My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 417

Episode Date: January 6, 2025

This week’s hometowns include a dog named Turbo and an annual Hot Dog Day. 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. What's in this McDonald's bag? The McValue meal. For $5.79 plus tax, you can get your choice of junior chicken, McDouble, or chicken snack wrap, plus small fries and a small fountain drink. So pick up a McValue meal today at participating McDonald's restaurants in Canada. Prices exclude delivery. Hi, I'm Bridger Weinegger 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. To my favorite murder. The mini-sode. Yup. Yup. You agree?

I think, I think so. Okay, well think about it and get back to me. Circle back whenever you have a chance. I will. After the holidays. In the meantime, should I read you a story? Mm-hmm. I'm going to read you a story.

Okay. I'm going to read you a story. Okay. I'm going to read you a story. Okay. I'm going to read you a story. Okay. I'm going to read you a story. Okay. I'm going to read you a story. Okay. well think about it and get back to me circle back whenever you have a chance after the holidays.

In the meantime, should I read you a story? Mm-hmm. Okay. Should I go first? Yeah, please do. Okay, this is called family vacation turn claustrophobic escape mission. Karen, Georgia and co. Y'all have been my constant companions for years and I can't believe I'm just now writing in. During a recent catch up on Minisodes, I heard you asked for disaster vacation stories. So here's mine. In the mid-00s... What was that?

Thoughts? Thoughts, yeah. I like mid-00s better though. Mid-00s. Mid-00s. My family went on a trip to Prince Edward Island. My little sister and I, insufferable preteen book nerds, were hoping to see every place mentioned in Anne of Green Gables. My dad had other plans. His goal was to visit all the lighthouses on the island. There are over 50. Oh, Jesus Christ.

That's a lot of driving around on a vacation. To get out to a point, the end of a jetty. To look at a similar thing over and over. Exactly. On a drive to the capital city of Charlottetown, our dads spontaneously took us to check yet another lighthouse on his list. We were the only people there when we arrived, so we went to take a couple of photos. My sister and I had long since clued into the meaning of the phrase, if you've seen

one you've seen them all. So we weren't too keen to stay for very long. We were about to ask our parents to leave when they saw two college-aged girls trying to climb up from the rocky shore with their bicycles. My dad asked if they needed help and boy did they. Turns out they worked for a cruise ship that was docked in the city and since they had the morning off, they asked a local boat guy, and it says captain, to ferry them across the bay so they could bike back into town on the scenic shoreline.

When they got halfway across the bay, the boat guy turned off the engine and began pressuring them to drink and take off their clothes since it was so hot. Oh. They were stuck for hours with this creep on open water before he finally brought them to the lighthouse. He boasted that they would come crawling back to him because he was their only way back to the city dock before their cruise ship left.

Fucking asshole. I know. The lighthouse was so remote, there wasn't a visitor center where they could get help or any other houses or businesses and no one had a cell phone. The girls frantically asked us if we could drive them somewhere and call a cab and it says and the police to come get them. My mom and dad took one look at these two young ladies and with two dollars of their own decided that calling a cab wasn't going to cut it. We had no choice but to drive them back to the city dock ourselves.

The only problem, our rented two-door Mini Cooper, which was already fit to burst with a family of four. Undeterred, my handyman dad was able to, and then it says, dismantle their bicycles to fit in the trunk, while my mom squished the girls and me in the back seat and then shoved my little sister on the floor of the passenger seat between her legs. She's going to get that momming done.

No girl left behind because of a douchebag man. Exactly. To this day, I'm still not sure how we all fit. We must have broken countless unknown Canadian traffic laws, but we got the girls back to their ship with time to spare and to write a police report, hopefully. They even bought us t-shirts from the crew's gift shop as a thank you. Looking back on the story, it makes my skin crawl to imagine how badly things might have gone for those girls if my family hadn't been in the right place at the right time. Stay sexy and rent an SUV, Abigail.

For real. God. Abigail, I love that your parents are the kind of people that like, oh, we are not only just going to get involved, we're going to make this work. Yeah. Because like, who knows what would happen if they like left them behind and then the guy came back, you know? Yeah, like, ugh. Ugh. Gross. Gross. All right. Keep your eyes out for those boat guys.

Hey, if you have any positive boat guy stories, we're here to read them to counter this fucking bullshit. We know. We know there's positive ones out there. We know there's great boat guys out there. Okay. My first one, subject line, it's the one you've been waiting for. I may have babysat for witness protection program kids?

Question mark. Oh, that's good. And then it says, hello, good people and pets. I've been wanting to write in with this story for a long time. And when I heard the story on episode 454 about the 1978 Lufthansa heist, I knew the time was right. I grew up in a small Appalachian city in the eighties. When I was a teenager, a new family moved in down the block

and as I had a monopoly on the neighborhood babysitting jobs, it wasn't long before they hired me to watch their four kids. About a month after they moved in and during what turned out to be my last babysitting gig with them, the youngest kid, three or four years old, told me about how they had to leave their old house really fast in the middle of the night and couldn't take anything with them. She ended it with, and then we came here. While she was

telling me this, the eldest, maybe 10, got a stricken look on his face and was doing everything he could to get her to stop talking. Oh, no. That's my sister and I all our lives, but we were not in witness protection. Just shut up. Just shut up. Being a kid myself, I'm sure I thought it was just some weird toddler nonsense and didn't really give it a second thought. Until a couple of days later, when I realized they were gone and the house was empty.

Oh, those poor kids. I know, those poor kids. later, when I realized they were gone and the house was empty. Those poor kids. I know those poor kids. It was then in my 14 year old budding murdering no brain, I decided that I had probably babysat for a witness protection program family. I was convinced the 10 year old told his parents everything that went down and they high tailed it out of there. I was so freaked out by this notion that I didn't tell anyone this story until just a few years ago, in

case the mob came looking for me. Of course, I don't know that they were really in the witness protection program. Maybe they just woke up one morning and decided my town sucked and they'd wait to leave. I guess we'll never know. Stay sexy and don't blow your cover are. And then it says, name withheld because, you know, the mob. Oh my God. Are you the 10-year-old or the two-year-old listening right now? And was that you? And yes, indeed, you were in the mob. Or no, maybe not in the mob, but you know what I mean. Please, email us.

Can you imagine? Were you a witness protection family? Like, tell us, we need to know the details. And I know that you're going to say, it's way more boring than you think it is. God. But we need to know. Also, untrue. It's boring to you because you already went through

and it wasn't all day, every day excitement. But compared to walking around in a field full of cows, it's way more exciting, I assure. Oh, man. That 10-year-old has chronic anxiety now. I guarantee it. My mom's third man experience. Hey guys, I just heard Georgia's story about third man syndrome and my hands are shaking as I write this. I haven't even finished the entire episode yet but I have to tell you about how my mom's life was saved by her deceased father.

Years ago, my mom, Joyce, was working at a Target store on the receiving dock in the back corner of the stockroom. Joyce is such a mom name, isn't it? Such a mom name. From like 1987. Yeah, it's good. She was literally standing in the corner by herself counting items on a pallet when she felt a massive shove from behind that pushed her away from the corner. She turned around to say, hey, what the hell? To realize no one could have been behind her,

her back was up against the wall. Just then, an entire palette full of extra shelving fell from the top shelf in the stock room near the ceiling. Holy shit. It landed right where she had been standing. Turns out there were employees in the next aisle trying to add items to that top shelf and hit the pallet of shelving, pushing it off the other side. Guys, come on.

The security guard had seen it happen on the screen in her office and came running back to grab my mom and say, we almost lost you. There's no explanation for what pushed mom and say, we almost lost you. There's no explanation for what pushed mom and no one else was in that aisle with her on the security camera. Her parents had passed away maybe a year before this and she says she knows for certain it was her dad that saved her. My papa was an amazing man and I thank him every day for

saving my mom. Thank you for your amazing podcast that gives all of us humor and hope. Stay sexy and thank you guardian angel, Papa Anastasia. Oh my god, Anastasia. I love that one. The like surety that it's her dad is like, so like got me choked up. Yeah. You know, where it's just like, she's like, my dad shoved me like every other day. My dad was a big pusher. A constant. I love to stand under things like pianos that were dangling out of windows. She's like, my dad shoved me like every other day. My dad was a big pusher. I love to stand under things like pianos that were dangling out of windows.

I can't tell you how many times he shoved me out of the way of danger and did it one more time. I knew that familiar feeling. But also I want to know if that security guard that saw it on the camera saw the shove where it's all sudden she goes like that. Totally. Me too. That'd be cool.

Okay. Anyway, the subject line of this email is Hell's Angels used to pick up my mom from school. Gals, gals, gals, it's time. I've arrived. I can finally tell the story and I know you'll get it. I've been here since 2016. UK listener, you got me through it all.

We're grown. Let's go." Oh, that's cute. I know. In episode 450, you talked about the Hells Angels and yas, I can read. Sorry. Y-A-S-S, yas. I can finally share my mom's ridiculous connection to them.

Back in the 70s, my granddad, my mom's dad was well known in the northeast of England, first for being a prize fighting Irish boxer. Wow. Yeah, right? I kind of want to look that up. But also in his later years as a respected pub landlord. When my mom was around seven or eight, he decided to branch out and purchase a well known wine bar that had fallen on hard times. What he didn't know is that this bar was often frequented by the hell's angels.known wine bar that had fallen on hard times. What he didn't know is that this bar was often frequented by the Hell's Angels. A wine bar?

A wine bar. That's so classy. And it was their base for dealing cocaine. That's why. That's why they're bringing the cocaine where the people who buy cocaine are the wine bar. That's right. The people who have money for cocaine. Yeah. The wine bar. Oh my God. But also kind of hilarious. We were like, do you want to go wine tasting and then just

get insanely wired and talk about plans? Let's do it. They end that sentence with, and was their base for dealing cocaine? Terrific. He tried many different ways to turf them out, including installing mirrors on the walls so he could see everything they were doing, but mysteriously they would always end up smashed. This went on for a while until one day my granddad remembered that if you can't beat them, join them. No, he didn't become a Hell's Angel.

Instead, he freaking employed them. He made a deal with the head of the gang, and then in parentheses it says, is that the right term? That if they stopped dealing from his bar, he would give shifts to each of them as doorman. Wow. Right? They were happy to accept the work and it kept the bar safe too. After that, because that bar was filled with wired lunatics with a bunch of money. And drunk on red, shitty red wine probably back then, Bourgelaise and shit. Oh my God.

You know that gorgeous vintage of wine that's from northeast England? That just turns your teeth purple. Yeah, and gets you swinging. Okay. Well, after that, my granddad started to get on well with their gang leader, a terrifying guy called Jungle Jim. Who would frequently give my mom a ride on the back of his Harley. Jungle Jim, I get it. Jungle Jim, who would frequently give my mom a ride on the back of his Harley. Jungle Jim, I get it. Jungle Jim.

Jungle Jim. Jungle Jim. So my, Dave DeMo, our family friend who was my age, used to call my dad Jungle Jim. Oh my God, I love it. He thought it was the funniest. Jungle Jim used to frequently give my mom a ride on the back of his Harley if he ever saw her walking home from school alone. She said she was never scared of him and he kind of resembled a goth Santa Claus.

I can see it. That's perfect. Totally. Anywho, I never got to meet either of my mom's parents as they died young, but gosh, I wish I had the chance. My mom is an incredible human being despite a chaotic childhood, but I will say that my murderino tendencies are down to her as she let me read James Patterson since I was about nine. I now work as a life coach, helping people find joy in these dark times and often listen to the podcast whilst I'm creating slightly more lighter content. Keep going, gals.

Oh, gals. Oh, we will. So thankful for stumbling across you all these years ago. Stay sexy, Meg. Meg, can you coach my life, please? Meg. You're fun, you sound fun. Meg, you're a fucking legend.

You're from, you're from, first of all, from what I'm gathering, and I could be wrong, it sounds like an Irish prize fighter fell in love with a British lady and moved to her side of town. Ooh, scandalous. Which is like ultimate Romeo and Juliet. Come on. Totally.

Oh my God. Love it. That's fun. That's great. That was a great one. My last one is called Dog Snitch and it starts, howdy. A couple years ago, after much begging from our kids, we added a beagle mix with a gentle demeanor and fantastic eye makeup picture attached to our family named Turbo. This story also involves my son who has sensory

processing disorder and will often put things that are not food into his mouth. His favorites are small objects like buttons and coins. You know, stuff that makes mom freak out when they are in a four-year-old's mouth. We had Turbo for about six months when one night he was scratching and barking at our son's door after bedtime. Usually Turbo is pretty chill, so I assume the most obvious thing.

My son has snuck a Lego or something into his room to chew on and is now choking to death, and the dog is telling me to get in there and help now. I rushed into the room, Turbo at my heels, to see my son looking surprised and guilty with half a candy bar in his hand. I stood in the doorway, scolding him for sneaking food into his room, My son looking surprised and guilty with half a candy bar in his hand. I stood in the doorway, scolded him for sneaking food into his room, and Turbo took advantage

of the moment to run in, snatch what was left of the candy bar, and scarf it down as fast as doggly possible. I went in thinking we had adopted a hero dog to realize that he was a snitch who would sell you out for half a chocolate bar. Hell yeah. Fortunately, Turbo suffered no ill effects and the only stitches he got was from a hernia surgery a year later. Get it?

Snitches getting stitches? Oh yeah. Stay sexy and hide your chocolate. Megs, she her. Oh. Another Meg. Yeah, two Megs in a row. That's good luck.

Oh, here's Alejandro with the photo. We'll put it up on Instagram and everywhere. Oh, let me see. Let me clicky. It's a gorgeous dog. Oh my God. That eyeliner is simply incredible. That's gorgeous.

Truly. Is it tattooed on? I mean, that's just bring that to like the tattoo, the permanent makeup person and be like, I want my eyes like this. Can you give me one of these kind of a permanent cool cajol? I believe they call it. Frank has a really good eyeliner too. Yeah.

Okay, here's my last one. The subject of line of this email is hot dog day. And it starts one of the best I've ever seen. Enough grab ass, let's get to it. You say you like hot dogs, then you need to come to my town's annual hot dog day celebration. My little college town of Alfred, New York, located about 80 miles south of Rochester, has an annual hot dog centered festival that you should totally attend. Yeah. Yeah. Each year on a Saturday in April, our tiny main street is closed to traffic and turned

into a street festival devoted to all things hot dog. If I were a mayor of the town, that would be every day. That would be your first political move? Yeah. The first bill you'd sign into law. There are, of course, hot dog vendors, as well as kosher dog and not dogs for vegetarians like me.

There's a parade with people dressed as hot dogs, packets of mustard and ketchup, et cetera, as well as fire trucks, adorable little kids from the karate studio dressed in their tiny geese and all the usual small town stuff. There are games, rides, and of course the wiener dog races in which confused dachshunds run around sniffing each other's butts and eventually meandering toward the finish line. This sounds like the best day of all time. Why did our tiny town of 800 souls decide to celebrate all things hot dog? Great question.

I don't know. Wikipedia says our hot dog day started in the 1970s and hot dogs were chosen as the theme because they were cheap and therefore popular with our college students. And also for those of us who lived through the 70s, it was the recession and times were tough. It was, that was like the gas crisis, money was tight. Yeah. Yeah.

There was a, here at least there was a drought, right? Yeah, yeah. That's right. All kinds of shitty stuff. Yeah. Nothing like today. Whatever its origin, Hot Dog Day is a chaotic fun event with all proceeds from the food vendors and games going to local charities.

Oh my God. So if you'd like to cheer on some bewildered wiener dogs while stuffing your faces with everyone's favorite snack, come on over to Little Alfred, New York and hang with me and the probably two other murderinos who live here. Oh my God. I'm picturing us like at the Rose Parade, the, we're like commentating on it as it goes on below us. Yes. Live. We're live from the Hot Dog Day Festival. And Georgia, if you look right

down here, the children and geese are storming up the street to protect us from all the hot dog attacks. That float took 8,000 hot dogs to create. Thank you for the donation from Nathan's. Stay sexy and don't mock the not dogs. Juliana. And then in parentheses it says rhymes with banana. Like we don't, I can't pronounce Juliana without that help. Thanks Juliana. Rhymes with banana. Rhymes with banana.

That's the best. I mean, these festivals like truly warm my heart. Yeah. What's your festival? What's your town festival? We need to know about it. We need to know what goes on in it. Do you think it's any better than the Petaluma Butter and Egg Stape Parade?

I doubt it. Man. Yeah. That's cool. It is. It's real fun. All right. Well, that was a quick one.

Thanks so much for listening and tuning in and all of the things. And if you have a story you'd like to tell us that's interesting and funny and fun that you think we'd like at this point. Or horrifying. Or horrifying or a true hometown. Yeah. Or kind of anything in between. Yeah.

Head on over to the My Favorite Murder Gmail, which is literally myfavoritemurder.gmail.com and send it in. Please participate if you'd like. We'll give you a trophy, a participation trophy. Get in here. Yeah. Stay sexy. And don't get murdered.

Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie? Ah. ["Sweet Home Alone"] 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!