My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 272

Episode Date: March 28, 2022

This week’s hometowns include a creepy whistler and sibling rivalry.  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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And welcome. To my favorite murder. The mini-soat. That's Karen. That's Georgia. Hi. Hi. Oh, we're filming this if you want to look at us.

I forgot. I forgot. I was just kind of scratching my head. Picking my nose. I didn't do a check-in on how my eyeliner is. It's fair. It's doing well. It seems pretty good.

Yeah. I don't have any Alice Cooper, like a long, drippy, black. Wow. What a 70s reference that no one would understand. I get it. Thanks. Want me to go first this time? I went first last time.

You want to go first? Yeah. This is called whistling. It's always creepy at night. So true. Yep. Hello, besties. When my mom was a teenager, she had a job at a big bank in downtown Auckland.

It says New Zealand. Appreciate you. Thank you. This was the early 70s, so I'm imagining large purses and very sensible heels. Once every few weeks, she would have to do the late shift, which meant she would end up taking the last bus home. It was just over an hour and would get back to our very isolated suburb just after midnight. Why anyone was doing banking at 10.30pm?

I'll never know. It was unnecessary. And then sending a single woman home alone for an hour on a bus. You know what, ma'am? You locked the bank down in the middle of the night and just we're going to roll the dice and just see because it's better for us. That's right. In a particular late night bus home, she ended up being one of only two passengers on the

bus. It was late autumn, so she had borrowed her mom's fur coat to wear. Then it says, I know, I know. I don't know what that means. And the other passenger, who she only managed to describe to me as a creepy older guy, started chatting to her about her nice coat. How far did she ride the bus? Was someone waiting to pick her up when she got home?

Just your general creep chat. My mom moved away to sit behind the driver and ignored this guy for the rest of the journey. That was until he started whistling. And not just any tune, but Mary had a little lamb. My mom did her best to ignore this guy and rode the rest of the way in silence. Once she got to her stop, she got off and turned to watch it leave and couldn't see the guy on the bus anymore. But neither could she see him on the street.

So she started walking home. Thinking she had just missed him getting off or hadn't seen him still on the bus. Can you imagine, turn around and he's disappeared. Well, also, I know what's about to happen and I hate it so much. Okay. She's a cheat. What? That he's following her?

Obviously. How does she know he's following her? You got it. She's a few minutes on her walk and what is she here? Someone whistling. Mary had a little lamb. Get the fuck out of here, sir. Fuck the fuck off.

I didn't know where to go with that one. Mary, take your fucking lamb and get the fuck away from me. Run. My wonderful precious mother then did the only thing she could think of and took off her shoes and started absolutely legging it. And then it says running fast, which I appreciate, but that's like one of my favorite like terms. She had a friend who lived on the way and decided the best thing to do would be to

knock on the door to seek refuge from the creepy whistler. She explained what was happening and called her parents from her friend's house to collect her. She made it home that night, surviving not only a creepy whistler, but also the argument her parents started about how she'd absolutely made it up. Nobody was following her. Why would they? Just your classic 70s parenting.

Why would they? Why would they follow you? Little young girl. I would lock eyes with my mother and be like, I'm sorry, you're scared right now. I'm sorry you don't like this story. It happened right. I'm sorry.

Your trauma is making it so that you don't believe your daughter. You're shutting down my reality because you can't handle it. Sorry. That's right. The next morning convinced that her parents were right and she had made up the whole thing. She walked to her friend's house to apologize for the late night intrusion. They were absolutely lovely about it and told her not to worry.

But did she trip on their milk while she was running to their door? It turns out someone had smashed every single bottle of milk on their driveway and left broken glass at the front doorstep as a nice morning surprise. Oh. And curiously, they were the only house on the street that had been vandalized. My mom has taught me many lessons, but her takeaway from telling me the story was sometimes it pays to run away from your problems. Thanks, mom.

Stay sexy and don't whistle at night, Connie. And then it says, born in the nineties. Oh, because of the name Connie. Connie. That's right. She, her. Man. Yeah.

Ugh. When parents deny your reality, this is like a therapy thing. When your caretakers deny your reality, you start doubting yourself as well. It's very unhealthy. Go talk about it in therapy. Yeah. And make your parents go to therapy and talk about who did that to them. That's right.

They're continuing the cycle because that's also why, what is the benefit of someone coming and telling you that story? What, what, what's, what's the upside there? Upsetting your parents? Yeah. Like getting quote unquote attention. Oh, right. Yeah.

Oh my God. But the guy then fucking smashed all the goddamn mother fucking. So what was he going to do to her? You know what I mean? Like someone that bananas. Yeah. He was furious that she got away from him. Yeah.

By the way, they used to put glass bottles of milk. They were delivered in case anyone, anyone who's like 20 is like, why were those, why was there milk out there? I know. Also, if you ever come to Los Angeles and you have the opportunity to try Brogare's milk, have you ever had that fucking milk? Yeah. The glass bottle.

It comes in a glass bottle still and they make a chocolate milk that is the most nuts, delicious thing of all time. There's a little cow on it, right? Little cow heads. Yeah. Oh my God. And the Brogare's dairy, their motto is milk so fresh the cow doesn't know it's missing. And then the cow's laughing on the picture.

You're so happy. They do eggnog too. Yes. They do these. Oh my God. The best eggnog. It's essentially you can get a big glass jar of what will amount to 3,500 calories of dairy intake.

Good luck. Good luck with your lactose intolerance. Enjoy. All right. I'm not going to read you the subline of this one. Okay. I said subject line, but I meant subject line. Okay.

My sister and I are both submitting the story. So in the interest of sibling rivalry, I beg of you, pick me the middle child. Yes. You deserve it. You deserve it. Finally, you can say thank you to Alejandra who actually did the picking. That's right. Pick me.

Okay. My family hails from the Piedmont of North Carolina and being Southern, we all shared some of unavoidable common interests growing up, including NASCAR. Every Sunday, my father would sit and enjoy the constant left turning and engines revving as my sisters and I would run in and out watching a few laps in between getting muddy and wrestling with dogs, et cetera. This was a fine way of living until it came to a literal crashing halt in 2001. This was the race where local hero and very well known mean person, Dale Earnhardt suffered

his fatal crash. This would have been devastating news normally around these parts, but I live with an extra layer of shame and guilt, knowing that a member of my family willed it to fruition. That afternoon, we headed to Kmart for the upcoming week's provisions and stepped away from the TV blaring the Daytona 500. Perhaps they had aired an interview with the man himself or perhaps just in reflection of his overall negative demeanor. But for whatever reason, at that moment, my mom openly exclaimed, I can't stand Dale Earnhardt.

I hope he breaks his neck. Holy shit. Right? These things that we just kind of fling off when we're upset or bored at Kmart. I should say she also is quite a salty demeanor. Yeah, just quite a salty demeanor. And this irony is not lost on me as an adult. We made nothing of it and continued with our day.

When we left Kmart and piled back into the minivan, we heard on the radio about the crash that killed the legend. We were stunned and speechless at the time, but it somehow became a story that is very funny to the immediate family and then in parentheses it says, I guess we're pretty sick. However, I now work and reside in Cannapolis, Earnhardt's hometown. I have never told the story to someone outside of the family. Very smart. Yes.

The town center literally has a bronze statue of the man and multiple roads named for him. The sport was never the same for us. And I wish I could say this was the last time my mom tried to harness this power. But unfortunately, there are multiple professional athletes that have drawn her ire. Luckily, this little parlor trick has failed every time since. I suppose the story could be as lighthearted as you make it. Stay sexy and raise hell, praise Dale, as we say, Jessica. Wow.

That's a good one. That's intense. It's like that kind of thing where it's like, you know, she's just irritated being Kmart. Right. Tired. Totally. Working mom, whatever. Turns out, if you will it, dude.

Dude, then you feel guilty for the rest of your life. This is weird because I have a personality, public personality died as well. Stop copying me. Copy you. This is a sad one. School of Rock drummer died sad but sentimental hometown. Hi pals. A while back, y'all mentioned School of Rock.

How fantastic of a movie it is. Agreed. And how wonderful the kids are, including the drummer. Unfortunately, Kevin Clark, who played Freddie spazzy McGee Jones, died in a bike accident last May, close to where I live in Chicago. The intersection where he died is an absolute mess with narrow lanes, worn away lines, odd street angles, et cetera. Many drivers at this intersection are either exiting the highway or frantically trying to get to a nearby target. So this intersection is scary for drivers, bikers and pedestrians alike. Kevin was biking home from drumming in a show when he ran a red light and was struck by a car and died.

He was 32. Oh, that's awful. I know. Kevin wasn't even the first bicyclist to die at this intersection. 22 year old cyclist Tyler Fabek died in 2008. After the news of Kevin's death, a widespread rallying cry for some goddamn protected bike lanes actually came out successfully. We got bike lanes and the intersection at least feels a little less chaotic for bikers and pedestrians. Let's hope the measure continues to protect people in the future and we don't have a third white painted bike memorial needed to be installed.

School of Rock is one of my favorite movies, so my partner and I gave it a rewatch after hearing of Kevin's death. There's a scene where Freddie is learning the drums, recreating the rhythm Jack Black just demonstrated. The camera simply and slowly zooms in on his face, displaying his fun personality, excitement to play and talent as a musician. In the aftermath of his passing, this felt like a touching tribute to a beloved person and musician. I teared up and very likely will every time I rewatch this beloved movie in the future. It's strange. I walk by this location a lot and I think about these people a lot and then I just go about my day. But I suppose that's life.

People live, loved ones die and the world keeps turning. We're left to find meaning and hope in the aftermath, living for those who didn't get the same years as us. Join the chorus of people thanking you for being open about mental health, grief, etc. And just say, stay sexy and honor the people we've lost so we can find greater meaning in our own lives. Lauren, she, her. Beautiful. Beautiful job, Lauren. Chills.

I love it. No. Also, that movie is so special. It's just such a, it's just, it's a family movie. But it's also a hard comedy, hard joke rewatch movie. Yeah. Like it really does the job. And by the time they get to that final concert, it is, it is built, it's like Rudy for kids music.

It's joyous. There's a lot of joy in that movie. It's so good. Yeah. It's, it's beautiful. Looking for a better cooking routine with meal planning, shopping and prepping handled. Hello Fresh has you covered. Hello Fresh makes home cooking easy and affordable so you can stay on track and on budget in the new year.

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It gives you everything, everything you need. So get up to 20 free meals with purchase plus free shipping on your first box at hellofresh.ca slash murder 20 with code murder 20. That's up to 20 free meals plus free shipping on your first box when you go to hellofresh.ca slash murder 20 and use code murder 20. Goodbye. It's another Chicago story. It says inspired by Karen's recent locked out story. And then it says no murderer with an exclamation point. Good.

Okay. Hello. Here's a tale that a body's Karen's recent locked out story and her many fights with her sister. I was junior high age at the time and my sister was in early high school. We famously didn't get along and fought a lot. Not just screaming matches but knock down drag out fighting teeth have been knocked out. Holy shit. Can you.

Oh my God. We never got my sister and I never got we like one time she hit me with a brush and then I hit her with some other objects. But never it was never like that. My sister punched me in the stomach once. I know it sucked. Did it work. Did it make you see the air of your way. I respected her for then on.

It was great. Gave her all my Barbies. Anyone she wanted. I did throw a Barbie at her head once I think. Yeah. So I got her back. I mean that's sisterhood right there. Okay.

Okay. So teeth have been knocked out and a fist fight occurred during dinner once where my father had to drag my sister off of me. It was some serious WWF shit. Oh my God. Actually now I remember it. That happened to my sister and I fucking pounced on her once. I think I was on drugs. Because she said something.

She said something fucked up and I just fucking died bombed her on the couch. And you had just shot up some meth and you were like let's get ready to rumble. By the way she is way stronger than me so I fucking lost it. Did you discover it that day? You didn't really realize it. I should have known I was on drugs. What are you going to do? Okay.

So now the stage is set for the lockout drama. I was letting a family dog out the back door and it shut and locked on me. It's freezing cold and I'm wearing shorts and a t-shirt so I run around the front and I ring the doorbell obsessively to no avail. Then I try my sister's window and start banging on that. No. She could famously sleep until after 1pm and it's about nine-ish. So she's in deep sleep. When I get no response to the window I go back to the door again and start banging.

Finally she opens the back door all pissed, punches me square in the nose and slams the door on me again. Oh my God. I hope they're friends now because that's really fucking out. Punches you in the nose. I start crying and banging again until she lets me in. I run to the phone and I immediately call my mother to report the drama. The amount of times we called my mom to tell on each other is astounding. Yeah.

Yeah. Then in parentheses it said, I know you did the same Karen. You're wrong about that friend because if we called my mother at the psychiatric hospital to be like Laura's being mean to me, we would have been psychologically destroyed by my mother. Wow. We definitely, my poor mom. I'm sure she got fired partly because of us. Azure hit me.

Ring ring. Okay. I'm not sure how she didn't kill us let alone get fired for our religious bullshit. Yep. Anyway, the good news is my sister and I are in our 40s and the best of friends. Yay. With endless stories like this to tell. Yeah.

I mean like, hey, live out loud. Why not? Thanks for everything, ladies. I've been listening since the beginning and I'm so proud of all your accomplishments and the community you've built for us. SSDGM, Katie from Chicago. Yes. Middle sister. You won.

I won it. That was a different email. Damn it. That was epic. I'm really glad they're still friends or it wouldn't be that funny. Right. No, no, it's those. That's what makes it so funny.

Yeah. Is it really is a time and place situation? Like definitely there's, you know. Yeah. The dream is to be able to look back and laugh on that. So hopefully nothing too, too extremely violent. But the idea that she got locked out and then her sister's solution is not listening, not going, oh, poor you. Yeah.

Like they're opening the door or just open the door and walk away. Just open the fucking door. But no, it's you get punched. Also, it makes me think of, I remember we were watching some TV show and there was like sister being like, are you okay? What's going on with you or whatever? And me and my sister started laughing so hard where it's like that conversations like that where it's like sisters being besties in high school. Yeah. It just, no.

Especially the young kids or like when there's like big brother and he takes she wonder his wing and takes care of you. Fuck that. And my brother like blocked me in my room and only he only let us out by drinking a raw egg, eating a raw egg. He and he once cracked an egg over my head when I was like nine and I called my mom. Yeah. My cousin Stevie is fucking throwing rotten tomatoes from the compost pile at us. I mean, yeah, it's. I'm happy for you if you had a nice experience as children with your siblings, but.

But I'm also not interested in anything you have to say. We're not here for that at all. No way. This one is called the time I did not fuck politeness. And it just starts. Hi, I may have written in before, but maybe third time is the charm. In the Minnesota while back, you called for stories from shop workers. So here is mine.

While in college, I worked the night shift at the Oslo Central Station 711. Oh, okay. They worked at the 711 at Oslo. That's what it says there. I encountered everything from drunk people, lovers, quarrels and a couple of attempted robberies. But the only time I was truly terrified was the one time I did not fuck politeness and ended up with a stalker.

At first, he seemed normal enough when he would come in by a pack of gum and leave. But after he started hanging around the shop and asking when I got off work, the hairs on my neck started to rise. However, being raised in Norway, we're being impolite even to a stalker is considered one of the worst things you can do. I kept providing customer service with a smile while avoiding the questions he would ask. After a few months though, I noticed he was just sitting on one of the nearby train tracks all through my shift.

One night I noticed he was following me as I was walking home. At the time I was living in a slightly dingy apartment in what was considered a fairly rough part of Oslo that says, oh, that student economy. I, however, always liked it there because of the cafe on the corner of my building where old Somali men would hang out in the evenings and at night. As I was coming up on my building, I started running as my stalker came closer. I passed the cafe and ran to my door hoping I would be fast enough to get in. To my surprise, I suddenly heard a lot of yelling, turned around and saw my stalker being

chased away by an old man with his cane. Oh, no. Turns out they had seen him follow me before and did not like the sight of him. I have since learned to always fuck politeness or if all else fails, live near a cafe for old men. Yes. Stay sexy and don't be nice to stalkers. See. Oh, I love that. That's a beautiful story.

But also, yeah, Jesus fucking Christ. Like if someone's following you to your house, you know, no, no. Yeah. And start running. I don't think you running is you not fucking politeness. Like you should give yourself more credit. Yes. Well, and also if you just didn't know what else to do.

Yeah. But what a great, beautiful kind of like community response to be protected like that. Totally. And then now you know. And now you can do it for someone else. That's right. Oh, now you know. That's right.

I love the podcast, et cetera, et cetera. And then in parentheses, it says, I'm British and we don't go for this shit. No murder here, but your recent hometown on the clown bursting in on the funeral reminded me of one of my favorite stories about my older brother, Jack. For context in the UK every March, the charity comic relief runs a huge fundraising event called red nose day. It's a brilliant cause and it raises a lot of money to help those in poverty. And you guessed it.

People are encouraged to buy and wear red noses. My brother, Jack is a huge fan. So back in March of 2011, I'm on my gap year and then the season says, I know I'm the worst. Fuck that. I don't know why. Two girls who dropped out of college. Yeah, really?

You're not the worst. Yeah, you're certainly not. Okay. So I'm on my gap year. My aunt dies and I can't make it back for the funeral. So I heard this story from my sister and it's now gained legend status in our family. Jack is extremely stubborn and he has no social inhibitions. This is partly down to the fact that he has Down syndrome, but I think it's mainly because

he's a grouchy badass. So the morning of the funeral, Jack is not king. It takes him a long time to conjure him into the car, but all of a sudden he changes his mind, complies and gets into the car, no fuss. This is deeply out of character and should have been my family's first clue that something was up. They get to the funeral just as everyone's sitting down. While my family fumbles with seatbelts, Jack promptly jumps out of the car, puts on a huge

red nose and before anyone can stop him, marches into the church. Needless to say, this was not met well by our extremely stuffy family, an extended family. Scandalized is the word my sister used to describe the looks on their faces. My parents eventually managed to wrangle the red nose off Jack's face, apologizing profusely and sit down for the service, but that's not all. About halfway through the service, Jack leans over to my sister and in the loudest stage whisper you've ever heard, he bellows, who's in the box? Referring, of course, to the coffin up front.

Mortified, my sister turns to shush him only to see that he's produced yet another huge red nose from somewhere else and is sporting that one proudly. Of course he has more than one. Yes, he's going to get back up. He knows he's rebelling. The church falls silent as everyone turns to stare at the man grinning in the red nose pointing at the coffin. Naturally, my family bursts into deeply inappropriate laughter and we've not been invited to a

funeral wedding you name it ever since. Good for you. Oh well, welcome. Thanks for all you do loads of love, Hattie. And PS, just an extra shout out for Jack. Despite sometimes being a grumpy sod, he's also the most loving, gentle and kind person I know. He has a sixth sense for noticing when someone's feeling down and hugs from him can always make

me feel better no matter what's going on in the world. And that's saying a lot right now. I know you shouldn't have favorites, but he most definitely is my favorite brother. Sorry to other brothers. Oh, I'm going to cry. Isn't that the best? Jack, high five. It's awesome.

Keep that red nose in your pocket. You never know when you're going to need it. That's right. Oh my God, I love it. That's it. Yeah. Send us your stories, please. And yeah, you guys are the best.

Yes. Thank you for all the, these were great ones, by the way. This was a nice batch as well. We keep getting really solid stories. We're on a real roll here. Totally. Totally. People are killing it.

They're resubmitting. Yes. They're competing with their siblings. They're doing everything they can. They're getting their emails through and we appreciate it. We do. And stay sexy. And don't get murdered.

Goodbye. Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie? This has been an exactly right production. Our senior producer is Hannah Kyle Creighton. Our producer is Alejandra Keck. This episode was engineered and mixed by Steven Ray Morris. Our researchers are Jay Elias and Haley Gray.

Email your hometowns and fucking hurrays to myfavoritmurder.com. Follow the show and Instagram and Facebook at myfavoritmurder and Twitter at myfavemurder. Listen, subscribe and leave us a review on Amazon Music, Apple Podcasts or wherever you get your podcasts. Goodbye.