Morbid - Jean Harris and the Murder of Herman Tarnower (Part 1)

Episode Date: March 6, 2025

When Jean Harris met Herman Tarnower in the winter of 1966, she quickly fell in love the charming doctor. Having just come out of a disappointing twenty-year marriage, Harris was desperate to find the love and stimulating partnership she’d long dreamed of, and believed she’d finally found it in the intellectual Tarnower and the two would live happily ever after. But fourteen years later, Tarnower was dead and Harris was on trial for his murder, her fantasy of happily ever after having crumbled around her.Thank you to the Incredible Dave White of Bring Me the Axe Podcast for research and Writing support!ReferencesAlexander, Shana. 1983. Very Much a Lady: The Untold Story of Jean Harris and Dr. Herman Tarnower. New York, NY: Simon and Schuster.Clendinen, Dudley. 1981. "Jean Harrids as a witness: sad, humorous, cutting." New York Times, January 28: B2.Faron, James. 1980. "'Scarsdale Diet' doctor slain; headmistress charged." New York Times, March 12: A1.Feron, James. 1981. "Defiant Jean Harris sentenced to mandatory fifteen years." New York Times, March 21: 1.—. 1980. "Hard questioning is screening out Tarnower jurors." New York Times, November 13: B2.—. 1980. "Jean Harris jury told of clothing found 'slashed'." New York Times, December 3: B1.—. 1981. "Jurors in Harris trial re-enacted night of murder in deliberations." New York Times, February 26: A1.—. 1980. "Policeman tells how Mrs. Harris described fight." New York Times, December 12: B1.Haden-Guest, Anthony. 1980. "The headmistress and the diet doctor." New York Magazine, March 31.The People of the State of New York v. Jean S. Harris. 1981. 84 A.D.2d 63 (Appellate Division of the Supreme Court of New York, Second Department, December 30).United Press International. 1981. "Juror says Mrs. Harris's tesimony was the key to murder." New York Times, February 25: B2.  Cowritten by Alaina Urquhart, Ash Kelley & Dave White (Since 10/2022)Produced & Edited by Mikie Sirois (Since 2023)Research by Dave White (Since 10/2022), Alaina Urquhart & Ash KelleyListener Correspondence & Collaboration by Debra LallyListener Tale Video Edited by Aidan McElman (Since 6/2025) Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Hey, weirdos, I'm Ash. And I'm Elena. And this is morbid. It is morbid. Yay. Yay. I love morbid. I love morbid.

I meant for that to sound actually convincing, but it sounded like I was like, I was like, fuck morbid. I was like, excuse me. You were like, I'll show. I was like, what? I love it. Our baby. No, I do.

I don't know why that sounded like that. I also don't know why you're boofing your microphone everywhere. I'm trying to make it stay so it's not like moving around. Okay. Well, at least yours is plugged in. Earlier today, we went to record something and started recording like 20 minutes of it. And then I realized that my microphone wasn't plugged in. Yeah.

So that's cute. So that was fun. Yay. So that's where we are today. But you know what? It's a perfect day for a listener tale. Because we're in a silly, goofy mood. Yeah.

Yeah. Uh-huh. And you know what? after like 18 years of Jack the Ripper, I think it's, it's high time for some silliness. For motherfucking real, brother. You know? And the first one that I have is looks, for some reason, the name of this made me laugh out loud. Oh, I'm excited.

It says, Pope died and almost took me with him. And I don't know why. You're not wrong. I don't know why that was so funny to me, but. That is funny. I love it. Because why would the Pope take you with him? Why did he do it?

I got to know. Let's figure it up. Okay. All right, it says, ladies, please consider the attached PDF of my listener tale. Recounting how I escaped from my abductor during a study abroad in Italy. Atali. Oh, fuck. I don't know.

You were almost taken. During college in 2005. I will consider this PDF. Thank you. I'm going to open it right now. Here we go. This is a listener tale from Ashley G. Ooh.

Hey, weirdos. I'm Ashley from Bainbridge Island, Washington. Ever heard of it? No. Well? No, me neither. Please feel free to use my ever so popular in the 1980s name. Triggered. We got ashes everywhere. My story begins April of 2005. I was a sophomore in college and had just arrived for my study abroad in Rome, Italy.

Italy. I don't know if you guys know this, but I'm 1.4% Italian. She has to rub it in because I literally bought 23 and me. We're not sponsored, but like, get it. But get it, it's great. It's really awesome, except it's not because it didn't tell me that I was Italian. And I think it's lying. I don't think it is. It's not.

Because I actually found out that I was Jewish, which was wild. Yeah, you had no idea. The whole reason I got the 23 and me was to find out that I was Italian because I wanted to find that out. And I did. Which is weird because we're like, for those who don't know, we really are related. We truly are. We share the same blood, but I guess not the Italian one. Not the Italian kind.

It skips a generation. it down that far. That's what it was. I got 1.4% and then it really diluted. Yeah. So sorry about it. I got the last bits. But both of us do have Viking blood. So we do. Viking blood. What's up? I would do a Viking scream, but I'm very close to the microphone and you would die. All right. Okay. So this trip was a big deal for me because I have never lived anywhere outside of the Seattle area. It would be a huge deal for me because I've never been anywhere. where. I've been places, but I haven't been to Italy. I thought you were, it sounded like you were still reading and I was like, it doesn't say that. No, that's just me. This is my personal input into this story. I haven't, I haven't been anywhere either. Yeah, you were born in Hawaii. Yeah, but I was robbed of that experience. I don't remember it. You truly were. They dipped when I was like a year and a half. A baby. A baby. I should have been more excited to explore Rome's museums and historical sites. Yes, you should have. Did you not? But this then 20-year-old

old sorority girl was more interested in drinking red wine and dancing the night away at a disco teco with handsome Italian men. That's the ash in you. There's the ash in you. And the Elaine in you was like, wait, I should have seen historical things. Look at this museum though. Come on. The first thing I did upon arrival was move in with my host family. Family turned out to be a loose term. My host family consisted of an older retired lady who spent most of her time napping and her older adult daughter who gave up her bedroom to meet and I slu-la. Blah. her older adult daughter, who gave up her bedroom to me and slept in the hall closet, like Harry Potter. That's really nice of her, but I wish she slept on like the living room couch perhaps.

It's like, can we just like make you up a bed? Yeah. I'd be like I'll sleep on a cot. Yeah. At the end of the first week, I planned to meet up with some other students in Tostasio. Maybe. Tastacio. I feel like it's Tistachio.

I'm sorry. you 1.4% Italian? No, but... You're probably right, though. You could be right. You're probably right. We're probably both wrong. No, you're probably right if anybody is.

Wait, why? I don't know. I feel like you would know it better than I would. Oh, cool. Yeah, it just feels right. I just know words. Do you just know words? Tastacio, I'm going to say it my way.

Oh, okay. You think I'm right, but you'll say you're right. I'm a Capricorn, so... That was the most Capricorn in that word. Anyways, shut up out. Stastio was considered the club scene in Rome at the time. I put on my... my overpriced jeans, party shirt, and metallic gold, strappy Chinese laundry,

spike heel, high heel shoes, which hurt like shit, but made me feel fierce. I was going to say they're cute, but they hurt. I took the subway from the station across the street from my host family's apartment, a short bus ride and arrived in Tastasio. Nope, now it's Tasccio, so I don't know which one it is. There's a C and there's a T. I think this is just a typo. Either way, sounds great. Ash is going to Google it, so we're okay.

I'm just going to play it right there. arrived at to stop I'll vamp I'm gonna vamp right now so we're gonna look it up we're gonna see exactly what it is and we're gonna give you the real version of it

this might be a YouTube ad oh hey it's silent so it doesn't matter there you go so where we arrived was we arrived at a place you were right see I told you that I knew it but it's actually to stop show

not you we're just fucking Americans testosterone Tistacho. Okay, so we arrived in Tistacho at about 11 p.m. And then I flew to my curls, stuck out the girls, and strode through the door of our appointed meeting place. Get a girl. Club music was pounding.

The strill lights were going. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. And this enormous nightclub had like 10 people in it. Lame. This included my four schoolmates. Lamer.

What the shit, we asked the bartender and barely passable Italian. He was surprised that we were surprised, because Pope John. Tom Paul had just died. Didn't we Americans understand that the entire city was in deep mourning? No. We foolishly did not realize that was how big of a deal this was in Italian culture. We talked it over and decided to wait a few days before trying to go out dancing again. That's very responsible of you.

Yeah, and respectful. It is. We went our separate ways with the plan of returning to our host family's apartments. I waited at the bus stop for two hours in my increasingly uncomfortable shoes, but the bus never showed up. The first scheduled stop did not appear, then the second, and then the third. Another person who was waiting with me explained that thousands of people were lined up in St. Peter's Square at the Vatican to view the Pope's body lying in state, and that it was wreaking havoc on public transit. Eventually, I decided to hoof it. I didn't know the city well yet,

but I figured I could zen my way as far as the subway and then back to the Garbatela station across the street from my host family's apartment. I started walking. If you have ever spent time in Italy, I have not. Not. Okay. Yeah, stop rubbing it in, Ashley. Just kidding, Ashley, I love you. We love you. You may be familiar with the term papagallo. I actually am. I have heard that. This is a term for a would-be Lothario who likes to yell sexual stuff at ladies on the streets. Gross. Side note, one of the things we learned how to say in Italian before we arrived was Fagiri y'i papagali. Yeah, that sounded right. Which means to flee the papagali. I encountered many

papagali that night. They yelled some truly fucked up explicit sexual slurs at me. What the fuck? Do you want me to kick them in the gut? Yes. I'll do that for you. Okay. It was two years pre-Iphone, and my mother and I had agreed that I could live without an expensive foreign mobile phone plan during my study abroad. Uh-oh. Ruh.

I didn't see a pay phone anywhere, and no businesses were open. After the first hour of walking and being hollered at in the dark, I was angry and scared. I'm angry and I'm scared for you. Me too. I wish they had told you how to say, fuck the popagolly. Yeah. That was when he pulled up. Mid to late 40s, pop belly, and a deeply.

receding hairline. He looked like several of my friend's dads. He asked me an Italian, what was I doing out at this hour of night? Not you. Imagine if she said that. I wish she had. That would have been intense. I responded that my bus did not arrive, catching my accent, he switched to English. You should not be walking alone in this neighborhood so late. It's very dangerous for young women. I responded that I lived near the Garbertella tube station and could he confirm that I was heading in the right direction. He responded, that I was going completely the wrong way. He knew the Garbetelah station and could drop me there in five minutes.

No. Before I go any further with this tale, I know. Don't ever get into a car with a stranger ever, ever, ever. I know it now and I knew it then. But I had been walking for what felt like forever. And after being yelled at so aggressively by the Papa Gali and the situation with the Pope and no buses, phone, etc. I made a stupid decision.

I climbed in his car, shut the door, and he pulled away from the curb. I want to yell at you, but I have also made so many stupid decisions in my life and should not be alive to talk about them, but here we are. And you know what? You, Ashley, lived to tell the tale. And that's all that matters. You know, and you're here telling the tale to tell other people not to do this. So that's smart. You did it. I wish I could say there was a honeymoon phase, but there wasn't. He immediately slammed on the gas pedal. He ran every red light we encountered without saying a word. I don't know how long it took me to ask, but I finally did. I thought you were taking me to the girl. Bartella Station, where are you taking me? He didn't say anything at first.

He continued running red lights until we exited Rome and hit the highway. Oh, no, no, no, no, no. The car was moving impossibly fast. Rome and its juxtaposition of bright lights and crumbling ancient architecture disappeared behind us. That was a beautiful statement. And we sped down the highway through farmland toward Fiumuchino. Yeah.

Yep. Fiumachino Airport, the closest commercial airport to Rome. Oh. Also, that makes me nervous. Why is he taking you to an airport? Yeah. I asked him what he was doing. He didn't answer.

I started crying and begged him not to hurt me. He didn't say anything for a long time. I subsided to weeping and pleading for him to stop the car. Eventually, he did start speaking. Do you have a boyfriend? He asked. What is your boyfriend's name? I don't like your president Bush.

What do you think of President Bush? He asked me these questions as if we were having a casual conversation, and I wasn't snorking snot all over my Forever 21. party top and begging him to stop the car. I feel I want to hug you so much right now. Now, I was raised by a single badass mom and we watched a lot of true crime inspired drama together growing up. Love that. After we hit farmland territory and gaping assholes started asking me about G.W. Bush, I realized that shit was happening that would not end well. I remember feeling that I was floating outside of my body in the shitty little European compact car watching and thinking

Ashley, this ice cold psycho is going to, at the very least, violently rape you. Oh, my God. We were going further into anybody who's been in the situation where they feel like they are about to be attacked by a man knows that feeling where you're like, oh, I'm about to be raped right now. Oh, God. Like that feeling that happens right before someone attacks you is one of the scariest feelings because it's like, oh, this is really about to happen.

And even if it doesn't happen, that feeling you get when you think it's about to happen. I can't even imagine. I feel like that's one of those feelings that just like attaches itself to you. Oh, yeah. Like I've never experienced that. But I could see that being that way. Oh, it's horrifying. Like I feel like you could probably feel it right now if you had to.

100%. 100%. Because I remember it like this is, and I'm not going to tell the whole tale, but like when it happened to me, the guy that did it was pacing behind me in a room and I was on a computer. I wish that I could fucking knock this motherfucker's lights out. You and John. Helga Pataki. Helga Pataki this fucker.

And I remember I was feeling like the like I was like something is about to happen. Like I was feeling very uncomfortable. And then I heard the click of a lock. And that's when my brain was like, oh, this is actually happening. Like this is a real thing that's happening. And it is the scariest feeling you will ever feel in your life. Like that fight or flight response that happens is the most gnarly feeling you will ever feel. I'm so sorry that you had to experience.

that both of you. I'm okay. But yeah, this is all I can think of for you and you're in a car with this man being driven somewhere. Like that is, I can't imagine what you were feeling. That's a lot. So yeah, so she is thinking to herself, something bad's going to happen right now. We were getting further into rural farm country and businesses became scarce. After a long stretch of nothing, we passed a roadside motel with a bunch of semi-trucks parked in front. It was the first business with people in it that I'd seen for miles. At this moment, I remembered some of something my mom told me. When she was in her 20s, my mom fended off a neighbor who pushed his way into her apartment to rape her. She did this by screaming and crying in his ear after he forced her

down on the floor. She yelled and cried loudly enough that the neighbor eventually became so frustrated and distracted by her catterwalling that he gave up and left. I decided to go for it. Gaping asshole kept asking me about Bush and Mitch McConnell and inane personal details. I decided when we passed that motel to marshal my substantial lung power and screaming, my guts out. Yes, girl. Also, can I just say, I always am so just in shock when people have the wherewithal in these situations to recall a lesson that they'd been taught. Yes. Because I always, I have like, I have like, what have I learned? What have I learned? What do I know? What do I do here? And I can't imagine it all the time. We've heard so many stories of people like, and then I remembered.

Right, like this. Yeah, or cases where people are like, I remember someone telling me this. Right. So makes the difference. And you know what? It fucking worked. This piece of shit had been speeding down the highway at a blinding pace. But when I unleashed my beastly, classically trained opera lungs, Oh, okay, Ashley. She's burying that lead. Oh my gosh, girl. He quickly became flustered and turned right off the highway onto an unpaved farm road surrounded by livestock pastures and ancient stone walls. No, thank you. He was forced by the train to slow down. And he was shouting at me to be quiet as he reached for what ended up being a knife concealed under his seat. Oh my God. Something really bad was going to happen here. 100%. I knew this was my only chance. In what felt like one fluid motion, I hugged my shitty gold plastic purse that

matched my shoes, tight to my stomach, pulled the door handle while putting the full weight of my body against it, and fell out of the moving car. I hit the ground hard, rolled and smacked my head on the dirt road. It hurt really bad. But then he immediately skidded to a stop, so I jumped up and started running. I was still wearing those stupid strappy gold metallic shoes that cut into my feet. Pure adrenaline helped me scale a nearby stone fence like a spider monkey, and I booked it across the muddy pasture to the highway. After I vaulted the fence, I heard gaping asshole peel out on the dirt farm road towards the highway.

I ran up the highway screaming, covered in mud from the pasture, and blood on my feet from those stupid shoes. Several vehicles stopped off for me, assistance, but I was too afraid to stop running in case he found me. I was getting to that roadside motel, and that was it. I reached the long gravel driveway to the motel. It was a long driveway with maybe a dozen semi-truck tractor trailers parked back in

facing the driveway. There were no lights in the driveway. I was convinced that he knew where I was going, had headed me off at the hotel, and was lurking in the dark between one of those semi-trucks. I spun around in circles, walking down the driveway, crying and alternating between begging him to leave me alone and threatening to kick his dick off if he touched me. I finally made it to the door of the motel where I could see three elderly gentlemen, watching some kind of late-night European sporting event

on a legit ceiling-mounted CRT television. Like, wouldn't that hurt your neck? I love that. I pounded on the door and screamed at them to let me in. Bless their hearts, they opened the door and looked mystified, as I explained what happened to me in hysterical Pigeon Italian. That was it. The police, carabineery.

Ooh, listening to you with the hand motion. It's coming to me now. Oh, yeah, the 1.4%. The police. I loved the speed. Vice, I came with that. Oh, yeah, the one more force. You're welcome.

Thank you. The police came and took a report. They stood around smoking cigarettes for a while and told me I was lucky to be in via latte. Ooh. Inviol latte. Before bringing me home. Before bringing me home to my host family.

Probably not the translation. I was probably not. I was afraid you are lucky to be a vanilla latte. I was afraid to go outside. Honestly, you would be lucky to be a vanilla latte. Yeah. I was afraid. to go outside the apartment for days knowing that I was said stupidly told gaping asshole exactly where I lived.

Oh, I forgot about that. Me too. I also felt a shame that I'd brought this on myself by getting into his car. You did not. No one deserves to be attacked, no matter what. You don't bring anything on yourself when it comes to men attacking you. They do it and it sucks. Their fault. Here is the most embarrassing part. For more than a decade after this experience, I told a different version of this story. In that version of the story, the man forced me into the car by pulling my hair. I did not want to admit that I, at 20 years old, and being forewarned by Dateline and SVU, voluntarily got in this dude's car. I knew people would blame me if I admitted to accepting a ride from a stranger. It is thanks to the stories you ladies have shared that I finally recently felt brave enough to tell my spouse and closest friends and family the truth. I'm so glad that we gave you like the made you feel like it was okay. And you had no reason to be embarrassed, but I totally understand why society has made you

feel that way. That's the thing. What a social commentary that you feel embarrassed because a man attacked you. Yeah. And you think you brought it on yourself. Yeah. Like unreal. That's that society, man. But I'm so glad that you felt strong enough to say it. But her friends and family are amazing human beings who have not blamed me for lying to them for years about getting into that car of my own volition like a dumbass. What is more? I can now share the true story of these events with my three children. Yay! When they're old enough. So that they can learn from my mistakes and to be compassionate to strangers survivors of sexual assault. Yeah. I've never held on to these inside. I've even held on to those in hindsight lucky strappy gold shoes. Oh, I love to hear it, honey. I love it. So here's my quick wrap-up gush. I love the way you ladies tell stories. You shine a light on

pervasive issues of violence and trauma in a way that honors the humanity of victims and their families. And you demonize the piece of shit garbage people who are often too often glamorized as evil geniuses. Thank you for providing a safe. place where I can indulge my passion for everything spooky and macab and come to terms with my own experiences. Keep it weird, ladies. And Elena, I can't wait to crack open and smell that book, Ashley. Yay!

Ashley, I love you and I'm so glad that you're alive to tell that tale. I know. And you're a badass. You did the right thing. You truly are. You did the right thing. We shouldn't have to live in a place where you're afraid to accept a ride from a kind, what's a seemingly kind stranger.

But we do, unfortunately. But you did nothing wrong. Nothing at all. It was a decision. It wasn't the right decision, but you learned from it. And you now are warning others about it. And you were 20. It happens.

Yeah. I mean, don't get in a car with anybody guys. Yeah, never. Don't do that. But you know what? You don't feel ashamed about it. It happened. You made it through it.

And now you're using it to warn other people. So you're a badass. You rock, never change hags. Ashley. Ashley. Ashley. All right. This next one is simply.

called listener tales. I love that. Hello, you two beautiful people. I love that too. You're a beautiful person. I think I can say your name. I'm Elizabeth and I'm a huge fan of your podcast. I've been listening to it for a few years now and you too have added some much needed entertainment to my day-to-day grind. I wanted to share a story about my grandfather and how heroic of a man he was. He just recently passed away in January. I'm sorry. And I have been reliving a lot of my memories with him. This story is a bit of a roller coaster, so hold on to your booties. Holding on to my booty. Holding on. I will try my hardest to clearly narrate

what happened, but please give the story a little spit shine in any places that I may begin to ramble. Never. Warning, it will probably happen a lot. Now, even though this story has acts of heroism, it is far from a fairy tale. It involves arson and the murder of my grandparents neighbor who lived across the street from them.

I have attached a put a foe with the story for you guys, and I've also attached a link to the court documents, you fucking hero. If you would like more detail. than what I'm sharing. Thank you. My story does have a few details that differ from the court documents, but I even confirmed them with my mom. Oh, excuse me, but, it doesn't say but. I even confirmed with my mom on the details since I was only seven years old when this occurred. And who can trust the memory of a child who used to yeat herself off the couch while pretending to be an Olympic gymnast.

Hell yeah. Your kids love doing that. They do. I think all kids love doing that. But she confirmed my memories were correct, and we believe the court documents have messed up a few details. That does happen. I believe you. They are minor things. when it comes to the whole case, but they do involve the details that my grandpa shared with us. When I looked up the court documents, they did not include the names of the children involved, only their initials. So for the sake of making the story easier to understand, I've made up names for the children, and all of the adults' names are accurate. Thank you.

Thank you so much. That was like a beautiful explanation. It really was. Oh, right. Here's a little backstory on the family this case involves. My grandparents' neighbors were Angie and Azad. Azad Abdullah. They married in March of 2001. They each had a child from previous marriages. Angie had a daughter, Abby, who was nine years old, and what did I say?

Abdullah. Abdullah, had a son, Roger, who was five years old. I didn't want to pronounce it one way, and then present completely differently. They also had two sons together, Nathan, who was 18 months, and Matt, who was three weeks old. Babes. Unfortunately, Angie and Abdullah's marriage wasn't great. They fought over Abdullah wanting to move the family out of the country, and they struggled financially.

Shortly before Matt was due, Angie discussed divorcing her husband and had even met with an attorney. Now, fast forward to the early morning hours on October 5, 2002. Shortly before 2 a.m., my grandparents, Ed and Anna Lou, stop it. Shut the F up. The most grandparenty names I have ever heard in my life. Ed and Anna Lou. Ed and Anna Lou.

I love that. I feel like Lou is like the cutest middle name. Oh, I love it. Or like second name. So they were woken up at their home and it's Boise, right? Boise, Idaho. by two young girls at their front door. It was nine-year-old Abby and her friend Sarah.

They were having a sleepover together, and they'd fallen asleep in the family room around midnight after watching a movie. Sarah woke up around 154 a.m. to quote-unquote, fire everywhere. Oh, God. Sarah slapped Anna to wake her up, and the two girls escaped the burning house

by a path through the garage. The two girls initially tried to wake a different neighbor first, but nobody had responded. That was when the two girls ran across the street to my grandparents' home. The girls told, told them that Angie and two of her other children, Nathan and Matt, were still in the burning home. Angie's husband had taken the oldest son, Roger, with him, to Salt Lake City the day

before. Curious. My grandma watched over the two girls while my grandpa Ed and another neighbor, Brian, went over to try to rescue the rest of the family. Ed was able to break down the locked door to the master bedroom that was connected to the back patio. According to my grandpa, the room was filled with so much smoke, he had to crawl and had little to no visibility. When he got to the bed, he felt around and was able to feel Matt's foot. Oh, my God. And remember, that baby's like a couple weeks old. Yeah.

Once he had the baby, he crawled towards Brian's voice. From what my mom and I remember, Brian remained near the doors leading to the patio and kept communicating with Ed to ensure he knew how to get back out and did not get lost in the fire. Ed handed the baby over and went back into the room to try to locate the mother, who he assumed was also in the room. Fucking Ed, man. Your grandfather is amazing. Matt had soot an oily residue around his mouth and nose and on his clothing.

If Ed and Brian hadn't rescued him when they did, there was a very high probability that Matt would have died before the firefighters arrived at the scene. Here's what the court documents and our memories of the, excuse me, here's where the court documents and our memories of the story divert the most. The documents claim that Ed and Brian then searched the family room, but we're fairly certain my grandpa couldn't go any further than the bedroom in his search, which would make sense because when the girls escaped, in the fire minutes earlier, they had said that the fire was all over the ceiling in the family room. Oh my God. I can't imagine that. Waking up to that? No. In the report, Brian and Ed told officials that they never saw Nathan when they were searching the house, but if they only searched one room, this may not seem that odd. Well, spoiler alert, ladies and gents, this detail is very important and you'll see why in a little bit. Huh. Around 2 a.m., firefighters arrived and initially

entered the burning home in rescue mode. The court document states they very quickly, went into defensive mode, however, due to concerns of flashover, which is when everything in the room, oh gosh, when everything in the room reaches ignition temperature and ignites at one time. Shortly after the firefighters retreated from the home to the front door, the living room flashed over. Wow. There was a very high probability of fatal injuries to the firefighters if any of them had been in the room when it flashed over.

This was a detail I had not heard until I recently read the court documents. It really hit home how dangerous of a situation. my grandpa rushed into in hopes of saving this family. Oh, oh my God. What? Oh, and side note, my grandpa was around 70 years old when he did this. Are you kidding me right now? Sorry, if I just broke your speakers, but are you joking me?

70 years old, and he rushes into a burning house to save babies and other people. Wow. He better got some kind of freaking metal for this. Erect a monument to this guy. Honestly. Now, at this point, the story begins to get, well, odd. Like I mentioned, like I recently mentioned,

Brian and Ed never saw Nathan, who was only 18 months old in their search. But after a second search of the premises, one firefighter found Nathan sitting in the backyard on a large comforter from the master bedroom. Huh. Nathan was not covered in soot, didn't smell like smoke,

and didn't have any signs of his body being in a fire. With how young Nathan was, he would not have been able to open the door to the master bedroom, which had been locked when my grandfather and Brian, had broken into the house, nor would he have been able to carry the giant comforter by himself. I'm not sure what size the master bed was, but I know sleepy me has struggled, trying to untangle myself for my queen-sized comforter, totally. I can't imagine how, wow, I don't even know what I just said. It's a soul. It is, always. I can't imagine a baby barely over one years old,

dragging it all the way into the backyard. Huh. Not me thinking that Nathan was like involved. I forgot that he was won. He's literally 18 years. He was like, what did Nathan do here? What did he know? What's Nathan up to being one? Now, an interesting detail that the court documents did mention is that when the father went out of town with the oldest son, he had wanted to take Nathan with him as well. Nathan was stated to be the father's favorite child.

For some reason, this didn't happen, and the father had only taken Roger. As the firefighters continued to examine the home, they found that the front door had been open with no signs of forced entry. Abby and Sarah told the officials that they had checked both the front and back door before they went to bed and they'd been locked. Also, if, like, court documents are stating that you had a favorite child, something's wrong. Everything is wrong. Yeah, something's wrong there. Just that right there.

That's not good. Well, this kid was his favorite child. It's like, I'm sorry, what? Like official documents are stating that you have a favorite child? That's unreal. No. Later, the firefighters were able to use a thermal imager to scan the residence and found a female body lying on a bed in the south. West bedroom, which was one of the children's rooms.

The body was identified as the mother, Angie. Angie had no clothing on except a sports bra and a plastic bag was over her head that covered her face. That took a turn I didn't think it was going to. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. The firefighter said that her body was in a peculiar position with her face down and her backside was up in the air. They also found the nightgown that the girls had seen their mother wearing earlier that

night on the bedpost and the master bedroom. A report explained that the fire was intentionally set by somebody who had poured gasoline in the garage, the living room, and the southwest bedroom. The way that, I mean, obviously we know this dude did this, the way that this man was prepared to kill his own fucking children. That's, wow. And just another girl over for a sleepover. Who was there for a, that, that's what I'm saying, sleepovers are a no go for a sleepover. Sleepovers are a no go for me. And it sucks because I slept over plenty of kids. When I was younger, you fucking can't do it anymore. Honestly, I slept over kids' houses and, like, did shit that, like, I wouldn't want my kids to do.

So that's why I'm not letting them. Exactly. I just don't trust anybody. That's true. Wow. Wow. Wow. There had been so much gasoline poured into the garage that the gas heater pilot light prematurely ignited the fumes and caused the garage to explode before the other gas pours could even be linked and ignited.

The explosion blew the bottom panel of the garage door off, which allowed, excuse me. which allowed the opening that Abby and Sarah had escaped from. Geez. Now, if you don't mind, we are going to jump away from the fire. I don't mind. That's totally fine. For a moment and recap the movements of the father since he went out of town on October 4th with his son, Roger. Please do.

The purpose of this trip was to get a halal meat from Salt Lake City because it was not available for purchase in Boise. Before leaving for Salt Lake, Abdullah purchased about 17 gallons of gasoline at a gas station in Boise. He also made a separate purchase of about five gallons of gasoline for a gas can. Uh-huh. Casual. Yeah. On October 4th, 2002, shortly before 4 p.m., he went to the halal market in Salt Lake, but he did not buy any halal meat.

At about 4.15 p.m., he checked into the Dream Inn in Salt Lake City. At 6.30 p.m., he purchased the two red plastic gas cans from food for less. At 6.52 p.m., he went to a Halloween store and purchased a long black cape that fully covered an adult and a mask that fully covered an adult head. What's happening? Not to us at all, especially for a man who did not celebrate Halloween. Oh, God. At 8.10 p.m., Abdullah purchased 22 and a half gallons of gasoline, Cheetos, and a coffee at 7-Eleven in Salt Lake City. Wow. Wow. The court documents pointed out that 22.5 gallon, excuse me, the court documents pointed out that 22.5 gallons was more than the tank capacity of Abdullah's van, which could hold little more than 21

gallons. No one saw him in Salt Lake City shortly before 8 p.m. on October 4th, 2002 to 7 a.m. on October 5th, 2002. However, a clerk at a Chevron station in Mountain Home, Idaho, which is less than an hour outside of Boise, saw Abdullah shortly after midnight on October 5th, 2002. On October 5th at 7 a.m. Abdullah went to a mosque, yeah, went to a mosque in Salt Lake City, where, excuse me, was only there for a few minutes and then went back to the Dream Inn. He did run various other errands, but never purchased any halal meet through that, even though that was the original purpose of this trip. At 3.30, Abdullah was informed of the fire at his house and of Angie's death. He left his van at a friend's home who was in Salt Lake City and flew to Boise with his son, Roger. Why didn't you bring your car, sir? Yeah. Police interviewed him immediately. upon arrival at the airport. A couple days later, Abdullah found that, found out that police were going to verify his story. And like the true

crap weasel that he was, Abdullah tried to get the friend whose house he parked his car in at Salt Lake City to go purchase two cans of gas and place them in his van. Abdullah was worried that the police wouldn't believe his story, that he threw out the two he had purchased because

Roger couldn't handle the smell. The friend wisely refused. So, surprise, surprise, when police searched the vehicle, they did not find the gas can, the mask, or the cape. They did find a brand new red plastic gas can located on the driveway of the burned home, though. And funnily enough, it matched the one that Abdullah had purchased in Salt Lake City. Who would have thunked it? They also found a black cape that was identical to the one that he purchased at the Halloween store. The smell of the cape must have bugged Roger as well. So he got dressed up to do this? Like, what the fuck? What the fuck?

Do you think it was just so that nobody saw it with him? Still, you don't need to buy a Halloween mask in a fucking long black cape. That's fuck. That's so scary. Holy shit. Once the coroner's office performed the autopsy, it was noted that melted that melted plastic was found on the back of Angie's head. He didn't find any indicators of strangulation or of blunt force trauma.

There were no signs of defensive wounds either. After running multiple toxicology exams, they found a potentially lethal concentration of Prozac in Angie's blood. Further testing showed that Angie had taken a therapeutic level earlier and subsequently had an acute administration of a large dose of Prozac superimposed on top of the therapeutic dosage. It was noted that Prozac levels were not high enough to have been likely to have been the cause of death, but enough that she would have been subdued. The doctor reported the cause of death as acute fluoxetine poisoning, which is Prozac, associated with asphyxiation due to a bag over the head. Throughout the years, this story has been brought up in my family on various occasions. And one detail that always bugged me is why Abdullah would remove Nathan and not Matt before settling the fire.

Well, when I got old enough to understand more about the story, my mother answered the question. Apparently, Abdullah believed that Angie had an affair and he did not believe that Matt was his own son. So you're going to kill a baby? And a fire? Who had nothing to do? And who even knows if that's even the truth? But it's like, what? You kill a baby who has nothing to do with...

Right. And your stepdaughter? Like, what? And her friend? Like, he's a three-week-old baby. He's here. He's flesh and blood. That's so messed up.

What? After destroying the lives of his family by murdering his wife and the mother to four innocent children, this ass hat finally got the day he deserved on November 19th, 2004. A jury found him guilty of first-degree murder, first-degree arson, three counts of attempted first-degree murder and felony injury to a child. What a piece of shit. He was sentenced to death for first-degree murder and to a total of 80 years imprisonment for the remaining five convictions. I believe he's still serving on death row in the Idaho state prison, but I couldn't find a lot more information. My grandparents had the opportunity to meet Matt. Yay! The baby that my grandma

saved many years later when Matt was a teenager. Oh my God. I haven't heard how the rest of the family is doing in present day, but I can only hope that they've learned to find peace in life after such a horrific event. Wow. Thanks for reading my story. I'm incredibly proud and you should be. You should be. Of the man that my grandpa was when he was alive and even though this particular story was a sad one, it still is one of my favorites of my grandpa. It really showed how selfless of a man he was and I love knowing that he gave that baby a chance to live. Oh my goodness. I hope you too have had a wonderful day and of course I hope you keep it weird. I hope you do too, man. I hope you have a wonderful day. I don't even think anybody's ever said that before. I love you. I love you.

your grandpa. Oh my gosh. What a badass. The fact that, again, he was 70 years old when he went into this home to rescue this baby. This burning home, which the garage on the home had already exploded. That is wild. Unreal, dude. Truly wild. What a story. Seriously. So far, both of these stories have been pure cinematic horror. Yes. Like, I can see it in my brain. And I'm like, why is this not a movie, like a horrifying movie. Well, the next one is haunted, so it could get even scarier up in this bitch. And it's also called pug versus faceless Victorian ghost. My money's on the pug. So, so there you go. So this one says, hi ladies, I sent this listener tail in over a year ago and just saw it on my computer as I was deleting things. I cringed a bit when I realized how many typos I made and

how much rambling I did. So I've attached a new putifa of an edited and hopefully better version of this tale in case you ever want to read it for yourselves or on the show. It's on the show. It's on the show. Thought Elena would get a kick out of the tale about a hero pug and very sorry about the loss of your Bailey. Aw, thank you. I've included a picture in the putt-off of him as well. Thank you because I fucking love pun. Let's go see him. Thank you and keep it weird. He's such a little fucking muffin. He is a little fuzzy weirdo. Oh my goodness. You better tell us his name in this. Oh my goodness. Oh my God. I love him. Oh my God. I just want to smush him. All right. It says hi ladies. My name is.

Kayla, you can use my name if you want. And if you choose to read this story on the podcast, you don't have to read this opening part, although I know you always do. I just want to start off by saying how amazing I think you both are. The way you tell stories of banter back and forth makes me feel like I'm right there with you guys. It makes the listening experience so much more fun. Thank you. I've always loved true crime. And when I got into podcasts, a fellow weirdo suggested your podcast. I started back at episode one. The audio really wasn't that bad. I love you. Got hooked. Now I'm all caught up and look forward to many more episodes. Anyway, to the story, anyway, to the story, if you read this on the podcast, feel free to shorten where necessary.

I have a tendency to ramble. We will not. A bit of backstory. When I was eight, my mother married my stepdad. He had two sons who at the time shared a room. So when I moved in, my stepdad built two new rooms onto the house for myself and one of my brothers so that all three of us would have our own rooms. That was nice. One of my stepdad.

Excuse me. The way the rooms were built, he basically built one big room at the end of the house and separated it and by a wall making two rooms. The doors were built at a slight diagonal so they were directly across from each other and only about three or four feet apart. The rooms were smaller so my stepdad built me a custom desk to fit in the corner of my room. He sounds great. Wow, he sounds so handy too. At a shelf above the desk in the same shape to hold a TV, a TV DVD player and one of those big six discs changer CD players we all had back in the 90s and early 2000. I remember yours. Yep. When I went to sleep at night I would play music or I would put a DVD in and watch it before falling

asleep. In order to watch the DVD, however, because of the position of the TV, I had to lay with my head at the foot of the bed, which meant my head would be facing towards my bedroom door. Don't love that. My brother usually slept with his room door shut. I didn't never been a fan of sleeping in the pitch black. I feel you. Me neither. But this night, he wasn't home, so his room door was open and I could see into his dark room. Not ideal, but I was too lazy to get up and shut the door. I would come to regret that decision. I turned on my mean girls DVD for for you, Glenn Coco. I can hear that DVD starting. It goes out of bed at the crackling. You know what I mean? Yes. Oh my God. Watched until my eyes got so heavy I could barely keep them open. My usual routine

and drifted off to sleep. Sorry, I had a hiccup. Sometime later, I woke. Ew, hiccups. Some time later, I woke up to a feeling like someone was my room. Oh. I tried to turn to look, thinking maybe my brother had come home and realized I couldn't move. Oh, God, no. I managed to turn my head, but was not prepared for what I saw. Standing inside my brother's room draped in darkness was a woman. She was wearing a dark Victorian-style dress, the ones with the collars that come up to a ruffle around the neck. She was pale and had dark hair pulled up into a bun at the top of her head. Was it me, though? I was going to say she sounds grudge. Was it me? But the thing that stopped me was her face, or lack thereof.

Oh, you have a face. I do have a face. I mean, she had a face. Oh, okay. Okay, so maybe back to me. I mean, she had a face. I could tell. I could see a blurry outline of dark eyes, a slender nose, and dark gaping mouth.

Oh, yeah, isn't it's me? But I could see no detail, no eyes, no teeth, just dark holes. Now, about this time, I was convinced, okay, this is sleep paralysis and I'm dreaming. Because my mind always goes to the logical thing. I feel that. And I was like, all right, girl, just wake yourself up. This is stupid. Turn over and just wake up. But the only movement I could muster was to blink my eyes.

Mistake. When I did blink, she had now moved from the inside of my brother's room to standing in his doorway, still staring at me, but now closer. Oh, no. I took myself to look away. I told myself to look away. Tried everything I could to wake myself up to move any part of my body, but nothing was working. And inevitably, I blinked again.

This time, bitch was now standing in my doorway, still staring, still a little. still all blurry and faceless. By now I am ready to yeat the fuck out of my room. I don't care if I have to run through the ghost bitch. My ass was getting out of the room. Problem. I'm still paralyzed. Now I'm resigned to just don't blink. Stare the creepy ghost bitch in the eyes or stupid blurry holes

and convince myself this is a dream and I'm going to wake up. Sure, staring at her was scary as shit, but the alternative of her coming closer again had me doing a big nope. My eyes, however, had other plans and alas betrayed me. And eventually I blinked. This time, blurry Victorian bitch was directly in front of me, standing over me, arm outstretched, and hand over my chest. No, I can't breathe. The moment her hand reached out, it felt like all the breath had left my body.

I bet. I think it did. I couldn't get in a deep breath. I felt cold, but mostly I felt empty. Like completely void of any emotion, no fear, no anger at this blurry ghost, dream, whatever, for literally trying to suffocate me. Just unexplainably empty. Because she ate your soul. She emptied you.

She ate your heart. She ate you. There it is. Gagga. I laid there for what seemed like forever, trying to get a breath in. Sure, this is going to be my demise. Small town girl suffocated by faceless Victorian ghost was going to be my claim to fame, it seemed. All the while, this bitch just held her hand over me and looked down at me with her blurry featureless black hole eyes, not moving, not saying anything, just staring.

I finally forced my eyes to shut. I had to find a way to wake up. This had to be a dream. The most stereotypical sleep paralysis, something explainable, right? I squeezed my eyes shut and managed to shake my head, doing anything I could so I could just wake up. A few seconds later, my dog, who is a pug terrier mix, who had been asleep cuddled next to me, stood up and started to growl facing the exact direction this bitch was standing.

He got up and stood over my chest growling at this faceless bitch like, nah, lady, I was here for sleepy time snuggles and you're ruining my much-needed puggy beauty sleep. That is exactly what he said. That's what he said. This bitch moved. She looked down towards a dog. Her gaping blurry black hole of a mouth moving into a snarl. Well, this is it.

Now she's pissed and going to take my poor brave, stupid little hero out too. I forced my eyes closed again and suddenly felt myself taking much needed big breath in. I opened my eyes and she was gone. My dog was still standing over me looking toward the doorway. All hair on his pudgy little body standing on end. It took a few minutes before he finally stepped down from my chest, cuddled back in beside me, gave a signature, I don't have time for this nonsense.

Puggy snort. If you've had a pug, you know the one. Yep, because Puggles do it too. And went back to sleep like nothing ever happened. Typical pug. I wanted to jump out of that bed and get the hell away from my rum as fast as I could. But I didn't see where this bitch went. And moving out of that bed away from my furry little hero,

it was not a chance I was willing to take. No way, Jose. Too afraid to move. I don't think I slept another wink that night. night. But I do know every night after that, I slept with my room door shut and locked. Yeah, you did. So there you have it. I still don't know if it was a dream or not. I tried to convince myself it had to be. But if it was a dream, how did my dog see it? That pug got extra snuggles every night because dream or not, I think my dog saved my life. He did. Keep it weird, but not so weird that a faceless

Victorian ghost tries to suffocate you. And your pudgy little pug who is just trying to sleep has to be your hero. Thank you ladies for reading. Keeping your amazing weird selves. P.S. Here's my fuzzy little weirdo. I love it. You keeping your amazing self and tell your dog keeping his amazing self. And he's a little puggy terrier mix. So he's like a fuzzy little puggy. It was him. I want to eat him in the nicest way possible. That was a hilarious and also terrifying story. I know, honestly. Truly. Truly. Truly. Seriously. Seriously. For real. Yes. Absolutely. Absolutely. Absolutely. Absolutely. Yeah. It happens. You know, it's a long day. It's a long day. We run out of words. Fucking A. Are you right? And fucking A, man. Yeah, I'm running out of words. My next one is called listener tales. Fake crime. Fake crime. Fake crime. Hi, Ash. Hi. Hi. Hi, Alina. Hi. Do I have a tale for you? I know you mostly talk true crime, but I have one of fake crime. I have a letter I found on my exes. I cloud notes that is truly a wild ride. I am screaming. I'm so excited that this is hot tea. I can feel it.

The hottest of tea. Let me share the backstory before we all get into that. Please do. And because this guy is truly a psycho, let's say that my name is Jenny. In fact, all the names have been changed to protect the innocent. I even changed my ex's name too. He's not innocent. Just a douche. I love you. Oh, man. Oh, we all feel you. Mm-hmm. Yeah, but I are ready. Let me start out by saying. I am a strong, confident, intelligent, woman who a younger version of myself could have never imagined in this situation. Elena, I know that you can relate with the stories you've told of your ex. Girl, yes.

I feel you. I'm constantly telling younger Elena like, what the fuck? Same. I was with a guy. Let's call him Vishal. Let's do it. Everything started off great and fine, like it always does. Then he really started showing me his jealous, controlling, mansplaining, lying, manipulative,

gaslighting side. around one and a half years into the relationship. That's usually around the time. When you feel like you can't get out. Yep. It even became verbally abusive and physically abusive thrice. I'm so sorry. I'm happy that you're not with him anymore.

You know these guys, little acts are arguments here and there. They just slowly dig away and poke at who you are until you wake up one day and you don't know yourself. Oh, I know that. Well, I got there. I didn't stand up for myself. He told me what to wear. We got in arguments about my sister and my friends.

He tried to alienate me from them. They do. I was told I needed to reach out to his friends more and make them my friends. I needed to get a different job. Bartending, which I did at the time, was not good enough for him. He basically made me feel terrible when I actually had made a great career of bartending, making more money than he even was. He was very insecure about this job and assumed that I was always fucking someone at the bar.

In the bathroom? Gross. And not actually working and making drinks earning my tips. Anyway, I've come to learn that. that when somebody thinks you're cheating, lo and behold, it's usually because that person is doing the nasty behind your back. Oh, don't we all know? We all know. I've never been cheated on, but I know just like from my friends in your experience. Yep. So one evening when I was left all alone with his computer, I decided to do a little spulunking. Oh, hell yeah. We all have spolunked in the interwebs on X's computer. I've done my own spulunking in the past. I found a picture of a girl in a bikini

and text messages between him and a friend named Charlie. Oh, yeah. This Charlie character and the girl in the bikini were one in the same. And actually, her name was Charlotte. Oh, yeah. Oh, he changed it to a male name too. That's why I looked at you when I said that. Same, dude.

Yeah, I think mine was Joe. Joe. Yeah, it was Joe, but it was actually Jen. Wow. Joe Jen. Yeah. This was Charlie Charlotte. Yeah, they're usually not good at getting away from the alliteration of it all.

She goes real fucking slick. Exactly. Real fucking slick. So, of course, I confront him about it. And my mistake was doing it when he came home drunk. Oh, trigger warning. I got thrown up against a wall and pushed through a doorway. This was the first time that he got physically abusive with me.

And I was in such denial that I was the type of girl that would never happen to. I tried to convince myself that it wasn't a big deal and it would never happen again. I'm so sorry that you went through that. I am too. I want to take a pause to tell anyone listening, it will happen again. Do not be embarrassed. No. Whoever is abusing you should be embarrassed.

Yes. Talk to someone. Anyone. Get out of the situation. Get help. Get support. It will not get better. So true.

Honestly. Thank you for saying that. Anywho, thanks for coming to my TED Talk. Thank you. Now where was I? Let's go. Ah, well, yes. Having read the text messages,

I can tell nothing has ever happened between them as she lives in a different state. He mansplains, gas lights, manipulates, whatever the fuck you want to call it. me into forgiving him and convinces me that nothing's going on, and he will also never be abusive to me again, and blah, blah, t-fucking blah. I believe him because I've turned into a different version of myself, and that stupid asshole could convince me of anything. Oh, like you said, Elena, movie ticket in hand from one day and time, and still, they convince you of facts completely opposite of the truth.

To my face, from his face. He said that to me. That's unreal to me. As I held the proof in my hand, I feel you so hard. I don't know how you didn't sucker punch him. I listened to him, have an entire conversation in the bathroom on his cell phone, on speakerphone with a girl. And then he convinced me that he was listening to a voicemail. I'm done.

And I believed it. Me. Oh. Me. Guys. Me. I believed it. Jesus.

Yeah, honestly. It's wild. These psychological shit they can do to you. I'm telling you this. Yeah. Don't feel embarrassed about it. It can happen to. anyone and you can think that you're like going to be like you're going to be the one that doesn't

go through it or you're going to be the one that fixes him i'm going to be the one that will like see through it it's it can happen to anybody of course i don't feel stupid don't feel embarrassed they're the stupid ones they suck yeah fuck them fucking goblins don't because you're getting trouble but metaphorically it's bad yeah metaphorically but definitely call the uh call the authoritative call the authoritative call the joe jen like i did and say hello yeah and if you're being abused call the authorities. Yeah, definitely call them. You know. And let me tell you, the lies I heard this man tell to people other than myself were doozies, as you'll soon see. Oh boy. We're almost to the letter, I promise. I'm excited. I called this girl and tried to have a conversation with her.

Oh my God, you did it. To find out if I was being cheated on, but she wouldn't talk to me. What a bitch. See, Jen talked to me. Yeah. Because Jen's a real one. Because Jen, right? Yeah, Jen had no idea. Shout out to Jen. Yeah. Shout out to Jen. Remember when we were both dating the same guy. And you were both his sister. Oh, yeah. No, I was just his sister. Oh. There was only a picture of me on the bedside table.

That was his sister. Because he forgot to put it in the drawer once. If he's listening, I just want you to know that I envision ripping your teeth out one by one and plucking your leg hair out one by one. And then feeding you dry bologna sandwiches with mold on them. I also am still to this day. And I should have asked Jen this. But like maybe if you're listening, can you tell me? Because like we're far past it now.

I have three kids. Yeah, let's go. Why did you believe that? Because you look like full-blown Italian and I am like... The most like Irish-looking. Like the bitch has freckles. Are you kidding me? And he was like, yeah, that's my sister.

Like, I don't know about that. No. But you know what, Jen, you wanted to believe it. I feel it. Yeah, it's one of those things. It's one of those things. Look at us. We're learning things today.

Well, this girl went and talk to her and she said, I sit on, I sit on this for couple of days and something still seems off. So I make my ex call Charlotte and stay silent to hear how their conversation goes. You're a fucking icon. Hell yeah. So I know nothing happened between them. I'm marginally satisfied that he didn't cheat, quote unquote, if it wasn't physical and try to move on. A couple of months go by, I'm trying to trust him, but I'm just not there quite yet. I go through his computer like an FBI. Hell yeah. I go through his computer like an FBI analyst, emails, text, photos, Snapchat, Insta, Facebook Messenger, and find almost nothing. Oh, I knew you were going to go here. Almost.

It's always in the cloud, baby. It's always in the cloud. Until boom, there it is. And his eye cloud notes. His fucking notes. Oh, my God. What a loser. A fucking wild ride of a letter that Vichal had written to Charlotte about me. Oh, no. Things to remember when reading this note. I now have a high paying job working for the government. Hell yeah. Of course you do. Yeah, you do. Which I passed an extensive background check for. so said crimes definitely not true. I trust you. The home, TV, and belongings he talks about in the letter were all mine and paid for by me. The only remotely true parts of this letter are what I described previously about having

Michelle calls Charlotte while I listened to see if there was any hanky-panky. And I feel you. Everything else is completely made up, fabricated, false. Dwight voice. Dwight voice. I love it. Here goes. A chilling story of fake crime. Hold on to your butts because things escalate real.

quickly. Oh, man. Hey Charlotte. You probably don't recognize this number, but it's Vichal. Anyways, I never got a chance to explain everything that went down a couple of months ago, but here it is. First of all, Jenny, that girl who called you out of the blue, is not my girlfriend. No, never. Her and I dated for about a year, not your girlfriend? No? Oh, okay. Okay. And then broke up in because she's literally psychotic. Oh, aren't they all? Always. Yeah. Ever since we broke up, she's always tried to get back together with me. Wow. She even goes as far as camping out on my doorstep on several occasions waiting for me to come home. They all do the same shit. In some instances, she would actually find a way into my house. That night when she called you or texted, she had broken into my place

and went through my iPad and MacBook while I was at work. She read through all my conversations with you and she was convinced that you and I were dating. When I came home later that day, my entire place had been destroyed. Oh, please. All my flat screen TVs. Oh, you fucking idiot. All of them. All of these. Every single one of them. They were smashed in, including my 85-inch one that I had literally bought one day before. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. All the glassware dishes broken and all my paintings were spray painted. My house was literally vandalized beyond comprehension. She then threatened to hurt herself if I didn't call you and tell you that she was, in fact, my girlfriend. That's why I sounded so weird when we

spoke briefly on the phone. She was, oh, my God. How dare he? She was holding a knife to her wrist. Oh, my God. And then after I called you, she was still not. convinced, saying that you and I were speaking in code. So she had me write that text to you after we spoke. Well, after almost 12 hours of arguing, I finally calmed her down, and she left. Luckily, I have a surveillance camp. Surveillance. Luckily, I have a surveillance. Why can I say that? Surveillance. Yeah, surveillance. Surveillance. Cammar, at my house. So as soon as she left, I called the police to have her arrested for destroying my place. The police came over and saw the video, and then they issued a warrant for her arrest. Also, you can look that up, so don't lie about that.

fucking moron. Surprise, surprise, though. She was nowhere to be found. Surprise, surprise. Fuck off. About a week passed and no one knew where she was. I had friends insist that I stay with them, fearing that she might try to hurt me. I wasn't scared. I'm not scared. I'm such a big guy. Never. Never me. But more anxious because I wanted to get my place all cleaned up before I left on my next mission trip because I'm about saving everybody. Yeah, there you go. I'm not bad at all. What happened next changed my life forever. On the night of Tuesday, November 8th, I came home from work and sitting at my doorstep was my ex. I immediately jumped out of my car and yelled at her to leave and that she was in big trouble

with the police. It literally says big trouble. Big trouble. You're big trouble, mister. The yelling was so loud that my neighbor came out immediately and called the police. My neighbor was aware of the entire situation and would always keep an eye out for me and my place. I bet.

My neighbor told my ex that the police are coming. I then approached her and the next thing I knew she pulled out a gun. And the next thing I know she pulls out a gun. She shoots three times. one bullet hit me in the shoulder, the other two hit my torso. She then fired at my neighbor, instantly killing him. What? Is this man's trying to write a novella?

What? Note. When you click on this link, it takes you to the most vague description of a shooting, mentions no names or anything. What? Before I could, oh wait, this is still him talking. Oh my God, this is still him. Okay, okay. That was a note from Jenny.

Oh my God, I just saw the PS at the end of this. Please keep going. Okay. Before I could react, she fled, and I quickly realized how bad I was bleeding. One bullet hit my liver straight on, and the second bullet ruptured my small and large intestines and kidney simultaneously. Oh, okay. How are you writing this?

I was going to say, that's how that works. I wanted to shock, and the next thing I remember is being in the emergency room. I needed about 14 hours of surgery to fix everything, and then another 10-hour surgery to fix all the complications that happened. Oh, my God. Long, long, long, story short, I spent the next six point. five weeks in the hospital recovering. My goal was to be released by Christmas Day, and I was actually released on Christmas Eve. So do you see how strong I am? I was a day earlier that I wanted to

be. I was able, after being shot three fucking times and having my spleen and my small intestine and my large intestine ruptured, I was able to fly home to Phoenix and spend it with my family. I'm just imagining this girl getting this text message and just being like, I have to, I got to get off Bumble. What the fuck am I doing on Hinge? Like, what the fuck? All right. So he goes to Phoenix to spend time with his family after being shot thrice. Oh, my God.

Apparently, during my third week in the hospital, I was told that my ex was caught. She's being tried for murder and one count of attempted murder. As if she, as if this girl can't, like, actually verify this. I believe. The worst. Oh, my God. Okay. This isn't real.

I'm like, okay. This is real, by the way. And it's like his neighbor is alive. Yeah, this is not real. It's not real. The worst part of all of this is that an innocent man died for no reason, and I have no one to blame but myself. I'm going to carry that guilt for the rest of my life. I have gone through so much pain these past two months, but Charlotte, I'm thankful to be alive.

I'm starting on a new slate because this is a rebirth for me. Oh my God. I hate him. I'm selling my house because, you know, it just has too many bad memories. I had to get a new phone because the police wanted action. to every text that my ex has ever sent me. I just gave it to them. It was so much easier getting, it was so much easier getting a new phone and number. Luckily, I was smart enough to save all my contacts. I spent the last few days reaching out to people who didn't know my situation.

You were on the top of that list because you were unfairly put in the middle of a psycho's uncontrollable actions. I sincerely hope that you can forgive me. I was so excited to know that you were moving to Denver. From the second I met you, I felt an instant connection. I feel like I can talk to you for hours and hours and hours and never get bored. Find a different fucking line. My life the past two months has seemed like a lifetime channel movie. What?

I'm ready to live again. I'm screaming. I hope your move to Denver has gone smoothly and that you're enjoying it here. I would still love to meet up and take you out and actually see your beautiful face. Thanks for taking the time to read this, Charlotte. I really hope that we can see each other soon.

P.S. I'm leaving. P.S. You look just like the actress in Westworld. The new series on HBO. Vishal. Now back to Jenny. P.S.

You look like that hot girl in Westworld. It's a new show on HBO. I like how we check it out. Rate review and subscribe. You know, home box office. I'm sorry. So Jenny says, oh, my God. Jenny says, again, not any part of that narrative is true.

The neighbor is alive and well for anybody wondering. Thank you. I just hope this poor girl never went out with him, as I noped the fuck out of that relationship a couple months after I found this letter, because, you know, manipulation. When I finally got the courage to break up with him, wait. I can't believe he said you killed his neighbor. I'm never going to be able to. As if this girl that looks like a girl from Westworld can't just fucking Google that.

Like, my ex just said I was his sister. And I thought that was bad. I mean, that's weird. Like, that's real bad. but like he claimed you murdered his neighbor. It's shot up his intestines. Shut up his intestines. It's only funny because it's ridiculous.

Because it's fake and not true. It's fake. Stop it. This is wild. I can't breathe. Holy shit. Okay. Hold on.

Wow. Okay. I noped a couple months later. Damn. Manipulation. Deep breath. When I finally had the courage to break up with him, he went. He even went to...

I'm sorry, I'm still laughing. He even went to lengths to say that he went to the doctor and had a brain tumor as a tactic to try to get me not to leave. I asked for the paperwork for proof, but since he went to med school, he never finished his residency to become a doctor. He claimed that the hospital did all the medical work as a professional courtesy and that there was no paperwork. There's always paperwork. I'm screaming. Oh, I'm so sure, bruh. He also claimed that he was abusive because the tumor was pushing on his medulla oblongata.

Oh, yeah. Okay, Dr. Bobby Boucher, please get the fuck out of my life once and for all. That was about four years ago. I'm now, oh, I'm so happy to hear this, Jenny, and the best relationship of my life you deserve to be. Thriving. My man's doesn't tell me what to do or how to act or who to talk to and is fully supportive and loving and caring and an all-around perfect fucking gem. Yes. And you have that too. Yay. I think God I met him and I'm not with that crazy lying asshole. or else you might have been reading about a true crime involving my ex beating the shit out of me. Oh my God, that would be terrible. I'm so glad that we did not have to do that.

Let me tell you, I love you guys. Your podcast is so great to listen to and thanks for the humor mixed into it. Some of my favorite moments. Oh my God, I forgot about this. Ash, I know this might be a dumb question, but like where did the first gerbler hamster come from? And then Jenny said, I forget which animal she said it was a hamster. But you had me in tears. I know y'all are aunt and niece, no or not.

but I have a little sister and that was such a little sister thing to say I was dying. Okay, to be fair, Jenny, a lot of people have the same question. My boyfriend now doesn't necessarily fancy the podcast because it's too dark for him and he doesn't like hearing about death. So I play listener tales or survival's

tales in front of him. Maybe a few more of those. I freaking love them. I'm looking on one right now. Hey, there was that one about the badass nurse that kept yelling, who sent you, Susan? She's the best. Susan, right? Yeah. And then Ash said, they say a woman who changes her hair, changes her life. You had us both dying. It's true. Keep the banter up. Keep being you. And thanks so much for the podcast. Love Jenny. For you to only, bleep. Blie. We love you so much, Jenny. You are Jenny from the block. You are Jenny. You are the best. You've always been Jenny from the block. The best. That is wild. Oh, my God. And I am so sorry that you had to deal with that. Like, this may be. And pretended that you killed a man. And shot up his intestines.

And shot up his intestines. At the same time. In the same fucking breath. That's not even real. Wow. It really wasn't. Wow. It's not.

It is not real. Gin. Wow. I don't even know what to say. We're not on this plane of existence anymore. We're not at all. I guess maybe we should do one more. Yeah, I think we should do one more.

Why don't we do? We have two options. It says it has a happy ending this one. All right, let's do the happy ending one. Not like that. And there's a creepy twist. Ooh. This is according to Deb Deb Deb.

Let's go. Shout out to Deb Deb Deb. Shout out to Deb Deb dead. All right. So what is this one called? Listen or two. That's it. All right.

So, hold on. I had to make it big because I don't have my glasses. Hey, ladies. Before I start, I just want you guys to know your podcast is the highlight of my week. Oh, thank you. You're the highlight of my week. Me too. I discovered you both when I was struggling with some crippling anxiety issues and listening to you to made my brain calmer, almost like I was spending time with friends, having a good

laugh. So I thank you millions for that. Maybe I should listen to our podcast. I love that. I love that we can calm you and we are friends. I know. We're your best friends. We are. I have a pretty disturbing listener tale I'd love to share with you in our fellow weirdo community. Well, thank you. I'm Sarah. You can absolutely use my name. You can actually use all names throughout. Awesome.

It's making a little long-winded as I tend to waffle on. So please feel free to cut bits out if you need to. I tend to waffle on. I love it. You're British, aren't you? Yes, you are. I live it. That's amazing. I live in a small village in Newcastle in the UK. Aside from the shitty cold and miserable weather and the occasional gale force winds that sends your garden fence awes. It's not a bad place to live. Okay. So getting to the story. In early 2016, my best friend Kaylee endured a nightmare when she's when her sweet little Chihuahua Gizmo was stolen by a heartless ass wipe. Fuck that. We discovered Gizmo had been put up for sale on a local selling site for a significant amount of money. We quickly tracked down, said Arswipe,

who denied all knowledge. We were at a loss. How on earth would we ever find the dog? All kinds of sinister things started going through my mind as to what could have happened to him. That's what too much true crime will do to you. Honestly. Did they kill him and dump him? I was worried they would have done something terrible to him as he was getting lots of social media attention. Did they just abandoned him in an unknown place? I don't dare suggest any of these things to my friend, as I didn't want to upset her even more than she was. After countless hours on foot, searching for days on end, hanging up flyers with his picture all over town, going door to door for any information we could get no further forward, until one of the local residents knocked

at Kaylee's door and told her the neighbor up the road had a security camera and that she should see if she can check the footage. Smart. Obviously, she thought this could be a breakthrough in the case of the missing Chihuahua. She called me up to tell me the news. By this time, the police were involved, and she had given them the address of the person with the potential video footage. Unfortunately, this person wasn't willing to share anything with police.

Fuck them. Much to our annoyance. Like, it's fucking surveillance. Also, why do you have a surveillance camera? If you're not going to... What? There wasn't anything we could do. Kaylee took matters into her own hands

and went to the house herself to demand he looked through his footage so she could find her precious dog. I don't know what the fuck this feisty bitch said to have him to him, but it works. Hell yeah. Good for her. The video footage owner was a man called Zed. He lived as a saw.

He'd lived in our area for years, and you'd often see him whizzing by on his mobility scooter with two lady friends by his side. I didn't know much of Zed personally, only that I'd seen him around from time to time with one of his two female companions. What I did know was he was very much disliked by the majority of everyone in our village. I'd heard stories about he would deliberately try to get people into trouble by creating fabricated lies and tales. Fuck Zed. Yeah, fuck Zed.

On one occasion, my late mother was standing in her garden when he went by on the scooter. A car drove past him and he threw himself to the ground. He shouted to my mom. He shouted to my ma'am. You can say mom, as I know how unnatural that'll sound to you. My ma'am. I like ma'am. Did you see that?

He tried to run me over. My ma'am was a straight-laced, no beating around the bush. one of the salt of the earth kinds that gave zero fucks what you thought of her. Not to mention one of the funniest humans I've ever known. She replied, see what? That you chucked yourself on the floor to make me think he'd hit you, you fucking idiot. What a woman. Your mom for the win.

Your man for the win. You're ma'am for the win. She, what a woman. She called a spade a spade and that's why everyone loved her. Needless to say, Zed was not happy with her response to this epically failed attempt to manipulate the balliest woman in Britain that he'd been mowed down before her eyes. So with this knowledge, I warned Kaylee of what I knew about him, mainly to make sure she wasn't going to be a future target for his own odd pleasure. She didn't seem worried one bit.

In fact, she told me he seemed very nice and was helpful with his video footage, and they actually managed to catch the shipbag who'd taken Gizmo red-handed. She was so grateful to him for helping her. She actually went out and bought him some gifts as a thank you. Wow. I couldn't believe this was the same man I'd heard so many negative things about. I feel like it still is. Maybe people were wrong about him. weren't, I feel. She did have one negative comment. Apparently, his house was disgusting. She said it was

covered floor to ceiling in dirty newspapers and that it looked and smelled like an old bird cage. Is it just one big giant bird cage? I spent many a night fantasizing about tuning up, turning up at his door, bucket in hand with all the best cleaning products and blitzing the shithole within an inch of its knife. The rational side of my brain told me how inappropriate that would be. So for obvious reasons, the fantasy stayed where it belonged in my little brain case. I want a brain case. Eventually, Kaylee, you had one, Baskol. Eventually, Kaylee was reunited with her little doggy, doggo gizmo.

The police tracked down the guy who'd taken him and found he'd sold him to a small family, unaware he was already somebody else's pet. They kindly gave him back without a fuss, good humans. And then you feel bad for them because they were probably excited to get a dog. Exactly. She burst into tears when the police brought him home. I've never seen the way to the world so quickly evaporate from someone's being. What a beautiful moment it was. It was on that evening that evening that everyone lived happily ever after. The end. Just kidding. That was just the warm up. I was like, oh, cool.

That was the warm up. Uh-oh. Over the next few days, the local newspaper caught wind of the story and wanted to do a page on Gizmo's return and how she managed to get him home. They met with Kaylee at her house and she went through the details and they were interested in the unsung hero who would help bring her little fur baby home. Zed agreed to have his photograph. taken with Kaylee and skismow for the paper. There they stood smiling at the camera, happy as a Larry. Happy as a Larry. Or happy as Larry, excuse me.

Happy as Larry. It's all Larry's. I want to say happy as a Larry. Just one Larry. You're as happy as one Larry. They were just happy as Larry. Now you're probably wondering, what the hell does a missing dog have to do with anything morbid related?

I'm glad you asked. Several days later, a horrific story broke on the news. Oh no. A badly decomposed body had been found. on some wasteland just up the road where I lived. The body was identified as Jimmy Prout, a vulnerable man with learning difficulties who had been living in the local area with none other than Zed.

Oh, no. The details of Jimmy's death began to unfold quickly. Zed and his female friends, who I always saw him with, had been brutalizing and torturing poor Jimmy for months on end before he was murdered by them. I'll not go into all the details, but here are just a few,

just so you can get an idea of how vile these people are. Oh, my God. This is really bad, guys, just so you know. They carved out his testicle and made him eat it. They forced him to have sex with their dog and knocked his teeth out with a hammer and chisel. Video footage saw one of the females dragging him down their street by his arm and into their dirty birdcage,

I mean house. I dread to think of what this poor man endured at the hands of these monsters. They were caught transporting his body in a wheelchair in the direction of the wasteland by none other than his own cameras. That's why he didn't want to hand them over. The whole time Kaylee was looking for her dog, this unspeakable crime was going on

right under our noses. No wonder he didn't give police access to his camera footage when they asked. And maybe that is why there was newspaper all over the house to hide any evidence. I don't even want to know what the smell could have been. We often wonder if Jimmy was alive or dead somewhere in that house the day Kaylee went inside.

We'll never know, and it's probably the best if we don't. So if you have a shitty neighbor that everyone thinks is a twat, they probably are. Thankfully, Zed and his lady friends were sentenced, and he was told he would have to serve at least 33 years before the possibility of release. Not enough time in the world could make up for what he had done, but at least he'll probably die in prison. The newspaper kept using the picture of him and Kaylee and all of their stories about the case. Why would you do that? She was furious and emailed a complaint as she didn't want anyone to associate her with him.

On a funnier note, you know how you have to make light of these awful situations with that fabulous thing we call Gallo's humor? I often screenshot the picture of Kaylee, Z, and Gizmo and randomly send it to her with the caption, The Happy Family. She of course doesn't find it as funny as I do, but I'm sure over the year she'll start warming up to it. Ha ha. That's a great friend. It's very sad to think we lived so close to Jimmy, yet neither of us had ever seen him before. I had no idea of his existence until his death. You go back in time in your mind to see what you could have done to save him and get him away from these reprehensible people. I hope wherever Jimmy is now in the great unknown. He's happy and free with the people who love him. He deserved

better from life. Take it away, Ash. Oh, I don't even know if I can right now. Keep it weird, but not so weird that you steal somebody's dog, first of all. Not so weird that you won't give your hand your security footage over to the police. And not so weird that you ever, ever harm another person, especially somebody with special needs. That is horrific. And I can't believe how much that twisted at the end. Stories like that ruin me. Like, oh, I hate it. people. I hate them so much. Man. They're the worst. Maybe we should end on a higher note. Yeah, I'm sad. I don't know if we have a higher note, but do we have one? Oh, we do. Okay. Okay. This one, oh, it's, it's not for you though. Okay. It says, no ash. I'm trash. Oh, okay.

It says, hey, weirdos, I'm an investigator in a very remote, scary chainsaw massacery section of Texas. I love that for you. I know. I actually very much love that for you. I spend many hours drive. driving from one itty-bitty town to the other. While it's lonely and spooky out here, it gives me lots of time to laugh and learn about true crime with you too. So thank you for what you do. Thank you. Since you're still doing listener tales,

I thought that I would share my own harrowing experience when I was a federal investigator, chasing the sloppiest, grossest murder in San Antonio. Oh, just that? All right. Just share that little tale. That little tidbit. Jeez, Louise.

Garsh. Garsh. Shout out to Ben and Ronnie. But Ronny, we miss you. Watch what crap happens. Back then, I was an agent for the Office of Special Investigations, which is the Air Force's version of NCIS. Sounds fancy, right?

Well, just wait. It gets real humble, real quick. Okay. One morning, my coworkers and I responded to a bloody crime scene at the dental squadron. When we arrived, there was a giant pool of blood, about three feet in diameter, saturating the grass in front of the entrance. This was very early in the morning. The squadron commander actually discovered the blood when he went in that day.

No one was inside and the doors were still locked. If it was an ambush attack, oh, excuse me, it was as if an ambush attack had occurred as someone was opening the clinic for that day. Worse still, there was an ominous drip trail that led from the puddle of gore down the sidewalk, through the parking lot, all the way to the dumpster, and then stopped. Oh boy. Crisscrossing the drip pattern, you could see two horizontal lines of blood at the curb and again directly in front of the dumpster. picture a dead bleeding body thrown into the back of a pickup truck now picture all that blood leaking out through the crack and the tailgate while the truck was parked yeah it looked like that oh boy of course we all ran to the dumpster to check and empty oh trash had already been picked up for the day

we all launched full speed into action my partner starts mapping the crime scene the commander recalls all his troops for accountability and my boss starts field testing. First presumptive test, positive for blood. I notify the gate guards on base and put out a bolo for any dump trucks. We all knew if that body left the base, finding it in the landfill, would be next to impossible. Almost immediately, one was spotted trying to exit on the far side of the base, and I flew over in an unmarked duty vehicle. Me and a few field agents detained the driver, and I pulled him inside to have a little chat, little chat, just a little chit chat. I introduced myself with the intention of asking very easy, non-invasive questions.

When did you get here this morning? What was your pickup route? That sort of thing. No sooner did I ask to speak with him and he pipes up. Is this about a dead body? Oh, me. Why would you know? Yeah, like what?

Me. Why would you ask that? Yeah. Him. I've done it again, haven't I? Me, shit's pants, quits the Air Force. Bye. The shit's pants quits the Air Force by.

The field agents separate our dude and I zip. And I zip into a paper hazmat suit. Just then my boss calls from the scene. The second round of presumptive tests are back. The blood is definitely human. Game on, motherfucker. Oh, boy. With that, I swan dive into the two tons of hot garbage

and begin navigating fast food wrappers, broken furniture, and dirty diapers. In the pursuit of justice, your olfactory senses shut down. It's science, trust me. It's true. You're a badass. When a body is burrower.

No. When a body is buried, you painstakingly excavate layer by layer, searching for evidence and photographing as you go. In this case, I just needed to find my victim before this asshole could drive off and dump her in a landfill somewhere. Then my phone rings again. The thing about military efficiency is that it's very, very fucking efficient. In the time I had taken my partner to photograph and map the blood, my boss to collect samples and me to become the trash, another suspect was IDed and questioned. Wow. Damn. This shady character was the Knight Janitor. He had keys for every medical facility on base, knew the egress points, and had worked for the base for years. One night's say plenty of time to fixate and stalk his chosen victim. This is like a, why are these all episodes of TV or a movie? I know. These are wild, guys. My boss. It's not the driver. Me? You got him? My boss. Yes, but you won't find the body. See, in addition to collecting trash, the night janitor was also responsible for collecting hazmat at all the facilities too. You know, like used needles, severed limbs, and whatever receptacle that suction device they use and surgery leads to. Protocol is to collect regular trash, dump it, and then go back for the nasty stuff. This is because if you get them both at the same time, a pesky-used spork might just puncture a big old bag of blood as you're leaving a dental squadron and leak gallons of homicidal bullshit all over the fucking place. Oh, my God.

Yeah. It turns out that the night janitor was grabbing all his shit at once instead of making multiple trips, And then fucking off for the rest of his shift and taking the longest lunch break in the history of ever. Me. So there's no murderer. My boss. No. Me.

So I'm just the trash now? My boss. Yeah. Me. Hanks head. Stomp's foot. Pouts and defeat. Oh.

I'm just the trash now. I'm just the trash now. Yeah. Yeah. Me. Hanks. I'm dying. Wow.

Oh. And the shady misleading truck driver. So this one. time, a homeless guy climbed into a dumpster to sleep and he accidentally poured him into the dump truck and crushed him to death with his trash compactor. It was a freak accident. He felt terrible about it and he was actually a totally normal, innocent dude. Oh, that poor man. Both of those poor men. I know. Needless to say, I felt like a total schmuck that day. You don't have to. You did your job. I went home and took a long shower. F. Y, when you're not pursuing justice,

Your nose works just fine and all that diaper stink clings to your stupid clothes and dumb skin and overenthusiastic hair too. Your overenthusiastic hair. I'd like to know more about your overenthusiastic hair and what that means. Can you show me that? What is the qualifications to have over? I love it. So that day was the day that I became trash. Not glamorous, not badass.

Just a crazy series of events. It's super fucking badass. You're a badass. Looking back, I can laugh about it. I mean, we were, we solved a murder. where no one died. Good for you, man. How cool is that? I can spare the humility if it means one less person is stolen from their family. Bring on the jackassery. My pride can take it. See, you're a badass. I'm blessed with the family that loves me unconditionally. Whether I'm solving crime, like iced tea on

Law & Order. God, I love him on Law & Order. You're the best. And or bumbling my way through life like Peralta from Brooklyn, Brooklyn, 99. I hope I said that right. Brooklyn 99. I think it is. Oh, I meant Peralta, but I fucked up both things. I think you're right though, Ms. Berkloid 99. I think it is. I just love the 99. Great meal, great deal. Given the choice between an innocent life and a bruised ego, I will choose option B every time. Hell yeah. Me too. It's nothing, some good wine, good family, and good podcast hostesses can't fix. Oh my goodness. I love you. Cheers ladies, Ricky. Ricky, you fucking rule. Love you so much. That was an amazing story. You're a badass. You did your damn job.

Ricky, we're both trash. You know who didn't do their job? That's who didn't do their job. Was not doing his job in the slightest. But you became trash in the greatest way. I love you guys. Guys, this is exactly what we needed after a very long week. So thank you for these.

It's like Wednesdays. It's literally not even. It's not even. But you know what? It's been a long week and we appreciate it. And keep sending them in because these are like getting better and better. And we're digging in the archive. finding some older ones that are really cool. This is just really fun. Shout out to you. Shout out to Deb-Dab

and shout out to everyone. We're just glad we get to do these more now because we, I mean, we would have not found most of these. I know. And I feel like we're going to end up like throughout the lifespan of morbid hitting so many of these. Yeah, exactly. So this is fun. It's also just like a really nice way to end the week after like some really terrible stories. Yeah. I mean, I've been in Whitechapel for like 55 years now. You're like a white, like I think you might have dual residence. I think I might. I might actually be a citizen of Whitechapel at this point. Just Whitechapel, though, not the whole UK. Just, just Whitechapel. Just the Spittlefields. That's it. But this is like such a nice little departure to be like, ah, you guys are crazy. And even some of these stories are like wild. They are. I'm like, you all lived. And this is what, that's the good part. Yeah. So with that being said, we do hope that you keep listening. And we hope you keep it. Keep it weird. Honestly, I think that you should never keep it so weird that you get into a car with anybody. But you shouldn't be embarrassed about it. if it happens because, you know, it won't happen in the future.

It's fine. It's totally fine. You got a good story out of it. Do you keep it so weird that you're as weird as Grandpa Ed and you jump into a burning building. I mean, I'm not telling you to do so, but like if you feel like you have to, then you should and say... Grandpa Ed. Granda Ed for the win, Anna Lou, I think, oh my God, love your grandparents. Keep it so weird that your pug saves you from a faceless Victorian ghost because, like, pugs are great. Keep it so weird that you are... You are...

Keep it so weird that you can handle the fact that your boyfriend said that you literally shot his entire neighbor up. Your ex-boyfriend. Keep it so weird that you're in a happier relationship now and I'm so happy for you. Hell yeah. Keep it so weird that you send your friend pictures of her with a murderer just to taunt her because that's hilarious. And keep it so weird that you hop into the trash and search. Yeah. Love you. Bye.