My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 117

Episode Date: April 8, 2019

This week’s hometowns include a self-defense tale and a bus station story.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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Welcome. It's to my favorite murder mini-soat. That's right. We read your shit. Back to you. It's another pile of shit we read at you. Are you ready? Thank you for...

Thank you. Thank you for your ears. And eyes. And, well, they're looking somewhere. We're glad they're there. It's great. And if one's popped out, pop it back in. Okay.

I do have an eyeball story. Oh, do it. You go. You want to go first this time? Whatever you... I don't have a good ending. Do you? Okay.

I think I do. Okay, great. So, when then, you do go first? I'll go first then, so you can end it. Right? You still want to go first. I just couldn't figure the math out. You can go first and last if you want.

No, I would not like that. That would make me feel bad. Okay. Well, I'm going to go first because all my stories are terrible. Great. And I don't have like a light hearted ending. Great. Okay.

So, this is called hometown I survived slash I might go into labor at your show. Oh. Karen, Georgia, and gang. And then it says, sorry, I suck at intros. Disagree. That was great. I liked it. It was inclusive.

I thought I would share my hometown I survived story that made me a murderer now as just a young preteen. I wish that I could find more details on it, but it was before the internet. I grew up before the internet. Yeah. I grew up going to sporting events for my twin brother and most of my entertainment came from eavesdropping on the mom's talking gossip. Hell yeah.

That's right. Turns out one of the moms had recently been stalked by some guy. One night she was sleeping on the couch waiting for her husband to get off and was awoken by the sound of duct tape being ripped. No. She came to realize that there was a man in her house. I don't know the details of the fight except that she ended up grabbing his eyeballs, which sent him running down the street screaming in pain.

Good. She called 911 and the man was arrested. My mom's other friends served on the jury that found him guilty. Evidently, he had been stalking her for a while, had broken into her house when she was alone, turned the TV up and closed the kid's bedroom's doors and was planning to rape her. Who knows what would have happened if she hadn't fought back. That bad ass survived by grabbing his eyeballs.

Hell yeah. In retrospect, the story may be the reason why I'm always paranoid that I have a stalker. Always looking, anyways, looking forward to your Houston show in May. My husband surprised me with tickets even though it's a four hour trip and I will be nine months pregnant. Girl, it's like a contest. We joke about how great of a story it would be to go into labor at your show, but not really.

Baby Link, here's your voices every day. Disagree. So he will be likely be worn a murderino. Yes. A baby-rino. Stay sexy and don't get murdered because you went for the eyeballs, Al. Al, I would just like to point out- It's an Abler AI. AI?

Like artificial intelligence? Maybe. Do you think a computer wrote us? Hometown. Computer-generated hometowns. It's the way of the future. Here's all the things you like. Eyeballs, fear, defense, self-defense.

Baby's going into labor. Eyes. Going everywhere. That the sound of ripping duct tape is one of the scary- It wasn't until she just stated it. You were like- What a horrifying sound to wake up to. The like opening of duct, the like peeling. Yeah.

Peeling up. Because what else would it be? It's not someone going, oh, I just have to tape down these roof shingles or some shit like that. Hey, I'm in your house while you're sleeping. Yeah. And it's like you can't do it quietly. It's like purposefully allowed to scare the shit out of you.

That's right. You can't quietly rip duct tape. No. I've tried it many times. No. It won't rip that way. You have to go loud and proud chainsaw style with any duct tape. And then you got to go for the eyeballs.

And I also was thinking, because the eyeballs are the most painful, but you know every once in a while, I don't know if this happens to you, Georgia, but you reach into your nostril because you just want to scratch or pick or do something and you scratch your inside. Or you got a zit in there. It's the most painful place to get a zit. I would imagine sticking your finger up someone's nose and scratching the inside would be very effective. How about both your pinkies clonk right in the ear holes?

Oh, yeah. Shove them as far, because you're not supposed to put anything in your ear holes, especially other people's pinkies that maybe have very nicely manicured pinky nails on them and scratch it around. Clonk. Right into the ear holes. Right in there. All right.

And also don't be afraid to just hurt their feelings because that'll stop a guy in his tracks right quick. Say something rude. Oh, you're not that smart. Oh, you're less smart than I thought. Oh, you don't seem successful to me. Boom. He's down on his knees.

Oh, you took the 405 to the 101. You absolutely should have taken it to the five. What? 405 to the one. You should have taken it to the 10. Are you a fool? Oh my God. Who does that?

Ruin. He'll never get back up. He deserves it. Ready? I lived with a cult because the rent was cheap and other stories from my co-worker hide various humans and animals. I live in the glorious green part of the country known as the Pacific Northwest, which means everyone has some sort of connection to a serial killer.

My uncle was best friends with one of Ted Bundy's victims. I regularly see Amanda Knox at my local grocery store. That kind of thing. Wow. We got to move to the Pacific Northwest. We should. We should have a summer home there. But some of my very favorite stories come from my co-worker.

She's not someone you'd expect to have strange stories. She's this super nice, mommish woman who's constantly trying to get you to eat because she thinks you're always hungry. But from what I can tell, she's had a life capital L before coming in to work at the bakery. Wow. During slow patch at work one day. I like that idea.

It's a slow patch. Yeah. You're just driving through a work field and here's a patch of slowness. Me and my supervisor were talking about Ted Bundy and cults as you do. And my co-worker casually brought up the fact that when she was in her 20s, she rented a room from the local cult, the love family. My reaction was naturally sheer delight and she hastened to explain she wasn't actually in the cult.

She just rented a room from them because it was cheap. And then while my supervisor and I were processing that bit of information, she also told us that at her old job, she was the one who processed the photos of Ted Bundy's execution. What? Yeah. Our reactions quickly turned to something closer to horror as she described trigger warning. His fried head. And then she just walked away as if she hadn't just dropped two very fascinating pieces of

information about herself. It makes me wonder what else she's done that she hasn't told us. I hope to see you all the next time you come to Seattle, SSDGM, Anya. Oh my goodness. Anya, I feel like there are backup emails. There are part two, three and fours that you can send us. And we need the name of the bakery. Yes.

We need their Yelp rating and we need to go in there immediately. And we need her autobiography. That's right. Because those are amazing. So good. I mean, renting a room with the cult is a more interesting story than being in a cult. Yeah. Because you know what you're doing.

Yes. You're aware. And it's also like, are you okay? Right. What are you, you're walking a line as if to say, I'm going to be in this world the most dangerous way possible without participating entirely. And I am so confident in myself that I'm not going to be joining this fucking cult. Yes.

That it doesn't matter. Or maybe she was just on a ton of acid and she just needed somewhere to sleep. Maybe she was in the cult and just didn't realize it. Maybe she's bad at being in a cult. Right. Do you have to acknowledge you're in a cult? You don't have to be like, I'm joining a cult. I feel like acknowledgement is a huge part of cult.

Okay. So she couldn't have just been in it. Like really being about it. Yeah. She couldn't have been like, oh, that's that girl that doesn't really like the cult. They will suss you out in the heads of those cults. Maybe she was the head of the cult and she just didn't know it. Oh my God.

That's the most powerful position to be in where you're not attached to the label of who quote unquote, who you think you are. We don't like labels. No, I'm not. I'm certainly not the leader of this cult. You're the leader. Right. I'm your follower.

We all lead ourselves in this lifetime. Take more acid. Job says. Trip out more. Turns out she never lived with that cult. It was just her family home. She was just so fucked. She was married.

She was married to three children. They drove her insane. She thought it was a cult. Oh, she was so high. The cult of motherhood. The cult of motherhood. Oh my God. We figured Betsy out and I love it.

Okay. Here's another defense story. Great. It's an, and it'll give you another place to grab. Okay. Truly. Hey folks, it's me again writing in together another story. So sorry, but no, I won't stop writing in.

See, we don't know who you are and we don't read all the emails. So if you feel bad about writing 10 different times, we'll never know. Also a great piece of writing advice that I got long ago is write down what you want to write and then cut out like 70% of it. Okay. Just tell people what they need to know. Yeah. Maybe it was Hemingway who said that.

But fucking. One of his cats. Don't worry about the last thing in the world you need to be worried about is that you're showing up too much in our email account that has probably what over 20,000 emails in it at this point. Probably a million. Probably easily a million. Yeah.

Including all those Kohl's promo emails. That's right. That one time we bought one thing. You sign up for one Kohl's cash credit card. You're done for. Okay. So I was catching up on my minisodes and I heard yet another story of self-defense. Yes.

My husband is an active duty Marine and is also an instructor of Marine Corps martial arts. Hell yes. Yes. So naturally he's equipped me with some basic self-defense information. For instance, I'm about half his size but I can effortlessly knock him on his ass or flip him over my back if need be. Sign us up.

Sorry. Marine Corps self-defense. Yeah. It's its own type. Yeah. It's its own area. It's its own area. They're fucking tough.

We should get, see my brother learned anything when he was in the Marines. Was he in the Marines? Yeah. Did he get big biceps? No. But he makes a mean bed. Tight corners. Tight corners.

Nurses' corners. Yeah. He's good at that. Okay. Okay. No. And I'm not even that strong. However, he's also taught me some easy to remember basic moves that cause a bit more

damage but require half the effort slash training to remember how to do it. Those are the ones I need. That's absolutely my thing. Yeah. Especially because I don't really know what part of the body is where. You know. Right. I don't know.

Especially if you're screaming and your eyes are closed. Exactly. My favorite is the trachea grab. Oh shit. Here we go. We went to a nightclub with my friend at the Murderina who turned me on to your podcast years ago and we got drunk and had a good time. We stayed until close because, well, it was the only nightclub in the world's smallest

town and we had nothing else to do. So my friend Jamie got way too drunk and as we were all ushered out of the club and onto the back alley to wait for our rides, me and Jamie found a spot off to the side where she could sit while I called a cab. I made the phone call and turned around to let her know how long it would be when to my surprise, there was a fellow clubgoer coaxing Jamie into his cab. Oh my God. He had the back door open and was trying to get her up off the floor and into the back

seat. I came up to him like, uh, yo dude, what's going on? To which he replied, oh, my girlfriend just had too much to drink. I have to get her home to sleep it off. So smooth, right? If she hadn't been my best friend, uh, and with, and there with me, I might have actually believed him. However, that was my Jamie and he was trying to take her from me instead of screaming for

help, telling the man that she was with me or the hundred other things I could have done in the moment. The only thing I could think to do was injure the man trying to do horrible things to my sweet baby Jamie. So I went for it. I had lunched at him and my hand went right for the throat as instructed by my husband so many times in our practice sessions. My fingers did not go around the throat, but instead dug into either side of the creepers

Adam's apple, I shoved them in and grabbed as hard as I could. And he immediately started shoving me and ripping at my hand. I let go as a bouncer came jogging up to see what was going on. Bouncer asked if we were all right. Creeper guy waved him off since, you know, he couldn't talk anymore. Yes. Got in his cab and left. I promptly started hyperventilating and explained to the bouncer what had just happened.

He helped me bring Jamie closer to the back door of the club and waited there with us. And the rest of the stragglers until our cow arrived. Jamie and I made it home safely that night. In fact, my husband told me that with enough pressure, you can permanently damage or even crush a trachea. That's right. Stay sexy and go directly for the trachea, Jenny. I love that she just did it.

She didn't ask him any questions. Say no, she's not. No, no, she didn't try to enter a logic conversation with a sociopath who was already ready for any question or thing. Totally. Clearly lying to her face. Probably done it before. He's so smooth about it.

Yeah. I love it. She just, it's like you're already taking my friends. Yeah, here is the consequences of the very bad thing you're trying to do. It's not logic. Trick. But here's what I also would say. If you're at a club and you're going to go call a cab, you nuzzle right under that bouncer's

armpit and you stay with him until that cab, especially if you have a drunk friend, because it's too much to manage. And you shame him. You're going to let us go sit in the back alley and wait for a cab. I need you, big, strong man, to come with me. Yes, exactly. That's what bouncers are there for. And a lot of times they're just staying there looking for something.

I mean, I love that that guy spotted it and ran over it, but I mean, stick toward, stick to the door. There's no reason to wander off and be independent after the club closes. Well, I'm really worked up about this. A lot of club rules. Please read my book Club Rules with a Z. This is from the person we met in the Pittsburgh VIP meet and greet. The next line is the library murder files and the red toenail murder.

What? Hi, Karen and Georgia and Steven and new Steven, Jay, question mark. We told the Pittsburgh about Jay. Yes. We have a new assistant. That's right, because Steven has been promoted and is now the head engineer of the Exactly Right podcast network. And he just couldn't deal with us anymore.

And he is so sick of our emails. Well, I should say your emails. No. The audiences. I'm like, what? Do I do that? No. I'm in thumb, but got it.

Got it. The new Steven is Jay. Yeah. Welcome to the family. He's the picker and he's great. Yes. Okay. And then and whoever else reads these, well, don't start getting paranoid.

It's just Jay now. No, it's just Jay. Sometimes even sometimes me late at night when I can't sleep and need horrible stories. Oh, really? Oh, yeah. You just go through. Uh-huh. Okay.

It was so nice meeting both of you and saying hi to fellow former Michigander Vince at Friday's VIP meet and greet in Pittsburgh. I'm sure it can't be easy to have a hundred people throw their nervous energy at you for an hour. It sounds like an anxious person's nightmare, but we're also appreciative. What are you talking about? We love it. They fuck it.

It's like people coming to brush your hair for an hour. Couldn't be better. I'm the librarian who blurted out a fast story about the research collection of quote murder files in our local history room. The files tell the stories of more than 300 murders spanning the 1830s to present day just from within our rural county an hour north of Pittsburgh. Wow. We were compiled by a couple of very cool retired volunteers.

I absolutely lucked out in inheriting responsibility for this collection as part of the job. And we've helped several people gain some closure by helping them learn about family members who were victims. Amazing. PS, feel free to steal the work of my volunteers if you ever come back to the Berg for another live show. They think what you do is awesome even though they don't quite understand what a podcast is.

Tell them it's just like terrestrial radio. Anyway, here's one of my favorite stories from our files, which the Pittsburgh newspapers all sensationally dubbed the Red Toe Nail Murder. In October 1951, 19-year-old Nancy Rebilis and her 24-year-old husband Ed got into an argument because Nancy wanted to go to a dance that weekend. According to Ed, Nancy refused to promise to dance with him because he was short. What? And it made her self-conscious.

Oh, man. They're married. Problems. But that sounds like a dude with issues about his height projecting his own bullshit on someone else. Yeah. During the argument, Ed knocked Mary unconscious, then suffocated her. The next morning, Ed went to Nancy's parents' house for breakfast and told them she'd run

off overnight. Ed played the part of the worried husband and filed a missing persons report, at which point the police asked him to take a lie detector test. But Ed refused, saying he was, quote, too nervous. Within a few weeks of Nancy's, quote, disappearance, he enlisted in the Air Force and skipped town to Texas. Wow. Fast forward to spring of 1952, so like a year later, a farmer walking his property line

spots a flash of bright red in the trees and goes closer to investigate. It's a woman's foot with a bright red toenail polish. He's found Nancy. Ed buried her in a shallow grave on this farm property. Pennsylvania State Police flew to Texas where Ed continued to deny knowing anything about his wife until they showed him pictures of her body, at which point he confessed. Ed returned to Butler County to stand trial, and it marked the first trial in the county where a taped confession was played as evidence.

Ed was found guilty, but disappointingly only served six years for Nancy's death. Margaret. And that was Margaret's from the historical files. God, like he could have gone on and gotten married again and had kids and no one would ever know of it. Easy. Easy. Six years?

Six fucking years. Wow. It's for murder. They must have, like, plead. They plead all over the place. They plead on their pants. This is terrible. That's terrible.

This is serious. Stop it. This is serious. Stop it. your podcast. Stop it. Act like a grown-up. Looking for a better cooking routine?

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slash murder20 and use code murder20. Goodbye. What makes a person a murderer? Are they born to kill or are they made to kill? I'm Candice DeLong and on my new podcast Killer Psyche Daily, I share a quick 10-minute rundown every weekday on the motivations and behaviors of the criminal masterminds, psychopaths and cold-blooded killers you hear about in the news. I have decades of experience as a psychiatric nurse, FBI agent, and criminal profiler.

On Killer Psyche Daily, I'll give you insight into cases like Ryan Grantham and the newly arrested Stockton serial killer. I'll also bring on expert guests to dive deeper into the details, share what it's like to work with a behavioral assessment unit at Quantico, answer some killer trivia, and even host virtual Q&As where I'll answer your burning questions. Hey Prime members, listen to the Amazon Music Exclusive Podcast, Killer Psyche Daily, in the Amazon Music app. Download the app today.

Okay, okay. Here we go. This is... Okay, I'm not going to tell you this. Hello MFM crew. I recently remembered this story and thought I would share it with you. When I was a junior in high school, I started working graveyard shifts for a Greyhound affiliate bus line in the middle of nowhere, Idaho.

Hold on. In high school? Yeah. She says so many red flags. I know. Yes. So many. Graved your shift in high school.

Graved your shift in high school at a Greyhound affiliate, so it's not even like a full-fledged Greyhound in the middle of nowhere. I think there's over five different horror movies that start like this. Seriously. Okay. Here's one of them. Okay. One night, I was working by myself at the Greyhound Depot.

The last round of passengers had just loaded their bus, and as I started to lock up the depot, the phone rang. I answered the person on the other line and said, Hello, ma'am. My name is, we'll call him Bob, with the FBI. My first instinct was to hang up because we received a lot of prank calls, but something about this felt different. The next sentence he spoke left the hair in the back of my neck reaching the high heaven. We have reason to believe that there is a very dangerous and potentially armed man on

one of your buses. Uh-oh. Quick side note, because you can board a Greyhound bus with cash and leave absolutely no paper trail, Greyhound is usually the preferred form of travel for people who have found themselves on a do not fly list. Fugitives, convicted felons, drug dealers, registered sex offenders, et cetera. Because of this, I was pretty tight with the local police, but a call from the FBI was a new experience.

Again, high school students. Great graveyard, high school student, pretty tight with the police. Where are your parents? Listen. Okay. Look. Bob gave me a description of the man, and to my horror, it matched the description of a man who had been sitting less than two feet away from me just minutes earlier.

He asked me to put him on hold and contact the driver of the bus to confirm that this person was indeed there. I called the driver, Paul, and described the man to him. Paul confirmed that the man, they never told me his name, they just called him X, was sitting on the very front row of the bus and that there was a child with him. I relayed this to Bob, and then I found myself caught in the middle of a joint FBI, SWAT, and police operation. Oh, girl.

Uh-huh. Paulage. Or guy. I think. Ashland, girl. Okay. Paul had just pulled off to the first stop and was getting ready to leave. Law enforcement wanted him to stay put to decrease the chances of anything happening to the

innocent passengers on board the bus. They were setting a team to pick up X and would be there in less than 10 minutes. I called Paul and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to move the damn bus until X was no longer on board, set it an 11th grader. Purr Bob's order. Listen to me, Paul. I'm telling you. If you do not pick on us.

I am not a sophomore anymore. I am a senior. Like, this is not an LOL situation. This is real. Look, FaceTime me. We'll talk about it on FaceTime. That's right. Take FaceTime off your phone because people can spy on you.

They can spy on you. It's true. Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh. Okay. Purr Bob's order. About Purr Bob's order, I gave Paul a rundown of the situation and asked him to keep an eye on the child. I gave Paul an excuse to tell the passengers and kept him on the phone for about five minutes,

completely faking a conversation about weather delays and an accident on the I-15. After a little over 15 minutes, the law enforcement team arrived and X was taken into custody. It was pretty dramatic and there was a taser involved, but not a single innocent passenger was harmed. Turns out X was heavily armed and was running from his ex-wife and parole officer. Then she writes two different people. Got to hope. Beautiful.

Across state lines. He was a registered sex offender and was the prime suspect in a rape-turned-murder investigation. The child was his, though he did not have custody. I have no idea what happened to him and I don't know his name and I haven't been able to find out any additional information. After X had been removed from the bus, Paul continued on his route as normal and route route. And I locked up the depot and went home to finish a book report for my 11th grade English

class. Are you fucking kidding me? She wasn't even a senior. She was truly. In 11th grade. She was a junior. She was a junior in high school. That's so nuts.

It's not okay. I told my parents. She was like, hold on. Let me get the SWAT team back on the phone. She should have become a dispatcher if I had been good at that. She already was one. Maybe she was just like, nah, I tried it. I tried that when I was a junior.

I told my parents all about what happened and needless to say, quit shortly after and found a much more normal job that didn't require me to call the police on a weekly basis. At Claire's. Just selling earrings like every other junior in high school. This is so boring. I hate it. I hate it here. When does the SWAT team come?

I'm going to pull this fire alarm just for fun because I'm bored. I'm going to pierce the three-year-old's ears. Let's see if this will. I can't get the SWAT team over here. I need my adrenaline pumping. Paul the bus driver also left the company around the same time. This was definitely one of the crazy experiences of my teenage life, though I hope I never have another run-in with the FBI.

Stay sexy and don't work graveyard shifts for Greyhound, Ashlyn. No problem, Ashlyn. No problem. We will never do that. Especially in 11th grade. It's kind of badass. For real. Yeah.

It reminds me of my friend, Christine Gooden, who always had a job always and she also was in high school, like a sophomore in high school, had a day runner. Remember those? There was like a little book calendar thing. Oh, my mom and dad had those up, like invested in stocks basically. So hilarious to me. A child of a day runner. Let me check my day runner.

Okay. Okay, 16-year-old. Sounds great. CEO and president of your own corporation. I read that one already. Here we go. Re-read it. Let's have some fun.

But bring something different to it this time. Okay. Please. Please. All over the place. Okay. Stop. Okay.

I'm not going to redo the subject line. It ruins it. Okay. Hey, MFM fam. In Minnesota at 82, you called for parents whose kids have accidentally been hurt. Well, I have a pretty good one. I was a young single mom at 20 years old and my son was three at the time. Oh, gosh.

Yeah. We had moved in with my dad and stepmom and my four little brothers. Dad's house had five bedrooms with a loft type room overlooking the living room. I was downstairs on the couch watching TV with my 12-year-old brother sitting in the recliner next to the couch. It happened in an instant. My son fell into my little brother's lap from the second story left. My brother and I looked at each other absolutely shocked.

My son had fit his skinny little body in between the rails upstairs and cartwheeled off. Oh, my God. The scariest part was that if he had been one foot to the left, he would have landed on concrete floors because we had removed the carpet to install wood flooring. It could have been so much worse. I'm happy to report that he escaped unscathed and is currently a healthy 19-year-old. I can hear it. A little kid slapping into her little brother's lap.

It's just like the luck of it. And the fear. That would be a moment of gratitude and fear combined. And then the two of them looking at each other like, oh, my God. And one of them's 12. One of them's 12. It's okay. Also in the same mini-soad, you read a hometown where a man was stabbed 22 times and survived.

You were talking about how much it would suck to be stabbed that many times and how long it would seem. Nick Schwartzen talked about this in one of his comedy specials one time. My brain went right to it. I'm positive that I do that constantly because I've been watching stand-up comedy for 30 fucking years. Just tell other people stories. So once things come up, I know that I will go into other people's bits that I've seen

a bunch of times where it's like, oh, yeah, that. You can't help it. Look, I'm a big fan of Nick Schwartzen's and his comedy is mine. Thanks for the joy and the terror you bring to me every day because I'm still catching up and refuse to go out of order. My best friend tried to get me to listen so long ago and I wouldn't take her advice until just a few months ago. We just saw your live show together in Andy and loved every minute of it.

Stay sexy and maybe baby proof your law-thrailing Sarah. Oh, dear. Yes. That's hard. That's good. That's great. Well, that's it. Oh, that's it.

However. Yeah. The everyone's favorite brand new podcast, Jensen and holds the murder squad. Episode two is up now. Yeah. Today, make sure you subscribe. We put episode one in our feed so you have to go to theirs to subscribe. Go over there if you haven't gone over already and rate and review and subscribe and make

them a hit because we love them and we support them. So exciting. Yeah. And thank you guys for listening. Write your emails to us at my favorite murder at Gmail and Jay will keep track of those now. That's right. And stay sexy.

And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Elvis, you want a cookie? Yeah.