This Day in Insane History copertina

This Day in Insane History

This Day in Insane History

Di: Inception Point Ai
Ascolta gratuitamente

3 mesi a soli 0,99 €/mese

Dopo 3 mesi, 9,99 €/mese. Si applicano termini e condizioni.

A proposito di questo titolo

 journey back in time with "This Day in Insane History" your daily dose of the most bewildering, shocking, and downright insane moments from our shared past. Each episode delves into a specific date, unearthing tales of audacious adventures, mind-boggling coincidences, and events so extraordinary they'll make you question reality. From military blunders to unbelievable feats of endurance, from political scandals to bizarre cultural practices, "This Day in Insane History" promises that you'll never look at today's date the same way again.Copyright 2025 Inception Point Ai Mondiale
Episodi
  • The Woman Who Became Tokyo Rose By Accident and Spent 28 Years Paying For a Crime She Barely Committed

    The Woman Who Became Tokyo Rose By Accident and Spent 28 Years Paying For a Crime She Barely Committed
    Jan 19 2026
    On January 19, 1977, President Gerald Ford granted a full and unconditional pardon to Tokyo Rose—except there was never actually any such person.

    Iva Toguri D'Aquino, a Japanese-American woman from Los Angeles, had the profound misfortune of being stranded in Japan while visiting a sick relative when Pearl Harbor was attacked. Unable to return home and refused Japanese citizenship (she wouldn't renounce her American one), she found herself in the uniquely terrible position of being an enemy alien in her ancestral homeland during a brutal war.

    Needing to survive, she eventually took a job as a typist at Radio Tokyo and later became one of several women announcers on "The Zero Hour," a propaganda broadcast aimed at demoralizing Allied troops in the Pacific. The American GIs listening to these programs collectively dubbed various female broadcasters "Tokyo Rose," though no one used that name on air.

    Here's where it gets properly absurd: after the war, D'Aquino was the only one of these broadcasters who could be found by American authorities, largely because she'd been reckless enough to actually identify herself to journalists. Though many of the soldiers who'd heard the broadcasts testified that they found them more entertaining than demoralizing—the music was excellent, and the propaganda was ham-fisted—she was convicted of treason in 1949.

    Nearly three decades later, after investigative journalists revealed that witnesses had been coerced and evidence suppressed, Ford issued his pardon on his final full day in office. D'Aquino finally received the justice she'd been denied, though one imagines she might have preferred it without the preceding 28 years of infamy.

    This content was created in partnership and with the help of Artificial Intelligence AI
    Mostra di più Mostra meno
    2 min
  • When Henry VII Married Up: The Tudor Wedding That Launched a Thousand Beheadings

    When Henry VII Married Up: The Tudor Wedding That Launched a Thousand Beheadings
    Jan 18 2026
    On January 18, 1486, King Henry VII of England married Elizabeth of York at Westminster Abbey, thereby uniting the Houses of Lancaster and York and effectively ending the Wars of the Roses—though one might argue the real victory was in branding. Henry, ever the pragmatist, had already claimed the throne by right of conquest after beating Richard III at Bosworth Field, but he shrewdly understood that nothing says "legitimate monarchy" quite like marrying your predecessor's niece and combining those lovely red and white roses into one tidy Tudor emblem.

    What makes this wedding particularly noteworthy is the sheer awkwardness of the political maneuvering required. Elizabeth was Edward IV's daughter, making her technically the Yorkist claimant with arguably a better hereditary claim than Henry himself. Henry had to get a papal dispensation since they were distant cousins, and more importantly, he deliberately waited until *after* his coronation to marry her, ensuring that his claim to the throne rested on his own merits (or conquest, depending on your perspective) rather than his wife's superior bloodline.

    The marriage proved surprisingly successful by medieval royal standards—they had seven children together and by all accounts developed genuine affection for one another. Elizabeth apparently mourned Henry deeply when he died, which was refreshingly unusual for arranged political marriages of the era. Their union produced Henry VIII, which means we can thank this January wedding for everything from the English Reformation to the creation of the Church of England to six very memorable marriages. One Tudor rose, it turns out, spawned quite the thorny family tree.

    This content was created in partnership and with the help of Artificial Intelligence AI
    Mostra di più Mostra meno
    2 min
  • When You Trek 800 Miles Just to Find Someone Else's Flag: Scott's Devastating Second Place Finish at the South Pole

    When You Trek 800 Miles Just to Find Someone Else's Flag: Scott's Devastating Second Place Finish at the South Pole
    Jan 17 2026
    On January 17, 1912, Captain Robert Falcon Scott and his four companions reached the South Pole, only to discover they had been beaten to the prize by Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen by thirty-four agonizing days.

    The scene that greeted Scott's exhausted British party was the polar explorer's equivalent of finding someone else's car in your parking spot—if that parking spot happened to be at the bottom of the Earth and you'd just hauled sledges across 800 miles of Antarctic ice to get there. There, flapping mockingly in the wind, was the Norwegian flag. Nearby stood a tent Amundsen had thoughtfully left behind, containing a letter addressed to the King of Norway and, with characteristic Scandinavian thoroughness, a note asking Scott to kindly deliver it in case Amundsen's team didn't make it back.

    Scott's diary entry that day drips with British understatement: "The worst has happened" and "All the day dreams must go." One can practically hear the stiff upper lip quivering. His companion, Edward Wilson, took photographs of the dejected team posing beside the Norwegian flag—images that rank among history's most depressing tourist snapshots.

    The tragedy compounded when Scott and all four of his polar companions perished on the return journey, just eleven miles from a supply depot that might have saved them. Their frozen bodies and Scott's journals were discovered eight months later, transforming a tale of coming in second into one of British heroic martyrdom that somehow outshone Amundsen's actual victory in the public imagination for decades.

    This content was created in partnership and with the help of Artificial Intelligence AI
    Mostra di più Mostra meno
    2 min
Ancora nessuna recensione