My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 342

Episode Date: July 31, 2023

This week’s hometowns include a near-death experience on a cruise ship and finding traysure in a trash bag.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. I'm Candace DeLong and on my new podcast, Killer Psychie Daily, I share a quick 10-minute rundown every weekday on the motivations and behaviors of the cold-butted killers you read about in the news. Listen to the Amazon Music Exclusive Podcast Killer Psychie Daily in the Amazon Music app. Download the app today. Hello and welcome to my favorite murder. The mini-sode.

It's teeny tiny. We're gonna read you stories that you wrote in. Thank you. That's right. Should I go first? Do it. Okay. This one's called Who Let This Man Have a Chainsaw.

Are you there, MFM? It's me, long-time listener, first-time e-mailer. Margaret? I've been saying I'm going to write this in for nearly a year FM, it's me, longtime listener, first time emailer. Margaret? I've been saying I'm going to write this in for nearly a year, and I guess today is the day. Love the pod. Hate the world we live in.

Let's fucking go. That's right. For context, I grew up in a quiet village in rural England. We had the usual combination of I did with countryside walks and rampant conservative views. But on the whole, it was a very safe, quiet kind of place. I've since moved, but my parents live in the same little bungalow they did when I was born 25 years ago.

Once or twice a year, my parents book a gardener to come over and trim the hedges. They used the same guy for years, but he'd recently retired. So for the last couple of times, they've found someone new who all called Bill, recommended by our elderly neighbor who communicated mostly through email. A couple of days before Bill was due to come over and trim the hedges, my mom got an email from our neighbor, ominously tiled, I don't think Bill will be coming. With a link to a local news article, girls, Bill

wasn't coming to cut the hedges because he had just been arrested for murder. Ooh. Turns out Bill had gotten involved in a local family feud. A violent fight broke out between a father and a son and Bill apparently got involved to resolve the situation, but ended up literally beating a man to death. Oh, God.

The guy he beat up apparently walked himself to the A&E or the ERs, you call it, never mentioned the fight and died a few days later. Fucking crazy. So not a super uplifting story, but iconic that we found out the gardener wasn't coming because of an email from our elderly neighbor. I know it's Rogue these days to actually write a hometown murder

in as a hometown, but hopefully this is fine. Pip pip, Juryo, M she her. And I think that sign off was sarcastic as a British person. I don't think I've ever heard that. I don't know, but we appreciate it. We do. Well, that's also in lots of different ways to look at it, but a nightmare story about just like intervening.

Yeah. Be becoming a part of something and getting caught up like that. That's horrifying. Totally. It wasn't your business to be in with. Good Lord. Mind your business. Mind your business, please.

When I used to live in San Francisco and I'd see fights breaking out at night in the street, I would just yell cops are coming. Just to like, then they'd think cops were coming and break it up. A lot smart. Right. Yeah, and you don't actually have to call the cops. No, we're getting involved.

OK, the title of this email is cruise ship near death experience. Oh, fuck. It just starts ladies. I present to you the reason why I struggle with generalized anxiety to this day. And then it says date of event, 2009. For a little context, my name is Emma. I grew up in Tampa, Florida with a kick ass older sister, who's now a public defender, and a smartest hell

little brother now an electrical engineer. Wow. In 2009, my Shirley Tire, Dishell, were raising three children, two snarky for their own good parents, opted for a relatively contained spring break trip, a cruise. This was one of two cruises we went on as a family, and while I can't tell you which was which, I do remember this particular night vividly. At the time, and I'm 25 now, my brother and I were sworn enemies.

We fought physically and emotionally non-stop. I'm talking screaming matches, fist fights, One time I bit him and my parents undoubtedly needing a break from the madness left Kate, my 14 or something year old sister in charge while they went and spent a few pennies at the on ship casino. Blah blah blah. Just imagine relative peace devolving into chaos in the middle of a Disney Channel original movie here

and Will and I end up fighting. Kate's texting on her phone and the next thing you know Will, who's nine years old at the time, has locked me out of the kids room and into my parents adjoining sweet. Everyone knows the parents room is boring as shit and I was pissed. So MFM, I took matters into my own hands and formulated a plan and And by formulated, I mean, I generated a half-go-herent thought and said, send it. Oh, I feel like I'm going and I can't handle it. I ventured onto my parents' balcony

and leaning slightly over the rail, looked over at the kids' room. The balconies were separated by an inch wide panel of textured glass that was about seven to eight feet tall, if I had to guess. You could lean slightly over the balcony to peak over at the adjoining room, but you couldn't see through the glass. With the adjoining door locked and unwilling to venture out into the hallway and risk getting locked out of both rooms, I did the unthinkable. Next thing I know, I'm 12 years old and swinging my leg over the balcony of a cruise ship. Having tried my luck at the on ship facilitated rock wall that day, I was feeling pretty confident.

I got both legs over, toes gripping onto the half inch of leverage I have on the other side. And looking down, think the 12-year-old equivalent of O-Fuck. Ten plus stories beneath me is this inky swirling black water. I can see the waves breaking against the ship, but nothing else. Suddenly, Palm Sweaty, Mom Spaghetti, I realize I have royally fucked up. Oh my God. I shimmy my way over to the kids balcony, swing my legs back over. And the next thing I know, I'm staring at my brother through this sliding glass. Both our jaws drop. He wordlessly unlocks the door, lets me back in, and we silently settle back down to finish the movie. I'm pretty sure my sister had no idea what happened.

Oh my God, dude. This might not put 14-year-olds in charge. Yeah. We never talked about it after it happened, and it wasn't until 10 years later that I had the courage to tell my parents. They had no idea that they almost lost their middle child to a man overboard situation a decade earlier when I told them my mom cried. I think about how stupid I was to this day and I will never, ever get on a cruise ship again. The end. Glad I lived to hear MFM. Love you ladies. Emma. Oh my God, that's some like sliding doors shit where it's just like they had been like misty out or something and the railings had been slippery. That's fucking it.

The moment Emma describes realizing what she's doing and how scary it is, she should have absolutely lost her grip. That's what happens to people. Oh my God, I have anxiety from that myself. It's so hilarious. Also just that that is like, that's the deal breaker with the little brother. We're just like, Oh, she's insane. Let her in.

Yeah, just scary. That's terrifying. Are you the warrior of your friend group? Doom scrolling, laid into the night, researching all the survival scenarios you may find yourself in, stop scrolling, grab your weighted blanket and your headphones because we have a new podcast to help you cope. From Wondry, don't panic! Leans into our most absurd anxieties and diffuses them with humor and actual advice for how to deal

should you find yourself facing your fears. Hosted by anxious and overly informed comedian Anthony Ataminik, each week explores a worst-case scenario, like what do you do if you encounter a bear or a swarmah killer bee or find yourself stuck in quicksand. Each episode's panic of the week will make you laugh, learn, and sure possibly sweat profusely. Enjoy Don't Panic on the Wondry app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Don't Panic early and add free on Wondry Plus. Join Wondry Plus in the Wondry app or on Apple Podcasts. Okay, this is called Ghost Daycare in the attic. Hey ladies, I've been driving across

country from Utah to the Northeast to visit family and have been absolutely crushing your episodes. Though I typically gravitate towards your Thursday shows, the many soats have been more my speed this trip as a female driving through the middle of the country alone with a car covered in stickers that essentially scream, fuck the patriarchy.

I am slightly convinced I'm going to be the next subject of your first day episode. So to keep myself from getting too spooked, I have been deep diving into the archives of the mini-sows, and they have been the sole reason I have been able to maintain some sense of sanity on this drive. Anyhoo, I was telling my mom about the mini-sodes the other day, and she responded that I should write in

about the ghost kids in the attic. Excuse me? What? I am one of four kids, all badass girls, and we moved a ton as a kid. When I was in about first grade, we moved into a quirky old house in Jersey. The type of house that legit had secret passageways from room to room. As a kid obsessed with hide and seek, this was my literal dream. The reason we got the house, though, wasn't too dreamy. The family that lived there before us had recently lost their two teenage children in a car accident. Oh, no. And couldn't bear to live there anymore. They were happy to pass off the home to an enthusiastic family with young kids. We were never told of this

as children for obvious reasons. I know heartbreaking. My mom sent my sisters and I off to school in the morning after moving in. However, my youngest sister at the time stayed home as she was not old enough to go to school yet. Per my mom, each day, my sister would wander up to the attic and stay there for hours. As a mom with four young kids who was also moving into a new house, she didn't question why my sister would vanish each day for hours. She enjoyed the peace and alone time and my sister was entertained. Then it says, nope, not an 80s mom, just a hit mom raising her kids in the early 2000s. One day my mom asked my sister what she was doing in the attic.

My sister responded, I was playing with the kids up there. My mom asked who the kids were, and my sister proceeded to tell her the names of the children that had lived there before us and had passed away in the car accident. My mom was shocked, but also not willing to give up her peace and quiet each day. She continued to send her three oldest children

off to school each day, and then walk my sister up to the attic for her play date. That's the story. Thanks for helping me stay sane on my travels. Stay sexy and don't waste money on childcare. If you have teenage ghost living in the attic, Molly, she, her, hers. That's the saddest ghost story I've ever heard.

She went up there and they like played with her. That's sweet. They came home. Oh, God. You know, heavy. So heavy. Sorry. Oh, no.

I mean, these are all the stories we like to hear. Okay, well, let's take a left turn. Cake, please. God, please. The subject line of this email is Nana used her last words to yell at Jesus. Ha, ha, ha. Hi, all.

After hearing that hospice nurse tell her last words hometown on Miniso 314, I thought I'd tell you my favorite. My aunt's mother-in-law, we called her Nana, was a beautiful kind and truly classy lady in life. She always gave me old movie grandma vibes, the kind of grandma that wanted you to sit proper like a lady, and also snuck you homemade cookies when your parents weren't looking.

You know the kind. As she got closer to the end, however, she got crankier and crankier. I think her memory was rapidly declining and she often snapped at those caring for her. It was sad to see, but everyone tried to hold on to the good memories and let go of the bad.

Cut to her deathbed. She was quiet and small in her bed. Those around her wept. This was clearly it. Knowing my sweet aunt, she would have told her it was okay to let go that everyone would be okay. But suddenly Nana shot up in bed and angrily yelled, turn off that damn light. And then she died.

Oh, stay sexy and pray they have sunglasses in the afterlife. Jeannie. So why are you talking towards the light? She's like, turn that off. Turn that shit off. It's the light. Grandma, it's the light.

Jesus, your wasting electricity. Turn that shit off. Turn it off. Oh my God. Okay, my last one's called always check your garbage. Like Jesus, your wasting electricity, turn that shit off. Turn it off. Oh my God. Okay, my last one's called Always Check Your Garbage. Hey, Karen, Georgia, an MFM team. I'm a longtime listener from sunny Scotland.

I heard recently you asked for stories about people finding things, and I knew this was my opportunity to write in and share a story about my dad. My dad, George, is the kind of dad you call if you're in a cult. This guy would fuck shit up and sleep like a baby. Anyway, my dad worked as a concierge,

a posh name for security, and some high rise buildings where crime was part of everyday life. Histories are legendary and include, but are not limited to the man who collected pigeons to release them in a local library because the librarian had pissed him off. It says he was arrested.

The other gentleman who threw fruit at children from the 12th floor, or the time my dad had to let police into a flat where neighbors were worried as they hadn't seen the guy who lived there. And there was an awful smell coming through. Only to find a massive empty fish tank in the living room left by the window in direct sunlight. And there was an awful smell coming through, only to find a massive empty fish tank

in the living room left by the window and direct sunlight. Oh, no. Nobody's were found. Oh, the smell of that. Ugh. The stench. Anyway, I digress.

One day my dad was working and he noticed a bin bag, it says garbage bag, prepping open an emergency exit in the office. When he finished his 12-hour shift, he went to leave through said exit and thought he'd take the background to the large bins at the back of the building. When he went to lift it, he could barely get it off the ground. He looked inside and saw pound coins, thousands of them. George being the bad ass he is, swiftly pulled his car alongside the door and managed to just lift it

into the boot of his car. Yes. He took it home, piled the coins neatly on the living room table in 20-pound piles until he ran out of room. The total was close to, and they gave me the translation for dollars, which I appreciate. 9,852 dollars.

Oh my God, 8,500 pounds. Yes. Isn't that wild? Thankfully nobody ever asked about the missing money. And while I'm sure people were suspicious that my dad was then paying for all his food and bills in one pound coins, nobody asked any questions. I'm sure the money came from something dodgy,

but George gave no fucks and enjoyed the money thoroughly. Thanks for all the laps. I listened every day for seven months driving to and from visiting my mom in the hospital. She's recovered at home and you both kept me going. Nice. Much love, space sexy and always looking suspicious garbage bags. Laura, she, her.

I mean, okay. First of all, I bet you know, a notice that he was paying for things in one pound notes because people are self-obsessed and they don't notice stuff like that. No. If you find like cold hard gash like that, yeah, this is your money. You found it. No, no, no, no. We've all seen no country for old men and like there's a tracking device in it and then they come after you and shit. Yeah, but I'm scared. I'm scared of free money. I don't buy it.

But are you saying in that situation, like that's truly free money. It's in a garbage bag by the bins, as they say. Yeah, but why? I don't know. You're right. I mean, there's definitely things to fear about it. But then there's also, it's also just like, yeah.

It was too heavy for the robbers. They couldn't lift it anymore. So true. And just put it somewhere they thought they could get it again? Who knows? He got away with it. God bless him. I love it when people can get away with easy, light lift stuff.

Definitely. Where the your average man wins. That's what we like. Definitely. But yeah, don't try to steal drug money from cartel people in the desert. No, that's bad. Okay, so here's my last story.

It says non-hero dog story. Hi, friends. I've been very inspired by the series of hero dog stories you've featured most recently of Captain, who escaped from his backyard to save a woman from a robbery, truly an inspiration to a soul. Sweet. I'm writing in with a story that you didn't ask for

about a dog much less heroic, but I still think it's pretty excellent. A few years back, my mom came home from work to find our little white, terrier, Ferris missing. Ferris had a dog door to a fence in backyard, but seemed to have dug his way under the fence. My mom is a nurse who was working 12-hour days,

so who knows how long Ferris was gone. Mom canvassed the neighborhood, but no dice. She was looking up shelters to call when the phone rang. It was a woman a few blocks down the road. Apparently Ferris had somehow made his way into their house early in the morning. The woman and her husband worked opposite shifts, so when she saw a strange dog on her couch next to her own dog watching TV, she assumed that her husband had arranged a play day. She went to work and didn't worry about it. When her husband got home that afternoon and saw a strange dog on the couch with their dog, he assumed his wife had arranged a play

day and didn't worry about it. That evening, when they were both finally home together, snuggled up on the couch with two dogs. It was getting a little late. So the wife turned to the husband and asked, Hey, whose dog is this? The jig was up and Ferris by then snoozing peacefully with God. Oh my God. Anyway, put your phone number on your dog's collar and microchip your pads. Ferris got home safe and sound and had what sounds like a pretty restorative day off. All dogs go to heaven, but some dogs say, fuck heroism and instead embrace laziness. And they are good dogs too. Stay sexy and don't ignore the strange dog on the couch

or do it's fine. XX Jill. I mean, I guess I would assume that too, right? Like the dogs are just chilling and they're getting along. Like, then what would you? I love that they're just watching TV, like teenage children together. And every but like the humans in the house assume the dogs have it handled. Like, if this is their plan, I'm not going to get involved. Like, oh my god, I love that so much. As someone who really wants to get cookie up a playmate, a partner, and it's like anti, like I'd love it if a dog just fucking ran into our house one day. We were like, the dog has made the choice.

Yes, exactly. There's nothing we can do. There's a very viral TikTok, very famous TikTok of a couple that woke up in bed with a dog they didn't know in their bed. And it is so funny because the dog is like, it's this big dog and it's sleeping like a person between them. And they're like, his dog is this. I love it. I love it.

I don't own a cat, or one, so I don't own a dog. Yes, I guess I do now. But so much. Send us your bad dog stories. I want to hear like the terrible, bad, you know, sweet things your dog has done. Just dog stuff. Yeah, totally. Thanks for listening everybody. We appreciate it. If you want to see how intensely compelling the visual aspect and component of this podcast is, you can go and watch it on the fan call to be a part. We just videoed it. Just go to my favorite murder.com

and make sure to send us any fucking story you feel like. And stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Good bye! Elvis, do you want a cookie? This has been an exactly right production. Our producer is Alejandra Keck and this episode was engineered and mixed by Steven Ray Morris. Da-da!

Email your hometowns and fucking arrays to myfavoretmurder.com. Follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at myfavoretmurder and Twitter at myfavoretmurder. Goodbye! Goodbye! Bye. app today. You can support my favorite murder by filling out a survey at Wendery.com slash survey.