#freies radio

[bodie-r-hart]

TATORT

Wer jetzt allein ist (2018)

"Was soll das? WAS SOLL DAS? Wenn eine Frau NEIN sagt, Herr Wenzel, dann heisst das auch NEIN! Haben Sie das verstanden?"

Illustration für den Radio Tatort 116 von Jürgen Frey

[ranmagender]

On my to campus i often just listen to morning radio which is fine most of the time but jesus do i hear some awful takes.

They were discussing Iceland potentially not participating in Eurovision. To translate from icelandic

"So we should just boycott every event that has Israel as part of it" i mean, ideally.

"eurovision is a fun time, lets not ruin it with politics" as if its not political. the EBU made it political by banning russia but not israel.

"we shouldnt have to change our way of life just because theres a war going on, theres war all the time" one, its not a war its a genocide, second of all, oh no poor folks will have to do something else for one weekend in may. the horror

"a lot of businesses rely on the increase in spending that weekend"

People really are like this and spew it out publically

[churchofsatannews]

The Metro #698

This week on The Metro, Rev. Jeff Ivins brings you the following bands for your weekly time trip to the 1980s: Billy Idol, Squeeze, Simple Minds, U2, The Motels, Sandra, Don Henley, Glenn Frey, Echo And The Bunnymen, Romantics, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Inmates, and finishing up with some Golden Earring. Stream The Metro #698. Download The Metro #698.

[green-and-grey]

today at the factory i got to color and play with fire

good day

[radioente]

RADIO FREIES ENTENHAUSEN

wieder am Donnerstag, den 21. November 2024 von 20.00 bis 21.00 Uhr im livestream und über UKW-Antenne bei RADIO OSTFRIESLAND.

[yukalipaginaliteraria]

EL LOCUTOR DE RADIO, Autor: Frei Yorke

                                       El locutor de radio -Buenos días, os habla Lucas Soler, aquí en el micrófono, bienvenidos al programa La Matrix. -Son las 6 de la mañana, antes del amanecer y hoy dan lluvias, que eliminarán la contaminación de la ciudad y los días de tanto calor, todo un respiro. -¿Qué hacen dos vascos en una nube? Chubascos. -Estamos en Radio Paraíso, y aunque el mundo…

[ohcaptains]

more directive!abby when?🤷‍♀️👀no pressure take your time babe

detective!abby keeps me up at night.

she used to be a detective in a big city, but a particular grim case made her leave for a southern county, where she usually deals with petty theft and break ins.

she grew up in a small town like this. one where everybody knew who she was before she did, so she’s respectful, but stern. barely smiles — not a hint of happiness on that woman’s face. sure, she joshes around with her team, but never enough for them to invite her out for drinks. never enough to call them friends.

she’s the only woman on the team — bar the receptionist at the station, and sandra, who works in the evidence room — so when you join, fresh out of the academy, she’s not sure how to take you.

the team treat you more like a daughter than a cop. what’s worse, is that you grew up here, so everybody knows you. abby has to withstand your fathers demands that she’ll take care of his daughter, as if you didn’t finish top of your class. as if she hasn’t seen you during shooting practice.

as if she hasn’t seen you take down a man twice your size.

she lives in the town that bares memories of you. visits your family’s diner — a place she frequents regularly — and sees framed photos of you. black and white shots of your christening, your confirmation, the white dress you’re donning frilly and freyed from the generations of use.

little berkshire county, they call you. before it eventually whittles down to berkshire county, then just county. or kid.

darlin’.

abby partners you with old man tommy, hoping his gruff exterior and general hatred of the world will make the teasing stop, but even tommy is sweet on you.

“she used to work here, before she went to the academy,” tommy says. abby’s second in command looks around the diner — at your father cleaning the countertop.

“her family are legend here,” he trails. abby frowns. “what aren’t you telling me?”

tommy just shrugs.

“she’s a big girl tommy, just because you can’t get the image of her toothless and babbiling out of your mind.”

“i ain’t say that. and i don’t see her like that.” he uses the back of his hand to wipe ketchup from his mouth. “i treat her like everyone else.”

abby sees you, in a way the guys can’t. sees the faux sweetness. sees the venom under your smile — the hard glint to your soft eyes. the way you use the perception of you to your advantage. the way you have male suspects wrapped around your finger.

abby never had that advantage. she’s far too big and gruff to be gentle, and your sickly sweet persona grates on her, until there’s a murder in back beaufort.

until you’re the first on scene, and she hears your voice, clipped through the radio. cracking, trying to stay steady. when she arrives, you’re leaning against the squad car, smoking one of tommy’s southern tipps. arms wrapped around your body, protecting yourself from the chill of the night. she catches your eye, and that sweet glint is gone, replaced with a glazed over tint.

abby knows that look all too well. she fights the urge to feel sorry for you. remembers no one gave her sympathy when she found her first body. remembers her detective in charges’ words — they’ll never respect you if they see you break.

when she gets your account, you rattle off the words quickly, as if you’ve rehersed them. kept them fresh — remembered your training. as you describe the scene, abby sees your eyes start squint. she keeps her face hard.

“don’t,” she orders, causing you to flinch. you look at her with big, wet eyes.

“not yet,” she continues, flipping over the page in her notepad. you seem to understand, because you look away and sniff. when you look back to her, she steeles you with her hard gaze, “wait until they can’t see you.”

when abby gets home that night, she fights the urge to call. her fingers twitch around her phone, and she spends ten minutes staring at your contact screen. eventually, she goes to sleep, and tries not to think about the blank look you guised after her words. tries not to think about the way your shakey, blood covered fingers held the cigarette to your lips.

tries not to feel anything.

this is the job you signed up for, so why does abby feel bad?

[misterbardman]

Okay but I absolutely love making PJO oc’s with my friend who has never read a single PJO book yet. For context, I made an au that doesn’t have any canon characters but still has the same major events that way we can just use our oc’s without worry because I love writing oneshots and my friend loves to make oc’s.

Some of our favorite oc’s by tropes because it would take too long to list all of them and their backstories:

•Heartbreaker Hermes kid who is in love with,

•Country Apollo kid, typical cowboy who does not want heartbreaker kid breaking any more hearts

•AroAce daughter of Aphrodite who can be best described as Jade West or Sam Puckett

•Child of Athena who likes sewing and fashion design

•Daughter of Athena who instead of battle plans does dnd campaigns daily for the other campers

•Daughter of Ares who hates conflict but will fight as a last resort

•Daughter of Ares who is more of a typical girly girl wearing heels and makeup but will not hesitate to fight

•Child of Ares who doesn’t like physical fighting but loves videogames like Smash Bros or Call of Duty

•Daughter of Apollo who is a fortune teller who gets visions of the future like That So Raven

•Son of Apollo who was a 1920’s radio host before disappearing in the Labyrinth for about a hundred years

•Daughter of Aphrodite who was born in the 1700’s and became the leader of her own pirate crew (before ending up in the lotus hotel equivalent with the rest of her crew)

•Daughter of Persephone from the 1700’s who was a princess but fled the royal life and instead joined that pirate crew, as well as having a crush on the daughter of Aphrodite

•Daughter of Frey born in the 1700’s as a prince who was in search of the sword of summer and joined the pirate crew to broaden their search for the sword. (Did not find it)

•Daughter of Apollo who was abandoned as an infant and brought to camp a few months old by Apollo, who he decided to name her after himself because of course he would. He didn’t see her again until TOA but that’s fineeee.

We have so many oc’s but these are some of my favorites. A lot of other oc’s are meant to fill certain roles for plot but some are just made for fun.

Honestly I love our au, we decided to make the nearby town by camp a sort of town filled with adult demigods (sort of like New Rome), as well as a k-12 school for the year round campers to attend.

I’ve already written 17k worth of one shots with our oc’s (mostly trying to get the actual plots from the Titan war - TOA written out but burnout is real)

I have too many oc’s but I want to keep making more.

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

🔥POLL TIME🔥

Favourite Rammstein video director!

oh! good call! Let's do it 🥰 (i wonder how close it'll be ❤️)

(i couldn't fit more, so i left out their manager at the time Emanuel Fialik...)

Who did which video:

Jonas Åkerlund (Ich tu dir weh, Mann gegen Mann, Mein Land, Pussy)

Specter Berlin (Adieu, Deutschland)

Zoran Bihac (Links 2-3-4, Mein Herz Brennt, Mein Teil, Rosenrot)

Rob Cohen (Feuer Frei)

Emanuel Fialik (Du riechst so gut (1996)

Uwe Flade (Benzin)

Robert Gwisdek (Angst, Zeit)

Jörn Heitmann (Amerika, Ausländer, Dicke Titten, Haifisch, Ich Will, Keine Lust, Mutter, Ohne Dich, Radio, Sonne, Zick Zack)

Alexander Herzog/Kai Kniekamp (Rammstein)

Lazlo Kadar (Seemann)

Eugenio Recuenco (Mein Herz Brennt)

Hannes Rossacher/Rudi Dolezal (Engel)

Philipp Stölzl (Du Hast, Du riechst so gut (1998), Stripped)

[thatswhywelovegermany]

(1) Jeder hat das Recht, seine Meinung in Wort, Schrift und Bild frei zu äußern und zu verbreiten und sich aus allgemein zugänglichen Quellen ungehindert zu unterrichten. Die Pressefreiheit und die Freiheit der Berichterstattung durch Rundfunk und Film werden gewährleistet. Eine Zensur findet nicht statt.

(2) Diese Rechte finden ihre Schranken in den Vorschriften der allgemeinen Gesetze, den gesetzlichen Bestimmungen zum Schutze der Jugend und in dem Recht der persönlichen Ehre.

(3) Kunst und Wissenschaft, Forschung und Lehre sind frei. Die Freiheit der Lehre entbindet nicht von der Treue zur Verfassung.

(1) Everyone has the right to freely express and disseminate his or her opinion in word, writing and pictures and to obtain information from generally accessible sources without hindrance. Freedom of the press and freedom of reporting through radio and film are guaranteed. There is no censorship.

(2) These rights are limited by the provisions of general laws, the legal provisions for the protection of young people and the right to personal honour.

(3) Art and science, research and teaching are free. Freedom of teaching does not release one from loyalty to the constitution.

Article 5 of the Basic Law for the Federal Republic of Germany

[atopvisenyashill]

obviously ned is pulling rank when wyman figures out in like 8 days that the incest is happening, bc he doesn’t want cersei & the kids to be killed but i bet wyman, whatever umber came with, and dacey mormont are like “so we just turn them over to robert, right?” but when ned is like “let me give cersei a choice” wyman is going NO we are PUTTING her on a boat then we are NOT TELLING HER SHIT. i do think wyman is successful in getting them out of there quietly while ned breaks the news to robert - he did pull off frey pies after all, he’s got some skill even if he’s a lil classless about it. problem here is

ned wants to be like “okay so i’m handing all this over to you and your brothers right, kaye thanks byyyye” but robert is NOT letting him leave, first he’s SCREAMING about letting the cersei & the kids leave, then he’s going to war with tywin IMMEDIATELY, i do NOT imagine ned does shit with jaime so jaime has got to fight his way out or - actually i imagine varys helps him escape for maximum chaos, OR petyr does. but robert is looking for him to MURDER and he wants ned to HELP HIM MURDER.

renly is trying to pimp margaery out to robert and get ned on his side, i do imagine ned wants to be left out of it, altho if he takes this to his groupies, i do imagine they see right through that right away and are like “well how do we feel about the tyrells. since sansa can’t marry joffrey can we maybe get a different match going.”

fuck idek what the timeline is here, but it’s moving fast - someone is still gonna try to kill bran, catelyn’s still likely to come south, but i bet she can get into the city undetected with help from ned’s lil groupies. she’s like “i think someone tried to kill us heres this knife” and he’s like “i bet it’s the fucjing lannisters” IMMEDIATELY, because he knows about the incest already. does it make sense to be like “i need you to go to dragonstone and figure out why the fuck stannis cut and run instead of asking literally anyone for help.” bc it’s been a few weeks so it’s not FOREVER but stannis has been radio silent for a while, let’s tell him i’m gonna arrest the lannisters and it’s safe now. so catelyn goes with rodrik (and probably a few others right, for protection? i mean they’re taking a ship so i imagine a bunch of manderlys, but no way at least one other faction doesn’t get wind of a SECOND boat suspiciously leaving KL. varys & petyr know ned is moving for sure) to check on stannis, then ned gets cersei & the kids put on a boat, tells robert, and gets roped into a war.

catelyn rolls up to a cult situation brewing. i think she dislikes the vibes immediately.

forces start pulling together, jaime is in the wind, tyrion is on the road, tywin is about to have a bad day bc he’s got the riverlands, the north, the stormlands, and the reach all knocking on his door.

fuck bro. escalates from here. robert is ready to fight. cersei is getting to wherever Manderly sent her ready to fucking GO. tywin is throwing everything at the wall. is varys giving jaime to his dad do we think. can robb and jaime have a showdown anyway. the vale is eerily silent. dorne is whistling and looking the other way. do the northerners dislike the tyrell vibes so bad they’re like “what if we got robert a different wife.” ned is begging them to stop saying shit like that to him & just to come to him with decisions made, do we think they’re looking at the freys. is someone smart enough to ask arianne. balon & asha are getting really excited.

catelyn gets back from dragonstone and is like “so stannis has lost his fucking mind.” wyman is like “finally a thinking woman” and showing her portfolios of various potential brides for robert, then slips her a few “mistaken” portraits of his granddaughters with pros like “love the cold weather” “prefer dogs to cats” “wouldn’t mind converting” for robb.

what in the god damn hell is petyr doing.

barristan is probably so bemused by the whole thing. like not disgusted enough to leave but oh boy is he having a chortle over how deeply stupid this whole thing is.

sansa goes into this distrusting the lannisters, with several friends who are Straight Up about what’s happening & a guardian who actually guards. i do imagine she is still quite sullen about this entire stressful & bizarre situation. arya honestly probably doesn’t give a dip. she’s water dancing with syrio. she’s wrestling with dacey and jorelle. she doesn’t have to pretend to be friends with the lannister kids. she’s straight chillin.

[shyphonics]

Salad Days Chapter 3: When I was born, my mama cried, and picked me up with gloves.

(babypunk!Rodrick Heffley x reader)

part one | part two | part four

I wanna be stereotyped

I wanna be classified

I wanna be a clone

I want a suburban home

Suburban home

Rodrick wakes unusually early, 8 AM, still feeling weird. The rest of the band are still asleep. He grabs a beer from the fridge because, fuck it, nobody can tell him not to.

Getting shows is harder than he’d expected. He’s nervous, but he has to keep up a front, for the sake of the band. If he tells them he’s worried that they’ll never get a show, they might just give up. He can’t let on that there’s any negativity in his mind. He has to be a fearless leader. This has to work. This is their life now. It’s gonna be fucking amazing.

There are seven missed calls from home on his cell phone, and he decides to ignore them a little while longer. He doesn’t feel like talking to his parents, he knows they’d just be disappointed in him. He'd just have to hear about so-and-so from down the street who just got into law school. Or medical school. Or whatever the fuck kind of school.

No matter what he does, he knows he's a failure in their eyes.

Rodrick hadn't had any interest in higher education. He'd figured he didn't need it for the kind of life he was after. No matter how much his parents had guilted him.

He'd felt maybe a teeny, tiny bit guilty when everyone around him got their college acceptance letters. People started cliquing up based on which schools they'd gotten into and everything.

I hope we're dorm mates!

Are you taking psych 101?

Wow, you got a full scholarship?

Fuck off.

At one point, his dad had even caved and said, you can major in music theory!

And what, Frank? Show up to venues all like, here’s my degree! My masters in drums! Give me a show, please?

Yeah, right.

At least he'd had the rest of the band. Through everything, they'd always been on the same page. Always plotting a way out.

He takes a deep chug of his beer and pops his laptop open. He checks The Strike's website, and notices a radio feed in the top corner.

A nasally man's voice comes through his headphones. He's mid-rant, "-because they didn't understand us. And they never have, and they never will. My parents thought I was the devil. My dad loved The Eagles. I hated The Eagles with every fiber of my being. If I could say one thing to my father- and Glenn Frey- right now, it'd be: suck it. Punk never dies."

Rodrick suppresses a laugh as a song starts. He's pretty sure he recognizes it, and the words are really resonating with how he's felt since he left home.

Clicking through The Strike’s event calendar, he almost does a spit take. Friday night. They’ve got a show.

Suck it, Frank and Susan!

“Wake up, fuckers!” he yells, causing bodies to stir around the living room.

“Dude, shut up.” Ben groans from the couch.

“You shut up! We have a show! In 2 days!”

That does the trick, and everyone is up and shouting in celebration, drowning out their downstairs neighbor hitting the ceiling with a broomstick.

His email blinks with a new message:

Let’s see what you got, diaper boy.

~

Gettin’ high with your friends

On the basketball court

Sunglasses on when you sleep

Yeah, that's a sport

They're absolutely decked out. Denim, leather, patches, and studs as far as the eye can see.

You recognize Rodrick from your post at the bar, dressed like an aging member of a hair metal band, desperately clinging to his youth. He’s fumbling with his ID and a pair of dark sunglasses while Jimbo, the bouncer, impatiently crosses his arms. The rest of his band, you assume, make it through easier.

“The show’s in two days! What are you doing here?” you shout, drying a glass with a rag.

They look like a child biker gang, hopped up on sugar.

“Making ourselves known!” one of the others replies. He’s got a high pompadour, and a leather jacket that is entirely too small for him. You chuckle as they all take a seat.

“What’re you havin’?” You toss the rag over your shoulder and meet Rodrick’s eyes.

“Beer?” He says, unsure.

“Type?”

“Uh. Cheap? Cheapest, please.”

“Natty Light. Two bucks. Plus tip.” You wink, rooting around in the fridge under the bar.

“Tip? You got it out of the fridge.” Rodrick raises an eyebrow.

“And I opened it,” you pop the beer open, setting it down hard to make your point.

“Okay, okay. Uh, what’s a tip on that?” He looks panicked, digging in his wallet.

“I’m fucking with you. It’s a two dollar beer.”

He sheepishly hands you three singles, and you tuck the third into your bra. You hate to say it, you really do, but he’s kinda cute. All dressed up to drink shitty beer with his friends. He’s got a nice nose, despite the visible break, and enough eyeliner on to join a family of raccoons. It suits him.

He takes a sip and flinches, “This is awful.”

“If you hadn’t said cheap-est, you woulda had more options!” You laugh.

The rest of the guys order a round of PBRs, a four dollar option, and well whiskey shots.

“Ooh! Classy,” you mockingly fan yourself, “What fine young gentlemen.”

“Hey, how come it’s empty in here?” One of them asks.

“It is…” you check the clock behind the bar, “four pm.”

They stare at you.

“Broad daylight.” You deadpan, setting four shot glasses down on the bar.

The Strike is an old building, all chipped red paint and rickety metal. Rodrick’s eyes linger on a giant sculpture of a flaming match above the bar. Posters from their heyday line the walls: Agent Orange, Circle Jerks, Violent Femmes, Adolescents. There’s a weird song playing; the chord progression seems all out of whack, and from what Rodrick can tell, the singer is chanting suicide, suicide.

“What song is this?”

“You don’t know? it’s your favorite,” you tease, smirking at him.

He’s got nothing. You figured.

“Dead Kennedys, ‘Straight A’s.’ Come on, man. It’s a good one, too. Sixteen on the honor roll, I wish that I was dead. That was me!”

“Whoa. What? What happened?” One of the others asks. He’s got flat ironed blonde hair and big hipster glasses, and his mouth is hanging open.

“Well,” you tilt your head, “Let’s just say my hair and eyebrows have fully grown back, and my parents don’t know my whereabouts. The punks took me in, and I never looked back.”

“What do you mean they took you in?” The one with the shaved head looks at you with genuine concern.

“Okay, so like, this is a bar. People play here. People also play empty buildings, and shitty old houses.”

They’re hanging on your every word.

“I used to run the doors for house shows, collect the five bucks or whatever, stop fights, and then I could sleep in the houses. Then they started paying me, I met my band, I met Mike… and now I’m here!”

You pose, attempting to look successful.

“That’s really cool, but also, like, sad. You don’t talk to your parents?” One of them asks, eyes glittering.

“Don’t need ‘em.” You try to smile reassuringly. You hadn’t meant to bring the vibe down, but hey, they’d asked.

Rodrick’s eyes are fixed on you. His expression is strange. You decide to break the tension.

“You gonna drink that, baby boy?” You tap your fingernail next to his shot.

He looks up at you, lips trembling like they’re trying to form words. His friends are cackling.

“Uh, y-yeah, totally.”

Oh. He’s never taken a shot. None of them have, you realize, as you look down the line and see full glasses.

“C’mon, losers! Take ‘em down! What are you here for?” You holler, channeling your best drill sargent, “I’ll do it with you, fuck it!”

You pour yourself a shot of shit whiskey, raising it in the air, “Let’s go!”

They mirror you and raise their glasses.

“Here’s to Big Rod and The Diapers!”

Gulp. You look around. They’re all puckering their lips and tearing up. You have a brief moment of recovery as well.

You exhale heavily, “Yeah, that’s what happens when you get well liquor. Does a body wrong.”

They laugh, still groaning.

You turn the music up from the big stereo behind the bar, and the guys are all chatting amongst themselves. They seem to be having a great time, and you’re prepping the back of the bar for the small crowd about to pour in at five.

The whiskey hits Rodrick’s head, and he feels pretty goddamn proud of himself. This place is awesome. They have a show here. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and decides he's finally going to call home. Hearing your story had made him actually miss his mom. Maybe she’d even be proud of him.

“I'll be right back,”

His friends wave him off, and he heads into a doorway where the bathrooms are. He dials the number and sighs heavily, shaking off his nerves.

“Hello?”

“Hey, uh, hey mom,”

“Rodrick! Oh, thank goodness, did you change your mind? Are you coming home? We can start applying to colleges again, and…”

“What? No, I… I got a show! At a real venue.”

“Oh.” She sounds disappointed, “Are you getting paid?”

“Wh- I don't know! It's in two days. I'll let you know. Nice to know you're still so supportive, though.”

“I'm just worried about you.”

Rodrick frowns, refusing to speak.

“Do you want me to put dad on?”

“No,” Rodrick scoffs, “tell Greg I say hi.”

He hangs up, standing there, sulking for a moment. Why the hell was he expecting anything different? Don’t need ‘em.

He hears a commotion towards the front of the bar. He peeks around the corner, and sees the bouncer restraining a short, stout guy with a shitty little mustache.

“Lemme go, Jimbo!” he struggles.

“Tony! We told you not to come back here!” You march around to the front of the bar and put your hands on your hips.

“What did I even do?”

“You got broken glass and blood all over the dance floor! You know who had to clean it up?” You're right up in his face, taunting him.

Tony is part of a small group who only come to shows to beat the daylights out of each other. They're sweet when you get to know them, but reckless, and horrible for the bar ecosystem. Last Saturday had been hardcore night, and Tony and his buddies had managed to turn a very respectful pit into an absolute bloodbath.

He's still squirming. The bouncer has him in a full Nelson at this point, he's not doing himself any favors.

“I had to clean up your fucking blood, asshole! That's a health hazard!” You land a light flick on his nose and he grumbles. It's probably broken, and you feel just a little bad. “Not cool!”

Jimbo carries him outside like a child and dumps him on the curb. Rodrick is slowly creeping to the front of the bar, eyes wide. He's cautious, but part of him can't help but think how cool you are.

“Dont come back! Remember what I said, I can put the Hell's Angels on your ass in a second!" The bouncer’s voice booms.

The rest of the band notice Rodrick’s presence and they share a frightened look. This is getting serious.

Jimbo shuts the door and laughs. He's a huge man, mountain-like even. He's got long hair with a beard to match, adorned with rings, like a viking. His laugh does not match how scary he is. He sounds like Santa Claus.

You're laughing too. Jimbo is the perfect bouncer; strong and intimidating, but a total softie underneath. He's the honorary uncle of everyone at The Strike.

“You're a Hell's Angel?!” Ben pipes up, shocked.

“Nah,” Jimbo chuckles, “I just have a beard and a bike. Little fuckers like Tony scare easy, though."

Rodrick feels his heart hurt a little less as everyone around him laughs. He could get used to this. It feels like being in a weird little family.

“Oh boy,” you say quietly, hearing the familiar sound of fuck, fuck, fuck! coming down the stairs. It's Mike.

“What’s goin’ on, Mike?” you ask, grabbing a glass and filling it with seltzer water, topping it with a lime.

“Fuckin, booze delivery Saturday, show Friday! Spring break! Fuckin… frat boys!" His voice is high and nasally. Rodrick immediately recognizes his voice from the radio show earlier.

He chugs the water in one go, and slams it on the counter.

“Mike, we got plenty. All the bottles are at least half full, and the walk-in has, like, fifteen cases of beer.” You say, refilling his glass.

“Frat. Boys.” He repeats, running a hand through his tall, silver hair.

Rodrick grimaces. He really, really hopes none of those frat boys will be from back home.

“Isn't this a punk bar, though?” Ward asks.

Mike moves his head like a meerkat to look at Ward, squinting through his Buddy Holly glasses.

“Who are you? And they don't care! They'll go anywhere there's noise and booze!”

“Alright. Focus. Ideas, solutions,” you try to recenter your neurotic boss.

“They said we could come get it, but that delivery’s not gonna fit in a goddamn ‘94 Corolla.”

Ben leans back from the bar and looks at Rodrick, raising his eyebrows. Rodrick gets it, and smiles back, pointing at Ben.

“We have a van!”

Mike whips around to look at Rodrick.

“Who are you?”

“We’re Löded Diper, uh, sir?” he cringes at his own words.

“Ew. Don’t do that.”

“I don’t know why I did,” Rodrick’s eye twitches, “but we’ll totally get your booze.”

Mike gives him a suspicious glare, then ducks behind the bar to grab a notepad. He scribbles furiously and waves Rodrick over to show him the paper.

“That’s where you go. That’s who you talk to. That’s our order. Be there at 11 AM tomorrow, get it here by 1.”

“We’ve totally got it!” Chris shouts from the bar, making Mike jump.

“Don’t fuck me over!” Mike turns to point at Chris, then makes his way back up the stairs.

You look at Rodrick, mouthing nice! and giving him a thumbs up. He nods, giving you a big grin. It’s the first real smile you’ve seen from him, and it gives you a little flutter in your chest.

Pretty cute.

~

Hold my head, make me warm

Tell me I am loved

Give me hope, let me cry

Make me feel

Give me touch

The guys are all passed out for the night. Rodrick finds the radio feed from earlier and puts his headphones in, laying back on the couch. This time, the host is different.

"This is 98.7, your last independent radio option in a hundred mile radius." A calm, warm voice greets his ears, and he has a pang of recognition.

Is that...?

"I've been thinking about this song a lot today," the host says, "this one's for whoever needs to hear it."

Brain death. Mind death. School damage! Straight A's!

Rodrick sits up. Holy shit. It is you!

He closes his eyes and lets the song take him over. For how dark the lyrics are, it's oddly comforting. Today had really made him feel less alone.

Life isn't just bullshit for him- he'd known that, of course- but now he knows it. He's seen it. He's not a disgrace for going after his dreams.

He's finally in a place where that's not such a crazy idea.

If you're okay, if four other bands are okay... he's gonna be okay. He doesn't need anyone's approval. Fuck 'em.

He lays back as the song ends and another begins, a sense of relief washing over him. Eventually, he falls asleep to the sound of your smooth radio voice mixed with crunchy, old punk demos.

Everything is gonna be okay.

He knows it.

[prensabolivariana]

Por: Equipo Editorial Sitio Fidel Soldado de las Ideas Un l��der, un iluminado, un revolucionario, un curioso de la vida, humanista, intelectual, guerrillero, gran escritor, de una fortaleza verdaderamente excepcional. Estas son algunas de las cualidades con las que definieron a Fidel Castro Ruz tres hombres que tuvieron la oportunidad de conocerlo: Frei Betto, Roberto Fernández Retamar y Miguel Barnet. En vísperas de conmemorar el 98 Aniversario de su Natalicio el próximo 13 de agosto, Cubadebate y el Sitio Fidel Soldado de las Ideas rendirán tributo al Comandante a través de los testimonios de aquellos que compartieron momentos con él. Un iluminado Fidel era un hombre con una gran curiosidad en la vida, sobre todo por la historia. Él leía una novela y, por muy buena que fuera la dramaturgia o la psicología de las personas, lo que más le interesaba era el trasfondo histórico, por eso admiró tanto a los escritores Alejo Carpentier, Ernest Hemingway y Gabriel García Márquez. Fue un fanático de las biografías, leyó las de María Antonieta, Napoleón y Alejandro Magno. Era un conocedor cabal de la historia antigua. Fíjate que cuando estuvo preso en Isla de Pinos, tras el asalto al Moncada, le decía a su hermana Lidia que no le mandara ropas ni corbatas, sino libros. Era además un humanista que rechazaba la politiquería. En aquellos años en que se inició en la lucha, la política en Cuba era politiquería. Muy pocos eran los hombres dignos en los años cuarenta y cincuenta, con excepción de don Fernando Ortiz, Raúl Roa, Jorge Mañach, el rector Clemente Inclán y unos cuantos profesores universitarios, pero ellos vivían encerrados en sus casas o haciendo su obra personal. Sin embargo, Fidel salió a las emisoras de radio, a las calles, a los campos. Fidel era, por sobre todas las cosas, un iluminado con una vocación humanista, y ese humanismo lo llevó inexorablemente a la política, pues donde lo podía practicar no era en una escuelita, sino en la vida pública; y como él tenía esa vocación y una mente tan ecuménica, con un calado tan hondo y una visión planetaria, tenía que entrar a la política. Allí se iba a sentir cómodo, pues encontraría herramientas con qué solucionar los problemas sociales. En los años finales de su vida, Fidel pudo satisfacer una de sus grandes vocaciones: ser escritor. Sus reflexiones son verdaderos ensayos políticos en los que se aprecia un gran conocimiento de la realidad, una prosa limpia, siempre aguda. No le encuentras nada que sobre, tampoco que falte, todo está cincelado, como lo hubiera hecho un gran escritor. Si él no hubiera tenido ese poderoso impulso y deseo de ayudar a los demás, de identificarse con los pobres de la tierra, como dijo José Martí, hubiera sido un escritor de gabinete, un escritor de novelas históricas. Pero no nos perdimos un escritor, ganamos un iluminado, un gran político, el hombre que cambió el destino de América Latina en el siglo xx. No hay otro. Él fue el primero. Un fragmento de las palabras de Miguel Barnet durante una entrevista concedida a Wilmer Rodríguez en noviembre del 2020. El don revolucionario de Fidel Con el Comandante en Jefe murió el último gran líder político del siglo xx, con la excepción de que es el único que sobrevivió 57 años a su propia obra: la Revolución Cubana. Pero se debe distinguir que no fue Fidel quien hizo la Revolución, sino el pueblo. Él dio las orientaciones básicas, fue punto de referencia, pero un hombre solo no hace una revolución, las revoluciones las hacen los pueblos. Ahí está la responsabilidad de los cubanos a partir de ahora. Un legado que Fidel dejó, sobre todo a los jóvenes, es mantener el socialismo como una sociedad de libertad, justicia y paz, donde se comparten bienes materiales y espirituales. De ninguna manera podemos mirar en Fidel un ser del pasado, sino del porvenir, así mismo él miraba a Martí. Cuando murió hice una oración agradeciéndole a Dios el don de la vida revolucionaria de Fidel. Un fragmento de las ...

[thanksforthedinosaur]

august 2024

lunar vacation - sick

sydney sprague - tell me

esme emerson - fade out

brye - chasm

illuminati hotties - power

chloe lilac - supermoon

orla gartland - the hit

rainbow frog biscuits - forget about you

beeson - swimmer

allie - radio shower

alix page - girlfriend

tokyo tea room - no rush

taska black - walk away

kississippi - smaller half

soccer mommy - m

michelle - mentos and coke

kenzie - face to face

clairo - add up my love

towa bird - ew

remi wolf - frog rock

tiffany day - kansas

tiffi - hell

abby holliday - steve martin

hannah cole - massachusetts

tilly louise - restart

hippo campus - paranoid

toe - close to you

options - had my share

i love your lifestyle - fickle minds

gulfer - cursed

jack m. senff - snake

haley heynderickx - seed of a seed

hannah cottrell - ~palmtrees~

teen daze - in the rain

silas - love line(s) ii

sumin - why, why, why

hailey knox - innocence

frey - just sad

jewel owusu - b-day

thủy - hair down

newjeans - right now

maya randle - set me free

slumberjunkie - teach me how to fly

kučka - cry cry cry

baobei - how you like me now

jessica hammond - lonely

sophi - bestie

take van - if we had another day

ceci - rocket

ariia rose - retrograde

edizzy - hiding

klurax - pretend

sycco - monkey madness

annie-dog - violence'66

vi0let - blue blood

tominthechamber - rollercoastering

kelz - guitar + peaches - mkstn remix

bcee - makes me feel alive

nude - maybe

lava la rue - second hand sadness

sudley - exhale

jon santana - where did you go

charlotte plank - nightshift

ema sakura - tell me

earth to emily - she kinda looks like me - elio x billy lemos remix

blondeting - control (watch me)

snoozegod - gave it all

wenszy - 5am

kruu - caramel

fuvk - handlebars

hkfiftyone - my purgatory

janghoon - moss

ilykimchi - lol

vally.exe - the rest

gaburyu - summonsense

porter robinson - is there really no happiness?

shiori novella - sirens

hakos baelz - 818

[radioente]

Playlist RADIO FREIES ENTENHAUSEN am 7. November bei Radio Ostfriesland

[ddrmuseum]

Heute im Jahr 1987 startete »Radio Glasnost« in West-Berlin seine Ausstrahlung. Dieses Programm, produziert vom Radiosender »Radio Hundert, 6«, wurde ins Leben gerufen, um der Opposition in der DDR die Gelegenheit zu geben, Themen frei und ungefiltert zu diskutieren. Die einstündige Sendung, die jeweils am letzten Montag im Monat von 21 bis 22 Uhr ausgestrahlt wurde, fand schnell ein aufmerksames Publikum in der DDR – sowohl unter den Bürger*innen als auch bei der Stasi. Erich Mielke, Minister für Staatssicherheit, persönlich gab Anweisungen an alle Diensteinheiten, wie sie gegen den Sender und die Macher der Sendung vorgehen sollten. Dies beinhaltete Maßnahmen wie die Installation von Störsendern. Wir zeigen euch heute passend zur Thematik diesen Radiorecorder Stern R 160 aus unserer Sammlung, welcher für 880,00 M erhältlich war. Von 1972 bis 1980 wurde der R 160 als erster Radiorecorder der DDR im VEB Stern-Radio Berlin hergestellt. Dieses Gerät war vollständig mit Transistoren ausgestattet und verfügte über einen UKW-Tuner mit dem zu dieser Zeit in der DDR gebräuchlichen Frequenzbereich von 87,5 bis 100 MHz. Zusätzlich konnte es auch das Kurz- und Mittelwellenband empfangen. Today in 1987, »Radio Glasnost« started broadcasting in West Berlin. This programme, produced by the radio station »Radio Hundert, 6«, was launched to give the opposition in the GDR the opportunity to discuss issues freely and unfiltered. The one-hour programme, which was broadcast on the last Monday of every month from 9 p.m. to 10 p.m., quickly found an attentive audience in the GDR - both among the citizens and the Stasi. Erich Mielke, Minister for State Security, personally gave instructions to all service units on how to proceed against the station and the programme's makers. This included measures such as the installation of jamming transmitters. Today, in keeping with the theme, we show you this Stern R 160 radio recorder from our collection, which was available for 880.00 M. #ddrmuseum #ddr #ddrgeschichte #geschichte #museum #museumsinsel #museumsinselberlin #berlin #rda #gdr #radio #vintageradio — view on Instagram https://ift.tt/mcsR6Sg