Step into a short, surprising tour of Massachusetts law where patriotism, profanity and old-school honor collide. Picture a crowd at Fenway — someone queues up a remix of the Star-Spangled Banner and suddenly the mood shifts from celebration to caution: the state still carries a $100 penalty for dancing to or remixing the anthem. That’s the opening scene.

Turn the page and you’re courtside at a youth baseball game, where a teenage outburst at the umpire could ring up a $50 fine. The rules sound absurd, almost theatrical, but they’re on the books — rarely enforced, often symbolic, and undeniably real. Finally, a forgotten clause in the state constitution prevents duelists from holding office, a vestige of a bygone era that reads like a historical footnote come to life.

This episode threads these oddities together, using quick scenes and a sharp narrator’s voice to explore how laws can be both comical and consequential, revealing what they say about a place and its past. Tune in for a brisk, story-driven look at laws that still matter — even when they feel out of step with modern life.

December 19, 1972: Apollo 17 splashes down, three astronauts recovered, and for the first time in human history, no one has returned from another world for more than fifty years. In this episode we tell that final descent as a story of triumph and unraveling—how a Cold War victory, exploding budgets, a nation at war with itself, and the strange absence of what came next combined to pull the curtain down on the greatest technological feat of the twentieth century.

We follow the people who built Apollo—the scientists who never got their data, the rockets that sit in museums like monuments, and the photographs that reshaped how we see Earth—and we ask the uncomfortable question the program left behind: why did we stop? Told through canceled missions, quiet personal losses, and the lingering power of images like Earthrise, this episode turns policy and politics into a human story.

Short, urgent, and unexpectedly intimate, this finale asks what we owe the past explorers and whether a new era of lunar ambition will be driven by rivalry, cooperation, or something altogether different. Listen to the end of an era and the question that still pulls our eyes up toward the moon.

Imagine being hauled into court for reading tarot, or chased down the bay for stealing oysters — these are not punchlines but real laws with real stories. From a Maryland misdemeanor that treats fortune telling like fraud to Rockville’s almost-forgotten ban on public swearing, this episode walks the boundary between the absurd and the enforceable.

We stitch together on-the-street vignettes, 19th-century oyster wars with state navies in hot pursuit, and a teaser about Massachusetts rules that make dancing to the national anthem questionable. Listen as we unpack why these laws existed, who they targeted, and what it feels like to stand where history and the bizarre collide.

We spent six episodes with the men who flew; this is the story of the thousands who never left the ground. Picture a seamstress in Dover sewing a pressure suit to perfection, a young flight controller with a handwritten list saving a lunar landing, and a handful of programmers rewriting fate in the hours between life and death. These are the moments that made missions possible.

Through intimate portraits, John Aaron’s SCE fix, Jack Garman’s late-night alarm list, Don Isles’s two-hour software patch, Frances Northcutt in a room full of men, we meet the faces behind the consoles, the factory floor, and the machine code. Their preparation, quiet courage, and obsessive attention to detail become the heartbeat of the program.

And then there is Wernher von Braun: engineering genius and morally compromised architect of the Saturn V. The rocket that carried humanity to the moon was built on brilliance and buried truths. To understand Apollo honestly, we hold both the triumph and the cost.

Listen as Time Tellers gives names to the invisible, stitches history back together, and asks who we celebrate—and why.

Pull into South Berwick and you might notice something strange: the best spots in front of Dunkin' are spoken for—reserved for police, by law. What starts as a laughable stereotype—cops and coffee—quickly becomes real when a ticket or a tow looms over anyone who dares park there. Follow the host through the tiny ordinances that make small-town rules feel both absurd and oddly practical.

Then the story winds through even stranger territory: laws that bar advertising on gravestones and, once upon a time in Augusta, even frowned on sidewalk violinists. Each quirk peels back a layer of local history and unintended consequences, revealing the characters, debates, and curious compromises that shape a community. Tune in for a short, sharp tour of Maine’s legal curiosities—equal parts civic weirdness and human drama.

On a humid Louisiana night, a cast-iron pot bubbles over an open flame and an old law quietly gives that pot a pass: traditional jambalaya, made the right way, can be exempt from commercial kitchen rules. In this episode we walk the line between culinary ritual and statute, hearing from cooks and neighbors who treat preservation like an act of resistance.

Then the tone shifts—steal more than $1,500 in crawfish and you could face a felony, and once upon a time the theft of a "charlotte"—a voodoo charm—had its own place in the penal code. We stitch together courtroom anecdotes, cultural history, and local color to reveal how French, Creole, and Afro-Caribbean traditions left surprising fingerprints on the law. Expect sharp humor, reverence, and small-town verdicts that say: respect the rue, leave the crawfish alone, and don’t mess with people’s charms.

Step into a courtroom that time forgot: in Kentucky, every public official must swear they never fought a duel — a relic of 1800s honor culture that still decides who can run for office. With a wink at Hamilton and Burr, the episode opens like a legal melodrama where perjury and pistols shape political fate.

We roam from the oddly humane ban on selling dyed chicks at Easter to Lexington’s old ordinance against dumping wash water from balconies, each law a small story about fear, custom, and control. By the time we land in Louisiana and joke that Jambalaya ought to be above the law, you’ll be hooked on these surprising statutes and the human histories they hide.

They say Apollo 11 stole the spotlight, but four months later a rocket became a lightning rod and a young flight controller's memory saved three lives. Apollo 12 is a pulse-pounding blend of catastrophe and calm—warning lights like a Christmas tree, a whispered fix from mission control, and two astronauts who laughed their way into orbit.

Then comes the comeback: Alan Shepard, grounded for nine years by an inner-ear condition, returns after secret surgery and smuggles a six-iron to hit two golf balls into lunar dust. A malfunctioning abort switch is rewired on the fly by a 27‑year‑old engineer, and the landings are pulled off with precision. These are human stories of stubbornness, luck, and small rebellions on the largest stage imaginable—perfect for anyone who thought the Apollo program was all one grand, seamless triumph.