My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 94

Episode Date: October 29, 2018

This week’s Halloween-themed hometowns include ghost stories and oozing walls. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This is exactly right. We at Wondery live, breathe, and downright obsess over true crime, and now we're launching the ultimate true crime fan experience, Exhibit C. Join now by following Wondery, Exhibit C, on Facebook, and listen to true crime on Wondery and Amazon Music. Exhibit C. It's truly criminal. Really quick announcement before we start the mini-sode, we're having some big changes to the website and to the fan cult, so if you are a fan cult member, keep an eye on your inbox for updates and important information over the next coming days.

For everyone, we have a big, exciting, special announcement that we're going to be letting you know about on Instagram live, so be sure to follow us. That'll be on Wednesday on Halloween at 8.30 Pacific Time. Check it out. Instagram, my favorite murder. Goodbye. Hello. Oh, hello, and welcome.

This is my favorite murder, the mini-sode. This is a special spooky Halloween. Spooky Halloween. That's my friend Patty Riley, who I lived in the haunted house with, for some reason, and I think it was because there was like a card somebody got sent, but we used to say that to each other. Spooky Halloween. Instead of happy Halloween, that was, hello, spooky Halloween, spooky Halloween, everybody.

Okay, we're reading you your scary ghost stories. Guys, you knocked it out of the cart. Way to go. I'm terrified. Are you ready? Yes. Okay. This first one, I'm going to, I'm going to censor the subject line.

Okay. So I'm just going to tell you that the subject line is trick or treat. Okay. But that's not the whole one. Okay. Dear MFM team, I love it. I love that official borderline military feel to that greeting. Long time listener.

Love the show. Love your pets. And I love the community. After listening to George's Halloween story last week, I had to share my favorite memory of a tainted Halloween treat. I grew up in Canton, Ohio, which is a working class town about an hour south of Cleveland. We're famous for the pro football hall of fame. Who cares?

And for showing up on lists like worst American cities to live in and most dangerous small cities. Oh my God. Love it. Okay. To set the scene, it's 1991. I'm nine years old and I'm trick or treating with my six year old brother in the nicer part of our neighborhood.

We walk up to our aunt's house and get our candy. Mom tells us to go to the next few houses and she'll catch up as she finishes talking to my aunt. She finishes her chablis. Yep. And her, her big long Benson and Hedges lights 100. That's right. Thrilled with this new found trick or treat freedom.

We head off. However, we quickly realize there's a problem. We look up the walkway to the next house and we see the neighbor picture Bob from Twin Peaks. Oh no. Sitting on the front stairs. He looks scary, but it's free candy, right? Right.

My little brother and I look at each other in horror as Bob reaches his grimy hand into a large bag of potato chips and proceeds to please handfuls of loose potato chips into the trick or treat or candy bag. Oh my God. That's disgusting. We freeze because we're supposed to be polite and take the nice man's potato chips, right? Wrong. We turned around and high-tailed it the fuck out of there.

This psycho is giving children handfuls of loose potato chips run. To this day, my little brother and I dissolved into a pile of giggles at the thought of that creep and his loose potato chips. Were the chips plan A? Did he run out of candy and turn to what he considered the next best option? The chips plan A. Was he just trolling the neighborhood? We'll never know.

SSDGM and happy Halloween, Christina. That's great. Loose potato chips. Loose potato chips in a trick or treat bag. Just sullying all the candy you have so far. Just ruining it. Ruinning it. Okay.

This is called some spooky shit for Halloween and then a sidebar. Cats know. Oh. That's right, Elvis. Yes, Elvis. Hi guys and gals. No. Hi guy and gals.

Aww. Stephen. I thought now that it's almost Halloween would be a good time for me to write in about my spooky paranormal experience. I grew up in a small town in Colorado in a house that was super far away from other houses and it was unanimously agreed was haunted as hell. All of the spooky was reported happening in the same room, the TV room in the basement, of course.

The stories mostly happened during parties with my friends hearing fucked up things or people acting weird in the wee hours of the morning, except one time when a hippie lady stayed with us down there and told us she heard things screaming in the walls, which we decided to blame on raccoons and move on. They're a good catch all those raccoons. Raccoons. Goodbye. My personal experience happened when I was about 17.

My parents were out of town and decided to leave me in the enormous haunted house alone. My dad was allergic to cats so they had to stay outside in our garage, but I was spooked so I brought the homies inside. It's fucking right. That's right. We went downstairs. Because they're really going to help you when you get killed, cats milling around as you're murdered.

I was just like so sad at the idea of a fucking garage full of cats, just like nothing as a cat person makes me more sad. No. Homies inside. We went downstairs to watch some TV and I settled into the couch facing the TV with my back to the majority of the room. One of my cats. Mistake.

One of my cats, Tito, was on my lap and uncharacteristically really on edge. He kept tilting up and staring over my shoulder at the same corner. I would turn around and look where he was looking and of course nothing was there but he would just, but he would just stare. He did this several times. He would go from purring and drooling in my lap to high alert with all his hair on end and staring at the same fucking corner over my shoulder. Then suddenly he hissed and bolted out of the room.

I decided not today, Satan, and booked it upstairs to my room where he was waiting for me on my bed acting like nothing happened. So I got in bed and finally calmed down and up to fall asleep. The next thing I knew, I had opened my eyes and my nose was an inch away from a wall. As I started to come to, I realized where I was. That's right. I fucking sleptwalked to the corner in the basement. I freaked out and sprinted upstairs and launched in my bed.

I checked my phone and it was roughly 3.03 a.m. in the morning, meaning that I must have been in the corner almost exactly at 3 a.m. No. The watching hour. Is it? I mean, yeah. Nothing like that has ever happened to me since and we are now selling the home. My mom used to tell my sister and I that the spirits have watched us grow up and so aren't

a threat to us, but might be mad about something else, but still, fuck that corner. Thanks for the awesome podcast. Stay sexy and trust your cat, Taylor. And the next to Taylor in parentheses, it says girl. Girl. Taylor girl. Girl. Taylor's a female.

Taylor girl. Taylor girl. That's a good story. That's right. Trust your cats. God, that's upsetting. To fucking sleepwalk and then wake up in the basement in the corner. In the bad corner.

Like if I woke up and I had sleptwalked to the pod loft, which is a relatively like spirit free safe place, I would be freaked out. Oh yeah. No, no, no. There's no good place. No. You could sleepwalk to the freezer where all the ice cream is and still be freaking the fuck out.

Right. But to the fucking corner where your cat was kissing at? To the Blair witch corner where the bad children go right before they're murdered. Exactly. At 3 or 4 a.m. That's right. Yoy. Spooky Halloween, Taylor.

Spooky Halloween. Okay. This next one is subject line, uh, my crazy neighbor, a Halloween tale. Okay. Hello MFM family. A while back you asked for crazy neighbor stories, did we? I bet we didn't. I love it.

I'm, I'm proud of the past. Yes. Uh, I don't remember the past. Do it. I love it. When I was coming up, I figured I'd send this one in. I grew up in a small Pennsylvania town in a quiet neighborhood. There was never a lot going on.

So we had, um, we had to do what we could to entertain ourselves for my neighbor's catty corner from us. This meant getting really into the holidays, especially Halloween. Think haunted house in their garage, crazy long decor, blasting the theme from Halloween as soon as the sun started to go down, um, quite frankly, it was amazing. Okay. Now I'm sorry to sidebar this already. I, I told you and Vince this when we were on tour, but the last time we recorded in

the pod loft at Georgia's house, I went when we were done and we're always done at like 11, 10, 30. I went down to my car that was parked in her garage and somebody was sitting in their car in the garage. In the creepy ass garage of my house, like my apartment building has a fucking creepy like 80s Japanese horror movie garage. Yes. It's very, uh, it just seems like some where a bad thing would happen.

They was sitting in their car blasting the theme to Halloween. So it was, I could tell if you were sitting in the car, it would be making your ears bleed, but outside the car, it was just plain loud. Oh my God. And at first I was like, huh, it's October and somebody's, and then as I was getting on my way to the car, I wanted to get into the car so bad and my car unlocks automatically when you approach it. Cause I have the key and I still was trying to open it with the key because I was so freaked

out by the time I got there. Cause that music is so fucking, it's like, who would do that? It's just that it's bad keyboard. Yes. That one, right? Yes. No, I'm doing it. Your version.

Your version is perfect. Thank you. Okay. Anyway, that's my personal experience. Yes. Spooky Elvis. Elvis is so spooky. Okay.

And the, oh, they said about the neighbor's decorations. Quite frankly, it was amazing. On Halloween, when I was in high school, a group of friends and I were at my house preparing to go out trick-or-treating and then in parentheses, too old, I think you're never too old to score some free candy. That's right. There was a knock on the side door. So thinking it was a friend of mine or an appropriately aged trick-or-treater, I went

to answer it. Standing on the other side of our glass storm door, silhouetted in the dark, was a full grown man dressed as Michael Myers. He didn't say a word. He just stood there brandishing a knife and staring at me. And yes, the Halloween theme was playing from across the street. Naturally, I immediately gassed and ran away. My friends all freaked out when I told them and then freaked out even more when Mike showed

up at the window. What a dick. He didn't speak. He just stood there. We continued to run around the house only to have him appear at the windows until we realized some time had passed and we had no idea where he had gone. So after losing our shit for a while, one of my guy friends decided he was going to be Macho and Macho was a parenthesis or quotes and go see where this fucker had gone and

went outside. He came back five minutes later with a weird look on his face and told us to follow him around the side of the house. There we found my neighbor at the bottom of our stone cellar stairs, masked by his side, clutching his broken ankle. He had fallen in while trying to sneak around our house in the dark. Luckily, he wasn't more injured because he seriously could have broken his neck, falling seven feet down the stairs to the bottom.

That is not how I expected this to end. The knife ended up being fake, of course, or else that could have also ended really badly. Oh my God. Needless to say, he ended up needing physical therapy and he never tried to scare us like that again. Stay sexy and maybe leave your neighbors alone, Allison. What a fucking dick.

That's what you get. A fucking grown man for trying to scare little kids. Seriously, he fucking paid the price immediately. He wasn't running around trying to scare them and he just fell down seven fucking, oh, what a piece of shit. I love that so much. I love that so much. So funny.

Being an adult sucks. I mean, you know what would be really funny is if this new version of Halloween came out the new Jamie Lee Curtis, which is apparently breaking box office records and so huge and amazing. But it would be funny if that's the way they finally stopped Michael Myers. Yeah, he trips. Yeah, they just do a little funny pit, a trap pit for him. Yeah.

Or what if it's not on purpose, though? He trips over, the neighbor cat tries to cuddle up with him and choice up his legs and he falls and starts crying. Yeah. He's like, I heard my love. I heard myself and I heard other people. I'm sorry. I just wanted to touch it.

He walking through backyards, there's that one great shot of him and he's in between the sheets that are blowing in the wind. And then he walks forward and chokes himself on one of the laundry lines caught up in the sheets. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Okay.

This is called Friendly Ghost Story, Chicago. Hi, MFM fan. Thank you so much for making Ghost Story's fair game for many so it's because I have been so excited to share this old ghost story that has been passed through generations of my family. Sweet. You people are the best. Okay.

Here it is. This is a great depression in Chicago and my great grandpa was struggling like everyone else to provide food and shelter for his wife and several small children. One day he heard word that a local bank had a job available. He immediately dropped what he was doing and sprinted to the bank, but already a huge crowd of men had gathered who all wanted the job. And then it says in parentheses, what a messed up time. It really was.

Tell me about it. No women. Could work there? Okay. He waited for hours, but never made it to the front of the line and eventually the boss man from the bank announced that the job had been filled and they should all go home. Totally defeated.

My great grandpa went to the local pub. Sure. And then it says, good for you, grandpa. As he is sitting drinking a beer, the man sat down next to him at a bar. He ordered a drink and they got to talking. After several minutes of chatting, the man out of the blue goes, you should go back to the bank. They have a job available.

My great grandpa was like, no, I was just there and they hired someone else. The man was like, nope, they have a job available. And my great grandpa was like, no, they don't. This continues. And I guess my great grandpa was pretty annoyed with the guy. Eventually he was like, fine, whatever, I'll go back. He thought that the guy was completely bonkers, but something in him made him walk back to the bank.

Like expected, when he got back, it was bank business as usual. There was no crowd and the posting for the job had been taken down. He was about to turn around and leave. When the bank doors opened and the bank boss man is ushering someone out, then he pointed to my great grandpa and said, you here for the job? My great grandpa was in shock, but somehow pulled himself together enough to ace an interview and get hired. Turns out that the guy, the boss man was ushered outside was the one they had originally hired,

but something didn't work out. As soon as my great grandpa was done with the paperwork at the bank, he ran back to the pub because he wanted to find the man who sat next to him to thank him for somehow knowing the bank job would be open again. You're crying already. I'm going to cry. But when he got back, the man was gone. He asked the bartender, did you know the man who was sitting next to me?

I need, I need to find him. And the bartender said, I don't know what you're talking about. There hasn't been anybody sitting next to you. Sorry. That's exactly right. That's exactly right. I thought you were crazy because you were talking to yourself the whole time. No.

My great grandpa was totally confused as he walked home. My family is convinced that that bank job saved him and his family. And so also my mom, my siblings and me. My Irish Catholic family thinks the mysterious man was an angel, but I don't know. Friendly ghost seems more likely to me. Stay sexy and always do what your friendly pub ghost tells you to do. Bridget. Can I say, Bridget, what I think it was, because in the great depression and the crash of 1929,

all those bankers killed themselves. And I bet you as a fucking banker from that bank, and it's the reason one of the jobs was open. And he fucking went there. It was his job. It was his job. His bank. Because why would he even be in there?

That bank or no, or haunt that bank? I love it. Scary. I love it. I should have saved that one for last. Shit. Sorry. No, because there's this one.

Okay, go. Because these are all so good. Good job, Steven. Good job picking those, Steven. Steven, you did it. Steven hasn't been here for 25 years. Why are you talking to yourself, Georgia? This is the note.

Now, what's that voice? Now I'm Foghorn Lakehorn all of a sudden. We've gone completely away from an old minor. Okay. A ghost strangled my boyfriend and I puked. That's the subject line. Enough said. I once threw up a whole cranberry and chicken salad in a packed restaurant because of a

ghost. Here's what led up to that shining moment. Shit. About five months before the vomiting incident, I was sleeping in my boyfriend's room. His room was always brightly lit from an obnoxious street light that's shown in through his window like a floodlight. Oh, fuck that shit. Around four, no shades in your town?

Yeah. Around 4.15 a.m., I woke to the sound of my boyfriend yelling no, no, and struggling in his bed. I looked over and straddling his chest was a man in full Air Force attire, which looked old fashioned and retro, with both hands around my boyfriend's neck, throttling him as my boyfriend appeared to struggle and yell. I started screaming at the top of my lungs and bolted out the front door to run and get help.

This was the mid-90s, no cell phones for us, early murdering us. My boyfriend ran down the street after me, shouting at me to stop and telling me, it says mansplaining in parentheses. It's not mansplaining that I must have had a nightmare. Bullshit. I know what I saw and I definitely wasn't dreaming. I refused to ever sleep in his house again. For the next several days, I was so rattled that I would shake every time I thought of

what happened. Oh my God. That's a dramatic stress disorder. Fast forward five months later, and we were in a new restaurant in town, which had vintage photos posted all over the place. After lunch, we walked around and took a look at some of these pictures. After a little while, my boyfriend said, look, it's a picture of my house. In addition to the framed photo of the house.

No, no, no, no. Yes, get ready. There was also an inset picture of this soldier who used to live in that house and who had apparently died in World War II. It was the fucking man who strangled my boyfriend months prior. I shit you not. He used to live in that house before he was killed. It gave me such a shock that I threw up my entire lunch right then and there.

And I ran out of the restaurant and had a major panic attack. Oh my God. It was a small town scene that people liked to gossip about. The moral of the story is bring your barf bag with you after you've seen a ghost try to kill your boyfriend. Holy shit. SSTGM ladies, Lolo. What the fuck?

I love it. How satisfying. Yeah. I just see it. That's like something out of a movie. And then, you know, it's so much more satisfying. Like her being like, that's him and trying to explain it is just vomiting. Like that's like, there's like the best way to get anything across is be like, I am so

freaked out that I vomited. Like that's not something like, baby, remember what I was telling you about that guy? No. Yes. That's like, you can't argue that. No, it wasn't a dream. Yeah. Because of the worst dreams you've ever had.

You've never projectile vomited because of seeing a picture. You can't mansplain projectile vomiting. The idea that she's running out of screaming and he's trying to say, don't do this anymore. And it's mansplaining. Amazing. One more. Yes. You got one.

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And we're the hosts of Wondery's podcast, Even the Rich, where we bring you absolutely true and absolutely shocking stories about the most famous families and biggest celebrities the world has ever seen. Our newest series is all about the incomparable diva, Whitney Houston. Whitney's voice defined a generation and even after her death, her talent remains unmatched, but her incredible success hit a deeply private pain. In our series, Whitney Houston, Destiny of a Diva, we'll tell you how she hid her true self to make everyone around her happy and how the pressure to be all things to all people

led her down a dark path. Follow Even the Rich wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. Oh, this one's creepy. This one's creepy just because of like the description of the ghost. Okay. Okay. Uh, it's called a dead camper question mark.

Uh-oh. Hey, Georgia, Karen, Stephen, and all animals, multiple L's. Huge round of the show. And since it's October, I'm re-listening to last year's ghost stories. They put little squiggly lines. Oh. Episode. In the event you do something similar this year or a creepy mini-sode sometime, I hope

you find this creepy too. I was born and raised in a very small town in New Hampshire, home of good old HH homes. Back in the early 1900s, our property was a summer camp for boys. Already terrifying. It's just the worst idea. The smells everywhere. Our houses, our houses foundation was literally built around the old swimming pool. In our front yard, the concrete from the pool was covered with stones, but as the years

passed, they fell off and revealed more paint from the pool. Wow. There's also weird things on our property, like a set of old wooden stairs built into a huge hill on just one side. No. Creepy. We had a good amount of land. I don't know.

And in the backyard, my dad cleared it out to create bike trails and jumps for us. Right. Anyways, when I was probably 12, my friend and I were riding our bikes and rode all the way down to where the clearing ended and the woods began. At the same exact time, we both came to a sudden stop and skidded off our bikes, basically staring at the woods wondering what in the creepy ass hell we were looking at. Right at the tree line, there was a boy staring back at us who looked to be around nine years old.

It was very dirty with shaggy brown hair. He was completely naked except for a shirt made out of fabric. Other than the makeshift shirt, skirt. It says skirt, not shirt. Okay. Can I? So he's naked, but he's wearing a little skirt. Yeah.

Like a wild boy. I like that better than if he was wearing a shirt with no pants like Porky Pig. Yeah. Like naked from the waist down, little boy. That's bad. No, no, no, no, no. That's emergency situation. Skirt.

Okay. Skirt. Okay. That's a grass skirt. Other than a makeshift skirt made out of fabric. Okay. Probably old timey. Still.

All he had was a dog that was already running away from us. He stared at us for a good 30 seconds before gently shaking his head. I don't know if I would call it a nod. And then he ran after his dog. We both freaked out, ran back home to tell our parents who believed us enough to go and check the woods, but obviously didn't see anything. I never saw him again, but it's always stuck with me. There's always been weird things that have happened at my house.

Two of my other friends from childhood has said they thought my house was creepy too. No shit. Yeah. I looked into my house as much as I could. All I really found was evidence of a wealthy businessman back in the day opening a camp that was for boys to teach them about hunting, archery, et cetera. No. After that, I can't find anything else.

I even worked with my town's historical department, but hey, but they can't find much. I even worked with my town's historical department, but they can't find much more either. My town is small. Everyone knows everyone and whose kids are whose. There's no missing children at the time or ever basically. It wasn't any of my neighbors or classmates and I've never seen that kind of dog before around town. No.

I'd like to think it's a boy from the camp that either died there or ran away and died and was a, and then squiggly lines. Ghost. Thanks for reading, stay sexy, don't get murdered. Katie. He was a ghost. It was a ghost. It was a little boy ghost who like is living his best life, like best ghost life out in

the woods, a wild child. He's got his fucking trusty hound with him. But why is he nodding his head? He's just like, yep, you saw me. Oh, he was yes nodding. He said, it wasn't like a yes. He said, I nodded nodded his head. I don't know if I would call it a nod.

Oh, shaking his head. I don't know if I would call it a nod. Shaking his head is creepy. Shaking is like, stay away from this war or something. You're not supposed to be here. Because what if that, you know what that reminds me of is Fox Island, which is in the upper peninsula in Michigan. Is that the Michigan killers?

What is it? The Oakland? Oakland child killer. And that was that weird connection to they started an underprivileged boys camp on an island where they flew kids in, the kids couldn't get back off the island. Those two, the kids were underprivileged in some way and they fucking were molesting them. They flew in sex perverts to fucking just have their, oh. Yes.

And it like, wealthy fucking. Oh my God. This is like, it's the 40s version, but back when no one would have reported it. And it goes to the fucking top. It goes to the top. It goes all the way to the top. Oh my God. What if that wealthy businessman who started that fucking camp for boys was named H.H.

Holmes. It was his first pass. Do you have another one? Why would you build? Yes, I do. Um, why would you build? No. Over a pool?

No, no, no. No. There's all sorts of problems. It's foundationally and spiritually. Earthquakely? Earthquakely, spiritually, foundationally. Okay, wait, give me one second because this one. Yes.

Okay. I'm not going to redo the subject. Okay. Hi Karen, Georgia, Steven and relevant furry creatures. All right. This story takes place back when my husband and I moved into our first house in Silmar, a suburb of LA. We know it very well.

We know what Silmar is. Don't explain. Don't man explain. Don't man explain. Silmar to me. We had been in a house for a few months and it just pulled together our music room well, well. We were jamming one night.

Oh. Awesome. Hugs on guitar, me on drums, with my back to the wall. Is this a book? An invitation to come jam? Is it a ghost email from Karen Carpenter? All of a sudden, he stops mid song. I think it was misfits hybrid moments.

Oh my God, why are you my new best friends? So cool. And stares intently at the wall about two feet to my right. I, of course, freak out thinking there's a bug right next to me. Only to discover that there's a smallish bubble under the paint on the wall. What the fuck? Curious. It says that on the email.

Curious, I poked at it with my finger and it was squishy like there was liquid inside. We got a box cutter and cut a little hole in the bubble and a dark thick liquid came oozing out and down the wall. Your wall is bleeding. Was this blood? Sewage. We had no idea. Horrified, we left it there and immediately started calling people to come out and investigate.

A plumber came the next day and cut open the wall only to discover it was not blood and it was not sewage. It was... Honey. Honey. Oh, shit. That's right. Inside our wall was the melting remains of a beehive and hundreds of dead bees.

Later I put the pieces together of how it happened. Before we moved in, there were some holes in the outside wall of the house, which we asked the previous owners to patch up as a contingency of the scale. So they did. And in doing so, they trapped the hive in there. Bee murderers. We would never have known the hive was even there except for that it was 900 degrees outside that day we were playing music.

So the sun just melted the remnants inside the wall. Wow. Gross. Took days to clean out the sticky mess and quite sad to see all those dead creatures that are so crucial to our ecosystem. Aw. It's true. Fun fact, it had the same smell like when you drive by a beer factory.

Oh. Maybe the honey fermented? I don't know. Yes. Thanks for reading. A big group of friends and I will be at your LA show on Halloween. Woo. See there.

Okay. Stay sexy and save the bees. Leah. Oh, my God. That's not a good one. And what a bummer that they had this like free fucking source of honey. Yes. That's what they couldn't use.

If they'd only kept them alive, they could have tapped that little bubble. That's right. And just had a little like. Like there's a little bit of asbestos paint. Lead paint in there. Yeah. But yeah, there isn't everything. Don't worry about it.

And you're like making a warm cup of tea and then you just go down to the jam room. Yeah. And then. What was her name? Leah. And you're like, hey bees. Leah. What's up, Leah?

I'm still working real hard for you. You fucking killed it last night on the drone. Oh shit, girl. You can jam on the message. Girl. These bees have the deepest voices. Yeah. What's up, girl?

Those little bros. Because they're from Southern California. They're bros. They have backwards visors on their head. Yeah. And they're just like, Leah, we just want to make honey and chill. That's right. And listen to you play music.

That's right. Leah. Oh, my God. I mean, I wish we could do this all night long. Guys, keep sending us stories like this because well, you know, whenever we get these ideas for send us here or whatever, we cover them in whenever they come. We just like read what's good. We like getting like, it's almost just like, it's like, don't mansplain us.

The mini sound. And we won't mansplain it back to you. And mansplainingly yours. Stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Elvis. You want a cookie?

Yeah. Goodbye. Bye. Goodbye.