X) rulesets of Dungeons & Dragons, originally published in 1981. Check it out at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://necroticgnome.com/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.   I use a fairly extensive list of house rules, culled from numerous luminary OSR sources. Find them, my Armor and Weapons List, and my Carousing Rules ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠here⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Grab some 3d6 DTL merchandise! ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://3d6dtl.creator-spring.com/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ If you'd like to not only listen to us, but also watch our ugly mugs, check out the episode on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠YouTube⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/3d6dtl/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/3d6dtl/support

Ted Lasso - Chelsea. If Ted believes, I believe. Pre-making Office, The Break-up Mix. Shrieking. Fainting. Some lip-reading. Some sour-yelling. Roy and Trent's history. Hop on the Awesome Pod Mix and rediscover the episode as I react and talk about the many references, metaphors, Easter Eggs and cinematic details I spotted while watching the TV Show. You can listen to the Awesome Pod Mix and subscribe to it on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, Google Podcasts, and Goodpods. If you like what I'm doing, you can support me on Patreon at pateron.com/awesomepodmix. Thanks for listening.

As we come one day closer to Title 42's expiration, the president of the National Border Patrol Council, Brandon Judd, is warning that once it's lifted, the cartels are going to have complete control over the southern border. The Biden administration claims it's taken the border seriously "since day one," which, seeing the current problems we're facing, is hard to believe. A left-wing activist went to a San Francisco board meeting to voice her displeasure in the wake of the controversial shooting of a black trans person. You won't believe what she did during this meeting. Sen. Bernie Sanders is pushing for a $17 per hour federal minimum wage, and he is also advocating for a 32-hour work week without any accompanying decrease in pay for workers. Will this help or hurt businesses? Whoopi Goldberg is getting into the comic book arena, releasing her new superhero story, "The Change." What's the plot of this particular comic book? It follows a woman adjusting to menopause, which leads to her developing powerful abilities. You read that correctly. Today's Sponsors: RIGHT NOW, YOU CAN SAVE $200 ON AN EDEN PURE THUNDERSTORM 3-PACK FOR WHOLE HOME PROTECTION. YOU GET 3 UNITS FOR UNDER $200. PUT ONE IN YOUR BASEMENT, BEDROOM, FAMILY ROOM, KITCHEN OR ANYWHERE YOU NEED CLEAN, FRESH AIR. GO TO https://www.EDENPUREDEALS.COM AND PUT IN DISCOUNT CODE SARA TO SAVE $200. Liver Health Formula contains 12 powerful botanicals clinically-proven to recharge and protect your liver at the cellular level. You can try Liver Health Formula completely risk-free... And receive 5 FREE gifts when you order today. First, you'll receive a FREE bottle of Blood Sugar Formula to reduce sugar cravings. You're also getting 4 FREE eBooks to support every aspect of your health. Act today and go to https://www.GetLiverHelp.com/News. Tommy John Underwear has DOZENS of comfort innovations, like breathable, lightweight, moisture-wicking fabric with four times the stretch of competing brands. Get TWENTY PERCENT OFF YOUR FIRST ORDER at https://www.TommyJohn.com/WHY. See site for details. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Last week in security news: Dealing with Ransomware in the Cloud, Pen Testing AWS, How to prioritize IAM Access Analyzer findings, and more!Links: Last Week in AWS job board  AWS had two (minor) Cross-Tenant Vulnerabilities within AWS App Runner. Some company called Invictus has practical experience dealing with ransomware in the cloud Chris Farris has a post on Pen Testing AWS. Dark Reading posits that Security Is a Revenue Booster, Not a Cost Center. An Attacker's Perspective on AWS Account IDs How to prioritize IAM Access Analyzer findings  Scale your authorization needs for Secrets Manager using ABAC with IAM Identity Center Netchecks is a way of programmatically verifying your security controls. I love CloudTrail Lake, and this repository of query samples makes it easier for me to use it. IAMbic offers "GitOps for IAM."

Justin, Rob, and Wos recap Wednesday night's play-in games starting with Oklahoma City's road win over the New Orleans Pelicans. They talk about Shai Gilgeous-Alexander's impressive performance, the development of the Thunder's young core, what's next for the Pelicans, and more (2:11). Then they talk about the Chicago Bulls' comeback win over the Toronto Raptors. They try to figure out what the future looks like for the Raptors, Zach Lavine's incredible scoring display, DeMar DeRozan's daughter Diar distracting the Raptors, and more (34:56). The suggestion box is back next week! Send us your emails at SuggestionBoxGC@gmail.com Hosts: Justin Verrier, Rob Mahoney, Wosny Lambre Producer: Isaiah Blakely Additional Production Supervision: Ben Cruz Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons was a long-running radio detective series broadcast on NBC Blue from 1937 to 1955. The show featured Bennett Kilpack (and later Arthur Hughes and Phil Clarke) as Mr. Keen, along with Jim Kelly as his sidekick Mike Clancy. It was produced by Frank and Anne Hummert, who based it upon Robert W. Chambers' 1906 novel The Tracer of Lost Persons. With 1690 nationwide broadcasts, Mr. Keen was the most resilient private detective in a namesake role. GSMC Classics presents some of the greatest classic radio broadcasts, classic novels, dramas, comedies, mysteries, and theatrical presentations from a bygone era. The GSMC Classics collection is the embodiment of the best of the golden age of radio. Let Golden State Media Concepts take you on a ride through the classic age of radio, with this compiled collection of episodes from a wide variety of old programs. ***PLEASE NOTE*** GSMC Podcast Network presents these shows as historical content and have brought them to you unedited. Remember that times have changed and some shows might not reflect the standards of today's politically correct society. The shows do not necessarily reflect the views, standards, or beliefs of Golden State Media Concepts or the GSMC Podcast Network. Our goal is to entertain, educate, and give you a glimpse into the past.

Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons was a long-running radio detective series broadcast on NBC Blue from 1937 to 1955. The show featured Bennett Kilpack (and later Arthur Hughes and Phil Clarke) as Mr. Keen, along with Jim Kelly as his sidekick Mike Clancy. It was produced by Frank and Anne Hummert, who based it upon Robert W. Chambers' 1906 novel The Tracer of Lost Persons. With 1690 nationwide broadcasts, Mr. Keen was the most resilient private detective in a namesake role. GSMC Classics presents some of the greatest classic radio broadcasts, classic novels, dramas, comedies, mysteries, and theatrical presentations from a bygone era. The GSMC Classics collection is the embodiment of the best of the golden age of radio. Let Golden State Media Concepts take you on a ride through the classic age of radio, with this compiled collection of episodes from a wide variety of old programs. ***PLEASE NOTE*** GSMC Podcast Network presents these shows as historical content and have brought them to you unedited. Remember that times have changed and some shows might not reflect the standards of today's politically correct society. The shows do not necessarily reflect the views, standards, or beliefs of Golden State Media Concepts or the GSMC Podcast Network. Our goal is to entertain, educate, and give you a glimpse into the past.

On this episode, the hosts give advice to a mom whose daughter is having a hard time processing big emotions, which has been leading to frequent meltdowns. They've tried pretty much everything she can think of but the shrieking still persists. She's worried about her daughter being in these prolonged states and, furthermore, they're concerned that if the screaming continues, a neighbor will call the authorities. It's a really tricky situation and Jamilah, Zak, and Elizabeth have some suggestions.  Then on Slate Plus, they discuss setting boundaries with grandparents. If you enjoy this show, please consider signing up for Slate Plus. Slate Plus members get an ad-free experience across the network and exclusive content on many shows—you'll also be supporting the work we do here on Mom and Dad are Fighting. Sign up now at slate.com/momanddadplus to help support our work. Join us on Facebook and email us at momanddad@slate.com to ask us new questions, tell us what you thought of today's show, and give us ideas about what we should talk about in future episodes.  Podcast produced by Kristie Taiwo-Makanjuola and Rosemary Belson. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

On this episode, the hosts give advice to a mom whose daughter is having a hard time processing big emotions, which has been leading to frequent meltdowns. They've tried pretty much everything she can think of but the shrieking still persists. She's worried about her daughter being in these prolonged states and, furthermore, they're concerned that if the screaming continues, a neighbor will call the authorities. It's a really tricky situation and Jamilah, Zak, and Elizabeth have some suggestions.  Then on Slate Plus, they discuss setting boundaries with grandparents. If you enjoy this show, please consider signing up for Slate Plus. Slate Plus members get an ad-free experience across the network and exclusive content on many shows—you'll also be supporting the work we do here on Mom and Dad are Fighting. Sign up now at slate.com/momanddadplus to help support our work. Join us on Facebook and email us at momanddad@slate.com to ask us new questions, tell us what you thought of today's show, and give us ideas about what we should talk about in future episodes.  Podcast produced by Kristie Taiwo-Makanjuola and Rosemary Belson. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Foolishly, I suppose, we thought FOR SURE Brooke McEldowney would make some reference to Halloween in his strip over the years. At the very least, we were expecting the female characters to be dressed as sexy somethings -- painters? pilots? poop emojis? -- but McEldowney gave us nothing. So we soldiered on and explored a half dozen or so strips that ran on Halloween. Edda writes an incomprehensible sentence on the chalkboard. Thorax either milks a cow or breaks up with it. Both seem equally possible. Edda finds some confidence only to have a friend tell her to "drop dead." A former nun (Diane) and Catholic priest (Francis) get married, which fogs up another nun's glasses. Thorax becomes "shadow president" and for some reason a chicken reads three teleprompters that all say "cluck." Amos & Edda's relationship is tested when Amos accidentally kisses Xiulan, a fellow cellist who is also a pilot, because of course she is. Finally, Edda does a solo ballet dance that's interrupted by a dog putting his nose in her butt. Mostly, we end up spending a lot of time at an insufferable dinner party with Brooke McEldowney. The Chickweed strips we discuss this episode: The vexing chalkboard, magnificent cow, and Drop Dead Janice are here (https://twitter.com/9chickweedRAGE/status/1583844780823322626?s=20&t=kuoU5Slu_SoVFwnXWhY_tQ). The nun with the boob-eyes, the Shadow President, and Xiulan's damp kiss are here (https://twitter.com/9chickweedRAGE/status/1583844786057814016?s=20&t=kuoU5Slu_SoVFwnXWhY_tQ). The dog nose in the butthole is here (https://twitter.com/9chickweedRAGE/status/1583844790239580160?s=20&t=kuoU5Slu_SoVFwnXWhY_tQ). This episode's not very spooky journey includes: Meditation 2-liter bottles Rocket launch Space X Elon Musk Plumbers Halloween decorations Edda Cows Thorax The Bechdel Test Janice, Edda's friend from the ballet company Diane & Francis Sister Steven / Sister Caligula Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart films Yet another ellipsis problem Shadow governments Teleprompter Tony Orlando & Dawn Amos, Edda, & Xiulan Showgirls Speed skating, ballet, or modern dance? The mysterious white dog again Happy Halloween! Show Notes Nam myoho renge kyo for 15 minutes (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KfRcUpoPl7w). Not a sexy poop emoji costume, but a sexy pope costume (https://www.yandy.com/products/yandy-shining-bright-pope-costume). Does this comic strip pass The Bechdel Test (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bechdel_test)? Probably not. For context, this is Caligula (https://www.britannica.com/biography/Caligula-Roman-emperor). A moment from To Have and Have Not (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=huTKkFSn8us). "Knock Three Times" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nt5uNQ3FXRI) by Tony Orlando & Dawn. The Showgirls pool sex scene (https://dai.ly/x2bcf61). It is very NSFW. Skip to 2:15 for the splashiest part. Talk to Us! Having trouble understanding what's going on in a 9 Chickweed Lane strip you just read? Send it our way! We'll take a shot at interpreting it for you! Or maybe you just want someone to talk to? We're on Twitter: @9ChickweedRAGE (https://twitter.com/9chickweedRAGE)

Yes we know it's been 5 weeks, but have you seen planet Earth recently? THIS PLACE IS BONKERS. Catch up with Jen + Lillian right before things went absolutely hogwild (why yes, that is an early tidbit of next week's episode) as they process some of the most fascist, doom-mongering shit 2022 had to throw! But there is a silver lining... and it tastes like Jamba Juice. -- Want more information on fake clinics? Click here! --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/allthefucks/message

Episode 245: Shrieking in my Car! In this episode, Dan and Josh are joined by Colorado Stand Up Comic Sam Sisson (Jokechella, Air Sex Champion), national champion of the Air Sex comedy competition - you have questions, we know, so check out the episode! Sam's bombing story proves how important it is to be on time for your shows! She talks about the difference between filling a 10-minute set with tested material versus, say, doing 10 minutes. Learn from Sam how she analyzes a set, develops new material, and what she's got coming up next! Please rate and review Sam Sisson Sam Sisson is a Colorado-based comedian, inventor of Durst Traps (photoshopping Fred Durst into thirst traps), and former National Champion of the “Air Sex” comedy competition. She's a regular at The Comedy Fort comedy club in Fort Collins, CO, and has opened for prominent comedians including Judah Friedlander and Todd Barry. After her set, Todd told her “Good job”, which he later downgraded to “You did fine”. Check her out and judge for yourself! Website: NA Instagram: @Queefpantry Twitter: @Queefpantry YouTube: NA Art of Bombing: Blitzed Entertainment: https://www.blitzedentertainment.com/ "Nobody Had a Podcast Called The Art of Bombing" Theme by John Hult Bumpers provided by Joe Nicola Music Website: https://www.artofbombingpod.com/ Merch: https://teespring.com/stores/blitzed-entertainment Please leave us a voice message: https://anchor.fm/the-art-of-bombing/message Buy us a coffee: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/aobpod Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/artofbombingpod FB: https://www.facebook.com/artobpodcast/ Twitter: @artofbombingpod Instagram: @artofbombingpod Twitch: @artofbombingpod YouTube: Art of Bombing Podcast Dan Bublitz Jr: http://www.danbublitz.com/ Josh Shirley: http://www.joshshirleycomedy.com --- 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/the-art-of-bombing/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/the-art-of-bombing/support

Aal Heute gibt es einen ganzen Haufen Filme, weil die Realität zu anstrengend und böse ist. Das sind sie also, ganz kurz und knapp: Yuru Camp (00:12:37) Sunday Drive (00:20:02) Survive Style 5+ (00:31:06) Alien Artist (00:38:37) Shrieking in the Rain (00:46:07) Distant Thunder (00:52:42) Rurouni Kenshin 1, 2 und 3 (00:58:48) Baby Assassins (01:12:54) Heaven's Rush (01:26:08) Legendary Hitman Kunioka (01:27:47) A Janitor (01:35:05) Podcast herunterladen

Guest commentator Jordan D. White joins L3 & Qi'ra as they discuss the ins & outs of robot romance!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Today we premiere a track from a new Irish techno label with a track coming from Dublin techno boss, Mode_1. Robbie Kavnagh aka Mode_1 has contributed deep and driving techno track with howling synth lines, pounding kick-drums and eery atmospheres throughout. This is not to miss from one of Dublins most consistent producers. Mode_1 has been busy in the studio, supplying a wealth of music within recent times. Mode_1's carefully crafted DJ tools lye in tangent with his well orchestrated DJ sets which have caught the attention of many through his time as a Subject resident, playing regularly in Dublin and on the festival circuit. Mode_1 produces clean and powerful peak time techno and his DJ sets would be best described as fast and trippy with a groove. The Dublin based selector has shared the stage with some of technos most formidable figures including; Ben Klock, Slam, Ben Sims, Dave Clarke, Paula Temple, Blawan and more. In the studio Mode_1 has been constructing well oiled techno records and releasing them on highly regraded techno imprints including; Naked Lunch Records, Knotweed Rec, Fiedeltwo, Truncate and more. Mode_1's track Recourse is classic rolling techno. Recourse is a tough, trippy and sinister. Shrieking synths take centre stage of the track as atmospheres swirl around the track. Pounding kick drums and gnarly percussion give the track a real peak time feel, yet it still feel's utterly spaced out. The is grat work from one of Dublins finest techno producers. Mode_1 ------------------------- SC: https://soundcloud.com/mode_1 IG: https://www.instagram.com/mode_1_music/ FB: https://www.facebook.com/modeonemusic Four Four Magazine 
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"Do you want us to be on time, or hot?" Eva's computer tried to do a murder to this episode, so please excuse the audio quality! She and Rave and Kelly simply can't allow a week of Capitals hockey, several loffs-clinching narratives, and a thought exercise about dropping hockeys into various Hunger Games arenas go unremarked upon. This episode was recorded on April 20, 2022. Support us on Patreon @ patreon.com/youcantdothat and check out our merch @ shop.spreadshirt.com/you-cant-do-that. Timecodes: (03:03) Little Meow Meow | (08:06) #ALLCAPS | (26:36) Elsewhere in the NHL | (47:16) Hungry Games

In this video I talk about the lockdowns that are taking place and Shanghai and also the possibility of those coming back to the United States. https://youtu.be/UG1E5MQwXL0

Tim, Ian, Seamus of FreedomToons, and Lydia host country music star and entrepreneur John Rich to discuss the emerging videos of Chinese residents losing patience with the lockdowns in Shanghai and screaming out their windows as a drone flies in telling them to fight their urge for freedom, the epidemiologist saying that we need more China-style lockdowns, Joe Biden's plans for Americans' guns, Democrats looming loss in November, and John's philosophy about standing up to the woke mob. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

#91- The Shrieking Streaking Street King (A Review of M*A*S*H S1E9-10) by Rotten or Righteous

Courtney Nicole returns to talk about her solo project 'Shrieking Violet' !!!

On this episode Stacia and Siofra go adventuring in north Norfolk to visit the shrieking pit in Northrepps. It gets a bit windy out there!

This episode starts with a dramatic reading of a text exchange between the brothers Drouillard regarding the Cold War era's subterranean version of the space race and goes on to discuss Ivan Drago, the Empire State Building, Brighton & Hove Albion F.C., Giant's Coffin, the Jersey Devil, chupacabras, Woodingdean Water Well, pauperism, buried Ferraris, mutually assured destruction, the Tick, the Kola Superdeep Borehole, the American Miscellaneous Society, and the screaming of condemned souls deep below the Well to Hell. Father Art blesses us with another visit as well. Follow us @ThingsITextMyBrotherPodcast on Instagram where you can leave us notes for us to tackle in future segments of Ablutions and Edification. Like, subscribe, and do all the other things which podcasts tell you to do. Then, tell a friend, enemy, and total stranger. For those who love the experience of audio draped over a static image, head over to the Things I Text My Brother page on YouTube! Please consider joining us in helping to save lives by joining the Things I Text My Brother group through the American Red Cross and donating whatever you can. Whether you are able to give some blood, some time, some money, or some awareness to the cause, all of it helps save lives. https://3cu.be/blood ———————— MUSIC AND SOUNDS Theme Music: Still Pickin by Kevin MacLeod (Royalty free music) (filmmusic.io) "Still Pickin" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Lovely Piano Music Under Dramatic Reading: Relaxing Piano Music by Kevin MacLeod Link: https://incompetech.filmmusic.io/song/4273-relaxing-piano-music License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license Church bells and various sounds effects: https://mixkit.co/free-sound-effects/ Mixkit Sound Effects Free License https://mixkit.co/license/

The ladies crack the twisted psychology of #BoyMoms, delving into Freudian psychology, the concept of enmeshment, and why we're all a little fucked up by our parents. Digressions include The Antisemitic Point Of No Return, Sam Levinson's crimes against humanity, and the Google search “damascus goat beautiful." Support the podcast at patreon.com/binchtopia. Check out our sexy merch at propfront.com/binchtopiaAdvertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brands

This month Dr Rayna Denison, Professor in Film and Digital Arts Bristol University, joins Mark Cosgrove, Watershed Cinema Curator, to talk about Japanese Cinema.As they look forward to the upcoming Japan Foundation Touring Film Programme they share thoughts on the long time flourishing and prolific Japanese cinema industry, its funding and how the market for film works in Japan, plus current influences and genres.But most of all they discuss the highlights screening at Watershed this month; including psychological crime drama First Love, the absolutely gorgeous to look at Spaghetti Code Love and the pressures of daily life face young people and Shrieking in the Rain's journey into the dark underbelly of the Japanese film industry

Rats are just the start of the horror this episode, as the Gang continues to explore these freaky caves. All manner of obstacles get in their way as they try to push through. Bruno was already afraid, Carl is boathooking it up, Lucky wants to squish something in his hands, and Mina uses the deathblow rule. The Professional Casual Network continues their play through of The Enemy Within Campaign. Twitch: Twitch.tv/professionalcasualnetwork Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCfUOaJjpMfgRFWL7Z996lyQ Bearded Dragon Games (Pick up all your gaming needs): BeardedDragonGames.Online (use code 'professionalcasual' for free shipping in the continental US!) A special thanks to our Patreon backers who helped support us athttps://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2FPatreon.com%2Fprofessionalcasual%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR00ZOS4ImPUKbbVunOwdEeGg91kLKkR9KGwRq2n46aWx2QPNd9vLT8nWVE&h=AT17ZULXrF_tgmVfID7Wgg2dQvWTvczC_QFkpaYw1S8tS4n2iowcjY3vGXed_nGbOEOEd2-mAvRaC9DrHUI1cYWxY-1pdAcUFZgPzwJ9RajDDBpcen9DvcNyyqL-jXm_JA ( Patreon.com/professionalcasual) : Thank you to our most recent Patrons! Richard G., Aaron H., Soul Eater, Eric B., Quinn B., John S., William S., Rob M., Rob, Franz B., Film-Lars, Leslie S., Matt F., Kasper S., Paul S., Christopher T., Matt L., Zane T., Thomas T, Joe J., Johan E., Jens R., Oliver H., Mikolaj W., Andrew, Zach C., Justliketheplant, Neil L., Jared S., Mikael N., Taylor M., George F., Tom M., Devin M., Nicholas W., Jonas P., Jonathan L., Simon P., Gareth G., Jacob Y., Lady_Leah, Devin M., David R., Will B., Stephan S., Sean S., Brian Y., William S., Path, William P., Tim D., Simon W., Jake C., Theo A., Heber R., Ben R., Vaughan A., Andrew M., Daniel S., Lars, Taylor H., Blarin R., Gervasio L., Adam D., Christopher C., Craig G., Kevin C., WreckMyPodcast, Charlie S., Witchdream, Anthony R., Sarah B., Dan C., Dani, and Lindsay F. Mailing Address: P.O. Box G, West Oneonta, NY 13861, United States Voicemail: 603-803-3235 (Country Code 001) Drive-Thru RPG: https://www.drivethrurpg.com/browse.php?affiliate_id=3002007&fbclid=IwAR3AMyfrAOFoUjyamJV9Jo_69ZNBq1GVpPyB1bEOFjWjX5PjIbGiKVdXkI8 (https://www.drivethrurpg.com/browse.php?affiliate_id=3002007) Professional Casual Gear: https://professionalcasual.creator-spring.com/? (https://professionalcasual.creator-spring.com/? ) Built Bar (Use link or use code 'professionalcasual' at checkout for discount): https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fbuiltbar.com%2F%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR1csKQAHcNAS-dT3-7pH8242Z4K7X0tT_fPeBBm702ZyBuTRCl_2qw-3HE%23%3Fbaapp%3DPROFESSIONALCASUAL&h=AT04e1Uy6B22XSluNC1VWMWJWl8_jzAMRZtBEBhZG1LMe9AgcTF8-Sglzlt_ynRR_VGPEkiuATs1mrDzQZa7M7BLGT80YaiPFl7tYtXRnX_lsu1ee5aEYHqSC490iV7Vkg (https://builtbar.com#?baapp=PROFESSIONALCASUAL) Use Code 'professionalcasual' for 15% off RAZE Energy: https://reppsports.com/?rfsn=5472644.3e7a1c&utm_source=refersion&utm_medium=affiliate&utm_campaign=5472644.3e7a1c&fbclid=IwAR0hK6RhHFqmOwEJSYM2yw1GrIV6-4GZqN8-Dw1lhHO0UzCriccyxcMhsTY (https://reppsports.com/?rfsn=5472644.3e7a1c&utm_source=refersion&utm_medium=affiliate&utm_campaign=5472644.3e7a1c) Skillshare (get 2 months free, or 30% off the annual subscription): https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fskillshare.eqcm.net%2FQ5mR9%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR00ZOS4ImPUKbbVunOwdEeGg91kLKkR9KGwRq2n46aWx2QPNd9vLT8nWVE&h=AT17ZULXrF_tgmVfID7Wgg2dQvWTvczC_QFkpaYw1S8tS4n2iowcjY3vGXed_nGbOEOEd2-mAvRaC9DrHUI1cYWxY-1pdAcUFZgPzwJ9RajDDBpcen9DvcNyyqL-jXm_JA (skillshare.eqcm.net/Q5mR9) Our Giveaways: https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2FProfessionalcasual.com%2Fgiveaways%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR0ejStddkDQRHOy70DLVCmTOWFfHwl3bw66gGO9rsQi-_hh_rzSjFgOtlY&h=AT17ZULXrF_tgmVfID7Wgg2dQvWTvczC_QFkpaYw1S8tS4n2iowcjY3vGXed_nGbOEOEd2-mAvRaC9DrHUI1cYWxY-1pdAcUFZgPzwJ9RajDDBpcen9DvcNyyqL-jXm_JA (Professionalcasual.com/giveaways)

Farbror Tant och La Fnatti stöter på patrull och kontrovers angående svenska språket. Anna Ingers to the Rescue. Ännu ett avsnitt med lussekatter. Är apotekarnes orginalet? Edward af sillen & Farbror Tant har en twitterkonflama ( Konflikt & Drama). World of Warcraft, The Expanse, Star Trek Discovery och Shoreh Agdashloo för nybörjare. Maila oss dina frågor: CabaretCabernetPod@gmail.com Themesong Dalís Theme - by James Gauthier all rights reserved

Join us while we sing song our way through Banshee's and Omens of Death

Gov. Inslee extends ban on evictions for one month as Washington counties struggle with COVID relief  // Oregon, Washington has the fewest hospital beds per capita in the country  // Connor McGregor's Shrieking Rendition of ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game' Will Go Down in Infamy for the Cubs  // Know-It-All Quiz  // LETTERS  See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

We've avoided it for too long: this fortnight, He must be discussed. Also this issue: the Brotherhood of Metallix, the FINAL Kid Chameleon, why Nack is also Fang, Knuckles & Tails team-up, and a catastrophic misinterpretation of the popularity of barf.

We've avoided it for too long: this fortnight, He must be discussed. Also this issue: the Brotherhood of Metallix, the FINAL Kid Chameleon, why Nack is also Fang, Knuckles & Tails team-up, and a catastrophic misinterpretation of the popularity of barf.

Lena and Ian share your feedback about the New Directions' MIA parents, potential super powers, and Fuinn dates--- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/recoveringgleek/support

Welcome back to This Present Moment. It's been wonderful connecting with many of you through the first issue—and as always, feel free to shoot me any thoughts.Now, today's piece rhymes. And it's about a time When Beyoncé's world and mine became oddly intertwined. And I became confined to the clamors of my mind. And now that you're primed ... I. There lies a Wilderness of Noise, overgrown and tangled. The daily din of cracks and drones which interweave and mangle. It hollers from our TV sets and grips us from the Web. It rips from us our silence, and rings out through our heads. It's the blare of The Biggest Story! from the glare of The Newest Screen. This racket deafens us to Wisdom and stirs us from our Dreams. The Noise, you see, it seizes us. We're cast under its spell, Luring us against our will into the woods in which it dwells, Eventually we call it Home—the Noise becomes the norm. Around then the thunder starts. We're battered by this Storm! This Noise scrambles our compass, and we lose all direction, Rambling evermore into this dense dimension. Bewitched by our desires and how we must be seen— More money! More Things! More Likes! More Me!—We reach for some prestige! Our Thoughts battle our Hearts, and we're stuck in between. This Wilderness turns dizzying, the Noise twists into screams. Don't! Don't! Don't! the culture wars. Do that and you'll sink! Don't! Don't! Don't! your ego scorns. What will they all think?! The babbling of our brains, here, protests every whim, As a mad world howls at us—from outside our minds and in. Crippled by this mania, we wrestle every choice. Which way now? we ask confused, searching for that Voice. Muted under all this Noise, we feel its gentle cry, The "quiet desperation" as life is slipping by. I've lived inside this Wilderness. Perhaps you may have been? Reality there's a prickly place. The game is, above all: Win! You choose a role, and learn it well, and then you run a race. A Contest for Status, or Who Has The Prettiest Face, Or Attention, or Wealth, or Wit. Just focus on your chase! Keep sprinting towards the future. When you get there you'll be safe. Now this is all just nonsense. You know that's not the plot. Your story is much more than this, you feel that in your gut. That just beyond this Wilderness—There are Open Seas. Of Clarity. Of Mystery. Of Possibilities. At times we may dispel that hex, and clear the noxious Noise, To surf those effervescent waves some call our "inner-voice." I'll tell you how I've been helped in finding Open Sea, In navigating through the Noise and learning to be free. But I am just one Average Joe. "Learning" here is key. I'm purely aiming to explore and see where that takes me. And, yes, that Land does jerk me back, too often and too fast. The Noise is always ticking, ticking, ticking from my past. But in This Present Moment, I write you earnestly From a space of openness—that space we truly meet. My stories are a-plenty and we haven't time to share All the minute little tales that bring this Truth to bear. So one short bit will have to do, and I hope that it shines through That if we Listen to our Truth, our world is made anew.II. Years ago, as a scrappy kid, I somehow landed in this gig Working for Beyoncé. I was pretty unqualified, But I was bright and down to grind. So I got to stay with Beyoncé. My life got turnt before my eyes, And a slick, new phrase came to reprise: "I work for Beyoncé." Around the world I went and back, As this vogue lifestyle came to pass. My identity became "Beyoncé." Artists were all around within her vast Creative Team— An ecosystem of geniuses driven just like she. It was tirelessly demanding, but the work was so unique. Its reach was outstanding, and it honed my technique. I got to watch her Manifest, saw her flesh out instinct. And saw the stunning power that forges her mystique. Plus, girls thought it was dope that I was with Bey. And that badge means you're cool in NYC. And I thought it was dope that I knew Jay-Z. That s**t means I'm cool to me! It was an era which emerged so unexpectedly, Into this fertile stretch of dazzling opportunity.I can't complain, I know. But in time something shifted. And I became unsettled by this job I had been gifted. Maybe it was the endless hours, staring at screens for days? Maybe the Actor In Me sought a different kind of stage? I just don't think I cared enough to sacrifice my Being— Even for a visionary, even for the Queen. So the thrill began to fray. I gotta get out. Beneath my breath this mantra played: I gotta get out. It looped throughout my every day. I gotta get out. And loomed behind the digital haze. I gotta get out. But I got paid. And so I stayed. I stayed for the cool stuff I made. Such as, I worked on Lemonade. I stayed for all the accolades. I stayed because who wouldn't stay? But really I stayed because I was afraid. You see, giving up salary at the "coolest job around," To almost everyone looked insurmountably unsound. By any normal standard, I was winning at the game. I'd always wanted stardom, and now I was six feet from fame. More Money! More Likes! More Me! There was no bigger place to be Than in Beyoncé's crew at the age of 23. It was an addiction, impossible to drop. The Noise roared Beyoncé—and I couldn't get it to stop. Sucked into a vortex of my own desires, The Ego was loving it, but I felt like a liar. Drawn into that Wilderness, cast under its spell, Nothing mattered anymore. And that seemed just as well. The weeks became mechanical, and nothing felt real. Years were sliding by, as I ignored my Heart's appeals. I knew it in my gut: I gotta get out. But that there threatened The Ego, so he muzzled all those doubts. And as is wont to happen when we muffle our Flow, The pilot light began to dim and living lost its glow. A friend back then said "I'm so happy." In some misplaced zeal I retorted: "I don't think that happiness is real." I recall another talk with my Mom and Dad: "I feel dead inside," I vented. Why was I so mad? Of course this wretchedness went deeper than a job. I had nothing under me. No meaning, no god. Dust to dust, and nothing more. Just running that race. It drained me of my courage to take a leap of faith. That mortality within us fears all Unknowns. Yet that's the only place where we genuinely grow. So I could not move forward, because I became weak. As I was now a prisoner of my own ennui. Now, I get this was no Tragedy! It's not like someone died. I wasn't under some duress, or working in the mines! (Charge me with my "Privilege!"—and that may well be true. I'm grateful for what I was offered. That I assure you.) But sometimes suffering slithers from behind; It slinks in quietly and hides within the grind. At some point it bites everyone. No matter who or why. Pain can not be measured, though it seems we try. It's reduced into metrics, and split down party lines. I have it worse than you! squawks our tribal whines. We weaponize our agony and obscure our Design: Love is to Realize we're all One Big Mind.III. We were doing a show in Vegas, and I was burnt out to the max. It was 18 hour days for months, and I was desperate to relax. I lurched to my hotel room, and got pinged to come back to work. It was midnight. On a Friday. And I legitimately went berserk. F**k this s**t. I'm so tired. F**k it all to Hell. I looked at myself in the mirror and erupted with this yell: A PRIMAL SCREAM OF ANGER FROM THAT WILDERNESS. A VOLCANIC CRY OF DANGER FROM DEEP IN THAT ABYSS, WHERE SOULS HAVE LOST THEIR NATURE AND ARE BURNING TO A CRISP. And in the mirror—in crimson face—I think I saw a stranger. This rupture snaked around my mind and left it with a hiss ... The fever of this breakdown kept me in a shiver. When I got back to New York, I walked to the East River. The moon refracted off the waves in that sparkling way Where every burst of glitter is some secret kept at bay. I was not a man of Spirit then. An atheist, in fact. But that night I asked for a Sign, and I made a pact: "I'll change my life. I will. But I just feel so trapped. I'm in this hard reality and don't know my way back. The Self Who Stands Above Me knows this is not my Path But Little Me can't take the Risk. I need more faith to Act. I don't know what's Beyond me, but it seems I have to Ask: Send a Sign that says: "Go forth. This fear shall pass." "Ask and it shall be given. Seek and ye shall find." The next morning I awoke to a text cosmically timed: "Hey Joe! It's John" (A college friend.) "You just popped to mind. I work for Bravo! now doing video and design. We've got months of overflowing work: Do you have any time?" Whoa! An open door ... I asked and here's the sign ... Bravo, indeed! I thought. A wondrous magic trick! Well, now I had no choice. I had to act on it. I stayed in that vibration and rode it to the office. Holding that conviction, I gathered up my bosses. "Thank you for it all," I said. "And sorry I've been grumpy. I think I need to leave. I don't like who I'm becoming." And that was that. So simple. It felt like almost nothing. It almost turned this melodrama into something funny! I headed home at rush hour, and I just started running Through packed Manhattan sidewalks. My Spirit was buzzing. I must have seemed a lunatic, weaving through the passersby. It was that unbridled vigor of finally feeling Alive. For 30 blocks I ran. I'd rarely felt so free. I had escaped my Wilderness and was setting out to Sea. I know this seems theatrical. I was just quitting a job. But looking back on it, this is what it wrought. I played victim to my limiting beliefs That I was powerless against the plague of my own grief. And in that extra push from past The Great Divide I began to Realize the universe is on our side. IV. Life unfolded afterwards in many glimmering ways. Reality rewards us after diving into change. Curveballs, decisions, and hard times never cease. But there are these messages that shepherd us to peace. They're whispering beneath the Noise, guiding our way out: That electric spark of joy or a knowing sense of doubt. In the years to come, I've Listened for these signs. Sometimes it's just a dash of bliss which teases more to find. Or perhaps it's stranger, like a call perfectly timed. The webwork of reality seems weirdly intertwined ... Call them odd coincidences or call them divine, There are White Rabbits everywhere, even in this rhyme. Maybe that's the real game: We simply have to Listen. Easier said than done, I know—sensing intuition. In hindsight, though, we tend to say "I sensed something was off." So it follows that right now it's possible—somewhere—we're lost ... Perhaps we're always being Signaled to that Open Sea. But we can't hear beneath that Noise that's hexed us devilishly. We get trapped in Wilderness—that scraping in our head, Those painful thoughts that we avoid, that sprout up into dread. And the world becomes that prickly place where everything is sharp, Shrieking in anxiety and splitting us apart. And the things that scare us most are what we most lack. For as Jung said: "Where your fear is—there's your task." Our Task is never easy. But we each have the choice To Listen—beyond the Wilderness of Noise— To that song that plays outside of time and space. A melody that carries us beyond this mortal chase. It sings through the Universe in quiet chimes of grace. That mysterious compass that we may as well call Faith. The feeling that Something knows who you're supposed to be. Even before you know it. Before even you can see. That Voice that tracks ahead of us, singing "Wake Up! We are free." It surfs the open waters laughing playfully. Life glistens when you listen—so tune yourself to thee, Which know which way the wind blows and directs you out to Sea.This Present Moment is an experiment in connection. I want to hear from you and I welcome your thoughts. Feel free to reply to this email. And if you haven't yet:And if you've banked on crypto lately, you can now become a paying subscriber. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit thispresentmoment.substack.com

In this episode, I share my ideas on why babies coo and shriek. I believe this is their first attempt at speaking, and during these first attempts, they will be limited to these sounds. With loudness being the only thing they can control vocally, the coo would be at the quiet end, while the shriek would be the loud end.

A brief reading from Joshua Chambers-Letson's "After the Party: A Manifesto for Queer of Color Life"; listening with Elena Elías Krell (Vassar College, Hen in the Foxhouse) for inner voices that sound the vulnerability of queer of color critique; and a vocal exercise through grief and giggles from Abigail Bengson (The Bengsons). CUE TIMES (start of each section): 2:00 [reading] // 7:28 [scholarly conversation] // 42.50 [exercise]

Chels comes back from holiday and tells Jim how she met a man in an elevator who was odds-on a ghost, then takes him to the first stop of her haunted London Underground series: Farringdon Station.

Once again this weekend, the women marched; and once again, they had nothing to say. We will dismantle the Women's March point by point. Then Allie Stuckey and Amber Athey join the Panel of Deplorables to discuss feminism, the pointless government shutdown, how technology is leading to unhappiness, and further evidence that Donald Trump is boosting the global economy. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Pokemon Go Tantrums Farm Bot Hattian Trip Pan Mass Challenge

Broadcasting from the heart of darkness, Andrew assesses the latest primaries, previews a Trump-Hillary election, and discusses the super-secret organization of Hollywood conservatives. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices