My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 322

Episode Date: March 13, 2023

This week’s hometowns include a mafia poodle and teenagers in charge. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This is actually happening is a podcast that features extraordinary true stories of life-changing events told by the people who live them. In a special five-part series called Point Blank, this is actually happening sheds a light on the forgotten spree killings of Rancho Tejama. So this is actually happening wherever you get your podcasts. Hello! And welcome to my favorite murder, the mini-soad where we read you your stories, sometimes on video.

Right, we're on video right now for the fan cult. Check it out at myfavoritmurder.com. Yeah, if you want to see how red my face gets just during the day for reasons no one can explain, join the fan cult and watch these videos. We're good salespeople, right? We know it's going to draw people in. That's right. Oh, you want to go first?

Sure. I'm not going to read you the whole thing, but this is the topic request that never ends. To my queens, fiends, and everyone in between. Scroll in because this one is a doozy. When I was a junior at the University of Iowa, says Go Hawks, I was at Mickey's Irish Pub in downtown Iowa City for a late night beer during Halloween weekend. Picture racy costumes, low lighting, Mo Bomba playing way too loud, and the smell of sweat and burnt popcorn, all well enclosed in this packed as hell hole in the wall bar.

Sweat and burnt popcorn. That really paints a picture. Yeah, and like, stale beer too. And just loud shouting small talk. Yeah. Well, at the bar ordering drinks, I look over and there's my pre-med, beautiful, hot-ass crush standing right next to me also ordering drinks. Courage, fed by alcohol consumed prior in the night, told me that this was the moment

to make a move. After a flirty, oh hey cowboy, and then it says, it's Halloween in Iowa, cowboy costumes are a given. We start chatting it up. Things were going great except for this drunk guy behind me, who I felt like kept trying to grab my cross body purse. When he would move away, my purse would follow. Confident and not wanting to break away from this conversation for even a second, I grabbed

the base of my purse and pulled exceptionally hard. Something ripped, something fell, and a drunk guy yelled, I'm free. Our conversation started to wane when I began really aggressively coughing. But Hottie also began aggressively coughing, many people around us also began really aggressively coughing. And then I heard the bartender scream, all caps, pepper spray, everyone out of the bar now. Turns out drunk guy was not trying to steal my purse, but rather was stuck on my pepper

spray bottle that conveniently hung on the outside of my purse. And when I pulled really hard, he pulled really hard because when I looked at the ground, there she was. It was beautiful, but dazzled pepper spray bottle was laying in pieces, oozing orange liquid. Dude. Micky's ended up having to close down the bar for the rest of the night to clean and pre-med Hottie went home with someone else.

Yeah, he did. Sad. Stay sexy and put your mace in your bag at crowded bars, BGA. Yes, BGA. Please. What? God dammit. They're like, we're finally going to make our quota on Halloween night for us to sell

all the shitty beer. I need the tip so I can pay rent. Someone had to dangle their bear spray outside of their purse. Come on. Be a team player. Okay. Oh, I like this one. The subject line is, yes, you have a listener from Iran.

And then it says, a near death protesting story, dear Karen, Georgia, and all the kind people and creatures in the world. Wow, everybody. Everyone. I was listening to episode 349 while driving to work on a sad snowy day and suddenly heard you talking about what's happening in Iran. For a moment, my heart melted and I started to cry. So I started writing this email the moment I got to work, exclamation point.

Now that you know about what's going in Iran, boy, do I have a story for you. About two months ago, my boyfriend and I went to the ceremony for the 40th day of the death of one of the protesters whose name was Masa Moghwe. And she was only 18 when she got killed by Iran's regime. We were protesting along a big highway on the other side of the cemetery. I saw this video. We may have talked about this video. It's unbelievable.

There's just, the government said that they could not demonstrate or whatever, because on the 40th day after someone dies, you do, like, I guess, a procession to where they're buried. And it was like everybody, I mean, it was just tens of thousands of people going down this road. So we were protesting along a big highway on the other side of the cemetery. Everything was as usual. And then parentheses, it says, yeah, the protesting the death of young people is a

normal thing, sarcasm. Then for a moment, I saw thousands of people running in the opposite direction of where we were all going. I got confused, but all I was trying to do was not lose my boyfriend and keep my calm. So we decided to slowly follow the people out to the highway and not run. Half of the way I felt the tear gas in the air. And with the fucked up lungs that I have, I simply just could not walk anymore. So I looked up and saw no one on the highway.

From those thousands of people literally no one was left. I panicked and looked back to see about 50 police with guns aiming at me from about 20 meters away. For a second, I was looking at the one in front of me, and I can clearly remember the look in his face and a demon in his eyes. I thought to myself, well, this is probably the end for me here. And just did not want to die while looking in that man's eyes. So I slowly turned to see my boyfriend literally on the highway with a tire in his hands walking

and looking for something on the ground. He didn't even see the police coming. So I shouted his name. And when he saw the police, he ran towards me, grabbed my hands, and we ran all the way to the other side to join the protesters. All these moments I was convinced, and then it says in all caps, we are going to get shot. I just accepted my fate and was thinking about my mom and how her heart will break with my death.

I do not know what happened and what stopped them from shooting us, but it was all a miracle. And not all the people were as lucky as us. Later that day, a woman got shot and died in that same ceremony we attended. Story short, I did not learn my lesson, and we still keep protesting anytime we can. I'm sorry if the email was long and sorry for my bad English. I started listening to your podcast to improve my English, and have been in love with it ever since. Thank you for what you are doing every day and caring about others with love, Pari.

And then she did hashtag MasaAmini, hashtag Women Life Freedom, and hashtag Stop Execution in Iran. Oh my God. That's someone that is on the front lines like during this revolution. It's unbelievable. Thank you, Pari. That is so powerful, how terrifying. That whole country is standing up against that regime.

I mean, seeing those videos, there's lots of it on TikTok, which is so cool that you can actually kind of check in that way, and it's incredible. Jill Evans has it all. A big house, fast car, and a great career as a decorated police sergeant in Wales. But when it comes to love, she can never seem to get things right. And after multiple failed engagements, Jill's starting to think it's never going to happen for her. That is until she connects online with a charming, handsome, successful man named Dean Jenkins.

On the outside, there may be some red flags, but Jill doesn't care, he is the one. And just six months in, Jill finds out she is pregnant, and they make plans to spend the rest of their lives together. But the night after Halloween, Jill receives a shocking text that will change everything, and what she reads threatens to take away her dreams of happiness, her career, and maybe even her freedom. Wondering a novel's new podcast, Stolen Hearts, tells the intricate love story of Jill and Dean and how opposites really do attract.

So Stolen Hearts on Amazon Music or wherever you get your podcasts. And hey, Prime members, you can binge the entire series ad-free on Amazon Music. Download the Amazon Music app today. Goodbye. Good-bye. Mafia Poodle. Howdy. I was just listening to Minnesota 311 where you told a story about a little boy who returned

Sam Giancana's lost dog. I immediately had to pause the Minnesota and write you because I knew I would forget to send this in otherwise. Thank you, ADHD. Anyways, did you ask for more Mafia Dog stories? No. Well, here you go anyways. You're welcome.

Background. My grandpa Bill was a character who had a number of bizarre exploits both legal and otherwise. Despite all of Bill's pursuits, he was a pretty good father to my dad, who while growing up was generally kept away from anything too salacious. However, Bill did introduce my dad to a couple of his more colorful friends. His story is about one of Bill's friends, Albert Obie Fraboda. As a child, my dad had the pleasure of visiting Obie's swanky downtown apartment. He recalls sitting at the kitchen counter where Obie's wife fed him ice cream while

Obie and Bill chatted. By the end of his first visit, Obie had even gifted my dad his first set of golf clubs. Years later, my dad stumbled across Obie's obituary in the Chicago Tribune. The obituary clarified that Obie was not, in fact, one of my grandpa's normal gambling buddies. No, Obie was actually an original member of the infamous 42 gang, and a known Chicago hitman and enforcer. In addition to that little murdery chestnut, the obituary recalled the single instance

where Obie had cooperated with the police. When in 1967, two young thugs mugged Obie and stole his beloved companion, a gray toy poodle named Susie. In need of assistance, a sheepish and bruised Obie called the police under an alias. Responding to the call, officers arrived at the hospital where Obie was recovering to take a statement. Evidently, the officers didn't recognize Obie from any of his 45 arrests, convictionous bank robber, nor from the six different murders for which he had been a suspect.

He must have had one of those faces. Anyways, the officers were so obliging that they went as far as allowing Obie to jump in the squad car for a ride along so they could look for poor Susie. Unfortunately, the officers didn't find Susie, and subsequently, an underwilled manhunt began in an effort to capture and likely dispose of the dog mappers. Yeah, I bet. I can only assume that the muggers literally shit themselves when they realized whose poodle they had perloined.

Regrettably, I don't know if Odie and Susie were ever reunited. However, given Obie's rap sheet, I wouldn't be surprised if the muggers responsible met a premature demise. Stay sexy and don't kidnap mafia poodles, Tori. I mean, so dangerous, so dangerous. The idea that he's like, well, I need help finding my dog, but then it's very shameful to have been dognapped. Yeah, I didn't know that shit went on back then.

I mean, it's eternal. Everybody wants other people's dogs. I'm not going to read you the subject line of this. It just starts, hello badass boss ladies and all MFM ER staff. You accompanied me on many a road trip when I was catching up on episodes, and now you joined me for morning coffee every Monday and Thursday. I'm here for all of it, and I thank you for what you've created. I wrote in years ago, but no dice, alas, I'll give it another go and hope for the best.

I love it. Got a real poet here. When I was 16, maybe 15, I was beyond thrilled to get my first job outside of babysitting as a clerk at a video rental store. Oh, what a rad job. It's back in legendary. And then it's all caps, dream job at that age. I don't feel that old, but I realize as I reference a video store that maybe I am.

Psy. One fateful Friday evening, the store was packed with moms and kids picking out the latest titles to entertain them for the weekend, such a specific vibe that will never exist again in our- You'll never understand. Just like trying to figure out if you can get your mom to buy you like red vines. Right. Or like those greasy single packages of popcorn.

Yeah. Like, come on. We'll make it tonight. Yeah. It'll be so fun. I need goobers. Isn't that a candy? Yeah.

That is a very movie theater specific candy, too, the goobers and snow caps. Yes. I was working the register and there was a steady stream of customers at the counter. Suddenly the air started to look a bit hazy, then more so. An odd smell became faintly present. The customers were oblivious. I looked at a coworker and asked, is that smoke? He looked up, looked around, sniffed and said, yeah, I think it is.

I think there's a fire in here. Calm. Teenagers in charge. Oh, Jesus. It quickly became very obvious that there was a fire in the store as the space between the shelves and the ceiling was now dense with smoke. Oh, no. Insanely, none of the customers seemed to notice and were still casually browsing the

aisles corralling their kids away from the candy and standing in line to check out. I was dumbstruck despite my fledgling self-confidence as a teenager in a store full of adults. I pulled it together and loudly announced, folks, the store is on fire. Please exit immediately. A few customers left, but most of them just looked around like, huh, what, but my movies. As my coworker called 911, several customers remained in line and insisted I check them out before exiting the building. They got to have fucking dirty dancing for that weekend.

One after another, they pleaded, can't you just bring me out quickly? Finally, I could hear the fire truck nearing and I made the decision that a few DVDs and VHS tapes weren't worth the rising panic I was experiencing. Not sure why I hadn't fucked politeness earlier. I resigned myself to their apparently vital need for these films and called out, just take them. Take them for free. I'm not checking anyone else out.

Just get your movies and get out of the store. A few hesitated as if not paying for the rental was a bridge too far, but somehow staying in a burning building was perfectly fine. As I moved to the exit, it seemed to hit home for them that standing in a checkout line with no clerk behind the desk was pointless. I held the door to make sure everyone was out, then pieced out myself right as the fire trucks pulled in. From the parking lot, I could see the flames of the fire piercing through the center of

the roof and roaring just under the shingles. It was like an attic fire. Holy shit. The firemen and women made quick work of those flames and now safely out of the building with no one hurt. I had all the drama my little teenage heart could handle. Turns out it was an electrical fire in the wiring above the false ceiling. We spent weeks mitigating the store with orange smelling special cleaner, only to have the

same issue occur again on reopening nights. Thankfully I wasn't working that night and the store closed for good after that. To this day, I cannot understand what made those customers choose video rentals over safety. Was this some kind of group thanks situation? Or possibly do people want to feel safe so badly that they will deny the danger they can see and smell right in front of them? Whatever it is, this wasn't the only emergency situation I've experienced where others seem

to dismiss or downplay the severity of the situation for far longer than is reasonable. Anyway, stay sexy and remember, renting a movie isn't worth smoke inhalation, even if it is the new Harry Potter. Kate. Holy shit. Yeah, teenagers in charge. Also, I think it is that thing if you want people to get out of the store, one person has to just be definitive and like, this is what's happening.

The idea that they're just leaving employees to like figure out what the emergency route is going to be for everybody. Like what the hell? Oh my God, terrifying. Ring an alarm. This is called hidden treasure, a small birthday surprise. Hello, all. I've always enjoyed a hidden treasure story, and so I thought I would submit mine.

Last year on our birthday, my twin brother and I went thrifting at our favorite local thrift store. It's a place called Share House in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I love that city. And it is a thrift store, but it's also a nonprofit and all their proceeds go towards helping unhoused individuals. They have everything you could ever need. Vintage clothes.

Georgia. Furniture. Decorations. Toys. And tons of knickknacks you never knew you needed. Interestingly, there are no prices on the items. The staff chooses a price when you're checking out and you have the opportunity to negotiate a bit.

It's quite fun and all their prices are extremely reasonable. During our trip, we'd peruse the entire store, usually not looking for anything in particular, but letting divine intervention lead the way. I was looking at some hanging sweatshirts and noticed a little pink envelope sticking out of a hoodie pocket. Intrigued, I investigated and initially I thought it was just a price tag until I pulled it out. And inside, there was $20, within little note that read, this is a random act of kindness.

Today is my birthday and I wanted to spread some joy and happiness, so please spend this $20 on whatever you like. I was tickled. It was so generous and I was so grateful, especially because it was our birthday too. I used the $20 to purchase my brother a little bird cage and I bought myself some shoes. The kindness of a stranger really had an impact because I told everyone about it. That is my hidden treasure story. This upcoming year for our birthday, my brother and I are planning on leaving little envelopes

at our favorite places in hopes that it will brighten someone's day. Stay sexy and leave hidden treasure for people to find. And then it says M, her name, and then it says, and Grant, who's not a listener yet. Grant, get over here. That's actually a really lovely thing to do for your own birthday. Yeah. It's like doing something generous and practicing generosity actually is a lovely gift to oneself. Totally.

All right, here's my last one. Here we go. I'm not going to read this subject line. It says, hey gals, this is the best story and I cannot believe I didn't remember it until now. Way back in the late 80s when my very cool twin aunts, Katie and Susie, were in their bunnies, they were hanging out at home one Saturday night doing the things that people did at the time before the internet.

Susie was downstairs in the living room reading a book and Katie was upstairs in a room. As Susie was reading, she heard wrestling in the kitchen, then a clank of metal. She knew that sound very well. It was the top of their pastry dish lifting off of its platter. Susie was furious. She had told Katie not to touch her cupcakes as she made them for a friend's housewarming party. Susie slammed her book down and ran into the kitchen to confront her sister.

Katie do not fucking touch those cupcakes, but as soon as she entered the kitchen she saw a man dressed in all black, gingerly holding the pastry top. Susie terrified and only wearing a t-shirt and cotton undies was stunned still. As she tells it, it was the power of her dead father channeling through her that eventually yelled, get the fuck out of my house. Then the terrified would-be thief dropped the pastry top onto the floor and ran out the back door. There was a moment of silence, and then Susie heard Katie from upstairs.

Would you shut up about those cupcakes? It's now a story told fondly at family gatherings, but Susie still says how baffled she is that she fully yelled at the robber. Luckily, she's never had to test her skills with would-be thieves again. Thanks for reading, and I look forward to no doubt hearing this thrilling tale on the air. Much love, Rosie. You're right, Rosie.

Good job. All right. If anyone sent us your stories at My Favorite Murder at Gmail, and you could be about anything at this point. We support you. We support your storytelling. We know you're going to do a good job. Stay sexy.

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 Crichton. Our producer is Alejandra Keck. This episode was engineered and mixed by Stephen Ray Morris. Our researchers are Marin McClashen and Sarah Blair Jenkins.

Email your hometowns and fucking hurrays to myfavoritmurder at gmail.com. Follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at My Favorite Murder and Twitter at My Fave Murder. Goodbye. Goodbye. Listen, follow, leave us a review on Amazon Music, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, Prime members, did you know that you can listen to My Favorite Murder early and

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