My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 300

Episode Date: October 10, 2022

This week’s hometowns include a hero dog named Captain and a letter from an ‘80s mom. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This is exactly right. We at Wondery live, breathe, and downright obsess over true crime. And now we're launching the ultimate true crime fan experience, Exhibit C. Join now by following Wondery, Exhibit C, on Facebook and listen to true crime on Wondery and Amazon Music. Exhibit C, it's truly criminal. Hello, and welcome to my favorite murder, the mini-soad. Number 300, sorry, I had to do victory trumpets.

What do we call them that time? Something trumpets? Oh, yeah. Remember, we talked about it for a second, we did trumpets. Someone knows out there, someone's screaming in the car. That's right. Also, you can watch this on the fan cult, if you want to see what we looked like when we just yelled 300, it was pretty great.

300 episodes of you guys sending us your stories. 300 episodes of your stories that generously donated to this podcast so we can all entertain each other. We really can't thank you enough. It's honestly, it's one of my favorite things to do. Truly, it's so fun. Should I go first? Do it.

Okay. This is about a bear. Oh, fuck, I just ruined it. Okay. This is not about anything lighthearted. Hello, folks. Growing up in rural poverty will inspire a lot of creative problem solving. And when my dad heard that there were a couple of five gallon buckets of bananas destined

for the trash at the local fruit stand, he would hear none of it, telling the fruit stand folks they would be great for our pigs. We didn't have pigs. He brought them home and got the kids to work peeling and mashing every single one of those little guys so we could freeze the banana mash in bags and use it for banana bread for the rest of our natural lives. That's a great idea. Yeah, because old bananas are the older, the better for banana bread.

That's right. That's right. But God, how sick of banana bread would you become eventually? Oh, you'd be just like never again. When the child labor peeling and mashing line finished with its work, we were left with two buckets worth of banana peels in the kitchen. Dad said he would bring them to the dump the following day. So he left the buckets, lids on in the kitchen and went to bed.

Sometime in the middle of the night, my sister heard our cat pawing at the screen door on the porch. This was a pretty regular occurrence, so the fact that my sister turned on the porch light before opening the door is pure luck. She must have thought at least subconsciously, man, that cat sounds huge all of a sudden. As she flipped on the porch light, she was greeted not by her cat, but by a fucking bear. A black bear had smelled the literal buckets of bananas in our house and ripped through our screen door trying to get in.

Oh, my God. Long story short, we scared the bear away with some yelling and a gunshot. And my mom had some words with my dad about his frugality going a little too far. Stay sexy and leave that bucket of bananas right where you found it. Not worth it, Grace. She her. I don't know why I love it so much. It's good.

It's a dad. It's just a dad thing, you know, is really what it comes down to it. Wasn't the that call out for like dirtbag dads or something we said? I think it was trash dads was the thing of like, shit, your dad does. I have a, I have a dad prank one coming up that I'm pretty impressed with. So, well, you know, what's funny is I do too, but it's not a prank. Okay. I won't read you the subject line.

Well, it starts my dad's boss almost. And then I'll just say dot, dot, dot. Okay. Hello, murder troupe. Oh, that's fun. This isn't a murder and it isn't set in my hometown, but it's a family classic that will never not be retold. When I was 16, my friend Rachel and I tagged along on my parents trip to Cuba with some

of their friends, my aunt and uncle, my dad's boss, Scott and his wife. Yes, they were all friends and it's a little odd. Let's move on. It's not, it's not odd. While there, Rachel and I mostly hung on our own, usually only joining the adults for meals. One afternoon we were sitting alone at the pool bar when a very pretty woman in her mid twenties came up and started chatting to us. She seemed like a local, which is somewhat unusual at resorts.

And she was also joined by two very big and very scary looking dudes who hung back and didn't talk at all. I mean, I understand that this is a true crime podcast, but this could have been like Katy Perry. You don't know. She was on vacation. Those were just her bodyguards. Okay.

That's what I was thinking. Same thought, right? Yeah. Okay. Consensus. She asked us a lot of questions about how old we were and where we were from. Right away we both felt that something was off. She seemed a little strung out and invited us to go clubbing with her and her friends,

the scary dudes, later that evening. Trying to be polite. We said, no, thank you. And told her our parents would definitely not let us go. Nevermind that there was 100% no fucking way. Yeah, right. Exactly. Yeah.

Going clubbing in Cuba, mom and dad. See you later. Yeah. Peace. Also did she, oh, she was 16. Okay. Yeah. We tried to convince us that it was fine and that we'd have fun and again we politely

said, no, we wouldn't be allowed and they eventually left. Later on we met up with my parents and everyone else and we told them about this encounter and they all shrugged it off thinking it was nothing. And we were exaggerating about how sketchy the whole situation was. That evening, Rachel and I were sitting alone by the pool in a dimly lit area far from most of the other guests when the woman and her creepy friends came up to us again, this time basically telling us we were going with them off resort to a nearby club. Again, we said, no, thank you, but the woman started getting very pushy, taking advantage

of the fact that we were young and not well-practiced in fucking politeness. Thankfully, the rest of our group was nearby enough that they noticed we were talking to these sketchbags. Sketchbags. Good. That's a good one. These sketchbags and quickly came over. Not deterred, the woman turned on the charm and started trying to convince my parents

that we would be safe with her and her friends and they just wanted to take us out to have some fun. My parents, aunt, uncle, and Scott's wife all too nicely told them, no, we were too young that we would not leave the resort without them, etc. Then in comes a daiquiri-soaked Scott, oh, just let them go. Let them have fun. And practically starts pushing us into the arms of these obvious kidnappers while we were now begging not to go.

They jumped at this opportunity, the woman trying to grab our hands and lead us away. All while Scott slurs, come on, you'll have a great day. Oh, thank you so much for reading it that way. I love acting. Okay. Now, everyone is yelling at Scott and pulling us back while he drunkenly says we're all just boring. That's actually so me.

Say it. Do it. You have to have the chaos person on vacation. The chaos person. I love it. Yeah, boy. Finally, hotel staff came to see what the commotion was. And despite Scott and the creepos saying everything was fine, they were thankfully escorted out.

Scott still thinking it was not a big deal at all, could not be convinced that he nearly aided and abetted in human trafficking. Now 15 plus years later, it's just a funny story my parents remind Scott of whenever they see him. You almost got our daughter taken, LOL. In all seriousness, it's one of the scariest things that's ever happened to me. And I will forever think of Scott. It's a colossal dumbass.

So stupid. What a dick. He's just buzzed up. I loved her. Dackery Soaked is my favorite description of a drunk person. Dackery Soaked is awesome because that's very specific. It is. But also, you know, it's that kind of thing.

I wonder if he had really strict parents. He was never allowed to do anything. And so he was like, I'm going to be the one that's cool and yeah, I'm not reading the situation. And here's the ending. Thank you for being my companions on long walks while I smiled to myself like an absolute weirdo. I hope to see you live the next time you're on my neck of the woods.

Toronto pronounced to Ron O or in traditional Mohawk. Tucker Ronto stay sexy and don't go on vacation with your dad's boss, Jess from Ontario, Canada. Nice one. Good one. Good one. Everyone's real concerned with human trafficking these days. For sure. It's constant.

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Follow Even the Rich wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. Hello, all amazing furry companions, murder queens, and Stephen. Long time fan, first time writing in, here's a story for the books, My Hero Dog, Not Murder, but Definitely Worth a Read. Last night, I get a call around 11.30 PM. On the other end of the phone, I hear a distraught voice asking me if I own a dog named Captain. Yes, I do, I said confused because both dogs are supposed to be in my backyard safe and

sound. She proceeded to tell me that she had him at her house and he had just saved her life. I was like, what? At this point, I'm a little concerned and even more confused. She said she was walking to the gas station pocket knife in hand because Battle Creek and a man came out of nowhere and started attacking her and attempted to steal her purse. No time to pull the pocket knife out. So then this dog, Captain, came out of nowhere and started attacking the man aggressively.

Apparently so much that the man ran away screaming. And then it says, that's right, motherfucker. She then proceeded to walk home and apparently the little runaway, escaped artist, guardian-angel dog walked next to her all the way to her house. Which is about five blocks from ours, which is also weird because he runs off any chance he gets when not on a leash. She sent me pictures of her busted lip and scratches. She said she had gone through some traumatic experiences before and was so afraid, but

my dog saved her life. Oh my God. When she called, she was still panicking but oh so thankful for his unexpected appearance. So here I am thinking my dogs are safely in the backyard and I thank God that he wasn't at that exact moment. I'm a true believer that everything happens for a reason. The craziest thing is that Captain, being roughly eight months old, loves every single person and is super social, but his protective instincts kicked in in that moment and I'm

so glad they did. Captain knows. I know. He knows what he's doing. She says this little cutie is living up to his superhero name. Last thing, I know this is overstated, but thank you so much for being so perfectly you. You have gotten me through some of the hardest times and I am so thankful for your podcast. It was truly Leslie.

Well Leslie, you're welcome because you and your dog are the coolest. Yeah. How about that? Give Captain some extra treats for us. How about the walk home afterwards? Yeah. Like that dog wasn't letting that woman go anywhere. No.

He escorted her home. I kind of need to see a picture of Captain. I know. Please send us a picture of Captain. Please we're begging you. Leslie. If you're going to tell a story, just FYI here on the 300th episode, if you're going to tell a story about your dog that literally saved someone's life, you absolutely need

to send a picture. Yeah. That goes for grandparents too. If you're going to send us a awesome story about your fucked up grandparents photo, if you're going to tell us about your dad who did something fucked up in the 80s, your 80s dad, we need these things. And also always their names. Always.

First names please. Always. All right. What's your story? It just makes me think of when my dog George, here on the 300th episode, let's look back at my dead dog George RIP to all the greats from this podcast that have passed away. George used to escape my backyard all the time, but then she would get out because I would be at work.

So I think she thought she was going to go find me. But then she'd just walk around the neighborhood randomly until people found her and they would be panicked when they. I would pick up the phone. And they'd be like, is this George's mother or whatever, and I'd be like, God damn it. And that, I know I've told the story, but I couldn't figure out what was going on until the day that she climbed the fence, flipped over it into the hedge and then walked down my neighbor's driveway.

And he was like, if I wasn't standing there, Karen, I would have never believed it. I watched a dog climb a fence, throw her, like, flip you a somersault into the hedge, roll off the hedge, and then go out into the neighborhood. She knew the hedge would catch her. Oh my God. She was just like, I got to get out of here. All right. The subject line is maybe a kind of funny hometown.

Hey, y'all, I just listened to a recent hometown about the guy playing dead to avoid a door-to-door person. And I thought, oh, I have one. I was in Tennessee visiting my family in October, 2020, a little background. They live in a very small town about 45 minutes outside Nashville, literally one red light town. My sister, a nurse, and I were driving down their very rural, barely too lane, almost dirt road.

When I yell, was that a guy laying in the yard? My sister, oh, it's just Halloween decor. Me. No, I don't think so. So we make a not-so-quick U-turn, and yep, it's a guy face down in the yard. My sister jumps out in nurse mode yelling, sir, are you okay? Over and over. Sir, are you okay?

I'm preparing to dial 911 when the front door opens and this very small lady starts yelling at us. He's just drunk. Leave him alone. We drove by several times that day just to see how long he stayed there. Oh, my God. Oh, did I mention that this was at 2 p.m.? Oh, no.

Well, we shouldn't. We still laugh about it every time I visit, which is often now, thanks to my dad and I being diagnosed with cancer, and then in parentheses, it says prostate and breast cancer within five months of each other, me two weeks after this event. And then get ready, we're both survivors now. Yay. Life is too short not to visit each other monthly now. And I live in Wisconsin.

Sorry, this is so long. Amanda. This is like Amanda caught us on the phone right as she was running out the door. And she's like, I just got to tell you this thing really quick. You guys are going to believe this. Great. I got to go. I love it.

I love it. We need more fake dead people in our lives. Sir, are you okay? Sir. Sir. Okay. This one's called Dad's Evil Chucky Doll. Hi, MFM crew.

Let's get to the story. So for as long as I can remember, my dad has always loved to play pranks on me and my older sister. Remember we asked for prank stories? I forgot. Yeah. This usually leads to my sister getting really pissed off because she was so jumpy and scared of everything.

But we could usually laugh about it later, usually. So my dad played several elaborate pranks on me as a child because he knew I didn't give a fuck unlike my sister. One in particular still amazes me to this day and it involves a Chucky doll. I had one out of a crane machine. With all the pride in the world, I showed the doll to my dad and his response was pure horror. We discussed it, look on his face, he said, oh my God, you can't bring that thing home

with us. You'll curse the whole family. And proceeded to grab the doll and throw it in the trash right in front of me. This would have probably traumatized most seven-year-olds, but at the time I believed every word my dad said, so I thought, wow, my dad just saved the family. That was a close one. Then went on with my day without a care in the world. Because...

It's so sweet. Because that was your only option. Because you were seven. Exactly. There was nothing you could do. No. No. All right.

Fast forward two months and I'm walking into my bedroom when I freeze at the side of the Chucky doll sitting on my bed covered with trash. I don't think I move for at least five minutes until I started screaming for my dad who burst into the room, grabbed the doll and said, I told you we couldn't bring this thing home. We're cursed now and we can never talk about this Chucky doll again or else. Then stormed out of the room. He later told me that he took the Chucky to the landfill and that we never had to think of him again.

Now fast forward six years and I'm 13 walking down into my basement to work out. When I flip on the lights, I'm shocked to see that same Chucky doll sitting on the bench press. But this time I grabbed the doll and took it to my dad. What the hell is this? I thought you got rid of it. And his response was, oh God, not again, snatching the doll from me and rushing to his car. I don't know why, but I never asked what he did with it that time.

I think I might have been so scared to even say Chucky, so I just let it be. But now I'm 24 and was recently going through my dad's closet. When I found, you guessed it, the Chucky doll sitting at the back of my dad's closet. Everything clicked at that moment. I thought to myself, dad, you six son of a bitch, you got me. I don't know. He's 24. He still thought it was real.

He didn't question it. Now that my dad's been battling dementia for the past five years, oh God, I didn't read this part. Oh my God. Now that my dad's been battling dementia for the past five years, my family loves to retell him the story along with all the other crazy shit he's done. These stories usually bring him to tears of laughter, and he's always amazed how normal me and my sister turned out, SSDGM, Brett, how fucking sweet.

Your dad's a genius. Like long con, a long con, years long pranks saying, I just, I know there's some people that would argue. I'm sure many child's like, oh, I just would argue it. But this idea that he was like, I'm going to do a thing that's going to engage you constantly for your entire life. Yeah. The years between is impressive to me.

It's so impressive. And hilarious. And hilarious. And the trash around the Trucky Doll, because he threw it in the trash, and it fought its way out and back to his bed. It's brilliant. More prank stories, please. My favorite murder of Gmail.

You have one more? The separate line of this one is, 80s mom shares family secret. Hello, girls. It's me, one of those 80s moms you so love to complain about. Oh no, I feel like we just got in trouble. I'm standing by it. Our complaints are legitimate, 80s mom. That's true.

Janet. My daughter is a big fan of yours, and I'm an increasingly committed drag along listener. That's right. That's right, 80s mom. That's how we get you. What you have to remember about us 80s moms, oh my God. First of all, my heart just skipped a beat. There's an 80s mom talking to us right now.

I know. I'm thrilled. I am too. This is legit thrilled. We're going to learn. We will entertain anyone else's point of view by the by. Absolutely. You want to write in as the drunk guy that was facedown in the front lawn to say, hey,

what you have to remember about us guys that like to start drinking at 9 a.m. is, we'll read it. Absolutely. What you have to remember about us 80s mom, who parented during a time when a little gentle child neglect was the equivalent of self-scarer, oh my God, oh my God, keep going, this is killing me. This is the best who parented during a time when a little gentle child neglect was the equivalent of self-care.

Yeah. So true. Is that some of us were raised by 50s moms and now a story about a family secret my mom kept from me and how it changed my life. I got married young to my teenage sweetheart, Rick. Rick's dad had passed away when we were both little kids and I didn't remember him, although possibly from seeing a picture at some point. I had a hazy idea that both our dads had known each other.

My dad passed away from cancer while I was in high school and this shared absence with something Rick and I bonded over. After we got married, Rick's mom, my mother-in-law, was exceedingly cold and distanced me and always seemed to go out of her way to subtly express very polite disapproval of everything I did and I never understood why. Fast forward, two children and ten years later, I found out from a cashier at the local supermarket that my dad and my husband's father had apparently been close friends until one night they engaged in a drunken argument that became violent and Rick's father died.

Even after a long search for the full details, there's some lack of clarity around exactly what happened that night and how much of it was an accident. I did learn that it was a fistfight without weapons involved and that Rick's dad fell onto a stone terrace and ended up dying after a short coma. What? Right? This bonkers thing to me was that my mother and wider family friends all knew and never once even hinted that it happened.

Guys, our marriage eventually didn't survive this subsequent grief, anger, confusion and search for answers that this revelation sparked, but Rick and I remain friends. As a result, I've tried to always be honest with my children and sometimes perhaps aired on the brutal side. Now that I'm a grandmother and I'm reevaluating once again how to connect with young people, I am learning more about continuing to be honest but also kind. It's a journey, but I'm lucky to have two daughters who chose to see the best in me and trust me with the hearts of their own kids, Marjorie.

Marjorie is such an 80s mom name and what a family secret that you kept from like, it's pretty incredible that the mother-in-law never said anything. If she was that upset about it, that's pretty incredible. It's a horror all around. And I really appreciate Marjorie's larger point, which is the generational trauma has in many ways lightened over the years and we don't really understand, many of us do not understand how fucking intense it was back then, that basically a little light child neglect as a form of self-care really isn't as big of a deal as some shit.

That's very true. Oh my God. Send us the lessons you learned from your mothers. We want those, guys, please. Please. Also, Marjorie, thanks for being one of the good 80s moms. We appreciate it. If your adult children still want to hang out with you, then you did okay parenting.

That's what my dad always says. Thank you guys for listening to 300 episodes and for being here with us and giving us content. We really appreciate it. Also, don't you think Marjorie's email is kind of the most perfect final button on the 300th episode? Absolutely. It's kind of like giving us a little bit of everything that we always ask for.

It's a throwback. It's a continuation. It's participation. It's everything that this podcast aims to be and then aspires to continue to be. Treasure, exactly. Thanks everybody. Thanks, guys. Thanks, Maxie.

And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie? This has been an Exactly Right Production. Our Senior Producer is Hannah Kyle Pryton. Our Producer is Alejandra Keck. This episode was engineered and mixed by Stephen Ray Morris. Our Researchers are Marin McLean and Gemma Harris.

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