My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 148 - Live at My Favorite Weekend in Santa Barbara
Episode Date: November 11, 2019This week’s hometowns include serial killer connections and a neighborhood stalker. Recorded live at the Arlington Theatre.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Pri...vacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.
Transcript
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Hey everybody.
Isn't it exciting, everybody?
Yeah.
The first annual My Favorite Weekend.
That's right.
Yes, it's an exactly right home's home.
That's right.
Exactly.
How was the murder squad?
Tell us the truth.
Tell us everywhere.
Were they so amazing?
Isn't it hilarious, like, whatever, two years ago?
It was like Paul Holes was just this distant internet dream.
And now it's like, he's doing the weekend with us.
Come on, everybody.
We're all hanging out backstage, just chiming, talking about the biz.
You know, stuff like that.
We're very excited to be here with you tonight.
Yeah.
Yeah, it's exciting.
A lot of fireball feelings in the audience.
Oh, yeah.
What did you guys think of that?
Oh, my God.
They were like, we need a specialty cocktail for the weekend.
And I was like, I don't want to do that anymore.
Makeup cocktails.
So I said, let's do Paps Blue Ribbon in a shot of a fireball.
Yeah.
And it happened.
Yeah.
That level of power now, where when we say the specialty drink is Paps Blue Ribbon
in fireball, everyone goes, let us make that happen for you.
Yeah.
I'm sorry about your hangover tomorrow.
You're going to hate your life tomorrow.
I apologize in advance.
The bad decisions that are going to result from you having a third trifler's need not
apply are unbelievable.
They should come with a two minimum.
Maximum.
Minimum?
Minimum.
Yes.
Let's ruin some lives.
Oh, my God.
This feels like camp.
Very campy.
So the first thing we're going to do tonight is like record a mini episode like we do.
Like we do at home.
At home.
But we'll do a live for you here right now.
Are you ready for it?
Yeah.
Whoa, whoa.
Yes.
Whoa.
This is made of 100% cat fur.
I didn't realize.
No.
No.
We're in rich people territory if the chairs are like this.
This isn't smart water.
That's the only water we drink.
That's a really nice rotation on these chairs.
It is a nice chair.
That's a good fucking chair, everybody.
These are good.
Oh, let's hear it for DJ Dante Fontana and DJ Thiefia Roos.
Yes.
They're good friends of the podcast.
We were all on live journal.
It's been great.
You met on Make Out Club.
You met on Make Out Club, live journal.
All the hits of the early aughts.
Remember.
What about?
Don't care.
Thank you.
This isn't like, oh, I get to shout my feelings time.
And you know that.
You know that if you're here at the weekend.
You know that.
So we picked out hometowns.
I was saying we should do it how we do at home, which is quietly read and go.
We wanted to just read in front of you for like 22 minutes, which is what happens to
Steven when we do it there.
We're just circling.
It's true.
It is true.
But instead we're going to do show stuff and actually read the stories for you.
And then then we're going to do a hometown episode where the least drunk of you get to
come up on stage and actually tell us your hometown.
So it looks like it's going to be two members of the staff and then save world.
I'm just going to say start drinking water now.
Okay.
Great.
You'll thank me tomorrow.
Do you want to go first?
Absolutely.
Okay.
Great.
Good.
Nice.
Nice.
You guys pin drop silence.
The subject line of this email is a very witchy first responder email.
Hey team.
That's a new one.
Hey team.
Hey team.
You asked for all things weird and spooky.
So I hope this home town delivers.
If not, well, fuck it.
Very strong start.
I work as a first responder in a rural county in Northern California.
It's six months behind Southern California.
Thank you.
As a former hometown to a couple of Nassau victims, there is no short of weird.
Okay, Nassau asshole.
Such as a mannequin dressed as Hannibal Lecter poised at the end of a very dimly lit dead end street.
Which is displayed year round.
That's not seasonal.
What?
There's always a mannequin of Hannibal Lecter at the end of the street.
Just leave your Christmas lights up.
Which is worse.
While I was on training long before I was accustomed to the bizarre occurrences that seemed to occur daily,
I was on patrol when I saw an elderly woman screaming and running out to the roadway.
The woman who was all of four and a half feet tall ran up to me screaming in a language that I could not understand.
Her daughter ran out of the house and apologized profusely.
She said her mother was suffering from dementia and was confused.
Her mother became an even more enraged and grasping my arm.
As the tiny woman held my arm, she yelled, her daughter translated, she's cursing you.
And she giggled awkwardly.
I assumed that she meant cursing at me.
Until two weeks later, I was in the emergency room with inexplicable swelling to the same arm that tiny angry woman had been clutching.
Oh no.
Yes.
Several nurses and doctors examined x-rayed and poked at my arm but could find no reasonable explanation.
My arm was swelling to twice its size.
And sadly, workers' compensation does not cover witchcraft.
I asked.
It was nearly two years later when I had my second encounter with a person of the witchy persuasion.
I was conducting a coroner's case of an elderly woman who, prior to her demise, was an end-of-life caretaker.
She had amassed an entire family of loved ones left behind by those she cared for and was, by all accounts, a gem of a human being.
While looking through the house, I found loads of homeopathic remedies and a book about white witchcraft.
I assumed she was an extremely curious retiree.
Wrong.
As I made my way through the residence, I turned the corner and found myself standing in front of a black altar adorned with figurines, dollar bills, and burned photos.
The walls and ceiling around the altar were painted in inky black.
After my first encounter with the wacky world of witchcraft, I put on my gloves and backed the fuck out of the room.
And then in parentheses, as if latex gloves protected against woo-woo.
No.
I asked her family if she was a bruja, her broken-hearted adopted daughter smiled and said,
Yes, we don't go in that room.
They don't say that beforehand.
It's like the cat box room at my house.
I just stay away.
Just don't go in there.
Just don't go in there.
It's none of your business, really.
She told me about the trips to the store for ritualistic chicken feet and how she would burn photos of her granddaughter's boyfriends whom she did not trust.
All right.
Okay.
After learning more about her life and her practice, I'm sure she was a benevolent bruja, but I kept my gloves on the entire time.
Okay, sexy and remember that workmen's comp does not cover witchcraft-related injuries.
No name.
Sweet.
That was a good one.
Sweet.
That was a good one.
That was nice.
How about this?
Hello, ladies, gentlemen, and furry friends.
Okay.
I mean, look, you got to do what you got to do at the beginning of these emails.
Whatever it takes.
I thought you might be interested in this story because it takes place in mine and Georgia's hometown of Irvine, California.
They like it.
Okay.
I'm on board.
I mean, I'm not moving back, but constantly rated one of America's safest cities.
A few years back, a new family moved into our neighborhood, a mom, dad, and their young adult son.
I started feeling like the new neighbor's son was watching me, and I was pretty sure he had followed me while walking my dog and taking our daughter to the local park multiple times.
Yeah.
Additionally, I started suspecting that he was walking by my house unnecessarily, and it started parking his car so that he could see into our house.
Look, love is a strong emotion.
Oh, wait.
No, you keep reading.
I'll talk after.
Okay.
I told my husband my fears, and it erupted into literally the biggest fight of our now 15-year relationship.
Uh-oh.
Because he said that I was making this up in my head because I read too much true crime and that I was concerned.
Uh-oh.
Uh-oh.
And I was concerned because someone was just walking around the neighborhood.
He's just walking around the neighborhood.
I feel like this guy's going to get his comeuppance at the end of this email.
I think so, too.
I have a good feeling.
I ended up calling the cops the day after this fight because I thought that he followed me home from a park once again, and the cops said that they really couldn't do anything because he was just walking around.
Yeah.
A week later, the Irvine Police Department called me back and wanted to talk to me about the report I had made the week prior.
Apparently, this gentleman had broken into a house near mine while everyone was in the house and sleeping and climbed on top of a 21-year-old girl.
She woke up and screamed, and her male roommate ran into the room and startled.
The assailant jumped and ran out the back door.
The cops caught him later that night.
I had to testify at the trial and found out that this girl had also felt like he was watching her for days.
She looked almost exactly like me.
At one point, I got to read some of his testimony, and he admitted that he had been following me and that I had a big black dog that barked at him.
In court, baby.
I'm sorry, but that is the, like, what did I fucking tell you?
You know what?
Sorry.
Will you read that back, please?
I don't think he heard it.
Always trust your gut and lock your doors, even in the safest city in the U.S.
No, no name.
Amazing.
A real comeuppance.
I mean, the idea of someone telling me that I'm overreacting.
I mean, ever.
Yes.
No, sorry.
Especially in the height of an overreaction.
That's the worst time to do it.
I'm not mid-scream.
Okay.
Where are you at?
I'm all right.
Okay.
I'll just read this.
It just starts like this.
Karen, Georgia, Steven, Elvis, Mimi, Dottie, Frank, and George.
Vince should get a shout out, too.
And as well, he should.
Yes.
A few weeks ago, my boyfriend and family and I were out to lunch, and my mom and I were talking about what her life was like growing up in Southern California.
Given she lived there from 1956 to 1981, a.k.a. when all the shit was happening.
She very casually mentioned how she discovered she had a broken back while riding horses.
Ouch.
It turns out she fucking rode horses and took riding lessons from one of the Manson family members at the Spawn Ranch.
What?
Oh, my God.
Now, honey, I slapped you up for horse riding lessons, but it's a bit out in the desert, and you have to take this tab of acid first.
I don't know why.
I don't know why.
Just do it.
That was my character, the mother.
That was a good one.
Thank you.
A year and a half of acting lessons at Sac State University.
One of the greats.
My grandma took her there once and got the fucking heebie-jeebies and told my mom they were never going back.
Nice.
Okay, that's good.
As I was trying to pick up my jaw, wanting to ask all the questions, she then proceeded to tell me the hillside strangler was also active in one of the neighborhoods she lived in.
And then parentheses.
Seriously, how the fuck is she alive?
In 1981, my parents moved from L.A. to Bend, Oregon, which also happened to be not so...
Okay.
Which also happened to be not so far away from a little town called Antelope, where the Rajnees had moved and all the people were freaking the fuck out.
Oh, shit.
It's the greatest hits.
My mom shared with me that there was a time my grandma was visiting and they wanted to go to the High Desert Museum, which was the only museum in Bend.
My grandma decided to wear a maroon blouse purple pants.
Oh, no.
Oh, no.
And when they got to the museum...
Oh, no.
The Rajnees...
The Rajnees was also there.
My mom in a panic and concerned my grandma was going to get mistaken for being part of a sex cult left before she could ever explain anything to my grandma.
My boyfriend usually never has anything to contribute when my mom and I get into our talks, but as we were talking about the Rajnees, my boyfriend turned to us and said,
My dad interviewed Ma on Sheila at the compound.
My mom's eyes almost burst out of her head and she screamed,
Tell me everything.
At this point in the conversation, all I could do was laugh.
My mom is the one who I share a true crime passion with, so it's not uncommon for us to start talking about this shit when we're together.
She's no G-Murderino.
My boyfriend's dad was a radio news reporter.
And while the Rajnees was active, he would go to the compound to conduct interviews for radio segments.
He still had several tapes that have never been heard or were used by the news station when he was talking with Sheila.
He also still has the welcome gifts that they would give to those who came to visit.
Once we open one and I'll let you know what's inside.
Oh, once we've opened one.
I thought she was just intentionally fucking with us in this email.
It's about to rip it in half.
Thanks for all you do for empowering women, for being honest and open about your own mental health struggles.
And now it's okay to not be okay.
Yay.
It's really okay. It's okay.
It's more than okay.
It's pretty standard actually.
It's a must for this crowd.
It's a must do for America.
Because of you, I established a relationship with a therapist and conquering my anxiety.
You ladies always make me laugh every episode and make my commute so much more enjoyable.
Stay sexy and be sure to properly vet equestrian teachers and don't get murdered with gratitude, Laura.
That was great.
Man, they really ruined maroon calf tans, didn't they?
I can't wear my maroon shirt with my purple pants anywhere in Antelope.
Well, that's seeming like I'm in a cult.
Or looking like a human bruise.
Come on, grandma.
Okay, this one's last and then this one's second.
Okay, here we go.
About ten years ago when living in Portland, Oregon, was still affordable.
But it was still affordable.
My ex-husband Ian and I rented a wee rickety house with a giant leafy backyard on an unincorporated road.
All the neighbors were students and or criminals.
Chickens ran amuck and several busted cars and trailers were way late on the dirt road, riddled with vines and moss.
It was a great neighborhood.
Ian and I were relaxing one night with beers in our big overgrown backyard
and our wild-eyed, severely drunken arborist.
I knew I was going to get it wrong.
Arborist, thank you.
There's an amazing subgroup of MFM arborists.
His name is Bradwin.
Arborinos?
Oh my god, are you being serious?
Yeah.
Oh my god, front row and everything?
It's fucking arborinos in the front row ladies and gentlemen.
Yeah!
That's what my favorite weekend is all about.
Arborists coming together.
Trees and murder. Trees and murder.
Fuck yes.
What a diverse community.
Okay, his name was Bradwin.
Arborino.
Sorry.
It sounds like someone who's really into Arby's.
Or Arbor Mist.
Mixed together.
Yeah.
Yeah, okay.
They're a severely drunken arborist neighbor, Bradwin, crashed through our back gate and yelled, do you guys have any drinks?
Is it me in 1991?
Hey listen, do you have extra beer here?
Drunk Karen.
My name's Karen.
My favorite Karen.
Yes.
Yay.
We handed him a beer because that's what you do, I guess.
And he proceeded to regale us with the stories of cutting trees for other crazy people.
Before he told his best story, he lurched out into the end of the yard under a giant Douglas fir and took a whiz.
He came back and said, man, I've been pissing blood because of this massive kidney stone.
My ex and I eyeballed each other knowing that Bradwin had just pissed blood under a beautiful pine tree.
This doesn't have anything to do with the story, I just love this part.
How awful, it's like nature and here's Bradwin.
This reminds me of when I drink too much coffee in the morning and I start writing emails.
And I'm just like, it starts about one thing and then I'm like, you know what else I hate?
I'm just like, do we need to know about Bradwin's kidney stone?
We do.
Full trust.
We started getting up to go inside, but Bradwin proceeded to tell us his claim to fame arborist story.
Living in California years back, he had been hired by a prominent lawyer whose name he did not mention.
Bradwin was up in a big tree cutting branches and the lawyer was hanging out on the ground below him enjoying a cocktail
and regaling him with his crazy lawyer stories.
As Bradwin was chopping away, the lawyer's daughter came outside.
She was about eight years old and she interrupted their conversation saying, daddy, there's a phone call for you.
The lawyer said, honey, please don't interrupt. You can see I'm busy. Great parenting.
Talking to the arborist.
He started talking to Bradwin again and the daughter became impatient. Daddy, the phone is for you.
He said again, sweetie, I told you that interrupting is wrong. Now go inside and take a message.
Then the little eight-year-old girl yelled, fuck you, daddy, it's Bobby Shapiro.
The dude went running into the house to take the call.
Apparently this lawyer was on OJ's defense team and Robert Shapiro was on the horn.
Fuck you, daddy, it's Bobby Shapiro.
My ex and I laughed our asses off and gave Bradwin another beer.
It was an entertaining night.
Say sexy and don't let your drunken arborist neighbor piss blood in your backyard,
but do let him fill you in on his OJ connections, Jessica.
Yeah, fuck you, daddy. It's Bobby Shapiro. What is that family like? That's amazing.
You can't interrupt, but if it's an emergency, say fuck you.
These are the rules of the house.
That's a lawyer's daughter, for real.
Use your words, please. Oh, fuck me. Oh, Bobby Shapiro, okay.
All right, okay.
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Goodbye.
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I won't read the subject line.
It's a spoiler.
No.
Hide to all heartbeats, furry and not.
That's creative, right?
It's poetic.
It's a little creepy.
It's all very creepy.
I mean, what are we fucking doing, right?
I could not be further from your target audience.
I'm a single man, 52 years old.
I also happen to live by myself in the forest.
I love you.
Oh, my God.
Please, please come and pick me up right now.
I am begging you.
The fucking brawny man is writing to us right now.
Oh, my God.
My home is four.
Oh, in California's Calaveras County.
My home is four miles.
My home is four miles as the crow flies from the site of Leonard Lake Charles
in Torture and Murder Bunker.
This is dicks.
I don't know if you've done this story, but it's a bizarre one.
We haven't because it's the worst.
If they just yelled, yes, you have.
I'd be like, super sorry, we have done that one.
I'm a Bay Area native born in the city.
Born in the city during the summer of love raised in the East Bay,
an unincorporated portion of Contra Costa County called Tara Hills.
Sure.
When I was six or...
Someone yell, fuck you.
Fuck you, daddy.
It is on.
I love that you hate when they yell, I love you, but if they yell, fuck you.
I love it.
Please learn what I'm about.
Thank you.
Okay, when I was six or seven years old,
I had established myself within my large cousin group as a fearless child.
I did the same thing.
As this is the mid-70s, I can best liken myself to Tanner from the Bad News Bears,
including his varied and colorful use of language.
It was this act of fearlessness that led to one of the most shocking,
fear-filled memories that has scorched into my psyche for life.
He typed dramatically in the forest.
His bald head gleaming, his brawny head.
His paper towel covered head gleaming in the sunlight.
On what must have been Halloween in 1974 or 1975,
although I can't be certain, I found myself being led through the neighborhood
by my large group of older cousins.
After a long and successful tour of the neighborhood,
I was informed that it was time to return home.
Of course, I refused loudly.
I demanded to go to just one more house.
Being both loud and lazy, I chose the house closest to the current position.
It was a corner house.
It was a house shrouded by darkness.
A house with not one single bulb burning.
This house appeared to be dead.
Up the porch, steps my large lazy ass went.
My fat fingers found the doorbell and rang in rapid fire a dozen times or more.
When that failed to get a response, my pudgy fist found the door and banged out a rude knock.
On what would have been the fifth or sixth fist fall, the door disappeared.
My pudgy fist never found the door again.
In its place were now a set of craggy legs, skinny enough to doubt their stability,
holding up a pair of dingy blue boxer shorts.
The instability of the legs was belied by the strength of the voice.
Oh my God.
That's kind of a poet.
Kind of.
That now boomed down upon me with what seemed like cartoon-visible sound waves.
Get off my porch, you little, young, lazy and pudgy, though I was.
These terms did not describe the grace, agility, and speed I displayed as I seemingly appeared back with my cousins.
I arrived on the sidewalk just in time to hear the loudest door slam I have heard still to this day.
It wasn't long after when we noticed a new family living in the corner house.
Thankfully, Mr. Blue Boxers had moved away.
What seemed like a very long time pass between my childhood trick-or-treat terror and the day that we saw that man again,
Mr. Blue Boxers had gained weight when we saw him again on the evening news.
The breaking story was that of the rape and mutilation of a young woman.
Yep, Mr. Blue Boxers was in fact Larry Singleton.
Oh my God.
He trick-or-treated at fucking Larry Singleton's house.
He banged on the door until Larry Singleton answered the door.
Guys.
I've shared stories like this in the Zodiac, the Night Stalker, Trailside, Lake Eng, etc.
with my daughter who has literally been a murder-ito since birth.
She grew up in Benesha, so the Zodiac happened in her backyard.
Her natural inclination to true crime led my daughter, the murder-ino,
I created to turn me into a murder-ino despite my location at 180 degrees
from a typical murder-ino and being alone in the forest.
Stay sexy and don't get murdered, but maybe give the forest another chance.
Not all.
The arborists here are like, yeah.
This is fucking, this night, we call night one of the weekend tree power night.
And here, this is just the end of that.
Not all who wander her beautiful canopy are serial killers.
At least one of us is a murder-ino.
Sincerely, Donny.
I love it.
Yeah, yeah.
Alright, let's go to hometowns, guys.
Let's do some hometowns.
Alright.
Here's how it's gonna go.
Let's see.
I picked people first.
What's that?
I picked people first.
Yeah.
Can I have the lights up a little bit, please?
A little bit of house lights.
You're gonna be going, oh, here's Vince.
Okay, you're gonna meet him right over there.
There's rules to this whole thing.
Yes, as you well know.
Yeah.
And this is an important thing, I think, for continuing on in this evening and through the weekend.
You can pick one of two lanes.
You can be fireball drunk, or you can come and tell your story.
Those two lanes will not intersect.
And if you jump up here and then you're in the fireball lane,
we love you, we'll hug you, and you get pushed off stage.
That's just how it is.
Because there's good stories to tell, and they gotta get told.
But the bad ones, no booing, and no yelling.
It's scary at the end.
Yeah, yeah.
Don't yell at the other people.
You yell at us for your own reasons, but no yelling at the lay people.
And we get to do this more than once.
So if you don't get picked tonight, don't worry,
because you'll have another chance.
Cool your fireballs.
Hi!
Hi.
We'll start with Alyssa.
Okay, Alyssa.
Number one.
Let's do one here, and then we'll do another.
Right here.
Alyssa, everybody.
Georgia, this is Alyssa.
Hi.
Oh, here.
Oh, gee.
Margarino Fankel.
I love it.
Hi.
Hi.
Is that on?
I'm so excited.
I'm Alyssa.
I'm from Atlanta, Georgia.
Oh.
Thank you for traveling so far.
It's my hetero life mate, Nikki's 40th birthday.
Happy birthday.
So this is our adventure.
Great.
I love it.
So I am from Marietta, Georgia, which is a...
Really?
No, they're just doing that.
Each kind of power through it.
Fair enough.
It's a suburb about 20 miles north of Atlanta.
We birthed Newt Gingrich, and I'm really, really sorry about that.
Thank you.
So in 2004, this guy, John Hutcherson, and his best friend, Frank, were at a bar drinking,
having a good time, and decided that they needed to drive home after being very intoxicated.
And they were driving in his truck, and Frank at one point apparently got sick, and he was
feeling really bad.
So he leaned out the window, and they were driving down this very windy road, which has
power poles.
Oh, no.
I saw this movie.
Wait.
This is called hereditary.
Go ahead.
Go ahead.
They may have gotten the idea from this.
Yeah, yeah.
At some point, he's swerving and gets too close to one of the power lines.
No.
And Frank's head, yes, is off.
You're right.
Shit.
And apparently he was so drunk that John didn't notice that this had happened.
No.
Drives home, parks the truck in his driveway with his friend's body sitting in the passenger
car, goes upstairs, covered in blood, and passes out in his bed.
So 8 a.m. the next morning, this is the neighborhood that I grew up in, too.
A dad and his little baby daughter are walking down the street, and sees the truck with the
body in it, calls the cops, and they go upstairs and wake him up, and are like, hey, what happened
last night?
And they had to go back to the place, the scene of the accident to find his head.
So this was the neighborhood I grew up in.
He is his little sister is really good friends with my little sister.
So this was, you know, this really happened and it wasn't an urban legend or anything
like that.
100% lived less than a mile from my house.
Holy shit.
So awful.
So he went to prison, obviously, for manslaughter, but he's out now and I checked Facebook and
he's like, living life.
Oh my God.
I don't know, though.
I don't know how okay, I mean, I'm assuming nightmares are happening.
Yeah.
Yeah.
Yeah.
Yeah.
That's a spooky Halloween story.
It's what you just gave us right there.
Holy shit.
Well, we started off with a bang everybody.
Nice one.
Maryetta Georgia showing up and playing strong tonight.
Jamie.
Jamie.
Everyone.
This is Jamie.
Jamie everybody.
And we forgot to mention, you can do your hometown from anywhere.
It doesn't have to be from California.
I'm from Texas, so I had to bring you guys.
Oh, sorry.
I'm from Texas.
So she brought us bucky.
Yeah.
Oh shit.
Thank you.
Thank you so much.
Hell yeah.
They're beaver nuggets, but for some reason I just keep calling them beaver balls.
They are.
They're dirty reasons.
Okay.
Okay.
What you got for us?
So my, my, my sister is a, she's kind of a badass.
She's a SWAT team member.
Wow.
She's protective, but she's also on the SWAT team.
Nice.
The first female on her force.
Wow.
So she told me this story.
What's her name?
Her name's Andrea.
Okay.
Way to go Andrea.
Good job.
She's really cool.
And she's a little old like me.
And during the holidays, like for Christmas, does she come and like kick the door open
and then get down on, does she crawl, belly crawl for the backyard type of stuff?
Sort of.
Oh.
Want to party with her.
Okay.
Yeah.
So she, she didn't work on this case, but she, she told me about this case, but it's
kind of famous.
So this is the Louisville chainsaw massacre.
So this was 2010 in Louisville, Texas, which is right outside of Dallas.
Yay.
Texas.
So this man, his name was Jose Coronado, had, he's a father of six and happily married,
just a nice family man.
And he suddenly had a strange period where people were saying like, oh, he might be having
a little bit of a nervous breakdown, but he was actually starting to get into Santeria.
And he had some suspicions that his wife was cheating on him.
So I, and I'm not, you know, I don't know much about this religion or anything.
But from what I understand, part of that religious experience is that if there is a demon, the
way to get rid of the demon is to cut off the demon's head.
So he discovered that his wife,
That's foreshadowing that everybody would just say no.
So he suspected that his wife was cheating on him.
So he somehow got all of his children to go to a restaurant.
And this was like a Sunday afternoon, like 11, got his family to go to a restaurant,
convinced his wife to come home with him where he had this all planned out.
I'm not quite sure of the logistics of this, but he had chainsaws that he duct taped one
to each hand.
Oh no.
And then he chased her through the house with the chainsaws running.
Sorry, how did he chainsaw duct tape the second chain?
I was just saying, did he have an assistant?
Was the devil with him at that time?
Like, did he have a machine?
He was a wizard.
So he duct taped the chainsaws to his hands.
I don't like this at all.
There's not a lot to like about this.
But my sister was able to tell me that some, an inside scoop was that, well,
she didn't run away from him very fast because he was able to cut her multiple times
throughout the house.
Oh, so it's on her?
Come on, Andrea.
What the fuck?
Just kidding.
No, it's funny to turn on Andrea.
There was a trail of evidence of bits of the wife.
This is the kind of story you don't want the inside scoop on.
You know what I mean?
Yeah, really.
Or that phrase used.
Right.
So yes, but so there were, yeah, so she makes it basically to the front door
where he starts to, to dismember her in the house.
And I think at this point she was dead, but then he, he dragged her out onto the front lawn.
So this is a broad daylight and then decapitates her on the front lawn and very calm or no,
actually it was in the street, so he dragged her through the front lawn onto the street,
decapitates her, somehow removes his little arm situation, puts that on his, the bed of
his pickup truck and then just calmly drives away in the family's other car.
Wow.
So the person who found this was the mailman who was the first to come up on the scene and
sees something in the road and is like, what's that?
And then he realizes it's a head.
And then when the police arrived, one of the chainsaws was still running at the back of
this truck.
Yeah, I don't like this.
Oh, but the best part is that, so he drives to, oh no, I don't mean the best part.
No, we get it.
If anyone gets it, we get it.
Yeah, he drives to a car dealership where he deposits, I don't know why I'm looking at
you so much, you're also here.
No, go, it's okay.
I don't need it.
It's hurtful.
He deposits, I like you both.
So he deposits the car and just, I guess, test drives another car and then drives that
to Mexico where he's free.
Wait, to this day?
Yes.
Oh.
Sorry.
Jamie, guys.
Oh no.
Jamie, everyone.
Leave it to Texas.
Thank you very much for that awful story.
And wonderful, salacious treats.
Okay, Georgia, can we take a moment, a pause to say Georgia randomly chose two beheading
stories.
How?
You got a third?
Who's doing this?
No.
Okay.
We're not getting a third.
Great.
Hi.
Lauren.
Okay, Lauren.
It's Lauren, everybody.
Say hi.
Lauren, where are you from?
I'm from San Clemente, California.
All right.
So, okay, so I grew up in San Clemente, California.
My friend who's in the audience with me as well, and we knew a set of twins who, their
family did a mass suicide, if you will, five person suicide.
So, the twins, they were 21, we went to high school with them, they dressed the same through
high school.
You know, they were reclused a little bit, and their family, all of a sudden, nobody
heard from them.
They lived in a gay to community rich family, and one day, the family relative was like,
where are they?
We don't know.
And nobody was like, we don't know what's going on.
And three weeks later, somebody was like, it kind of smells.
And so, they go into the house, and it's a mass suicide, five person suicide.
But the twins are tucked in bed, everybody's in black.
The twins are tucked in the bed, and they were poisoned with Vicodin.
And the grandma also poisoned with Vicodin.
And then the mom and the dad, the dad was shot, and the mom shot herself, so she committed
suicide.
So, she was like the mastermind of it.
And nobody to this day knows why they did it.
They never interviewed any friends or family, like it was just kind of like, that's what
happened.
So, that's what happened.
It's very weird.
It's really weird.
Nobody's weird.
You're right.
It's terrible.
It's like there's a deeper meaning there, but nobody cared to investigate it?
Yeah.
I don't know.
Orange County.
Orange County, they're just like, whatever, sleeping under their nose.
Yeah, exactly.
So, that's nice.
Good job.
Lauren, everybody.
Give it up for Lauren.
Oh, my God.
You guys, tomorrow night, we're going to do some more.
Everyone's going to have their head on, though, the whole time.
Yeah.
I feel like that should be good.
We're going to do a note to capitation.
That's a new rule.
We've covered all the capitation stories.
That's right.
Well, that was a really strong kickoff of awful shit.
Yeah.
Just terrible, terrible stories.
Yeah.
I hope you guys can sleep okay tonight.
Don't have hangovers tomorrow.
We'll see you tomorrow.
Oh, yeah.
We'll see you at the brunch tomorrow.
At the brunch.
We're going to do a real show tomorrow.
It's going to be a lot of fun stuff.
Yeah.
We're so excited.
Thank you again for coming here.
Thank you for coming, guys.
Playing along, being our friends.
Yeah.
We're so excited to see you, and we will see you tomorrow.
Yeah.
Bye, you guys.
Thank you guys so much for coming, and we'll see you in the next video.
Bye.
Bye.