Episode 72N – Secrets and Lies – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 72N Show Notes

Source: Greek Mythology

This week on MYTH, Telemachus’ secret is about to get out. You’ll discover that you really shouldn’t blame a slave for what a prince does, that the suitors are really bad at being villains, and that talking in your sleep can be helpful. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll see what happens when you piss off a naked Artemis. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 72N, “Secrets and Lies”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
When we left the story last time, we’d picked up just after the end of the Trojan War. . Things had gone bad almost immediately, and wise Odysseus had led his men into disaster after disaster: getting bloodied after raiding a random city for shits and giggles, getting his men stoned on premium lotus, getting men killed in the home of Polyphemus the Cyclops and then getting cursed by said Cyclops because Odysseus was too prideful not to reveal his real name, almost getting home before getting blown off course again, getting most of the crew eaten by cannibal giants, cavorting with a sorceress for a year, traveling to the Underworld for some advice that they’re all going to ignore, surviving the sirens but losing more men to Scylla and Charybdis, and then getting everyone but Odysseus himself killed after eating the sun god’s cattle (despite having been warned not to in the Underworld). Floating aimlessly on the shattered remains of his ship, Odysseus floated to the island of the nymph Calypso where he became her boy toy for seven long years until Athena finally convinced the other gods to cut the guy a break. We then headed to Ithaca, where Odysseus’ son Telemachus (with some prompting from a disguised Athena) failed to talk the suitors sniffing after his mother and his inheritance into leaving. After some dire warnings, Telemachus hopped on a ship and sailed off in search of news of his father. He met some of his father’s friends from Troy, ending up at a party thrown by Menelaus and Helen in Sparta. Everywhere Telemachus goes, everyone tells stories about Odysseus (which we already heard in previous episodes) and Menelaus promises to do the same in the morning, after everyone’s had a good cry and a lot of booze.
The party finally wound down and, being full-to-bursting already with wedding guests, Helen ordered the palace servants to make two beds out of blankets on the porch for Telemachus and Nestor’s son Pisistratus (who’s been accompanying Telemachus through Sparta on Nestor’s orders). If the story hadn’t made such a big-ass deal about how serious Menelaus is about feeling like he owes Odysseus for everything he did in Troy, this would feel like an insult. I mean really – making two honored guests sleep on the porch like dogs? Apparently, everyone was just drunk enough to be cool with it, and the two young men passed out with no complaints on the makeshift beds of purple blankets (which is a very expensive, princely color so maybe that helped offset any hurt feelings). Menelaus went to sleep in his own huge royal chambers of course, with his once-again wife Helen beside him. Given the entire saga that went into getting her back from Troy, I have to imagine there’s a little tension there still, even if they’re going to do their damndest to keep up appearances.
Menelaus was up with the dawn. Even with all of the wine that had flowed the night before, and even with the happy drugs Helen had spiked it with, Menelaus was a lifelong soldier and military habits die hard. Telemachus, on the other hand, had grown up a prince (even if he did have a bunch of assholes trying to kick him out of his own house at the moment) and had no such discipline. He was still snoring softly beside Pisistratus when Menelaus came out to the porch. To his credit, he woke easily and was happy to talk to his famous host, who wanted to know just what had brought the young man to his kingdom out of the blue like this.
“Well, King Menelaus, I was hoping you might be able to tell me what happened to my father. My house is stuffed full of rich assholes who spend all day slaughtering my sheep, drinking my wine, and sniffing after my mother. Nestor said you were still with Odysseus after he and Nestor parted ways, so he thought your news might be fresher. Don’t try and spare my feelings, either. I’m a man grown and I’ve spent my entire life thinking my father was probably dead. Did you see his end yourself, or maybe you heard the tale from another? What happened to him?”
Menelaus burst to his feet in fury. “Those motherfucking assholes! How dare those spineless shit stains try to sully the bed of one of the bravest men I’ve ever known! Those spineless cowards are like little baby deer playing in the den of a lion who isn’t there at the moment. As soon as that terrible lion comes home, he’ll deal out violent, bloody death to all of those trespassers! Would to Zeus and Athena and Apollo that the clever, powerful man who wrestled Philomelides during the games at Lesbos and pinned him with one throw could wreak havoc among those suitors plaguing your house. He’d give them a red wedding, I tell you what (and that’s seriously a pretty close translation of the original in this case).”
Menelaus then goes on to relate his own long journey home, including his exploits in Egypt, which we covered back in Episode 72A. One detail that I fudged a little at the time (since it was the beginning of our tale) was that Proteus dropped the juicy nugget that only two of Menelaus’ captains had died on the voyage home, while a third was being held captive somewhere on the wide oceans. This third captive man was of course Odysseus who, as we now know, was being held by Calypso on Ogygia, in modern day Malta. Proteus, being a seer, knew that Odysseus was being held against his will with no way to make it off the island and go home, no matter how desperately he might want to. He refused to say anything about what Odysseus’ ultimate fate would be, instead switching topics and letting Menelaus know that his fate was to make it safely home since, being married to Helen, he was now Zeus’ son-in-law (since Helen was one of Zeus’ many, many illegitimate children as we covered back in Episode 26B).
Menelaus finished his tale with a forceful offer to have Telemachus stay with him for a week or two (the offer comes off almost as a command, though that might just be habit for a man who has spent his entire life as a general and a king). He promises to give Telemachus a fitting guest-gift as a send-off at the end of his visit: a chariot of shining bronze with three stallions to pull it and a richly carved cup to make offerings to the gods and to remember his new friendship with Menelaus by.”
Thanks to some divine coaching from Athena, Telemachus has begun to learn the fine art of tact. Seriously, the story makes it clear that this is a newly acquired skill for him, which isn’t a huge surprise. Telemachus has to be something of a spoiled little princeling, and it wouldn’t shock me to find out that his mother had coddled him a bit growing up what with his missing-in-action father weighing heavily on both their minds. “If I had the time, I would gladly sit here for a year and a day. You are one hell of a storyteller, my liege, and you have a life that merits stories, so I wouldn’t feel even a twinge of homesickness the whole time, I’m sure.
“Unfortunately, I really can’t afford to spend two weeks here – my companions are waiting for me on my ship back in Pylos and must be getting restless by now. I appreciate your hospitality in offering such a kingly gift; really, I do. I’ll cherish the sentiment, but maybe some kind of small memento would be better. I can’t really take horses with me to Ithaca, so maybe it’s better to let them stay here with you and be your glory. You’ve got such incredible meadows here for them to graze in and run free. Ithaca is a very cramped place, with no room for horses to enjoy themselves. We’re really more of a goat kingdom than a horse kingdom, honestly. Don’t get me wrong – it’s my home and I love it. It’s the best of the islands and make no mistake, but it’s no place for a horse.”
Menelaus nodded at the evident wisdom of Odysseus’ young son. “You’re a real chip off the old block, my boy. Your father would be proud of your keen insight. You’re right, of course. I’ll happily change out the horses for something smaller and more practical – a solid silver mixing bowl with a golden brim forged by the god Hephaestus himself, given to me by the king of Sidon when I passed through on my way home. Ol’ Phaedimus would be pleased as punch to know it was journeying on with you to such an esteemed family.” Hey, Menelaus said it would be more practical, but he’s still a mythical king after all and there are certain forms to be obeyed. At least a silver bowl is easier to transport than a chariot and horses (even if it is a regift, albeit a very nice one).
Menelaus’ story had taken some time to relate and, by now, other people were starting to arrive at the palace for still more celebration. Being polite, thoughtful guests, people came with their own sheep and their own wine to offer up for communal use. Everyone talked and laughed and generally got along in a friendly, convivial way. Meanwhile, back at the ranch (by which I mean Ithaca), the suitors were still being selfish assholes (as a very clear and deliberate contrast with the proper hospitality in Sparta). Today, they’d decided to have a little track and field competition with discus hurling and javelin throwing.
Antinous and Eurymachus (who made such charming impressions back in 72L), sat on the sidelines and presided over the event as though this was their land. They were easily the strongest and boldest of the lot, and they loved to lord it over the others whenever the chance presented itself. The two young men watched the hustle and bustle like kings. Antinous found his bemusement broken by the approach of Phronius’ son Noemon. “Hey, Antinous – you wouldn’t happen to know when Telemachus is coming back from Pylos, would you? He borrowed one of my ships, and I kind of need it to go check on a herd of about a dozen wild horses I keep on Elis Plain. I was thinking about driving one back here and making it my new steed.”
This was news to Antinous and Eurymachus both. Sure, they hadn’t seen the dude around for a bit, but they’d just assumed he was around somewhere out of sight, maybe rolling in pig shit with the swineherd or something. Antinous grabbed a very surprised Noemon by the shirt and dragged him close. “What do you mean, ‘when is Telemachus coming back’? Where the fuck did he go? Who went with him? Was it just him and a bunch of his slaves, or did he actually raise a crew of free Ithacans? And you! Did he order you to lend him your ship or did you actually volunteer that piece of shit? Are you on his side, you little fuck face?”
Noemon pulled himself away from Antinous and brushed himself off just a little indignantly. “I let him borrow it, of course. With all of you ruining his life, what was I supposed to do when the young prince asked for a favor? Who’s gonna say no to that? And his crew? Free men. Other than those of us here right now, I’d wager that he took all of the best men left in Ithaca. Mentor was in charge, from what I saw. It’s weird though – I swear I saw Mentor yesterday just after sunup very much here on the island, but I also definitely saw him climb onto my ship and sail away with Telemachus. I dunno, my dude – maybe the one with Telemachus is a god wearing Mentor’s face.” I don’t know if ‘secret god’ would be my very first guess, but he happens to be right so who am I to judge?
Noemon was over these two clowns and decided to head back to his father’s house without the information he’d come here looking for in the first place. It was obvious that no one here knew a damned thing. His strolling away did nothing to soothe the indignation of the two self-important dipshits. With a burning need to reassert their authority, Antinous and Eurymachus rounded up the other suitors for a little meeting, interrupting the games much to everyone’s disappointment. After all, what’s the point of being the absolute worst and mooching off other people for years if not to waste each and every day to the absolute fullest? What, were they supposed to actually do something now?
Antinous didn’t like their surliness one bit (not that he saw the irony in that even a little), and his eyes blazed with fury. “Did you all know about this? By the gods, that little shit has pulled a fast one on us this time. I thought for sure that he’d trip over his own feet trying to do whatever it is he’s trying to do, but instead he’s slipped away with the best crew on the island (except for me of course) and no one even fucking noticed!” Never mind that Antinous didn’t notice either. He’s that kind of shithead. “Do you have any idea what kind of trouble that little puppy can get up to without us to keep him in check? Zeus damn him and strike his ass dead with a thunderbolt before he reaches his prime.”
Looking around, Antinous saw a bunch of blank stares and, as usual, decided to take charge of the situation (without bothering to even consider getting anyone else’s ideas or opinions first). “Alright, someone fetch me a ship and twenty men. I’ll set a little ambush for him in the straits between Ithaca and Same. When he tries to sail home, I’ll waylay his ship, board it, and toss his ass into the sea to get eaten by a shark.” He chuckled at the image. “How delightful to think of him wrecked on his own voyage home from trying to find out what killed dear old daddy on his trip home.” The other suitors weren’t much for the thinky think, and so they were happy to have Antinous do it for them most of the time (which let them spend all of their energy on getting absolutely sloshed on free wine). They roared in approval at this plan to straight up murder the prince for having the audacity to do literally anything that might interrupt their fun. Still cheering, they headed back to Odysseus’ palace, talking amongst themselves about their murder plot.
Which is why the herald Medon overheard their entire plan as they wandered into the palace. I mean really. How incompetent a villain do you have to be to monologue your dastardly plan while wandering into the house of the guy you plan to murder? Medon was loyal to the rightful homeowners here and so he went immediately to Penelope to spill the beans.
Her reaction was absolutely unwarranted but utterly reasonable snark. She sighed deeply, rolling her eyes. “Oh gods, what have those disphits sent you to demand now? Do I need to order the staff to stop whatever they’re doing and go cook an impromptu feast for them? Again. Or maybe they just want more wine. Again.” She sighed again, somehow even deeper and more exasperated than before. “I really, really hate them, you know. I hate their smug faces and their loud voices and their constant creepy leers. I don’t think anything could make me happier than for every last one of them to drop dead right here, right now. I would be positively giddy if this was their very last meal above the dirt.”
She called down the stairs towards the suitors in a very melodramatic fashion that did little but vent some frustration, all while still not letting Medon speak. “You vultures drain the fucking life out of this place day after day after day, and you wont. Fucking. Leave. Didn’t your parents ever tell you how Odysseus had treated them when he was still here and still in charge? Did you never listen when your fathers talked of how wise and just a king he was? No unfair words, no unfair actions – no, he acted like a king should (instead of the way so many kings actually do). Some thanks this is for all of his service to this island!”
Penelope paused theatrically, which finally gave Medon a chance to get a word in edgewise. He’d served in the palace long enough to know that Penelope wouldn’t get upset at being cut off by a servant, especially not with the news he carried. “I couldn’t agree more, my queen, but I’m afraid it’s even worse than all that. Those awful suitors aren’t content with being leeches anymore; no, they’re planning something much crueler and cruder. I heard them planning on jumping Telemachus on his way back to Ithaca and butchering him with bronze swords and dumping his corpse into the sea to be lost forever.” Penelope gave him something of a shocked look at that, but not just at the murdery part. “Oh right, you didn’t actually know he was gone yet. Oops. Sorry, Telemachus ordered us not to tell until he’d been gone a few days, but he’s sailed off to Sparta in search of news of his father.”
That was too much for the poor woman. Her knees buckled underneath her and she collapsed to the floor, but her heart somehow fell even further, down into the sunless depths of Hades itself or so it felt. She struggled to force words around the sudden lump in her throat, but couldn’t make anything but a strangled croak for a minute or two. Finally, tears streaming down her cheeks, she managed to speak in a harsh rasp. “He left? Oh Medon, why would my child abandon me like this? There was no need for him to board a ship and sail out into the unfathomable vastness of the ocean. He knows how dangerous the sea is; does he want to die out there and be utterly forgotten by the world?”
Medon picked his words with care. “My queen, I know not if your son was inspired by a god or if he was just impulsive, but he felt the need to find out once and for all what actually happened to Odysseus. I don’t think he could handle the uncertainty any longer.” He figured there wasn’t much good he could do at this point and plenty of harm, so Medon made as graceful an exit as he could, leaving Penelope in a miserable puddle on the palace floor, weeping openly and loudly. The sounds of abject misery drew the serving women from all over the house (who figured that maybe they could at least offer sympathy to the unhappy queen), but she ignored them, sobbing uncontrollably.
Penelope then laments that Zeus has given her the hardest life of anyone her age, and she says this to a room full of servants and slaves in her fucking palace. Yes, the way the suitors are treating her is wildly unfair and undeserved, but come on – have even the slightest awareness of your own massive privilege. She laments her long-missing husband and her newly-missing son, going so far as to blame the servants for not waking her up to rat him out for leaving so that she could have stopped him or died trying. You know, because nothing bad could possibly happen to a slave who snitched on the prince.
“Someone go fetch Dolius – you know, the slave my father gave me when I first came to Ithaca who tends my orchard now? I want him to go tell Laertes the whole story – every excruciating detail. I know he’s super old and retired, but maybe he’ll be able to weave some clever, intricate plan or go confront the mob of young men and make them, I dunno, go away or something unlikely.”
All of this talk about betrayal and how Telemachus would have had to kill Penelope to leave Ithaca made the poor slave woman Eurycleia terrified. Remember her from back in Episode 72L? She’s the one who tried to talk Telemachus out of leaving like a thief in the night, but was reasonably unwilling to force the issue what with him being the prince and her being a fucking slave. “Um, my lady? I, uh, kind of have something to tell you and if you want to murder me with a bronze knife, I understand (though mercy would be amazing). I knew that Telemachus was leaving and helped him pack for the trip and I would have told you, I really would have, but he swore me to secrecy. He is the prince and all, and he ordered me not to say anything until he’d been gone for 10 or 12 days. Or until you figured out he was missing, I guess. He didn’t want you to worry about him.
“If you’re going to let me live, then can I pour you a hot bath? You’ll feel better in clean clothes, my queen. We can all head upstairs and pray to Athena, who’s always favored your family, for help. She can protect Telemachus no matter what he faces. I don’t think there’s any point in bothering Laertes – let the old man have whatever peace he’s found. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I don’t think the gods hate the descendents of King Acresius so much that they would end your royal line.”
Penelope was kind and fair enough not to hold things against a slave that she couldn’t have done anything about. Truth be told, she did feel a little better about everything after she’s had a chance to vent a little. Eurycleia had given her good advice; Penelope bathed and changed, then went upstairs with all of the women of the house to call upon Athena. She begged the goddess to protect her only son, especially from all of those asshole suitors clogging her hallways.
Downstairs, those selfsame assholes heard her shouting, though her actual words were muffled. One of them laughed and bragged that the queen was clearly about to give in to their incessant sexual harassment and actually marry one of them! He found that especially hilarious since she clearly didn’t realize that they were all planning to secretly murder her son the prince. He said that. Out loud. In the palace. Fucker.
Antinous was nobody’s fool, and he told the braggart to shut his damn mouth. “Seriously? You do realize that we’re literally surrounded by people loyal to that little puppy, right? Instead of monologuing about our evil plan, how about we sneak out and actually go do it instead? Sound good? Cool, wasn’t really asking. Let’s go.” And so he and 21 of his hand-picked allies from among the suitors headed out to ambush Telemachus. They sailed out into deep water for the strait, then pulled into shore to eat, then hid in a channel near rocky cliffs to wait for the prince to blunder by.
Yelling and praying had made Penelope feel better, but she still didn’t feel good. Having exhausted herself, she lay in her room brooding over the dangers her son faced out on the wide sea. Not to mention the greedy men downstairs who lusted after her and longed for her son’s bloody death. She fell into a restless sleep, but Athena had heard her prayer and sent a ghost to calm her fears. A shade in the form of Iphthime, daughter of Lord Icarius and sister to Penelope, flitted through the palace to speak to the sleeping queen. “Don’t worry, sister. Your son is safe, protected by the gods.”
Penelope, mostly asleep (sort of like that scene at the end of The Sixth Sense), murmured back “Iphthime? I didn’t know you were here. You live so far away that we rarely see each other. How am I supposed to stop worrying? My husband has been gone for two decades and now my boy has followed in his footsteps without telling me! He’s still young and inexperienced. If his father, the warrior and tactician, couldn’t make it back, what chance does he have?”
“I know things are bad, but have courage! Athena herself has whispered in my ear that she travels beside Telemachus and will see him home again, safe and sound.” Penelope was every bit as clever as her son, and she too heard the whisper of a god’s voice behind the disguise. “If you are a god, could you please tell me something, anything, about what’s happened to my husband? Where is Odysseus? Is he alive?” The phantom shook her head sadly. “I can’t tell you anything about him. Not yet. Now sleep.” Penelope drifted into a deeper, more restful slumber and Athena slipped away.
Next time, we’re going to catch back up with Odysseus and see what he’s been up to while Telemachus has been wandering around looking for any news, which means it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s hero is Actaeon.
As with so many of these stories, there are many versions of Actaeon’s story, but all of them share the same central bits. In all of them, he was a famous hunter, he was trained by the centaur Chrion (as so many of the mythical heroes were), and he managed to piss off Artemis really, really badly. Exactly how much of that ire was his fault varies.
The poet Callimachus from the 3rd Century BC offered up what is probably the most common version of the story. Actaeon was out hunting with a group of men and his many, many dogs (upwards of 50 depending on the version, with different authors giving different colorful names such as Canace, Agre, Oresitrophos, and Sticte or Barker, Chaser, Rover, and Spot, from Ovid). It was hot and he was tired, so he decided to head for a little pond nearby to cool off a little. Unfortunately for him, Artemis – goddess of the hunt and famous shunner of men – had the same idea.
Having likely also spent the long day hunting, she was also overheated and sweaty and also thought the pool sounded like a fine idea. Valuing her privacy, she had her attendants (mostly nymphs) fan out and act as her bouncers. Being the legendary hunter that he was, Actaeon habitually moved through the woods as quietly as a shadow and slipped right by them, possibly without either ever realizing the other was there. He therefore managed to walk up without challenge and see Artemis completely naked and bathing.
He was stunned by the literally inhuman beauty of the nude goddess and stood there staring at the naked woman. He got himself an eyeful rather than realizing that he done fucked up and needed to slip back out the way he came before anyone noticed his ass. Sure enough, the sharp-eyed Artemis spotted the dude watching her in her bath and was furious in that famous Greek god way. In vengeance for his transgression, and to make sure that he didn’t go back home and brag about having seen the notoriously secretive goddess of wild places completely nude, Artemis took away Actaeon’s power of speech. She warned him that, if he ever tried to say another word, literally any word at all, he would be transformed into a stag, an animal widely associated with the huntress.
Actaeon took the goddess at her word and fled in silence back the way he came. As he did so, he heard some of the other hunters call out and, without thinking, he tried to respond to their cries. Oops. Actaeon felt his flesh writhe and crawl on his bones and, in a terrible panic, took off at a dead run. He splashed through a nearby stream and caught a glimpse of his now-furry and antlered reflection as his hooves splashed through the shallow water. If he could have, he would have wept. Or maybe screamed in fear because, behind him, Actaeon could hear his well-trained dogs howling as they caught his scent. The stag-man was quick, but the dogs were quicker and they worked together. They surrounded their former human and tore him to bloody pieces as he offered up silent pleas to Olympus that went unanswered.
A later addition to the story has his old teacher Chiron taking pity on the dead man and his now-depressed dogs. They didn’t know that they had murdered Actaeon, only that he had gone away and never come back. To try and make them feel a little better, Chiron built a statue of Actaeon that was so lifelike that the hounds couldn’t tell it wasn’t the living man (even though it, you know, didn’t smell remotely like a person but whatever).
In Callimachus’ tale, the young hunter is almost entirely innocent in all of this – his only crime is lingering and, much like Lily in How I Met Your Mother when Karen stopped to get an eyeful of naked Marshall, Artemis took it very personally. This is the version that gets taken up by Ovid in his Metamorphosis, though he manages to make Actaeon even more innocent, having the Roman version Diana see the hunter as soon as he broke through the trees. Furious at his entry into her private bathing area, even by accident, she immediately splashed him with water and transformed him into the stag, and the rest went more or less the same.
While these are the more famous versions of the story, older versions exist that don’t let Actaeon off the hook so completely. Diodorus Siculus, a Greek historian from the 1st Century, gives two possible reasons that Artemis was so vengeful towards this hapless human. In some tales, he said, Actaeon had decided that he was going to marry Artemis (who is usually described as having sworn an oath to never marry, along with Athena and Hestia) and went out in search of her to try and force the issue. This was a very arrogant and foolish thing to do, and Artemis responded exactly as you might expect when a mortal burst into her temple to demand that she marry him. Others said that he and Artemis had once been hunting buddies, but he had boasted that he, a human, was a better hunter than she, the literal goddess of hunting. As is pretty much always the case when a mortal brags about being better at a thing than the god of that thing, she punished him for his hubris.
Fragmentary evidence suggests an even earlier version of the story, though no complete sources have survived. Stesichorus, a poet from the 6th Century BC, claimed that Actaeon had been vying for the attention of Semele (who you might remember from Episodes 72A and 72K). This was problematic because A, Zeus had taken an interest in her as we’ve already seen and B, she was his aunt (specifically, his mother’s younger sister). Incest might be all hunky dory for the gods, but it was still definitely taboo for mortals. From there, the story gets murky. It’s unclear if it was Zeus who transformed the young man into a stag (which is definitely a punishment he’s meted out before) or if he sent Artemis as his assassin (a role she has filled before). Regardless of the specifics, the early versions of the story are all very clear on the fact that Actaeon was hardly an innocent victim in all of this, which honestly makes a lot more sense.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on Stitcher, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth and on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Next time, Odysseus is going to cheat on his wife yet again while professing his undying love and ardent desire to go home. You’ll see that Odysseus could kick Huck Finn’s ass at raft building, that goddesses have tool sheds, and that Poseidon isn’t quite done being mad. Then, in Gods and Monsters, it’s time for another object lesson in Don’t Insult a God. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.