My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 155

Episode Date: December 30, 2019

This week’s hometowns include a wholesome ghost story and a fiancé that almost got away with murder.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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Doing a thing. Hello. Hello. And welcome. It's my favorite murder. The mini soap. It's mini and cute. It's one of those little Japanese things.

Yes. It's adorable. It's like a little bento box, but the tip of your finger. Okay, you go first. What is anyone talking about? Okay, this is great because it's an update from last week. Okay, cool. The subject line is, the greeting card masturbator might also be terrorizing librarians.

Oh, no. Hi, all. They don't deal with enough shit. Yeah, really? Come on, stop peeing in the plant. I just listened to the mini so that featured the greeting card masturbator. Hate him. Oh, someone on Twitter.

Can I just take one? Yes. So sorry. Can Stephen, you know how you do that thing? Yeah, the search. Yes. Okay. Let's start it over.

Okay, the subject line of this is, the greeting card masturbator might also be terrorizing librarians. Librarians. They deal with enough shit already. Leave librarians alone. Unless you have a specific question about the Dewey Decimal System. Okay, Stephen. I need my face.

Oh my God. Okay. Stephen, he aims me his phone. His phone locks. And it's, what was that? It morphs. It's dinosaurs and children. Okay.

Someone named, I guess I'll just say her full name, Sarah Clark tweeted at us saying, just listen to the latest, my favorite Myrna Minnesota, I'm also from Youngstown in a hundred, a hundred, a hundred. The greeting card masturbator definitely took place in a Hallmark store. Oh, we knew it. Which was our theory from last time, but Sarah confirmed it for us. So thank you, Sarah. Great job.

So going from there, this writer writes, I just listened to the Minnesota that featured the greeting card masturbator. And instead of being horrified, I was like, wait, this sounds familiar. I don't know. No. I was a librarian and at my previous job, a man called our reference desk and said that he wanted to get a book for his wife who loves 50 Shades of Gray and asked if I could give him a list of similar titles.

Sure. I said in my nicest, most helpful librarian voice, even though I think 50 Shades of Gray is total garbage. Yeah. It is. I did my librarian thing and found a few similar books and read him the titles. He thanked me and then asked if I could read the summaries to him so he could decide if his wife would like them.

As I was reading the synopsis of the first book, his breathing got heavier and heavier. I hesitated, asked if he was okay, and he said, yes, keep going in a very strained voice. And then separate line from that paragraph, the man was masturbating. I basically yelled, nope, sorry, I have to go into the phone and hung up immediately. I'm part of- Oh, I thought she was in front of him the whole time. No, no, on the phone. Okay. Which is even creepier.

It's so creepy. So, I'm part of a librarian group on Facebook and someone posted a similar story a few years ago. Apparently, this guy calls libraries all over the country and does this to librarians, public service announcement. Librarians are super helpful and have seen some shit, but please don't involve us in your kinks without our permission. Stay sexy and be wary of any adult who wants you to read to them, Dana.

Such good advice, Dana. So smart. Oh, God, that's horrible. Why? Why? Why? Go to therapy. Yeah.

And jerk off there. This one starts, hello to Mimi and Elvis only. It's my favorite, but please don't leave Dottie out. Not a murder, but this is the time my mom thought I was being kidnapped. Let's get into it. It's early summer 2004. Late afternoon, I'm three years old. Okay.

Wow. I know. You're old enough to drink. No, probably. My sister is in kindergarten. My mom has to pick her up at the bus stop down the street. We lived in a secluded suburb in Canada. Everyone knew everyone.

It was small, but the houses were big, as were the properties. The bus stop was only about five doors down, and I was upstairs napping, butt naked because our house was old and didn't have any form of air conditioning. Understand that. Do it. Go for it. What better time to nap naked than one year three? That's right.

My mom figured it wouldn't be a big deal if she went to pick my sister up and leave me at home alone since she would have begun for less than 15 minutes. Three-year-olds. Uh-huh. Make a three-year-old. Of course, if I hadn't woken up, we wouldn't have the story. I got up, looked around the house for my mom, and when I couldn't find her, I started walking down the street still naked.

Yes. Didn't make it very far before a car pulled over, and a man got out and wrapped this huge bomber jacket around me. This is when my mom spotted me from down the street along with the group of parents who were also picking up their kids. Three of them started sprinting down the street as my mother screamed to the top of her lungs, back the fuck off my daughter. And Nara, don't you fucking dare get into his car.

It probably looked like he had broken into the house and taken her out, right? Oh, that's right. Yeah. Meanwhile, he's just a concerned citizen driving down, and he's like, oh, sorry. Not only that, did I mention he was leading me into his car? No. Well, it turns out he was an RCMP officer, which is Canadian police, and was more than mildly concerned when he was on his way to visit his mother when he saw a tiny butt waddling

down the street. It's for a guy. And now he's getting screamed at. Yeah. Now he's the bad guy. Now he's a pervert. Yeah. My mom was still super suspicious and obviously wasn't going to just take his word for this

and demanded proof. Then his mom came walking down the street after hearing my mom screaming. Everything was fine in the end. But did this teach my mother to toddler proof our doors so I wouldn't escape again? Of course not. No, no way. I'm sure you guys hear it all the time, but thank you so much for feeling my cold lonely apartment with laughter and stories of murder.

And the look my therapist gave me when I told her I listened to a comedy murder podcast before bed. Yeah. Stay sexy and don't leave your naked toddler home alone, Nara. I mean, how long ago was that? 2003. That was a long ago. Jesus.

There's no excuse for this one. Come on. Oh, that's so funny. So I won't read this up your line. Okay. Okay. So I left my, there's no greeting. God bless it.

I left my Northern California town of 1000 or less to get the hell out of there and live in the city at 18. I worked as a hostess with three other Chelsea's all born in 1986 at a restaurant on the ground level of a high rise in downtown L.A. Yeah. Good for you girl. Yeah. You did it.

One night, one of the Chelsea's didn't show up for her shift. Oh. One of the Chelsea's. One of the Chelsea's. The story goes. This is unbelievable. Chelsea had a fashion internship in addition to hostessing and classes at FIDM. And then in parentheses, the hustle is real.

Yeah. So real. And her boss required her to pet sit his golden retriever while he was away for the week, which is completely exploiting people. You can't do that. Don't do it. I mean, but she probably liked staying there because it was nicer than her apartment that she was sharing with six other Chelsea's.

Yeah. There's so many Chelsea's in that apartment, all in bunk beds. When she arrived to his house on the very first day, she found the retriever dead in the living room. She called the boss man who really didn't seem surprised that his old dog had died and instructed her to get his, the dog's body down to their vet for cremation. No. Just handle it.

Fearing for her coveted internship and carless in Los Angeles, Chelsea hefted the large dead dog into a rolling suitcase and wheeled him to the bus stop. Oh my God. She's just trying to get this job done so that she keeps her internship and unfair in every way. When the bus arrived, she couldn't get the weight of the suitcase up the steps and a man that was boarding offered to help her. He remarked on how heavy the suitcase was and asked her what she had in there.

She came up with some bullshit on the spot. Oh, you know, I don't have a car and I'm moving a few stops later. The man stood up and punched her in the stomach, knocking the air out of her and snagged the suitcase and quickly disappeared up the alley. What the fuck? Yep. That asshole stole a dead dog. Oh my God.

As far as I know, she never told her boss. And to this day, I wish I could have seen the look on that dude's face. Stay sexy and be careful of overly friendly guys on buses in Culver City. No name. That is the craziest story I've ever fucking heard. It's fucking insane and horrible. Horrible. I feel like she is put in this position and she's trying to solve a problem with no tools.

She's doing the very best she can. So far, so good. I'm like, actually impressed how far she got. She was solving it. It was on the way to being solved and a dude robbed her. What a dick. And then he got his. This is a parallel to a story I know I've told minimum five times about how me and Andy

Withington used to wrap up cow shit in gift boxes and leave them in the middle of the road and also put it in purses. No, you haven't told that fucking story. I haven't. I don't think so. That's disgusting. We lived way out in the country. We had nothing to do and a car would go by like once every two hours.

So we got this idea one day. We took our moms. It started with old purses and then we started gift wrapping, making it look like birthday presents because cars would drive. So we fill up an old purse of our moms they didn't want anymore with cow shit and put it in the middle of the road. I'm picturing you as a teenager. Tell me that's not right.

No, no. I'm like 10. Oh, great. Okay, that's better. I'm 10. I think Andy's 12. We're just trying to kill time. Sure.

We've seen the Scooby-Doo that's on 50 times already. The one where Jerry Reed comes is like there's no, there's nothing for us indoors. Stop and take the box. Yes. And we would climb up a tree and then watch because they would drive for a while with the purse or the gift and then open it as they were driving. And sometimes people like swerved, people sometimes slammed on their brakes and drove back and they would get the fuck out of your way because they knew they got pranked.

It was, it was really, it really made the time go by. Well baby, Karen playing with fire. We didn't give a shit. You gave a lot of shit away. Oh my God. We gave them away as gifts. Okay, this one's, this one's sad, but we do ask for hometowns, like regular hometowns all the time.

It's what the show is supposed to be. Right. So this is one of them. Okay, let's go, we'll go back to one of those. It's classic. It just starts. Hi. My mom has always hinted about a traumatic murder that had connections to her and my hometown,

but tonight we both decided to try Long Island Ice Teas for the first time. A classic. A classic. It's so good. So delicious. And holy wow, it's worse than she'd ever let on. My mom was a mail carrier in the 1990s and had a little four-year-old girl on her route named Jessica Phelps.

There's not a ton of information available in the case, so this is mainly from what my mom told me when I finally got her intoxicated enough to talk about it, which is like two sips of Long Island Ice. Yeah, it really doesn't take much. No. Jessica would spend a lot of time playing unsupervised in her front yard in a not-so-great neighborhood. I was two at the time and also named Jessica, so my mom took her, took to her pretty quickly.

My mom would visit the local thrift store and buy clothes, toys, and books for Jessica and would spend her 30-minute lunch break each day with her. Jessica would wait for her with a set of lawn chairs in the yard and a book in hand for them to read together each day. Heartbreaking. You know, this went on for a while and my mom remembers wishing she could adopt this little girl and give her a better home. Eventually, my mom was transferred from this route and a few weeks later, July of 1997,

heard that little Jessica had gone missing from her front yard while playing unsupervised. There were no credible leads and my mom was absolutely crushed wondering what had happened. My mom was also an avid runner and remembers taking a route each day from her childhood home about 15 miles away from where Jessica lived. Just a year later, in March of 1998, a child's body was found in a ditch on my mom's running route just a few miles away from her home. My mom remembers the news breaking in her tiny town and kept telling herself that the unidentified body of a four-year-old couldn't have been the little girl that she'd grown

so close to, but the body was identified two days later as Jessica fell. The case is still unsolved and without DNA evidence will likely remain that way unless someone comes forward with more information. I've been pestering my mom about this case since I was a little baby murderer but only ever got, quote, a body was found near our town once until tonight. I looked up some photos of Jessica to show my mom and she started crying as she finished the story. Stay sexy and always be prepared to be uncannily close to your hometown murder story, Jessica.

I mean, that's so true. It's like not even six degrees of separation a lot of the time for people and something like that is like that it's so it preventable and so shitty and I feel like everyone has those fucking stories. Yes. And there's also new new techniques to get DNA. There's like touch DNA now. There's other ways to find like mitochondrial DNA and all these like really other interesting

scientific things happening. So maybe they will hopefully they will. And also hopefully they'll figure out a way. I think the you know the social services in most states are so overwhelmed and kids need better protection and kids that come from bad homes, there need to be more like resources for them. I don't know what I'm talking about, but I mean my sister, I've just heard things from my sister being a grammar school teacher and it's just really rough.

It's just like it's so unfair. Because there should be we should be spending money to help people like this that have kids and then can't support them and it's. Looking for a better cooking routine with meal planning, shopping and prepping handled HelloFresh has you covered. HelloFresh makes home cooking easy and affordable so you can stay on track and on budget in the new year. HelloFresh meals are convenient, seasonal and delicious.

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You can listen ad free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. It's not a murder, but a spooky ghost story is the subject line. Perfect. Hello, Karen, Georgia, Steven and furry beings. So my father passed away on December 31, 1998, and my mother's birthday is in March. So the year before he had forgotten her birthday, and after he passed away, she made a joke to herself about how she bets he was going to forget her birthday again. Now let's rewind back to 1995 when my mom and dad first got married.

Dad lost his wedding ring, swearing black and blue that it was when he was hanging up the washing. So mom spent hours after work with a torch, also known as a flashlight in America, searching under the washing line for the stem ring. She never found it, so they replaced it. Back to 1999, about a month before my mom's birthday after dad had passed, she had this unwavering urge to weed the garden. Now my mother just barely mowed the grass.

She hates gardening, and I've never as a teenager or an adult seen her weed the garden. So she goes out to do it, and the first week she pulled up had my father's original wedding ring entangled in the roots. I have more creepy ghost dad stories. Hit a girl up if you want to hear them. Why would I? You want to hear them? You hit us up.

What are we supposed to fucking call you at home? Hey, scared of Georgia. Hey, did you like that? Say sexy, don't get murdered, Melissa. I love that story. It's crazy. It's crazy. That's weird, like, urges to do something, and then it turns out it's for a reason.

For a ghost reason. Well, and also just that idea that it somehow sunk under and then was there, I mean... Isn't there one that, like, it was around a carrot, something like it had gone underground and had grown around a carrot? Stephen, will you look that up? I bet you can find it. Are you thinking of the carrots that pull up out of the ground and they're, like, hugging each other?

No. I've ever seen those. There's a shit ton of those. Okay. But I think I did see the ring one. Okay, well then, forget it. Okay. This one I love.

Forget that I'm agreeing with you. Did you find it? Let's see. Oh. A woman finds long last diamond ring on carrot in garden. Look at the photo. Yes. Yeah.

It's like it's grown into the carrot. Yes. The carrot looks like it gained weight around the ring. Yeah. Yeah. Like a lap band. It's so good. Okay.

This one starts. Hey, homies. It's 4 a.m. and my infant won't sleep, so I guess it's a good time to write this. I don't know why it never occurred to me to write this before. It's so bizarre. Anyways, it's 2010 and I'm sitting on the couch with my mom watching the TV show. I almost got away with it. Oh.

You know that one, right? Yeah. Yeah, I love that one. And we're watching this guy who was a career criminal. He was a jail for murder. He'd escaped prison twice. He fled to Mexico and Canada on separate occasions. Just all around an asshole, honestly.

My mom's talking out loud and she says something along the lines of, I wonder what happened in this guy's life to make him so mean. Bless it. She no shit sat down and wrote him a letter asking exactly that. That made you so mean. Oh no. And that's began the now nine year long relationship between my mother and her now fiance. Oh.

It's the title as my mom met her fiance on, I almost got away with it. Oh my God. He's still in jail. He's a born again Christian who has, quote, turned his life around. He claims self-defense. Anyways, they live on opposite sides of America, so she applies to see him when she has the money. Other than that, they email and FaceTime regularly.

He's very talented with crafting. I've gotten a lot of beautiful pieces from him because I'm the only one of my mom's four kids who's ever acknowledged his existence. It must be tough. Not that I blame my siblings. I'm just a murdering through and through. My husband and I actually took a road trip and met him in person. I know you're wondering, so I'll just say it.

He's nice in person, huge fucking dude, like six six, and he's got to be 250 pounds or something. Giant barrel chest. I can see why he was picked as a fighter in his youth. That's how he says he got started in a bad life. He was used as a fighter. He's also incredibly good at scrabble. For privacy's sake, I'd prefer it if he didn't say his name.

I'm sure a determined listener could find him, but I'd rather not. He also makes YouTube videos for school kids about not doing drugs and staying at a jail. Oh, he sounds great. That's very good. Love your trachea-grabbing marine wife, Jenny. Oh, you know how they grab the trachea. He sounds lovely. Also, I love, because we spend a lot of time on this podcast talking about psychopaths

or sociopaths, depending on what branch of psychology you're from or pretending to be from. But there are people that it is nurture and that they had a shitty life, and actually they did end up there, like it is there. That's very touching. Kind of like someone's actually asking me why I'm here and I actually get to tell my side of the story. There's this nice lady that she's like, I wonder what happened to him and then goes

to find out, give someone a chance. And then there's some that nothing happened to them and they're just monsters. Yeah. And you absolutely should not write letters to them in jail, prison, or anywhere. Thanks for listening. Send us your emails, whatever they may be. Yes. My favorite murder.

At this point, we're taking everything. We just want to hear a good story. That's right. And stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie?