My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 413

Episode Date: December 9, 2024

This week’s hometowns include a secret tunnel and kids playing with candles. Support this podcast by shopping our latest sponsor deals and promotions at this link: https://bit.ly/3UFCn1g. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This is exactly right. Hi, I'm Bridger Weineger and each week I invite my favorite people from comedy to join me on my podcast, I Said No Gifts. It's not just the title of the show, it's also my only request. And yet every guest disobeys. Listen, as unwanted presents, offerings, and trinkets are laid at my feet and the conversation turns to whatever bizarre item is forced on me. Tension runs high, but I am a professional and I keep things civil despite having every reason to rip my guests to shreds. Listen to I Said No Gifts wherever you get your podcasts.

New episodes every Thursday. My Favorite Murderer Hello! And welcome. To My Favorite Murderer. The mini-zone. Where we read you your stories. Did you hear that intro? Smooth as fecking butter.

Never in nine years have we had an intro where we knew our lines like that one. Smooth as silk and butter. Silky butter. Silky butter is probably my favorite outfit in the summertime. Oh yeah. I just smear it all over. Sorry. That one's on me.

That one's on me. That one's on me. I apologize. Okay. You go first. Subject line of this email is tunnel or no tunnel. Hey, love. Oh, sorry. Hey, love you too.

Sorry. Oh, my God. My Aunt Carol is not writing in right now. Hey, love. Hey, love you too, awesomenesses. I miss Elvis. I often think of the story about the little girl in the back seat asking why she gave the goat a cookie.

I think about that too. Then it's a new paragraph. Alejandra has the best name. I've never heard it before. Oh, interesting. New paragraph. I listen every night before going to sleep. For some reason, my husband thinks this is weird and wonders if I am studying. I've heard it before. Oh, interesting. New paragraph. Okay. I listen every night before going to sleep.

For some reason, my husband thinks this is weird and wonders if I am studying. We do have good life insurance. And then new paragraph. You want family treasure stories? Yes, we do. This is all over the place. It's just like we were in the brain with them and we're happy to be there. I grew up in Cornwall, Ontario.

My great grandfather was a builder, hotel owner, and rumored to be there. I grew up in Cornwall, Ontario. My great-grandfather was a builder, hotel owner, and rumored to be a bootlegger. When we were little, my ma mère and papeur lived next to the hotel that my grandfather ran. Their names were Germaine and Romeo. Aren't those great names? Gorgeous, yeah. So good. Germaine. Germaine.

After Mass on Sundays, and in parentheses good French Catholics, we would all go have Gorgeous. Yeah. So good. Germaine. Germaine. After mass on Sundays, and in parentheses good French Catholics, we would all go have lunch at their house. It's a large family. There were eight kids and all have their own kids. Only about 40 people for lunch. Maumère was the best. Most of my cousins were born within a 10-year span.

We had so much fun together. The Christmas parties and New Year's parties were in the hotel and epic. When the pill came out, my mayor told her daughters they should be good Catholics and not take it. They should abstain like she did. Dot, dot, dot. Question mark, question mark. She had nine pregnancies. Yes, we know. We get... Okay. The hotel was closed on Sundays, and then in parentheses it says 1970s. My 20-odd cousins and I had the run of the place. We would look for dropped money in the bar and often play in the basement. In the basement there used to be a bowling alley. At the end there was a long dark hallway and my cousin told me that it

went to the bank my great-grandfather had built across the street. We were not allowed down there. I used to fantasize about going through that tunnel to get all the money I wanted, treasure. Later, my cousin told me that it wasn't true and that it really led to the furnace room. He crushed my dreams. Many years later, I ran across an article about my great-grandfather, who had been rumored to be a bootlegger during Prohibition. It talked about him going down to the boats with the baby carriage, with my grandfather in it, and bringing the bottles back under the carriage. Smart.

He would then stop at the bank to visit the manager. While there, he would use a tunnel under the street to take the bottles to his hotel. My cousin lied about lying. I guess I could have gone in to get that money. Never believe older cousins. Michelle. Wow. Lying about lying. I mean, I feel like truly that email gave all of us everything we could have ever wanted. Yeah, definitely. It was like hinged enough to not be unhinged, but at the same time.

Just hanging off that last hinge by a hinge. Okay. This is called Fire Stories, you say? Lighthearted, but a close one. Hello, MFM fam. Writing to you all again, because this story truly has it all. Childhood trauma, deadbeat 60s babysitters,

and even a murder attempt. Plus, in Minnesota, I'm currently listening to you ask for fire stories and god damn it, this is one of those too. My dad is the youngest of four children and therefore, the subject of torment most of his childhood. Of the three siblings, one in particular, Uncle Mark, was the worst offender to not only my dad but his little sister as well. One night, my grandparents had gone out to dinner and a sitter was at the house with the kids. It was around Halloween and it was the 60s, which is really all you need to know. The babysitter chose to put on a

lighthearted, suitable for all ages movie, Psycho. Oh, no. And that's sorry, that's Psycho in the 60s when they hadn't had a lot of like... Right. Horror exposure, I would think. Totally. But how do they put it on? They don't have BCRs. A huge reel-to-reel game. Hold on, I'm having a fucking crisis at the moment. I think you just discovered a gigantic lie.

I just found a hole in this story. And I'm not. What did he put it on? He didn't have anything to put it on. There's nothing to put on and there's nothing to put it on it. I mean, yeah, the only thing... Let's pretend it was the 80s. Reel to reel. Let's pretend it was the 80s. I don't know. Because it couldn't be the 60s. I'm not going for... I'm going to say 80s and I'm going

to correct this person. Okay. Yeah, yeah, I get it. Cut you after the movie and my dad and siblings are playing when my uncle Mark decides to steal his sister's doll, causing my aunt to be incredibly upset. My dad, being the sensitive, while also incredibly over this BS, four-year-old he is, decides to do something about it. Rummaging around my grandmother's vanity, he finds a nail file.

Not a soft emery board, mind you, but the old school metal kind with a pointy top and takes off. My dad runs at my uncle, the nail file firmly in his chubby little hand, held above his head, yelling, I'm going to stag you. And it says, not a typo. He was so young, he couldn't even pronounce the letter B yet. Stag you. So cute.

My uncle turned and raised his hand to protect his face, only to be met with a metal spike being driven right into the middle of his palm. Okay, get ready for this part. So far the skin was tenting on the other side. All the way through. All the way through. All the way through. Okay. With the nail file. That's a tetanus shot. Right there. The phrase, the skin was tenting, I never want to hear again in my life.

It's too good. It's like too good a description. And also, they're little kids. Yeah. Little baby ham. Jesus Christ. To this day, my dad maintains that he deserved it, and my uncle honestly agrees. I would like to say he learned his lesson, but just months later, my dad maintains that he deserved it and my uncle honestly agrees. I would like to say he learned his lesson but just months later my dad almost burned down the house while looking for yet another toy my uncle had stolen and hid under the bed. How would looking under the bed cause a fire you ask?

The babysitter was letting them play with candles naturally." So he's like peeking under the bed like with instead of a flashlight with a candle. Because I was imagining like those big fat ones my mom would put in the middle of the table for like Christmas or whatever. But it's like she's letting them play like old fashioned. Old like looky-loo candle. What babysitter is this? Well, yeah, exactly. After the netting under the bed went up in flames, like the most flammable fucking thing

is in the house is your fucking mattress. My dad quietly went downstairs and told everyone, quote, don't go upstairs. Yeah. Luckily, the fire department was called and the flames were put out quickly. Miraculously, only the bed suffered any damage, but my grandparents did have to come home early from dinner to find a charred mattress in their front lawn. Anyway, I love you all so much. Thank you for bringing me so much joy throughout the years.

There's nothing like lovingly strolling around your baby to stories of horrific murders to really put a pep in your step. Stay sexy and maybe find a new babysitter, Maddie. I mean for real. That's like step one. At least. Also, maybe find new kids because those kids were a disaster area. Also, that was the 80s.

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Not the way I'm about to read it. You asked for forgotten snacks in Minnesota 400, and I immediately thought of a drink my brother and I would get when we went to the grocery store with my mom. Now that I have kids of my own and look back over those grocery store trips, I realize how insane my brother and I were to shop with. Even for the mid-80s, we must have ruffled the feathers of fellow shoppers. We ran around the store at full speed playing tag through Food Lion. Isn't that the best

grocery store name? Yeah. Food Lion. Isn't that the best grocery store name? Yeah. Food Lion. The grocery store was a great place to play tag with those long aisles. My strategy was to stay on the opposite side of the store and when he would spot me through an aisle, he'd run down it, giving me plenty of time

to find a route to the opposite side again. Occasionally, Mom, that's hilarious. They use the entire store. Oh, my God. Can I just say that this is not on you kids. Your parents should have been fucking teaching you not to run around grocery stores. Oh, my God. Do you understand the level of trouble I would have been in to even be like picked up the pace or raising my voice like. Oh, my God. Yeah. You would have hold onto the cart and walk next to it

and don't ask for anything. Yes. That's like it. The answers no. The whole speech in the car is like, do not, I am tired. The answer no. We're not doing this. Right.

We wore her down though later on. Later on. The answer was yes. Occasionally my mom would yell walk, which meant you just had to make your arms look straight while you ran. I know that one. That's right.

Anyway, back to the drink. If we were good, in parentheses, which must have meant we left her alone and didn't knock anyone down. Oh my God. She'd get us a drink. Our choice of fruit punch or lemonade. Food lion store brand. It came in square paper cartons, the ones you tear and make a little spout. We'd chugged that shit before we got back to the car.

It was so incredibly sweet and delicious and a little bit thick. I now realized we were chugging cheap juice concentrate. Just the concentrate. Just was supposed to be fruit punch, no water. Oh my god. Gross. One look in my mouth and it's obvious I had a childhood full of sugar. The glove compartment in our car was stuffed full of candy and whoever won the quiet game got first pick. Jesus.

It was my dream family. Oh my God. This wasn't for long car trips. It was for whenever my mom wanted us to be quiet. Basically every time we got in the car. It sounds like someone did not want a parent in this situation. And I'm going to guess it was the parent who didn't want a parent. There feels like maybe this parent bought the wrong parenting book and so none of the

tricks worked. Right. And so it became just like food reward. Yeah. And or I'll kill you. Yeah. Or go away. Or here, drink this juice concentrate.

And maybe you'll go into a diabetic coma. Definitely the 80s. And then it says, did she ever wonder if the sugar was contributing to the chaos? No shade on my mom. She was doing the best she could with what she had at the time. I think she's the best mom in the world. I should have read this before we started that discussion. Oops, sorry.

And she lives next door to me now. Oh, fun. Don't tell her we said this. Happy to spoil my kids with sugar. I've asked her to tone it down a bit and mostly give them things that have recognizable ingredients. SSDGM and add water if that's what the directions say. And then there's no name on that.

So good. Oh, just concentrate. Concentrated juice. Sipping it down. Gulping it thick. It's thick. And that's concentrate. Concentrated juice. Sipping it down. Gulping it thick. It's thick. And that's like your treat drink. Yeah.

That's the drink I want to get. That's hilarious. I thought it was so good. I bet it was exactly what the doctor ordered. Yeah. Okay, here we go. Not gonna read you this. Let's save the positive words to the end, shall we?

When I was a junior in high school, my family picked up from the Utah Salt Lake Valley and moved to Arizona. When we moved into our new house, things were very strange right away. We began to notice that there were many cupboards that were still full of items, almost like someone had been in a hurry to leave. Some of the items that we found were a stack of gory religious brochures depicting a bloody Jesus on the cross. Yeah, he's pretty bloody. Yeah. Pounds of food, animal bones in jars, and four safety deposit box keys.

What was happening in that house? Upon finding the keys, my mom reached out to their real estate agent to get the keys back to the owners. After not hearing back, my mom reached out to their real estate agent to get the keys back to the owners. After not hearing back, my mom reached out to our real estate agent and asked if she could pass along the message. The real estate agent, let's call her Deborah, informed my mom that she could also not get a hold of the real estate agent. And the number for the real estate agent had been disconnected.

Deborah was confused, leading her to reach out to the real estate agent's brokerage. Turns out the brokerage never existed. Yes. We ended up talking with many neighbors and learned that the previous owners had lived there for about 15 years and never even been seen by anyone in the neighborhood. Vampires. This is a vampire story. We learned that the night before they moved out, there were 10 police cars that came to

the house following an apparent bomb threat. The boyfriend had found out that the family was in, wait for it, witness protection. No. Twisteroo. There you go. There it is. There it is. That's what we were looking for.

Vampire witness protection program that's coming this fall. Oh my God. All of the kids from what we do in the shadows have to go into witness protection. Oh my God. Yeah. The dad had been a big time drug dealer in New Mexico and had been an informant for the police in order to not go to prison. So the family moved to Arizona in order to get away from the gang-affiliated members that knew he was involved.

So when the boyfriend, I'm guessing the boyfriend of the daughter that lived there, found out that they were in witness protection, you know she fucking told him, like 15-year-old daughter or something. Of course. Like, uh, guess what? Oh, just so you know. Yeah, don't tell anyone. Like the reason we're so exotic and exciting. I think a big time, big deal. So when the boyfriend found out that they were in witness protection, the family had to pick up and move somewhere else.

Fucking teenage girls, man. Zip it. Yeah. Practice now. Like witness protection is great until your daughter becomes a teenager and then you're fucked. Then you're fucked. Then you have to get her into her own separate protection that's not near you.

No. Also, okay, it might, my question might be answered. Let's see. As a 16-year-old at the time, this was the coolest thing that had ever happened to me, and no one in my family seemed to understand how insane the chances of that happening were. Now, back to the pleasantries. I began this podcast when I first got a phone at 12 years old. Oh, my.

Sorry. I had just watched a documentary about Ted Bundy and I wanted to listen to more true crime so I went onto iTunes. And what did I find the first episode of? You guessed it, My Favorite Murder. This is the thing. I mean, we talk about like the abandonment of the 70s or whatever. It's just like, this is kind of how it goes sometimes.

You're 12, you're flipping around. On your phone. Yeah. Or yeah, on your phone. Right. And then you're just like, hey, Ted Bundy, wait, what's this? The story of a friendly man in a wonderful fisherman's sweater?

I must know more. Yeah. I mean, yeah, I kind of feel like she belongs with us. Sixth grader? No, she doesn't. A 12-year-old? I don't know, man. She's going to go looking for Ted Bundy content. This is the best option that could have happened to her. It could have gotten so much worse than that. Oh, yeah.

You're so true. You know what I mean? We gave her fucking life lessons and shit. We pulled her in. We taught her the importance of making mistakes. We put her under a little vampire batwing. We said, hey, guess what? The world's changing, and we're going to all learn lessons together. Want to come with us? Yeah. Exactly. Let's hear what she

let's hear what she has to say. Since then, you've seen me through graduating high school, graduating college, getting married, and now the first five weeks of pregnancy. Oh wow. From a 12 year old. I truly would not be who I am without you. God. With all my love, Sahara. Sahara? Touching. We love you. That turned touching all of a sudden. God.

I'm so glad that 12-year-old went on to make something of herself. Jesus. Yeah, she did it. She did it. She even graduated college, like, without. Yeah, we didn't even fucking do that. We didn't fuck that up for her.

No. It's a do's and don'ts. What do we need to get those honorary college degrees that we have so earned and deserve? Wow. Because we helped other people through college. Looking for the ultimate holiday gift? Skip the scented candles and give the gift of amazing sleep with Miracle Made Sheets. These sheets are self-cleaning, temperature regulating, and luxuriously soft.

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yourself, Miracle Made sheets are going to make you so happy you got them. Definitely. And if you have a single pet, you need this too, because the antibacterial thing is next level. So go to trymiracle.com slash murder to try Miracle Made Sheets today. And whether you're buying them for yourself or as a gift for a loved one, if you order today, you can save over 40%. And if you use our promo code murder at checkout, you'll get three free towels and save an extra 20%. Miracle Made is so confident in their product, it's backed with a 30-day money-back guarantee, so if you aren't 100% satisfied, you'll get a full refund. Upgrade your sleep today with Miracle Maid.

One more time that URL is trymiracle.com slash murder and use the code MURDER to claim your free three-piece towel set and save over 40% off. That's trymiracle.com slash murder to treat yourself. Thank you to Miracle Made for sponsoring this episode. Goodbye. All right, made this one last because it's such a nice idea. Okay.

It's Glitch in the Matrix plus a teacher tribute. And then it says, Dear Karen in Georgia plus exactly right staff. Longtime listener, third time writer. This might seem long, but I promise it's heartwarming. When I was in high school, there was a teacher named Mr. Truax. He taught environmental science and he was a well-known character in the hallways. Always had a smile on his face and always went out to support the sports teams. My junior

year, me, him, and one of my best friends created a salsa club, which consisted of simply eating chips and salsa once a week. Me, him, and one of my best friends created a salsa club, which consisted of simply eating chips and salsa once a week. Salsa club? I thought it was going to be a dancing club. That's cute. Yeah, not ballroom dancing. No.

Just eating chips. That's cute. Where most of the time, he'd bring the salsa because he made it fresh at home. So yeah, he was really cool. He was an overall kind individual who shaped so many lives. He passed away tragically in the summer of 2019 doing what he loved, hiking in the mountains. Wow. Wow. So this came right after I graduated high school and the whole community was saddened

because he was such a pleasant person. I never had the chance to take environmental science, but he would put on a week-long project for students to sort through the trash in our cafeteria to see the real effects of food waste. Flash forward to 2022. I'm in my senior year of college, and I apply for a job that analyzes food waste in Maine and looks for solutions that can be applied to various industries. I never really cared about food waste before this.

I was 21 and thus extremely self-obsessed. But I kept thinking about Mr. Truax's project and felt called to do this work. Mr. Truax's wife also worked in my high school and I had taken two of her classes. Both me and my older sister had attended this school and the Truax's were kind of like family friends. Anyways, the whole year I kept thinking I should email Mrs. Truax and tell her about this job and I felt inspired to honor her late husband, but I just never got around to it.

Then one day, after I graduated, I felt this weird overwhelming urge to send her that email. Feeling strange, I sat down and detailed how I missed him along with the work I had done the previous year and how it was my way of continuing Mr. Truax's legacy. It was late and I didn't want to send it, so I scheduled the email to be sent the next morning at 8 a.m. I noticed she had emailed me back and it turns out that day was Mr. Truax's birthday. Oh my God. She was touched to get a remembrance and she told me she still can salsa to keep his tradition

going. I'd love to say that I knew that it was his birthday, but I had no clue. Was he urging me from beyond? Did my intuition sense that it was significant for me to send this particular email on that particular day after thinking about it for months? I think a lot about this as a positive glitch in the matrix, and I think about Mr. Truax a lot as he was such a good person who passed too young. Many of us have complicated — oh, God, this is going

to get me — Oh, no. Many of us have complicated relationships with high school, but sometimes we're lucky enough to have good individuals who shape us in those uncertain years. Like, what a beautiful thing — That's so beautiful. — to do for someone who actually really did that work. Like, when I first was reading this, I was like, please don't tell me this is gonna...

And it's like, oh no, this is just like the coolest person who died young. Yeah. Shout out to Mrs. Mercer. I fucking would not be who I am today without her. Judy Kavanaugh. Judy Kavanaugh taught me everything about British literature and how to be a cool badass lady. It's also my sister Adrienne's mother. Oh, lovely. Right? Small town shit.

We're lucky enough to have good individuals who shape us in those uncertain years. Your podcast has stayed with me through high school, college, graduate school, and beyond. Telling you. Wow. I feel you are my wise aunt's giving me advice on about how to survive to the point where my mother thinks I fear monger You probably do because we do too Yeah

Thank you for all you do in terms of mental health fucking politeness and your advice on how to live in a politically precarious Place as a young woman stay sexy and maybe send that email H and then it says PS I've made so many people listen to your episode released right after Roe v. Wade was overturned, where you talk about how devastating this reality can be. Thanks for speaking up about it, and hopefully we aren't doomed to hear men opine about a female health crisis for eternity. Oh, H. H. I think in honor of H and Mr. Truex, we should do an unprecedented thing and end on

that one with five stories. Did Mr. Truex outdo us all? He usurped this email about celebrity sighting that I now can't read. Oh, no. So I think we're going to have, it's a tribute. I think that's nice. Changing it up a little like he did. Yeah, I think, yeah, nice one.

You know what I mean? All right, well, I mean, first time ever. Yeah. Guys, look for your Easter eggs. This is a mini-sode unlike any mini-sode ever before. Never in the history of my favorite murder. This is where it all falls apart. You've been 12 years old.

Oh shit, don't curse us. Thanks for listening since you were 12 years old. Yeah, we appreciate you. Pretty nice. Stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye. 12 year old. Elvis, do you want a cookie?

This has been an Exactly Right production. Our senior producer is Alejandra Keck. Our editor is Aristotle Acevedo. This has been an exactly right production. Our senior producer is Alejandra Keck. Our editor is Aristotle Acevedo. This episode was mixed by Liana Squalacci. Email your hometowns to MyFavoriteMurder at gmail.com. And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at My Favorite Murder. Goodbye!