Morbid - Listener Tales 15

Episode Date: July 6, 2020

Tonight we have a brief relationship with a killer, a grandma levitating things to the other side, a demon sighting shared by strangers, a mafia betrayal gone right, a toilet that can transport you to another dimension and a witty response to getting mugged. Guys, you never disappoint! Send your listener tales to [e-mail] and use subject "Listener Tales" with a fun title! Thanks to our sponsors! Simplisafe Head to SimpliSafe.com/morbid and get FREE SHIPPING and A 60 DAY MONEY BACK GUARANTEE. That’s SimpliSafe.com/morbid to make sure they know that our show sent you. Honey If you don’t already have Honey, you could be straight up missing out on free money. It’s literally FREE and installs in a few seconds. And by getting it, you’ll be doing yourself a solid and supporting this podcast. Get Honey for FREE at Join Honey.com/MORBID. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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That's ANGI, or download the app today. Hey weirdos, I'm Ash, and I'm Alena. And this is morbid. It's the listener tails. The listener tails brought to you by you for you from you and all about you. Yeah, I think we could all use some fun listener tails right now. Some light-hearted listener tails. It's like a warm blanket of weird shit. It just makes me feel like I'm with you guys around

to camp fire. Yeah. And we're gonna roast some mallows. Just live our best lives. We are. It really does feel, it always feels like we're just like hanging out telling weird stories with everybody and I love it.

And the pod lab is really dark right now. And I feel ominous. The spooky vibe is real. So let's start. Yeah, we don't do business. We don't do business in listener tales usually, so let's just jump right in this. Okay, my first listener tale is called,

my smart-ass mouth will be the death of me, and I really resonated with this. Is that how you say that? I love the name of this already. Like my smart-ass mouth will probably be the death of me as well. I probably will. So it says,

Hi, my name is Kelly. You can use my name. I have nothing to hide or shame. I am originally from Winchester, Massachusetts. Woop, woop, woop. My husband is in the Navy. So we move all the fricking time and we are currently living in Norfolk, Virginia.

Whoa. Is it Norfolk? No, Norfolk. Yeah, cool. I love when you guys banter and talk about Massachusetts things because I can see the things you are talking about and describing so vividly, and it just reminds me of home. Oh, anyway, my tale isn't so much spooby as it is. Fucking typical to my whole goddamn life. I love this already. I know. My husband always tells me that if I'm ever murdered, it will be because of my sarcastic bitch ass attitude.

Same. He's not wrong. So here goes the story of how I am lucky I wasn't murdered, but probably should have been. My husband is Jewish, I am not, I have no clue what I am. I just exist and breathe and eat Reese's cups in bed and then sleep in the crumbs. I'm legit trash.

Wow. That's why it resonated also. I feel like I feel so seen in that when I read that I felt so seen because literally last night that this is about me now I guess I was eating those little dev chocolates and I woke up with like three wrappers on top of my body. That's a good name. Not kidding. Great. So on Saturday he observed Shabbat. Shabbat I said it. Shabbat. Shabbat, I said it. Shabbat. Shabbat, put the wrong and fastest on the wrong,

the slabble. Sometimes when I'm reading a Shabbat, yes. Typically, he will take my two older girls with him to synagogue to Daven, and I will meet them there around noon with our youngest to observe Kiddish. And have lunch. I enjoy my Saturday mornings with my little demon

because I can plop her in her stroller and we walk around downtown or a folk and shop. So one particular Saturday my tiny hellian and I are breezly walking along a main road making our way to my husband who is due to fill it due to fully praying and probably asking God to intervene and make sure his wife doesn't spend so much God damn money because oh my God how much could you possibly spend it target and how many quirky kitchen towels does one household need. The answer is infinity. She goes a lot my dear. A lot. I digress. The answer is infinity. I digress. I'm pushing my sweet devil muffin in her boss of a straw. You're gonna get this next part.

I'm gonna call you. I also picked this for you. It says, I'm pushing my devil muffin and her bus of a stroller. One of those get ups where the baby's facing you and there is a shelf that pulls out on the bottom so that another angel-faced terrorist can stand and free load off their poor tired mother.

I have one of those. I know. So have one in this. I know. And so she's, she's doing that. When I see a tall man lean up against a storefront with his back to the wall, he glances at me. Honestly, I'm thinking nothing of it. My concern is that I don't wanna run over his foot with my stroller, and I'm hoping he positions himself

so we won't have any of those awkward encounters where I have to apologize for being an inconvenience and ask him to scoot scoot on over. So my big ass stroller and I could make it past on the very skinny sidewalk. Can you scoot scoot on over? Can you scoot scoot? As I get closer he steps away from the wall and he faces me. He is now probably three feet in front of me and he asks, do you have a dollar? I politely tell him I do not because this was the absolute truth. I didn't have my purse with me that morning. I had my cell phone, but no purse. Now, before anyone moans, who leaves their house without their purse?

Let me explain that technically on Shabbat. Did I say that again? Shabbat. Shabbat, sorry. Shabbat. Am I okay? Let me explain that technically on Shabbat, you were not supposed to spend any money. So more often than not, unless I'm going to be shopping, I leave my purse at home. There you go.

I get that. She doesn't want anybody being like, wow, why would you have your purse today? The man then reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun. Oh, cool. He doesn't point it at me, but he shows me it and says,

I asked you if you had any money. Now, yeah, and I fucking told you I don't. That's essentially what she says. Damn. I've got my baby with me. My precious probably seven or eight month old baby. I look the guy, dead in his stupid face. And I say, yes, I say, not today, cowboy.

I thought that's time to maneuver my stroller to go around him. Oh my god. He points his gun at me. Now I am scared and kind of getting mad because what kind of ass hat points a gun at someone and what kind of asshole points a gun at someone with a motherfucking baby? For real.

I turned to him, I take a deep breath and I loudly say, I said not today cowboy. She's like, here my witty report. And I start to quickly walk away. I did not dare look back, but I sure as fuck was listening behind me. And simultaneously counting my breathing to maintain my composure.

The synagogue was only a block or so away. Within minutes, my husband was standing with me in the lobby of the Chabot house? The what? Chabot house? I do not know. Shabbad. Can you go go it?

All right, we Google it guys. All right, it's Shabbad. Shabbad. So my husband was standing with me in the lobby of the Shabbat house and I am retelling him the story as calmly and sing songy as I can because all my children are hanging off of me

and chanting, Mama's here, Mama's here. Oh my god. My husband looks pissed. Me thinking he's manned at the guy and ready to throw some hands at the gun-wielding bitch is completely taken aback when he says, loudly, and my husband never raises his voice. To me, you could have been killed, he was going to to shoot you and you gave him an attitude. Why can't you just comply? Shocked I stumbled to find the words and I mutter. I just didn't feel like being mugged today This made him laugh and he starts howling and why did you call him cowboy? He's like where did that come from she goes? I had no answer for this. I still don't it was sarcastic as as fuck and it literally just came out. It was lame, but it worked. So how do you duty?

So that is how my smart ass attitude both saved me and probably should have killed me. Thanks ladies. My dear friend from Florida introduced me to your podcast a couple months ago. When she asked, have you heard those two girls from Boston that do true crime? And I replied with, well, shit. And now it will. And to all of your podcast, keep it weird, but not so weird that you mouth off to a gun wielding asshole. Oh my God. I love it. I'm so frightened for you in that moment. I know. Not today, cowboy. Not today, cowboy. Not today, cowboy. Not today. I love how

she was like, let me say it loud. I don't know if you heard me the first time. It was real funny the first time, but I'll say it again. Again. Wow, Kelly. Wow. You did the damn thing. You really did. Well, my listener tale is called a listener tale

that will keep you up at night. And it will. And it will. Hey guys, my name is John. We love it, John. We do. My name is John, and I recently started listening to your podcast, literally my first podcast.

I love one more people's first to like gateway. I know. I love being the gateway drug into podcast. I hate when they tell me they started with episode one. Hate that. I'm like, it's really nice of you to have stayed with us. I love it when they're still here. I'm like, you are true.

I'm like, you're a real one. You've seen some shit. You have. You've seen some shit. And have. You've seen some shit. And yes, I started on episode that's why I just said that. I did end up skipping to the listener tales, which is why you're getting this email. Also, I apologize for the length of this one. It's okay. It's fun. Here's a story about the time I lived in a haunted foster home. Hold the fuck under your seats. I was 15 years old. My

brother Kyle was 13. And we stayed in this house for about a week or two before I decided we needed to get the fuck out of that place. Wow, that's quick. So my brother and I were placed into this whole home in Yarmouth, Massachusetts. Yarmouth! Yarmouth! Hey! And right away, I did not feel comfortable there. I didn't realize until later in life, I'm extremely empathetic, so I feel that others, I feel what others are feeling on an uncomfortable level. I get that. I was just gonna say ash is very empathetic as well.

Yes. I am not. No. But it's cool. I would leave each other out. I was gonna say, I don't think that's a shock to anybody, either one of those revelations, but it's cool. I can actually judge a person and get a solid vibe from them after speaking to them for a few minutes.

Anyways, my bad. I tend to get sidetracked a lot. Same. I stepped foot into this house and like I said, was not okay with it. After a few hours of getting settled and thrown into yard work, she told my brother and I about her adoptive son and her deceased daughter. Whoa. Yeah. Just, hey, it's like, whoa, small talk. Howdy. Nice to meet you, mom.

What's going on? Now, a dead daughter is something to normally be freaked out by, but this wouldn't be a listener's tale if it ended there. No, this is when the story gets fucking weird, man. The first few nights were fine, uncomfortable but fine. We went to church that Sunday, gotten trouble for taking all the cookies afterwards, nothing new. When we got home, we met the adoptive son. This motherfucker was carrying an oversized raggedy and doll when he

walked into the house like what the actual shit is that about? No, obviously I was like, what the fuck? But being the curious little boy and man, I am, I asked, what's up with the doll, dude? Turns out this fucker is a quote, ghost hunter. I honestly should have kept my mouth shut, because not only did he explain why he has a doll, but he brought my brother and I into his bedroom to show us his ghost evidence, which was surprisingly a decent amount. Around the doll's neck was a locket, so he explained his girlfriend passed away and he claimed her spirit was within the damned doll, and to keep it in this plane, he anchored it with a piece of her hair in the locket. Bruh. I love this. Bruh. Shit, only gets freaker from here ladies, so sit down and get ready. I'm ready. A couple of nights later only gets freaker from here, ladies. So sit down to get ready.

I'm ready. A couple of nights later, my brother and I are home alone watching the shining. No idea why, but fuck it, right? Well, I thought I heard something. So we paused the movie, and we listened. And I shit you not, we heard someone calling my name. Nope.

Kyle and I got off the couch and started walking into the kitchen, and we heard it again. Well, at this point, and at this point in, I'm about to ship myself. So I tried to call my mom, but the phone wasn't working. The third time we heard my name, we figured out where it was coming from. Down the hall, behind the one room in the house, we weren't allowed in. This room was the room the lady's daughter died in. Which is so scary. Oh, I don't like that. At this point Kyle and I are done with life.

So we walked into the other room, turned up the TV and turned on every single light we could find. When the foster parent came home from Bingo, we went to bed on Cape Cod. People always have that one room with two single beds. Oh my god, this is so good. It's so accurate. This is so real.

With two single beds, three feet of feet apart from each other. Every fucking cake house. It's so real, so real. My grandparents were in the cave, and wow, I spent a lot of time there. Needless to say, we barely slept that night, and when I actually did fall asleep, it wasn't for long.

It had to have been three, four a.m. Of course it was. Always. And I heard my name again, but this time it was in my ear. And I immediately woke up, but I couldn't move. Instead I saw a black figure in the corner of our room pressed up against the wall, with one hand and one foot on the left wall, and it's right hand and foot on the right wall.

What the fuck? Yeah, no thank you. The figure slid to the ground and walked to the foot of my bed and the entire time I could only move my eyes. You are having sleep paralysis of something. I couldn't even speak to wake up my brother who's literally right next to me. The shadowy figure pressed a hand on my chest and leaned over the bed and my body came face to face with me. His body came face to face with me and I swear to fucking God I felt like it took every ounce of breath out of my body. I literally thought I was going to die. The next morning I called

my social worker and demanded to be moved to a new home. Now I found out later I experienced sleep paralysis for the first time that night because a lady diagnosed us or did. However, I'm not entirely convinced that what that's what it was. I've had sleep paralysis several times and every time I see a shadowy figure. But three years ago, I met a girl. No, not a romantic thing. She was actually a piece of shit, but we won't get into that.

I was 24, so nine years later. And it turned out she stayed in the same foster home as my brother and I. Well, that's what it is. What a small world, can you imagine? Yeah. When I told her about my story, she literally started crying. Turns out she experienced the same thing in that same house.

Isn't that insane? That's crazy. Slept in the same bed and everything. She was crying because for years she thought she was crazy. And whenever she told anyone about her experience, they thought she was lying. It actually made the whole thing a lot worse because at that point, I knew I experienced something supernatural and terrifying.

Mm-hmm. Hopefully you've made it this far. I appreciate you reading this and hope I didn't scare you too much. Holy shit, John. I know things might seem crazy, too crazy to be true, but I assure you this night will never leave my memory, and it's 110% completely true. You can absolutely share my story and feel free to use mine and my brother's names. I already asked him before typing this novel

to you guys. I just want to say you two are fucking rad and can't wait to listen to every episode you have out so far. Also, please let me know if I sent this to the right ladies because I suck at sending emails and I'm always afraid I send them to the wrong person. It's us! Hey John, it's us! Hey! And that story was fucking terrifying. Literally, no thank you. Can you imagine? And you're in like, you're young, you're in a new place, like a foster home where I'm sure you're having like, a just to so many different things, right?

Yeah, you're already uncomfortable. And at top of that, like, some serious scary shit is happening. Wof. Wof, wof, wof. No thank you,, thank you. No, thank you. My next listener tale is called, Did my grandma love a Tate an object to heaven?

Or was she just drunk? Ha, ha, ha, ha. Why can't we tune this song? I love it. I'm real excited. Hey, my beautiful and wonderful weirdos. It's been an absolute pleasure having you guys in my ears during this crazy time.

2020, what a year. What a year is right, right? Your podcast has given me so much, sorry, your podcast has given me so much, you guys have that right, to my loser life, because clearly I have nothing better to do than to listen to murders, whilst on my eight hour shift at work. Yes, I'm one of those essential workers. Well, thank you. Thank you.

Please come to England or Australia. Fuck yeah. I want to trust me. I want to come now. Yes, true. If I could get there right now, it would. And stay. Because I travel between both and that would be awesome.

But obviously not right now. Stay in the fuck home and don't touch anyone. I know. Sorry. OK. OK. I really hope you put this story on your listener tails because I would be dead and happily dead.

So here we go. What up happily dead? RIP Sarah. By the way, you What up happily dead? RIP Sarah. By the way, you can use my name because it's Sarah. Hey, hey, Chicas. So this Mulan business starts when I was 10 years old and living in England. My mom being a reasonably responsible mother

didn't like me to see my grandmother who lived in Wales at the time. Her name was Eileen. She was a heavy drinker and drink every day until the day she died. Wow. But she had a heart of gold. She, she was a heavy drinker and drank every day until the day she died. But she had a heart of gold. She knew she had a problem, and I remember one time when I was around this age, I asked

her, why do you have a beer in the morning, Grandma? And she politely replied, because I have to, Sarah. Wow. What an exchange. That's the darkest shit I've ever heard. Sometimes I feel your grub, although. Like, that's so... I'm kidding, I never have a beer in the morning, but...

That's so dark. Because I have to, Sarah. It's like, what? You just set up the mouth full there. Right. She also was a massive hippie. I feel like I just like resonated with this woman. I'm sorry.

Is this ass? I don't drink beer in the morning yet, but maybe someday. She also was a massive hippie and believed in a higher power that would watch over me. She says creepy I know but I'm like same Rema And she truly believed that there was a fate fairy that directed your fate. I love it Also, like I'm into this. Ashes all in like I'm your grandma. I mean who doesn't want a fairie For example, she got on the wrong train home when she was 18 and met my granddad. And she says that there was no way she, excuse me,

there's no way they would have met in normal circumstances. And then it was her fate fairy putting them together. I love that. Even if she divorced him after eight years, but that's another story. Fate fairy at work again. of the criminal masterminds you read about in the news. I have decades of experience as a psychiatric nurse, FBI agent, and a criminal profiler. On Killer Psychie Daily, I'll give you my expert perspective on cases like the mysterious New York City drugings, breaking down Lori Valow, a.k.a. Mommy Doom stays motives, and what drove Caitlin Armstrong to murder? I'll also bring on expert guests who add even more insight into these criminal minds.

I promise you won't regret adding these 10 minutes to your morning routine. Hey, Prime members, listen to the Amazon Music Exclusive Podcast, Killer Psychie Daily, in the Amazon Music app. Download the app today. Hey there, fellow podcast listener.

It's Elena. And Ash! And we're taking you back to the days before streaming services. Whoa! You know when you would come home from high school and it was only a few hours until that TV show everyone was watching was about to come on. Well, in 1999, that show was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In our podcast with Wondery, the re-watcher Buffy the Vampire Slayer,

we take it back to 1999. So get out your knee-high boots and paste that poster of Angel on the wall. It's time to enter the Buffyverse. Some of you avid morbid listeners already know what we've gotten store. Hey, Lennon. Join us as we sway our way through Buffy's drama, action, and romance. Episode by episode. Slacy. Follow the rewatcher, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen early and add free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app.

So anyway, back to the drinking. There was even this one time where we managed to get her into a rehab clinic, and she legit escaped through a window into the night and went to the pub. Oh, look. She got so drunk that she fell down the stairs and broke her hip. I'm so glad that this is someone's grandma

that they are also fighting this funny. Yeah, no, this is great. And even in the hospital, she was like, yo, when can I leave? She was never a violent drunk, but my mom did her best. And we only went to see my grandma once a month, just to make sure her piece of shit new boyfriend didn't do anything.

Oh, no. Honestly, there was more of a chance of him killing her than the alcohol. Oh, no. I know, grandma. That's fair. Not the fate, Fairy. You deserve more, grandma.

So we went for our usual, I can't talk. I guess. Oh, it was a grandma. So we went for our usual, I can't talk, I guess. I guess so. Oh, a good one. So we went for our usual visit to see my grandma. And when I tell you she looked strange, she looked strange. Ooh, how strange. Hey, she was making coffee when we arrived.

She doesn't make coffee unless it's a beer. Unless it's an Irish coffee. There you go. Bee, she was dressed in big walking boots and was covered in mud. Huh. And C, she had put her hair up in a ponytail, and as I say, she was a massive hippie, she always wore her hair down with a couple of butterfly clips. That's amazing.

Lizzy McGuire style. Yes. So, we already knew this wasn't a normal day. She began to tell us about two weeks prior, she woke up in the dead of night to see a little boy ghost. She explained that this little boy visited almost every night to tell her that he had lost something and he needed to find it. And every night, quote, like a hippie, she would either try and get information like,

what's your name? Are your parents dead too? How old are you? Most people would freak the fuck out and leave the house, but oh no, not my grandma. Or she would try to tell the boy that heaven needed him because a bitch needs some sleep, you know? That piece of shit new boyfriend gave us a washi answer that he had not seen my grandma wake up in the night and he'd never seen or heard any boy and my grandma was crazy. As if he was home because he was definitely fucking not and probably off doing something awful.

He sounds like the worst. Yeah he does. Well there's work. It gets worse. Oh no. Her new boyfriend would on purpose unplug the fridge so all the food would go off and he would tell her that she did it when she was drunk and she believed it. He did all these weird mind games and so I wasn't taking his word for nothing. That's awful. I know. So after my failed attempts of talking to the... Sorry, so I probably said that.

A tamp. A tamp. So after many failed attempts of talking to the ghost, my grandma actually decided she was going to find to this something. And me being 10 years old was like, fuck yes, let's dig up the garden. Which my grandma had actually already started, good for her. She dug little tiny holes in no particular place or order, and it looked chaotic, and I loved it. What 10 year old would love that game?

That's like the best. At this point, my mom is very scared that maybe the alcohol has actually done enough damage that my grandma was losing her grip of reality. I'm not gonna lie, I probably would have been with the mom. No, me, I would have been like, you know what, Grandma, I get it, sis. I feel like I'm with you. But either way, I could tell she was curious.

My mom asked my grandma, what is it then? Like the object. And my grandma explained that she just knew it was square. That's all she knew. Not looking good for grandma. No, definitely not. So that was all the evidence my mom needed to be like, okay, she's lost her mind because what the fuck is square shaped?

But I begged my mom to let me help her. Good for you, but she said no. After we had lunch and talked about other things, we immediately left and immediately I said we got to come see her next week, not next month. My mom was not too keen on this idea, but she obliged. I think she only agreed because she thought her piece of shit, Neighb, boyfriend, was putting some weird cyanide poison in her drinks to kill her offpecker. I know this is awful. Get him away from her.

She agreed that we would see her next week, but I would remain at my auntie's house until it was safe. My auntie lived nine houses down for my grandma. So like a badass, I was already planning on convincing my auntie to go get some milk or cookies or whatever shit, and I would make a run for it to my grandma's house to see this fuckery. Oh my god, I love this. Let's just say I didn't need to. The following week we went there, and as promised, my mom took me to my aunties.

My auntie answered the door and was not okay. She told my mom to come inside to see my grandma who was digging up my auntie's garden. Yes, my whole! Eileen, that's the grandma, actually convinced all nine fucking neighbors to let her, let her and endig up their gardens because of some ghost boy that told her he had lost something. I was beyond ecstatic. I got wonder, if some old lady walked up and was like, hey, so can I dig in your garden because there's a ghost boy

and he's lost something? I feel like I would have a hard time saying no. Oh, I would have a hard time like saying yes quick enough. Yeah, like I feel like I wouldn't be able to make no. I really can I help you? Do you need gardening gloves? Let's get it. I feel like you know what?

Just don't kill my pianies and that's really all. That's great. Exactly. I'd be like, I don't give a fuck about those panties. Let's get it. Why to stop you from finding this ghost voice missing thing? Well, let's find out if grandma finds it. I'm excited. My grandma had actually sobered up by this point

because it turns out you can't hold a beer and a shovel at the same time. It learns of the new every day. But you can smoke and hold a shovel. Ah, there it is. My grandma was now popping 30 to 40 cigarettes a day, rather than 30 beers. So it was actually nice having a normal conversation with her. So unfortunately, for this bit, I wasn't there, but sometime after this, my chain smoking

grandma called my mom to tell her, she fucking found it. She had found a rusty old box. Square makes sense now because how does it go to explain a 3D object? That's true. The box was super damn old, 1700s. Damn. For my grandma's description, the sides were all dented in

and the hinges to the lid were almost melted into place. Parts of it were obviously silver whilst the rest was some other metal. I'm not a metal expert. I didn't get to look at it, which I have not forgiven my mom for. But, but- I'd be so pissed.

I'd be like, I need to go to Grimmas. Let me touch it. But before we went to see my grandma for the next week, it was gone. My grandma explained that the little boy had taken it. He needed the box to be above ground because he needed it to take to heaven. Oh my God.

Things underground don't go to heaven, they go to the underworld, which I'm not gonna lie, that makes sense. Thanks Grandma for making sure I'm never getting buried. That is so logically correct. I mean, I get it. I get that. Now I do believe that my grandma saw the ghost

and found the box, but I'm not having it that it magically floated to heaven. I do believe that piece of shit boyfriend actually had something to do with its disappearance, but I hope the boy is happy and that it got found either way. I think the boy brought it. I hope so. But who knows? My grandma was right about everything, sorry. But who knows?

My grandma was right about everything else. After this, my grandma expressed that she never saw the little boy again and how happy she was, she could finally sleep now that she wasn't being chatted to by some six-year-old boy. And she could also go back to her drinking. Look at that. The funny thing is that the smoking, uh, that it was the smoking that killed her. She peacefully died on the toilet as she passed out from her pneumonia, which is hilarious,

and I couldn't leave that out. Like, that's incredible. Which is hilarious and I couldn't leave that out. Hahaha! Like, that's incredible. Which is hilarious. I feel like Eileen would have been like, it is what it is, bitch. I like... Eileen. Eileen's a fucking icon.

Alright, P.I. Eileen. After doing some super duper research later on, I found out that there was some crazy old house that had a fuckload of land back in the 1700s, which makes sense as to why the boy appeared in my grandma's house. But the box was actually in another garden. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed my story, and I hope you know how much I LERVED listening to you. And if you ever showed up in Mount Snowden to say hello, if you're ever up in Mount Snowden, say hello to my crazy grandma.

Stay weird and slay weird, love Sarah. Sarah! We need to go to Mount Snowden to visit my friend, Eileen. For real. Like, I'm obsessed with your grandma. You're so sister. We are. Me and Eileen would have been BIFS. You would, you would have hung out. I like how to pick that story.

I'm absolutely real sad that Eileen isn't around for you to hang out with. I'm pretty bummed about it too. Damn Sarah, you just killed it. Right? Woo, well my next tale is called My Dad's Screwed Over the Mafia. Uh oh.

That's never a good thing. Never good. No, you never want to mess with the Mafia. Not on my to-do list. Hey weirdos, I mean, Ash and Alana. It's okay, you can just call us weirdos. Yeah, it's fine. The title says it all.

My dad's screwed over the Mafia when he was 24 years old and lived to tell the story. That's crazy. That's insane. This decision was not only Balzy, but was the defining moment of his life. Without this decision, my sister would not be my sister. I may have been Canadian,

and my dad would have been murdered in jail. Wow. Wow. Murdered or in jail? Oh, I was just gonna say, my dad could have been murdered or in jail. I'm married, so I have a different last name now, but I grew up with a Jewish last name growing up. Because a lot of my family still has this last name, and this is a shameful tale in their eyes, I will forego saying it here. That's cool.

Okay. My maternal grandfather, Harry, along with his parents and siblings, escaped the Holocaust from Poland to Canada. In this time, he experienced trauma, I'm sure defined to, defined his psyche for the worst. In Toronto, he became the right-hand man to the leader of the Jewish mafia named Nady. I read it as Nady. Nady, I think, N-A-D-Y. I never met either of them, which I find to be a blessing. So for the rest of the story, I will refer to my grandfather as Harry. Harry married an alcoholic dancer and conceived two sons with her. My dad was his first child. When my dad was five,

Harry went to prison with a 20-year sentence wolf. This is the first time my family refers to, as when, quote, Harry went on vacation. I am unclear what the charges were for, but I know he would kill without a thought, was a master insurance scam craftsman and was at one time the largest heroin distributor in Toronto. Wow, he was busy. Damn, seriously. A man of all trades.

A jack of all trades is right. He also set all of my grandmother's clothes on fire about six months before he went to prison for unknown reasons. Great guy, am I right? He pulled a betty broaddrick. He did. My father was raised in project housing by his alcoholic and abusive mother and became a statistic. Oh, that's sad. That is sad. He joined a gang, started living on his own at 15 and had extreme food insecurity his whole life. Oh, that's really sad. Yes, sad. He also got hooked on heroin. He failed the 10th grade twice, the 11th grade three times,

and finally graduated high school when he was 19. This was not due to stupidity. My father is actually extremely intelligent, but this will give you a sense of how erratic his home life was. He had no one that cared about him, and he was left to figure it out. He was understandably very angry and lost. Oh, that's really sad. It is sad. When my dad was 20, Harry got out of prison early. Harry immediately resumed his mafia activity and had plenty of illegal money at his disposal.

My dad's still in poverty swallowed his hatred first father and tried to form a relationship with him. Harry saw the single pair of tattered jeans my dad owned and that he didn't have a winter jacket. Instead of giving my dad money or buying him clothes, he offered my dad a job. Oh no. It's just like, maybe he's not clothes, he offered my dad a job. Oh no. It's just like, maybe he could just be a dad.

For a few years, my dad was a driver for the mafia. He said his job was to not ask questions, fucking drive. And if a conversation was happening, he wasn't supposed to hear. To step outside the car and wait until he was told he could return. During this time, he became very close to Nady, the leader. I hope I'm saying that right, Nady. My dad describes Nady as the father he wanted at the time. Harry remained aloof to my dad and rarely interacted with him.

However, Nady saw my dad's intelligence and they often bonded over discussing philosophy. Oh, man, remember, this is making me think of that time in boy meets worlds when Sean becomes a runner for the mob. Oh, my God. It a runner for the mob. Oh my God. It's okay for Christmas gifts. I don't think I've ever seen that episode.

It's a great episode. I'm gonna watch that when I get home. It's good one. It's one of those very special episodes. I love those. Like when he joins a cult. Shondon a lot. Oh, that episode.

And Mr. Fini's hyped as fuck. Yes, when Cory's dead throws the cult leader against the wall. Yes. And it's like, you can't have Sean. I watched that recently and I was like, oh, I'm 30 now dad, like throws the cult leader against the wall and it's like you can't have Sean. I watched that recently and I was like, oh, I'm 30 now because Corey's dad. I was like, I get it. You're like same, same, same. All right.

All right, I digress. Natey was never in prison. There was an extremely incentive and intelligent criminal. He was actually a genius. He had a photographic memory and a genius level IQ. You wish he like used it for so like to help. Right, for good. He could have been anything and he chose evil.

Nadie also had a drop dead gorgeous wife, whom I met years earlier and is actually one of the sweetest ladies I have ever met. They had a daughter, Vicki, whom my dad to this day still describes as the most gorgeous girl in the world. Vicki and my dad actually dated for a short time. I met her too, and she grew up ironically to Mary a lawyer. Having the same intelligence and photographic memory as her father, she could recite line-by-line a newspaper article from years ago.

That's really cool. Isn't that crazy? Unfortunately, when Vicki was in elementary school, she was raped by her school bus driver. Isn't that so fucked up? The driver went missing the next week. I wonder why. That's tough. I think Nady took care of it.

I hope so. Getting back to the story, Nady called my dad to join him at a Chinese restaurant. When my dad arrived, the restaurant was empty. And the hostess without a word walked him upstairs. Upstairs, he found 15 mafia members sitting at a single table. Despite his relationship with Nady and being Harry's son, my dad knew that didn't mean anything. He couldn't stop thinking about what he could have,

what he could have possibly done. And if this was it, so he's thinking, he's walking up there if he's gonna die. Yeah. Was he going to die in a fucking Chinese restaurant? Can you imagine? Oh my god. Nady sitting at the head of the table,

told my dad to sit down and order something. My dad ordered some food while everyone silently stared at him. The most intimidating scene. After the waitress left, Nady began speaking. I want you to go to California. There's a gemology school there. You'll get certified. Come back here and run our jewelry store.

In case you're not getting it, they were going to open a jewelry store, sell diamonds and use the shop to launder money. They agreed to pay him handsomely, and if he was going to have a job in the mafia, I guess you can consider this somewhat safe. My dad knew they weren't really asking, so he agreed.

They smiled and dismissed him. Yep, he left before his food arrived. I was literally just gonna ask, was it good to be, get to eat? No. My dad packed up with his best friend and moved to Los Angeles and he attended GIA, Jamalah just Institute of the Arts, on the Jewish Mafia's dime. During this time my dad met a woman who had a six-month-old baby, Marissa.

He absolutely fell in love with this baby, however he graduated school and it was time to go back to Canada. His best friend stayed behind and he made a long drive back alone. The whole time he kept thinking about the life he was time to go back to Canada. His best friend stayed behind and he made a long drive back alone. The whole time he kept thinking about the life he was returning to. When you join the mafia, there's no such thing as quitting. You're in or you're dead. My dad knew he was looking at a future just like his dad's. He got five miles away from his destination and had $10 left in his pocket before he finally stopped the car and said to himself what the fuck am I doing? He ended up going back to the US fully expecting to one day be shot by his own father and has never returned to Canada.

He ended up marrying the girl adopting my sister Marissa, opening his own time in business and hasn't touched a drug since. Wow. Is that awesome? I was raised by a wonderful and loving father who never let us know what it would be to be raised in that nightmare. Oh my God, this is making me like, I know. Feel things.

Harry died of lung cancer. What's that like? What's that like for you? I know, it's crazy. Harry died of lung cancer and Nady lived until he was 80. Still never seeing a day in prison in a prison cell. No one in my family is in the mafia. Nor does the Jewish mafia exist in Toronto anymore.

My dad will never know where the mafia let him go. When I asked him to guess, he said, I think Nady liked the philosophy of it all. Thanks for your kick-ass podcast. My dad admits that he still thinks he has some psychopathic tendencies and struggles to show emotion or empathy. He has just always chosen to do the right thing ever since. The man truly never lies or would hurt anyone. I think my dad and grandfather's story

shows that nature versus nurture can play a role in becoming a psychopath. But at the end of the day, you always have a choice. If this makes it on your podcast, I just wanna say that I'm thankful to have my dad and even psychopaths with fucked up paths can be great, fathers, Julia. I loved that.

That's crazy. True. I totally believe that you always have a choice. We say that constantly that it's like, yes, your situation and your circumstances can play into things. Right. But you make the choice. You make the choice to be a good person, a bad person, a victim. It's all up to you. It's It really is. Wow. That was a crazy story. It was wild. Woo. On to the next one.

I dated a murderer. Whoops. My listener tale. Whoops. Whoops. Disclaimer. Feel free to use this on listener tales. Obviously, I would be totally fan-growing if you read this on an episode of listener tales. I know. It's long.

And sorry. Some names have been changed. Call me Liza Jean. Yes, I live in the middle of the woods in the south, but during this time, I was in the big old city, briefly, the big old city. So, I don't even know where to start. I guess maybe from the beginning. Yeah, yeah, that might be a good place. So it was 2006, I was 21 or 22, I think.

A lot of that time, my life is a blur because me like you do party hearty. Oh my god. You keep finding your soul sisters here. Like why I pick them? I had an old 91 Toyota Corolla. Y'all, that freaking car just wouldn't die. Y'all.

The transmission was temperamental. None of the windows worked. They were held up by rubber door stoppers. Wow. The old gray ones that you see at school. The ones your teachers propped in their door open with, yeah, yeah, those. We have those in the morgue too. rubber door stoppers. Wow. The old gray ones that you see at school. Yes. The ones your teachers propped in their door open with, yeah, yeah, those. We have those in the morgue too.

I love that. You know the ones you find in the morgue. Yeah. All the handles were broken off. You had to pull pieces of wire to open the doors. This is amazing. I mean, damn, I only paid $300 for it and it was mine. It got me where I wanted to go.

It also had a slow but steady oil leak, which sent me to the auto part store about once a week. Nice. I must have been like, I feel like you probably spent more money taking care of that than you did on the car. Absolutely. This week it was a Saturday morning. Well, more like three in the afternoon, but close enough. See, soul sisters. And I had driven all over Bacon'sville, Mallorra, the name's changed, remember? Doing stuff and things the night before. I was hungry and I knew I needed oil while I was out.

I figured you know, get two birds stoned at once. Triller Park Boys reference, hopefully you get it. I actually don't know what that is. I've never watched that either. I know what it is, but I haven't seen it. Sorry. Sorry. So I stopped by the auto parts store

around the corner for my house. Now mind you, I hadn't showered, taken my makeup off, brushed my hair or teeth, or even attempted put, attempted to put on something that was reasonable. This literally sounds like me every morning in high school, like, or like on the weekend in high school. It's amazing. I was standing in line, ex-boyfriends, boxer shorts, and old-ass Marty Gratyshirt from the 90s and flip flops. Toads mind in my own damn business, looking like super trash in this tall glass of water walks by. Oh ladies, he was so easy on the eyes.

Oh yes, I was young, dumb, and full of, well, you know, a duh, I was looking. He was clean, shaving, had a nice build, short hair on the side and a red faux hawk on top. Brape blue eyes and a smile that I would never in a million years believe was aimed at me. Wow, this is poetry. It's fucking like snap in the back.

But it was, boy was it. I watched him walk by out of the corner of my eye ever so slightly turning my head. He stops to do one of those turnaround moves. You see the army men and the movies do when they're heels. I know exactly what she's talking about too. I do too. I smirked and looked back ahead.

He was standing next to me, staring at me. Fucking weirdo. I love how quickly she's like, what the fuck? I'm destined to love him forever and then she's like fucking weirdo. Right, I love it. It's a love story. I tried to ignore him because I knew what I looked like.

I could only imagine what I smelled like and I was just waiting for him to get a good whiff and run away. But he did in. I was like, okay dude, I'll bite. I looked at him and smiled and he said something along the eyes of, damn you're beautiful. I just rolled my eyes. Waiting for a guy with a camera on his shoulder to jump out and go smile. You're on candid camera.

Ah, yo, I totally just stung that nifty little jingle showing my age, huh? Waiting for a guy with a camera on his shoulder to jump out and go smile. You're on candid camera. Yo, I totally just stung that nifty little jingle showing my age, huh? Same like I was a legit. I thought this was a legit setup or a joke I ignored him, but he didn't go away rude like I'm ignoring you. Don't be persistent in shit, but he was fucker Yeah, I love her. I do too. He asked if I was from around here and I was thinking about answering but before I could he but before I could even get a chance to that great A smart ass he had a chance to be that great A smart ass. Oh yeah yeah. Before I could even get a chance to be that great A smart ass he had like ran skipped up to the register and asked the cashier for a

piece of paper and a pen. Then he came, then he come run skipping back with the previously mentioned objects and demanded my number. I was thinking how adorbs that dumb shit just, that dumb shit he just did was. He claimed my eyes just drew him in and he couldn't just walk by without saying something. Wow. I have shit brown eyes, you all. Shit brown. And they had black underneath from unremoved eyeliner in mascara. But I was like, okay, I'll buy what you're selling my dude. Why not? Insert shoulder shrug and got shit else to do.

And hey, you might be a little fun for one or two drunk at nights. She's a hero. Incredible. She's a hero to us all, honestly. He took my number and went to the parking lot. My yellow no key of flip-soloing ring. There was a number I didn't recognize. I answered not even thinking this guy was going to call right away, but he did. I laughed, asked him his name. We will call him Tommy Thompson. Tommy Thompson. He said he called right before he left to make sure I didn't give him a fake

number. I thought about giving him 8.65 through that line, but he might have figured that one out. I used to work at a restaurant and you had to take people's phone numbers for takeout and my boss who like trained me would always write down 8675 309 and I was like, but that's not helpful. That's not helpful. Not gonna be able to call them. Anyways, back to the story. He waited till I went to my car to get on his motorcycle. Motorcycle, y'all. Then a hard, I was a moochie. And drive away down the main drag. I thought, wow, this is gonna be fun, huh?

I wasn't wrong, winky face. But I sort of was. Either way, he had a roommate. We shall call her Bobby Sue. We shall, we shall. He said they dated back in the day and she was still hung up on him, but had a man. What shall call her Bobby Sue. We shall. We shall. He said they dated back in the day And she was still hung up on him, but had a man. Whatevs y'all? I didn't care. I was 20ish or whatevs Nothing was serious to be at the time. Well, maybe except getting a skimp bag from the weed man. Fucker

Anyway, I met this chick turns out she was related to someone I had known for a long time. Small world. Whatevs Tommy and I talked for a while. Party together for a bit, never serious. He was pretty cool. So very nice to me. So gentle and so very loving towards me. He was protective of me, making sure I had a helmet on his bike or a seatbelt on the car. That's just like common dishes.

Yeah, that's like, don't fly through the windshield. Right. I would go to Tommy's house, but he never let me in. Seriously, in the eight months, we were, we dated not once. Okay, that's, you should think that's weird. That's weird. I mean, she does.

I thought that was all fish, but what abs? This is reminding me of full house where she can be gibblers dating Dean. He just goes, whatever. Whatever. Whatever. We're gonna be out.

It wasn't that serious. Usually I was just there to meet up and go out with him, not hang out at his place. Well, one day he told me to meet up with him at his place. He was on his way home from work. I got there before he did and I knocked on the door, thinking maybe Bobby Sue would like to chitchat. Oh.

I don't want to talk to Bobby Sue. I do. Oh, turns out she would and she had a lot to say. Oh no. Now, I didn't really know this out she would and she had a lot to say. Oh no. Now, I didn't really know this girl, seen her face a few times, but didn't really know anything other than what Tommy had told me.

He said she was loud, obnoxious, crazy, hung up on him, and she had a fairly bad temper, which is why it didn't work with them. Okay, cool, cool. So she was the problem, cool. Likely story. Yeah, her story was very different, isn't it always? It always is.

While talking to her, she says he was abusive towards her physically. She said he was a monster. What? Yeah, I didn't believe her at first, because I never saw any of the crazy, any of that crazy she spoke of. In eight months, nothing. Then, while she said she had proof,

she said she wasn't lying. Note, so my face totally does the thing where I can't control my expressions and by this, by the time I realized I made a face, I shouldn't have, it's too late. Whoops! She brought me inside. The house was in disarray and there were holes in the walls. I saw a broken picture frame on a table, a broken chair sitting next to the trash by the door.

She claims he did all that. Uh, okay. Then she showed me the trash by the door. She claims he did all that. Okay, then she showed me the police reports with pictures, pictures, y'all, of damage to the house, things broken, bruises she's acquired. Oh my gosh. This guy was a total douche, douche canoe. And I wasn't about to stick around for that shit ride.

He got home, Bobby Sue and I had already been back outside. I looked at him completely different, like I didn't want to, because he was so perdi. But even though the last eight months with him were a freaking blast, I had never seen that bad side. He treated me so well. I broke up with him. Good for you.

Good for you. With very little explanation. Something like I didn't wanna be tied down or some lame shit. In all actuality, I hopped so fast on the noob trade and headed right for fuck that. Well, yeah. So he came to my job a few time with flowers and food, my weakness. Oh.

I told him I was over it, and that he was wasting his time. After a few more failed attempts of wooing me, he finally quit. About six years later, I get a call for my bestest friend. We shall call her Sammy Jo. I love this. I'm incredibly, like this is awesome. Bobby Sue and Sammy Jo. And what was it, L incredibly like this is awesome. Bobby Sue and Sammy Joe. And what was it?

Liza Jean. Liza Jean. Sammy Joe told me that someone she knew was missing and good old Tommy Thompson had been arrested as a person of interest. Tommy Thompson. Tommy Thompson. She told me to turn on the news, but to be sitting down, she wasn't lying. I was like, shit.

Sammy Joe said this dude was helping the missing woman's family look for her for a month up until he was arrested and then confessed to shooting her and just dumping her body in the woods. Like what the fuck? Who does that? Oh yeah, huh, that's psychopath. Sammy Joe and I talked about the what-ifs for a while

and quite frankly just fucked with their own heads. Super smart thing to do at 11 p.m. Huh, anyway, that's my story of how I ended up dating a murderer, ladies. Feel free to use it and shorten it if need be. Never. Remember to keep it weird, but not so weird that you kill your lover, dump their body,

help their family look for them, and then confess when you find out that you've been arrested as a person of interest. Later babes, kiss emoji, les kiss emoji. Liza Jean. Liza? Motherfucking jeez. Liza Jean. What?

Insanity. That is bonkers. Bonkers. Can you imagine finding out later that I dated a murderer? Yeah. I wouldn't be shocked by his ston my dating history. I feel it. I definitely wouldn't be shocked to be so nice.

I'm gonna turn on the light because behind you, it's all dark and scary. It's spooky, spooky. Ooh, that's a bright ass light. Yeah, we were literally sitting in the dark. Wow, you know that feeling where you're just like, oh, fuck. Oh, well, there's the sun.

But like, I'm looking at you and then behind you, there's a corner and then that whole like black image thing earlier, really free to be out. Cause I'm not'm not kidding guys we were sitting in the actual pitch black like actual pitch black the sun went down and we were like Welp guess we'll just sit here in this stuff but then I just decided never mind so this is the last listener tale for today it is called the bathroom at my summer camp was a portal to another dimension. Same. Alright, let's do this. Quick little beginning note for personal reasons.

I would not like my real name said so y'all can call me C.C. Hi C.C.C. Hey weirdos, first of all, I want to say that I'm a huge fan of your podcast and I love y'all so much. I stumbled upon your podcast on accident when looking for new true crime podcasts listens to on Spotify, and I've been hooked ever since. One of my friends at college who was a fellow weirdo suggested I submit a listener's tale

since I've been, I've seen some fucked up crazy shit in only 20 years of existing. And that's on trauma. Poo. Poo is right. Poo. Um, this story, however, is a bit more lighthearted. I'll be incredibly strange and trippy as hell.

We love that. We are here for it. In 12 years later, I still look back and say, what the fuck was that shit even about? So without saying that about a lot of things. Yes. So without further ado, here's the story of the time I experienced a glitch in the Matrix slash traveled to another dimension

by just using the bathroom at summer camp. I am ready. So little baby CC was just eight years old. To me and my sister went to a summer day camp on a farm where we would learn more about animals, how to take care of them around the farm, and do fun activities around the property, and even swim in a nearby lake. It was super fun, and I got to play with cutie animals all day and hang out with my friends. That sounds like a fucking dream, see? Yeah, one day when we were having a break between activities, I really had to use the bathroom and asked one of the counselors if I could go. There was porta-potties for us to use. We were mostly outside and on a farm, but they were all occupied of fucking course they were. She had to if I could wait

a little bit, but eight-year-old me with a tiny bladder and impeccable timing was like, no, I gotta go now. She then tells me that I can use the bathroom in the main house on the farm, which you weren't allowed to go into, but she said it was all right and led me in the house and showed me where it was. Right before I closed the bathroom door to do my thing, she tells me to come right back to where the other kids were, which was about a hundred feet from the house when I was done. She then went out the front door. Now keep this in mind. The bathroom door was right across from the front door at the other end of the front hallway. On the right of the bathroom door was the living room,

which had a huge window where you could clearly see where the other kids were, and where me and my counselors came from. Before I went into the bathroom, I could see the other kids playing outside the window. That description is so ominous. It really is. She's like, this is where everything was, and I could see every day. And I could see all these children playing at sides. It's like, okay. Fast forward to a couple minutes later. No.

I'm in the bathroom washing my hands, and I'm about to leave to go back to where my counselors and friends were. But when I opened the bathroom door and looked in front of me to start walking towards the front door, I noticed that the front door was fucking gone. Nowhere to be fucking seen.

What? Right? I thought I was just seeing things. So I walked up to the front door was fucking gone. Nowhere to be fucking seen. What? Right? I thought I was just seeing things, so I walked up to the blank doorless wall and felt for the door, but there was just wall. No door. Eight-year-old me is immediately like, what's going on? I want my mom with the heck. But then I remember that the place where the kids was playing was visible from the

giant ass window in the living room, so I figured if I bang on the window, the kids would see me and someone would help me. So I'd go back towards the bathroom door and look right towards the living room in the big window. The window was still there, but the kids, the farm buildings, the fences, and everything visible outside that window before I went into the bathroom was gone. Weird. All I saw was the grass, the mountains, the sky, pretty much everything natural, but no one and nothing was there. I immediately started panicking and crying, running around that damn house like a maniac, looking for any rooms to go into to either find someone in there to help me or to get out of the house, and I kid you not, every door, whether it's a bedroom door, a closet door,

a back door, a window was locked. Oh, that's like so ominous. In every window I looked out of, there was nothing, just the landscape. I started screaming and asking for my mom, and I even prayed to God that He would get me out of there. From what the clock in the living room was telling me, I was probably in there running around for like 10 minutes, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and trying to get out, but it felt like hours.

But no matter what I tried, the front door wasn't there. Every other door was locked and there was nothing out the windows. I eventually just went back into the bathroom and sat on the floor crying because I was so scared and confused and didn't know what else to do. After a minute, about a minute after I went back

to the bathroom, I heard a knock at the door. Cece, are you okay in there? You've been gone a while. It was my counselor. I opened the door and there she stood. I looked behind her in the front door's back where it was before. I look out the window, in the barns, and kids, and fences were all there. I stood there absolutely dumbfounded.

My counselor could clearly see that I had been crying and was like, are you okay, hun? Were you crying? I don't know why, but that question made me break down and I told her everything that happened. She stood there with this incredibly confused concern look on her face and was probably thinking this kid is fucking crazy and I'm calling the cops. And all she really said was, well, maybe going back

to our activities will make you feel better. Because imagine if a kid said that to you, it's like, what am I supposed to say? What a counselor moves, right? It's like, let's go have some extra. Let's make a macaroni necklace. Let's see. So I think I just lost my place.

She took me by the hand and brought me to the other kids. At the time I was thinking, lady, the door was gone. It was kind of mad that she didn't take me too seriously. But now as an adult, I think her response was appropriate considering the circumstances. And that it's not every day a kid tells you some crazy ass shit like that. That's true. I really is. She never brought up the issue with me again, but I'm pretty sure she told my parents what I said, because when me and my sister got home from camp that afternoon, my parents were teasing me about it and just said it was the product of my overactive imagination. And my sister, who is a bitch, and is low-key-tosic,

told me that he made up the story for attention. I rarely ever told the story because I assume no one would believe me. But after lots of time reading glitch in the matrix stories on Reddit and going down internet rabbit holes and other dimensions, the multiverse and other spooky yuki coincidences. I realized that this weird little blip in reality

are probably a bigger phenomenon than I thought and that I'm not crazy. So in conclusion, I think that eight-year-old me experienced some weird spooky dimension shift or glitch in the matrix, and that the bathroom at the summer camp was a portal that sent me 15 minutes of tri- into 50 minutes of trippy warp tell. I used to do Hellas psychedelics in high school and it was nothing compared to the shit I saw in that house. I hope you all enjoyed my

listener tale. Sorry it was long and I hope it was good enough to put in an episode doubtful. But regardless I love y'all and I can't wait to see the cool projects you have in the future. Keep it weird but not so weird that you go into your summer camp's bathroom and have a BM or be so intense that it sends you to another dimension. C-C. C-C. That was incredible. C-C. I love it. What one to end on? Honestly, I feel like that was like the perfect one to end on. It truly was. Or a BM that sends you to another dimension. Guys, you killed it. Like, you always do. Oh a BM that sends you another dimension. Guys, you killed it, like you always do.

Always. These listener tails. You're really killing it. We love sending them in, because we freaking love them. Yeah. Yeah. Well, check out our Instagram app. Morbit podcast.

Hit us up on Twitter. A Morbit podcast. Send us your own listener tail to our Gmail. Morbit podcast at gbell.com. Don't send it anywhere else. We won't see it. And make sure you title them Listener Tales and then some fun title, because it's fun.

Yeah, the fun titles make me read them. Fun fun. And you, we hope you keep listening. And we hope you keep it. Weird. But it's so weird that you don't send it to Listener Tale. You're supposed to go through all of them.

Oh, I am. Well, don't keep it so weird that you say, oh,'re supposed to go through all of them. Oh, I am. Well, don't keep it so weird that you say, ah, no cowboy, because that's gonna get you shot. Don't do that, it's bad. Not so weird that you have to have like a figure staring at you in the middle of the night and then you find out that the other figure was staring at the same person.

It's really creepy, I don't know. Don't keep it so weird that like, I lean's not your grandma because I really wish that I lean was my grandma even though I do like my grandma. I wish that like my other grandma was I lean. And also, don't keep it so weird that your dad like screws over the mafia because I can get you into a lot of trouble. I'm really happy that like it didn't get your dad in trouble. Don't keep it so weird, but you'd date a fucking murderer. I mean come on do I even have

the same thing else about that? And don't keep it so weird that you have a bell movement that sends you into another direction. Dupention, I love you so much. Goodbye. Hey, Prime Members! You can listen to Morvid, Early, and Add Free on Amazon Music. Download the Amazon Music app today, or you can listen Add Free with Wondery Plus and Apple podcasts. Before you go, tell us about yourself by completing a short survey at Wondery.com slash survey.