My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 419

Episode Date: January 20, 2025

This week’s hometowns include a canoe voyage and finding a long-lost sibling. 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. Calling all sellers, Salesforce is hiring account executives to join us on the cutting edge of technology. Here, innovation isn't a buzzword. It's a way of life. You'll be solving customer challenges faster with agents, winning with purpose, and showing the world what AI was meant to be. Let's create the agent-first future together. Head to salesforce.com slash careers to learn more. Clear your schedule for you time with a handcrafted espresso beverage from Starbucks.

Savor the new small and mighty Cortado. Cozy up with the familiar flavors of pistachio. Or shake up your mood with an iced brown sugar oat shaken espresso. Whatever you choose, your espresso will be handcrafted with care at Starbucks. My favorite murder. Hello. And welcome. To my favorite murder. The mini-sode.

That's right. It's small. It's an episode. So we named it a mini-sewed. Do you see the logic that we're using here or are you fighting us tooth and nail? What would you call it? We want to know. The maxi-sewed?

The midi-sewed. Isn't that a, aren't like dresses midi now too? Yeah. The midi-sewed. Mm-hmm. That's also a choice. There's also the maxi pad sewed. Absolutely. With wings.

One of our greatest bits of all time. The always maxi pad bit. Here we go. This is a classic hometown, and the subject line is Classic Hometown POV from my six-year-old self. Hi ladies, I've been listening for years thanks to my amazing brother who introduced me to your pod. My boyfriend has suffered, and that sufferings in quotes, through hours of your show, thanks to me.

Thanks to me. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Muahahaha. Ah. Oh. Mine has too. We taught young women to decenter men by centering us.

I love it. It's pretty intense. Yeah. I'm holding space for that. Okay. It literally says, okay, to this story. I've been wanting to share this story for months and I'm finally getting around to sending it in.

My classic hometown story takes place in San Diego, Po-A in 2010. I was only six years old at the time, but I remember the story so clearly and I've always had a weird connection to the girl who died. Chelsea King was a 16-year-old track star from Poe High School who left her home on the morning of February 25th to go for her regular run at the Rancho Bernardino Community Park. When she hadn't returned by 5 p.m. that evening, her family grew concerned and went to the park looking for her. The next day, her face was all over the local news and posters were plastered everywhere. A few days into the investigation, her underwear was found at Lake Hodges, 14 miles from where she

went on her run. Her DNA, as well as DNA from a registered sex offender, John Gardner, was found on her underwear. At that point, it was sadly clear that she would not be found alive. John Gardner was arrested on suspicion of first degree murder and on March 2nd, 2010, Chelsea's body was found in an isolated area of Lake Hodges. When it came out that her body had been recovered, I can remember the news playing at my house for hours. She lived less

than 10 minutes from me. Being a six-year-old girl, I obviously didn't know all the details of her death, but I was old enough to know that something really bad had happened to her. I remember mourning her death. When family members would talk about her, they would always look at me and say the same thing, you look just like her. Oh. For a little, for a child. Don't say that to a child, everyone. No. And then it says that I was stuck with me and as a six-year-old, all I could see was

myself 10 years later when she would be on the TV screen in my living room. I remember crying over her death and having so many confusing thoughts. I wanted to write her and her family letters. Obviously, those letters were just a confusing rambling of words. It didn't make sense because I was a first grader, but for whatever reason, I felt heartbroken over her death. The reason is because you have empathy. And it's somebody in your community.

And it's you learning about bad things happen in the world. Totally. It's so normal and actually, you know, it'd be abnormal if you didn't do that, you know what I mean? Exactly. Her family set up a foundation in her honor and my mom and I participated in a 5K to fund college scholarships. Over a million dollars were raised in her name. Her killer was convicted and was linked to another murder that happened just the year before to a 14-year-old girl named Amber Dubois. I remember this. Her foundation helped raise awareness to the importance of keeping sexually violent predators

away from areas with children. I still think about her and her family all these years later. Being told I look just like that girl really did a number on me and is the reason I became the murder in all I am today. Thank you for everything you guys do. This podcast isn't just entertaining, but it's educational and inspiring. You give voices to those who lost theirs too soon. SSDGM, Megan.

14 and 16. And I like that Megan points out that what it changed isn't that girls shouldn't be out alone, it's that sexual assault offenders, that's what should change is the sentencing laws and that, you know, how they're monitored, not what we're doing, going for a fucking jog in the afternoon, you know?

Correct. It's just absurd. It's a very slow progress, but that is happening where it is. This is, we have to start looking at the people responsible for what is happening and not talking about their reaction to what is happening. Totally. Totally. Yeah.

We don't need the curfew. It's the fucking predators who need the curfew. Yeah. Thanks, Megan. That was a vulnerable one. So thank you for that. Totally. Okay, this one's a little more lighthearted. Okay.

This is called, When I was a Trash Mom. Hello to all the fabulous people and pets of MFM from North Carolina. In Minnesota 408, you asked us to tell the stories of when we were the trash parents, so here's the story of when I was a trash mom. Back in the summer of 2018, my brother and his wife came to visit our family,

and our older brother came to see us all too. They wanted to get a beer in the evening after dinner at a local bar slash restaurant. Our daughters, Carly and Julia, were 11 and five at the time. And we had just started leaving them at home for Carly to babysit for short periods of time during the day, like a trip to the grocery store. So the 11-year-old is babysitting the five-year-old.

It's just roll those dice. Why not? I mean, it's like you've got to start giving them some, you know, freedom and you've got to give them responsibilities. That's scary. But it's okay. It's totally okay. I mean, it's been done for millennia. But it's the same feeling as when Nora got her driver's permit and then my sister was

like, wait, now she drives? No way. And I'm like, oh, yes way. I'll do it. You have to let her. Now she gets to choose wherever she gets to go. Don't do it. Okay.

And then it says about the grocery store, always paid of course, because I was an unpaid babysitter to my half sister when I was young. There you go. We were just planning to be gone for an hour or so, back at home by 8.30, and we were only going a few miles away.

Plans to drink never last an hour. It's never, you're never. No, no, no. Unless you're none. Yeah. And even then, maybe not, like the idea, the whole idea of drinking is for more drinking. Totally. That's what it does. Yes. That's a, that's a very me statement, but it's the truth. It's like, that's the whole deal. You break down.

That's why it's addictive. It's the point of it. The more you have, the more you, the better you get at it. What's the one is too many, a thousand isn't enough? Like come on. Same with donuts. Okay. We would be home before dark.

If they needed anything, Carly had a device she could text us from and we still had a home phone. Everything's fine. Great. I'm a rather forgetful person and I'm always leaving things behind, especially my phone. I realized after we got to the restaurant that I had left my phone at home,

but my husband had his, so no big deal, right? And at this point you'd have the husband text the daughter and be like, yo, text me if anything comes up, right? Oh, that's a good plan. Yeah, they didn't do that. At this point, I was like, I'm going to get baked potato skins. Oh, potato skins.

Potato skins. That sounds so good. I'm just saying there's no parental skills in me whatsoever, where it's like, wait, here's how we should take care of this problem or here's how any, like any, here's best practices for children watching children. It's like, where's my Long Island iced tea? I don't care about anything else.

I have one hour to party out of my way. We ordered some munchies, potato skins, and had a couple of rounds of drinks with my husband as designated driver. We were all having fun and of course, completely lost track of time. Just before 10, my husband got a text message from Carly asking when we were coming home. He said we were on our way and we rushed back home. We felt guilty about being gone so long,

but it got so much worse when I picked up my phone at home and saw a series of missed calls and texts from her like, when are you coming home? Should I put Julia to bed? I put Julia to bed. Are you guys coming home? Of course, she sent all of these to me before she bothered to text or call her dad. Of course. Yeah. Then Carly told us how she and Julia climbed into Carly's bed to read some stories and there was a spider in her bed. That might not sound like much of a problem, but I have unfortunately passed my arachnophobia to my daughters, so that is a big deal.

So she had to kill a spider in her own bed, no doubt with five-year-old Julia screaming the whole time. Needless to say, I felt like the worst mom ever. Actually, we felt so bad that after I overpaid her for babysitting, both of my brothers paid her too. She made over $60 in those three traumatic hours. So it wasn't for nothing. That's right. That's all that matters.

If you can get a little money for the trauma. Totally, like acknowledge my trauma monetarily. That's all we're asking for. That's how we make up for it. That's what suing people is. R. Carly, who just turned 18, has never let us forget the time mom and dad were only going to be gone an hour and just abandon us.

But both our girls have turned out pretty great. Y'all are the best. I'm a year one listener and really loving the MFM rewind episodes. I was a skipper for the first few years, but I'm a skipper no more. You always make me laugh. Please keep it coming in 2025. We're definitely going to need it. You are not wrong. Did you see that? That was like, I had my seven day free trial of 2025 and I'd like my money back, please. I'd like to cancel my subscription, please. For real. Stay sexy and don't forget your phone.

Lori, she her. PS, I got an Elvis, do you want a cookie tote bag for Christmas that I love picked out by Carly, my third MFM tote bag. Maybe I have a problem. No, you do not. I have all the play. Yeah, exactly. They rule and we care a lot about them. Yeah.

But also I love that that story comes full circle by the two children in the story 20 years later or whatever, buying merch. Totally. It's like a merch plug at the end of the day. I'm always like, do we have to, do we want, I'm always like, do people want more totes? Yes. Everyone wants totes. You never don't need it. I have like 14. And how sorry, but how long were they gone? I missed it. It seems like three hours maybe.

Oh, that's fucking nothing. Are you kidding me? How dare you? 11 these days is like young though. We were smoking fucking cloves already, but these days. It's so young and it's so not at home by yourself with little kids. No. No. No. Also, it is that thing where it's like whether it's a spider in your bed or just the idea that suddenly like you look into the kitchen and everything looks kind of sinister and

sharp. Yeah. Like it's just like it's such a young, it's the first time to be like, oh, and if something goes down, it's on me. And it's so quiet the first time you're like home alone. So quiet. Especially when you hear the scratching in the attic. Right?

Oof. I was home by myself, but I was like 21 or 22. And I heard something in the attic, and I had a cat that was just staring at the attic. I was like, it was probably a possum. Yeah. But then when I was like, so I went into my parents, like, it's gonna sound super fancy, but they have a walk-in closet

that's the most low-key walk-in closet of all time. Yeah, it's like you can step inside. Yeah, it's very like 1987 version. But I went to try the door and it felt like someone was pressing back against the door. And I ran, I just ran, got into my car and drove out to my old neighbor's house. And I was like, it was like almost midnight. I was like, he's like, what are you doing?

And I'm like, you have to come back with me. I think someone's at my parents' house. And I made him come and like check the entire house. Good for you. I would have been like, I'm pretending that didn't happen. And like go to bed. It was because the cat was because the cat was basically pointing to the door. The cats will alert you. They will alert you and freak you the fuck out.

This episode is brought to you by Companion. Iris and Josh seem like the perfect match, but when a weekend getaway turns into a nightmare, Iris realizes that things aren't as perfect as they appear. From the creators of Barbarian and the studio that brought you The Notebook comes a twisted tale of modern romance and the sweet satisfaction of revenge. Companion, only in theaters January 31st. The subject line of this email is, Runaway Child.

Hi lovely ladies, long time listener, fourth or fifth time writer, I've lost count. When I was in second grade, they just go right into it. I love it. Just a little bit of a passive aggressive,

hint hint, and then here we go. When I was in second grade, my mom took a leave of absence from work to stay home with my youngest brother, who had just been born the year before. During this time, she also watched two family friends after school to earn some extra cash. I can only assume she was being compensated. That was in parentheses. Brennan was my best friend at the time. And one day we decided that I was going to go home with her. While our moms were inside talking, I snuck into the back seat of her car.

This is my jam. This is KK. All the way. Age nine. I just loved this shit. I loved doing this shit. Okay. This was just a normal four-door car, not an SUV with a hatchback. So I laid on the floor behind her driver's seat and Brennan and her little sister covered me with their backpacks and coats. And then in parentheses, for some reason I remember foil, but that seems like an absurd thing for eight-year-olds to have on hand.

Maybe they had one of those like runners, post-run foil jackets. Yeah, like blankets. Some kind of a camping, leftover camping equipment or someone did a 10K. How many Ks is it? 12K? It's 5K, 10K. I don't think you'd need one for a 5K or maybe not even a 10K. How long was the last one you ran?

Honestly, I used to run five and 10Ks when I was in elementary school with my mom. What? I know. I loved running as a kid. What? I know. It's weird. It's still fresh Georgia.

There's still stuff to learn about each other. Look. Look at us. Look at us. We're still in a discovery phase. I thought you were going to say, look at us. There's still time to go back. So I'm like, no, there fucking isn't.

No, no. Oh, please don't. You'll immediately, both your hips will fall off. Her mom got in the car and started driving. I held my breath and tried to steady my breathing. We made it to Brendan's house and they all got out of the car. This is where the plan faltered as we didn't actually think I'd make it to her house. Brendan was able to sneak back into the garage and get me to the basement.

At this point, we had no idea what to do. Would my mom freak out and call, wondering where I was? No. Would Brendan's mom find me? No. After an hour or so, we both went upstairs and told Brendan's mom what had happened. She was none too thrilled and called my mom to let her know. I assumed at this point there'd be a search happening as we were going on two hours of an eight year old missing from home. But alas, neither my mom or dad knew I was gone.

She went to pick her up at school and came home without her. Where's the, like there's no, how do you miss that? She just, cause she was kind of chatting and then just like she got distracted. I'm sure my six-year-old and one-year-old brothers were keeping them occupied. That's what it is. They had intense baby brain. Anyway, I don't know how I got back home, but after that day, Brennan's mom always checked the vaccine. Yeah. Thanks for all you do to make the world a better place and for giving shout

outs to teachers when talking about Karen's sister. It can be rough out there. Stay sexy and are you a runaway if no one notices? Bailey. Oh, tough. It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair. That's hilarious. It's like they pay attention to you when you don't want them to pay attention to you.

And then no one pays attention when you're trying to do a show. Oh, you see fucking everything when I'm trying to be sneaky and then trying to do a show. Yeah. I'm not going to tell you the title of this one, but you'll probably get it. OK. Hi, everyone.

Then it just goes into, somewhere in the Midwest during the 80s, my younger sister and I were dragged to my grandpa's house so the family could go out back and play cards. Like, what would you give to fucking be there right now? In the sixties, you said? Eighties even, in the Midwest playing cards in the backyard.

I mean, just, you know there was cafe lights hung from a tree to the back porch roof. And speaking of Miller High Life, it's just like bottles popping, right? And if you're gonna talk about cafe lights, you better be talking about Miller High Life, girl. That's our song, that's our country song we're about to write.

Get ready. When we first arrived, everyone ate dinner and then the kids were promptly shoved into the spare room to, quote, play. This bedroom was circa 1960 with shag carpet, rock hard bed. My grandma had this fucking room. Everything smelled musty, and it had a small TV with a VCR in the bottom to play Lassie for the hundredth time.

Like, I am there. Yeah. It was kid prison, which is one word. I'm about seven and the oldest between all the kids. There are five of us bored out of our minds. So naturally we need to do something about that. Earlier during dinner, I remembered seeing this massive jar in the fridge

filled with red stuff. And before being shoved into kid prison, I got a sneak peek. Now to the master plan. I convinced my cousin to go with me to get the jar because it's a two-man job. Plus, I had another cousin being lookout. We were sophisticated criminals then.

We managed to slowly carry this massive jar of cherries to the kid prison where we all stood around and admired its glory. There's nothing better in life when you're a child than maraschino cherries. I'm sorry to keep on talking about Nora, but she, to this day, any time we go out to eat, lunch or dinner, she's like, can I get a chile temple?

And it's like, you're 18 years old. But it's that vibe. It's that it is magical. It'll never not be magical. I was seven and I still remember the waiter at the restaurant overhearing me say, I did a million maraschino cherries if I could. And he brought me a fucking like shot glass full of them.

I still, it was like one of the best days of my life. That's called customer service right there. That's fucking right. I'm sure my dad tipped like shit. Okay. Marty! Okay. Da, da, da, glory.

We finally cracked it open. All grabbed a cherry and popped it in her mouth at the same time. Almost as quick, we instantly spit it out. Ew, gross, these cherries don't taste right. And then we decided we don't care and we went full in. I had a pink arm up to my bicep from grabbing cherries. We were in heaven.

And then, so the title of this one's called Drunk Kids because it says, fast forward to drunk parents finding drunk kids passed out everywhere with a cherry-less jar. Everyone was freaking out, kids were stumbling, my little sister puking. It's hilarious to hear the stories because I only remember the first part of that night.

To this day, my aunts and uncles can't agree what the cherries were soaking in. Some say gin, others say moonshine. Stay sexy and don't put your boozy fruit on the bottom shelf, Suze. Suze, the okay, wait, it was her brothers and sisters and then like cousins? Cousins, yeah. Fuck that. There's there's something really joyous. There was a moment post trying that like, because it's so little kid to be like, these taste terrible. Oh, we're just going to be eating them.

I want them and I have to have them. But there must have been this glory moment between like the last little kid eating their maraschino cherry and some sort of let's run on the couch, let's chase each other but on the couch type of thing. Like some older sister came up with a rad game for a bunch of moonshine drunk kids that probably only could be sustained for about four minutes and then it was mayhem. For the moment there was glory. And it was true. All kids, you know, the floor is lava style game joy. Oh, to go back.

And you've been searching for it ever since. And you'll never find it. My last email is a classic trash dad. And in parentheses, that's what the subject line is. And then it says, four-minute read. So it says, I've been listening since 2018, and I started with the episode where you covered the serial killer in Hawaii,

followed by Coincidence Island. The rest is history. You are truly the best slash my favorite. Thank you. My parents divorced when I was in elementary school, and my dad moved out to the Pacific Northwest from the Midwest to basically start over. That meant for two weeks over Christmas and two months every summer, my sister and I got

to fly out and visit. We did lots of fun activities in Washington and my dad enjoyed the outdoors and encouraged us to do the same. Sometimes his eagerness for us to have fun bordered on dangerous. Single dads, so much fun. Single dads, riffin' activities. How do I do this? What do I think is fun? They'll be fine is usually the mentality. One summer when I was about 14, my dad thought it would be very fun for me and my 15-year-old

sister and 12-year-old stepbrother to go on a canoe voyage. He had a small canoe that we would utilize in small ponds, mostly to putter around and go fishing. The plan, drop the three of us children off at a boat dock on the Columbia River. In this section of the river, it was a few hundred feet wide, very swift and very deep. And a canoe? And a canoe. And the Columbia River is fucking serious shit.

Is it? Okay. Shit. The first thing I thought of was like, I'm pretty sure we've done stories that involves the Columbia River. Yeah. Somewhere in my filing cabinet of my life. But then also they have their own clothing line. So you know it's not just like a low-key river. There's no trickle for a clothing line. There's got to be like some rapids and shit. Okay. Could be wrong now.

Okay. We were armed with three paddles, three life jackets, a safe, and then it says in parentheses, a safe trash dad, and a cooler of water and snacks My sister had a small primitive cell phone circa 2010 that we put in a plastic bag in the cooler smart I kid you not he dropped us off and casually said I'll pick you up in a few hours down river Pick you up in a few hours downriver. Just make sure you don't go past the dock I need to get you at." And thus our adventure began. No! Like holy shit.

We did not realize how massive the river was until it was just us on our tiny canoe. We stayed close to the edge so we wouldn't get out to water that was too deep. We stopped for a lovely picnic lunch on a small sandbar. Our chests puffed up at our false senses of accomplishment at Lewis and Clarking our way down this river. We were almost to our pickup point when we snagged a low hanging branch and tipped the canoe. I'm proud to say that I saved the snack cooler, and after getting the canoe to the bank and putting it back upright, we journeyed on and even found the ore we lost in the capsizing, floating down the river slightly ahead of us. That's pretty cool.

All in all, a great experience, minus getting eaten alive by mosquitoes and tipping the canoe. My dad was proud of us for doing it by ourselves. I see now that plopping three children in a massive river alone was not his best idea. He died when I was 18 after a short and brutal cancer fight." That is one of the saddest sentences you can write. Yeah, totally. I wish he were here to teach my kids, the grandkids he never got to meet,

how to do all the amazing things he taught me to do. I like to think that he sees me now and is proud. Stay sexy and hug your dad, Mallory. Oh, Mallory. Yeah, like once they got back, I was like, like safely. I was like, he really like gave them courage and like that was maybe the point is like, you can make it here on back, fucking do it.

Yeah. And maybe he was like secretly driving along somewhere, watching them, although it doesn't feel like it. No. But no, it is that kind of, somebody was talking about that, I'm sure on TikTok, but it's that thing of like, we really did this older generation that really was like, we were, we had play-based learning.

We were outside all the time. We had to deal with, we would create issues and we had to solve those issues, like all that kind of stuff. My childhood mantra that my mom always said was fend for yourself. And we fucking did it. Yeah.

Okay, my last one. This is called, Serendipitous Hap Sister. It says, approximately three minute, 45 second read at Georgia speed. What does that mean? Are you fast or slow? I don't know. I've got to be fast, according to my mom. Okay.

Isn't it weird every once in a while you just get that thing of like how we are being perceived? Like we are being perceived in the wildest fucking weirdest ways that like have nothing to do with who I know myself to be. No, but I think after nine years, it's got to be pretty accurate. You know what I mean? I know. I just don't like it. It's not up to them.

It's up to me. Okay, well I read fast. So here we go. And this is long. Prove it, right now. Happy New Year, y'all, a little late, but I parted a bit too hard to say it on time. You asked for crazy coincidence stories

in your last hometown episode, so this is the story of my father's long lost half sister and how a random drunk guy from Texas got sober and reconnected the two of them. It seemed like every vacation my family took, even states away, my father would run into someone he knew from long ago, be it a pool, campground, cracker barrel, or many times at AA meetings. Dad was like a magnet for that sort of thing.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that AA is often astonishingly full of people you used to know. Yeah, that's right. It's so big, it's true. He was a masterful storyteller. Dad never grew tired of sharing stories about running wild with Mischief as a little boy in the streets of New York City during the Great Depression. And then it says, in parentheses, 1930s, as if I also don't fucking know when the Great Depression...

I'm like a little... That's what you're talking about. I get it. I hear you. That hurts. That hurts. I'm like a little, that's what you're talking about. I get it. I hear you. Yeah, that hurts. That hurts. I know when that is. Sorry, just for future writers in, if you have a dad that grew up on the fucking literal streets of New York City during the Depression and you're going to brag that he has great stories and you don't share one synopsized version with us, clicky, before you get to

your main, come on. I know. I know. It's already long, so they probably are like, how am I gonna get this? Please write back in. Please write back in. We spent rainy days binge watching VHS tapes

of Oliver and Hardy, The Three Stooges and Little Rascals while imagining his childhood as a soot covered scrounderoll playing in black and white. Oliver and Hardy, is that what's written there? Oliver and Hardy? Yeah. It's Laurel and Hardy. I know, right?

But I think it's because- Was there an Oliver? Maybe it's a- I think one of their last names was like Stan Laurel and somebody Oliver? Probably, and maybe it was- Oliver Hardy? Yeah. Well.

Well. Nope. I hate to correct you- We can't go back. And also not know the truth, but that's kind of, that's how I really am. I'm keeping it. Okay.

Now that I understand what nostalgia looks like, I can see it in memories of my father's face as he recounted the details of his juvenile adolescence. Like that. You're just saying, yes, so. I made up a word. There was always a moment dad will recall his half sister, Dorothy, who had left home

as a teenager. I suppose she could not get along with my grandmother who may have had a heavy hand. Dad prayed to find her someday. She was the only one who might still remain. Having eventually moved away from New York, my family ended up in South Carolina. I was about 11 years old when after an AA meeting, my father spoke with a visiting Texan about his long lost sister, Dorothy. The man's face twisted into amazement.

He himself had met a woman years before who had gone on in the same fashion about her long lost brother. The strange Texan had met her on a separate trip to New York years before becoming sober and apparently shared this very intimate conversation with her and stayed in Christmas card contact. Her name? Dottie Shorthandford Dorothy. The stranger took our phone number and told my dad, when I get home, I'll just check and let you know. Well, it was her, all right. What the fuck? That's crazy. I know. It happened

quickly and the two were soon hollering on the phone. A few weeks later, Dad was on a flight to meet her. He came back with new photos of my grandfather and even of himself, many he had never seen before, none of which I had seen. Until then, Dad had only one remaining photo of his father. They all only exist in photos now, and I recount the past by these limited images I have. But this little serendipitous moment remains the story that connects them to me in ways that is still so inexplicable. I'm Irish-blooded and long-winded, so I'm afraid of sending too long of an email.

There you go. But some other someday, I'll tell you about my mother who, after spending 14 years as a nun, fell in love with my same magical trash dad who was under indictment at the time. Yes. What? Yes. This is it. It says SSGJM and it's signed boop with an exclamation mark and a fucking emoji smiley face. Boop. That's the person's name? That's how they signed it. Boop. Boop. Like what you do to a cat. They just are like, I'm out. I'm out. This is anonymous it. Boop. Boop. Like what you do to a cat. They just are like, I'm out. Yeah. I'm out. We're anonymous, basically. Boop. Boop. Oh my god. That was delightful.

Yeah. But I feel like people need to understand the important parts of stories. You don't have to hear the whole story about the nun and the guy under indictment. Just like the moments that their hand first touched. Like, just give us a little bit of that. What was the pre to the breakthrough to the, I am going to break up with Jesus and get with you, a straight up criminal. It had to be hot as fuck to be like that powerful. Praise the Lord. Praise that Lord. Right? Praise that Lord.

Send us your stories. You or none? Yes, you or none? Oh my God, I want none stories. The nuns need to start writing in. Why did you accept the calling? Why did you leave the calling behind? Right.

Why did you change your name and get a new fake social security number and coming on? My Favorite Murderer at Gmail. I think this is the first episode that's not an old record since the fires. Oh yeah. Oh, this is the first. Yeah. And we are, I guess I was just going to point out, we're still in the middle of a natural disaster so we don't really, like, please forgive everyone.

I think everyone is getting this on social media. We're like, no one knows what the hell's going on and no one, everyone's afraid to say anything or we're all holding our breath and waiting for this, these next 48 hours to pass. And it's really nice that people checked in on us and we're very happy to have been able to tell you that we're okay and, yeah, that everyone is okay here.

Yeah, thank you guys for checking in so much. We appreciate it. Very nice. And until next time, stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Goodbye. 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 episode was mixed by Liana Squalacci. Email your hometowns to myfavoritMurder at gmail.com. And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at My Favorite Murder. Goodbye!