Send over your dead SMS messages.

Greetings listeners, after silently watching the world burn for the past month, mustering up enough resolve to write has been ... difficult. Indeed, one wonders if ruling the Underworld is worth the trouble. Thus, I decided I needed to shake things up. Perhaps, cede the throne to one who has more vigor in him, not to mention the ambition to rule. Therefore, I took my trusted rotary phone to reach out to someone in the Upperworld who has clearly shown the world he means business. Hopefully, I'll have more to report after he comes to visit and enjoys our legendary hospitality. 

As ever, any feedback can be routed to me at [email protected].

Disclaimer From the Lord of the Dead

This episode is a work of satire, deliberate as ritual, and grim as prophecy. No events depicted herein are factual—though truth often chooses to wear a mask when it walks among the living.

It is forged in the long and hallowed tradition of folklore: that ancient mortal craft of cloaking truths in tales, mocking kings through riddles, and laughing at monsters to rob them of power. Just as mortals once whispered of tyrants as toads and foxes in the safety of hearth-lit tales, so too do we now cloak modern hubris in mythic absurdity. The Underworld is not for sale, nor would I entrust its keys to a man who cannot distinguish a coin for Charon from a coin for Musk.

This performance is an exercise of protected speech, under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution—a right mortals too often squander until the silence is all that remains. To fear satire is to fear reflection, and the dead do not flinch from mirrors.

“Ἐν τοῖς σκιώδεσι, ἡ ἀλήθεια ψιθυρίζει.”
“In the shadows, truth whispers.”

Listen well. Laugh deeply. And remember: not all jokes are harmless… but the ones that bite are often the ones you needed to hear.

— Hades,
King of the Dead, Keeper of Oaths,
and Guardian of Folklore’s Flame

Send over your dead SMS messages.

Greetings, listeners! After a long hiatus as we figured out our priorities and reconnected with our creativity, we decided to energize this feed with something lighthearted and fun. Our podcast has been classified by Spotify as being very much like those offering sleep stories. So, we thought it might be fun to lean into that a bit. Of course, as you should know by now, we can never seem to do anything ... right. Tonight is no exception. Hypnos, the god of sleep, is none too happy about having to get off of his cloud to tell a sleep story. Nonetheless, I managed to convince him after promising a few favors. 

Join him as he visits an aquarium where you'll find creatures like Hippocampi, merpeople, and Grindylows. Oh, and don't get left behind!

If you have any feedback, feel free to reach out at [email protected]. 

Send over your dead SMS messages.

Greetings, listeners. This is just a quick update regarding the podcast's direction. I'll be moving away from ElevenLabs due to some decisions they've made that go against my ethos as a creator. The new tech will mean a learning curve and a change to some of the voices. However, it is a small price to pay for my creative soul intact. Thank you to those who have been with me on this journey so far. I hope we'll be able to continue exploring the world of folklore together.

Send over your dead SMS messages.

Greetings, listeners. Though my work is grim, I do my best to keep from completely falling into the cliché of the dark and brooding Lord of the Underworld. Not all of my realm’s responsibilities revolve around damnation and torment. I may be stern but cruelty? That’s a mantle for others to don. One way I tried to bridge the divide was through this podcast. I’ve wrestled with the idea for weeks, to offer up a bit of levity for April Fool’s Day as I did last year. However, it felt hollow and forced. Things topside seem to be getting worse, not better. I considered offering another happy story about absolutely nothing significant and following it up with the news that we’d decided to cut this season short, perhaps even throwing in a fear of reprisal for standing behind certain beliefs. And yet, as the god of permanence, of endings and justice, I don’t fear mortal arrest or persecution. And, I refuse to cheapen my conviction with illusion, especially not now when illusions abound. If saying “free Palestine”—asserting a people’s right to be free from colonizers, from the horrors of genocide, from an Apartheid state, and suffering— If that is what’s now being called hate speech—then the true fools are not those who cry for freedom, but those who try to silence them.

The fools are those who twist compassion into crime, who cloak cowardice in legislation, and who mistake obedience for peace. They pass their decrees, thinking themselves wise, but they are jesters in the court of history. They brand dissent as danger, while they themselves unleash terror upon the innocent.

They are μοροί—fools—not in the theatrical sense, but in the sacred Greek sense: μοροί, those fated to fall, for they defy the natural order. They believe themselves eternal. But I have seen kingdoms built on bones collapse into dust. And I assure you: their time will come.

This podcast was never meant to soothe the ears of tyrants. It was never a salve for those who benefit from silence. It is a torch. And if the world is drowning in shadows, then so be it—I will be the flame.

So on this April Fool’s Day, let it be known:

We are not the fools.

We are not the cowards.

We are not the ones twisting reality to serve cruelty.

No—those thrones sit elsewhere.

And to those seated there, I offer no jest, no olive branch, no softening of the blow. Only this warning:

The Underworld remembers.

The dead do not forget.

And the scales will balance.

... As they must.

Send over your dead SMS messages.

Greetings, listeners! A few things happened in my absence that compelled me to pause my work on The Wounded Lion, namely the TikTok ban and Amazon essentially deciding to brick Kindles without Internet access so that they could force consumers to purchase new devices they otherwise wouldn't need to buy. As a result, I decided to give my uncompromising commentary on censorship and the slippery slope that it inevitably creates. From updating texts to reflect current scientific information to using newer slang, to dulling the edge of the critic's blade, to outright feeding lies to the people, censorship is a dangerously insidious cancer that must be stopped before it can even take root. 

To highlight its effects, I share with you The Tale of Sugarabia, aptly named Candy Coated Lies for our purposes, a story about a princess who doesn't realize how her sugary fortress has hidden the rot of a manufactured life. As you listen, ask yourself whether ignorance truly can be bliss, and whether happiness can be achieved by knowing nothing at all.

If you have any feedback, I am, as ever, at [email protected]. 

Send over your dead SMS messages.

Greetings, listeners! We received a letter from Megaera, who wasn't at all pleased by Hermes's shenanigans last time. Perhaps I should have taken offense to my basso profundo being cloned, but he did finally keep his promise by retelling The North Wind and the Sun in an incredibly clever way. His father Zeus wasn't quite as pleased when he heard that Hermes had cloned his voice and given him the role of the North Wind. To say he'd been in a torpor was the understatement of the millennium!
Where was I? Ah yes, Megaera, one of the Erinyes, was none too pleased by Hermes's shenanigans and threatened him so thoroughly he actually had a serious expression on his face, about as likely as a black hole gobbling up Earth. Not wanting his winged sandals to be taken from him, Hermes decided to make amends by hosting a little game. He'll play pairs of dialogue, things I might actually say but in some cases, would never admit to, spoken by both myself and this AI doppelgänger he managed to create which he aired last time when he took over the podcast. He'll award a gift of forty (yes, that's 40) of your mortal Euros to the one who can figure out who's who and which is which. If you'd like to participate, E-mail him, (not me, please) at [email protected] . I'm currently buried beneath a bunch of books and scrolls, working on the next official episode for this podcast, The Wounded Lion from Spain.

Send over your dead SMS messages.

Greetings, listeners! We hope you've been enjoying your holidays with ambrosia, nectar, and divine comedy, and 2025 has treated you well. I've been keeping myself busy, spending time with my queen and contemplating new ways to make Tartarus as terrifying as it deserves to be! On this Story Sunday, we present to you a long overdue retelling of The North Wind and the Sun which my nephew Hermes was supposed to have completed last summer. Time on the divine plane is fluid, and sometimes one minute ends up being a mortal month, and a divine month can stretch into ... oh, I don't know ... more than half a year? I'm told that I can't listen to this until I publish it so its content will be just as much of a mystery to me as it will be to you. In fact, I can't even listen to it until it's graced this feed for at least a divine fortnight, which probably means a mortal year or two. Thankfully patience is a virtue I have in spades, and the Underworld is never without work to do. Enjoy, and if you have any feedback, please send it to Hermes himself at [email protected]. 

Send over your dead SMS messages.

Greetings, listeners!
In this completely unplanned interlude (whose true purpose will become clear shortly), I wish to take a moment to express my gratitude to the patrons of this podcast—those loyal listeners who gather by the fireside to hear the stories of old. Your time and dedication mean more to me than any mortal treasure ever could. It is your continued presence that motivates me to unearth tales from all corners of the globe and strive to make this the finest podcast the Underworld can produce, despite my ongoing technological aggravations—of which The Golden Pail was a prime example.

Some shades in Tartarus, thinking themselves clever, disrupted the balance of sound effects and dialogue in that episode, necessitating several re-uploads. To those who may have downloaded it early, know that a more polished version now awaits you, free from (most) Eldritch mischief.

Now, to the main purpose of this episode: I recently received a mortal scammer’s missive attempting to part me from the secrets of my realm. This absurdity inspired me to reach out and remind you that my website collects no personal information, nor shall I ever, under any circumstances, reach out to you unless you have done so first. Any email claiming to be from me should be treated as filth worthy of Tartarus—and cast straight into the abyss where it belongs.

With that, I wish you a day of joy, connection, and apple pie—for even the Lord of the Underworld has his favorites.

Send over your dead SMS messages.

Greetings, listeners! After many months, outtakes, and lost paperwork, we've done it! Here is the long-awaited episode, The Golden Pail, a tale from Palestine, adapted from Ibrahim Muhawi's collection of Palestinian folklore, Speak Bird, Speak Again. In this fairy tale, a prince must go on quest after quest, as the asks become outrageously more preposterous until the day of reckoning comes for a king's unscrupulous vizier. Along the way, you'll hear Hestia reluctantly sing, Athena assume the role of a fish, and Chronos lose his temper! Enjoy, and don't forget to make those Apricot Almond Spritzers. You might need one to get through this tale. Barring that, grab some popcorn.
If you have any feedback, you know where to find me. Dead letters, (and only dead ones, mind you), should go to yours truly, Hades, at [email protected].
Next time, whenever that may be, we'll be featuring a tale from Spain called The Wounded Lion. 

Send over your dead SMS messages.

Greetings, listeners! As is customary for Whoopsie Wednesday, (a segment I still question the sanity of), I present to you a song that didn't make it into the final take of The Golden Pail. Nevertheless, Persephone seemed to think that it was a work worthy of a swoon. So, against my better judgment, (because she really should be saying this about my singing instead of our nephew, Hephaestus's), I'll allow this contentious piece to grace my feed as though it's her personal divine jukebox. If it weren't for the fact that she and I haven't seen much of each other owing to my recording marathon, I might actually have had the strength to overrule her.