MFM Minisode 449

This is exactly right.

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Goodbye.

Hello, and welcome to my favorite murder, the mini show, where we read you your stories, the best of the best, and the best we can.

That's all we can do.

Do you want to give it a try?

I'll give it a shot.

Ooh, okay, this one's a heavy one starting right off the bat.

Okay, great.

It says the title and it says, don't read title.

Okay.

That's the first time that's happened, actually.

You know, they leave it up to us usually.

Yeah, I know.

She's like, trust me on this one.

Oh, well, hello, you cuties.

It's a start.

I've been a loyal listener since 2020 and a third-time writer.

Fingers crossed, this one makes the cut.

I was 36 weeks pregnant with our third daughter and in the true spirit of pregnancy, was feeling like shit.

Thankfully, I had a regularly scheduled OV appointment and was sent to the hospital straight away when they determined I had preclampsia.

And it says elevated blood pressure in pregnancy.

I, in all my naivete, thought they'd keep me overnight for observation and send me home in the morning, good as new.

Wrong.

Instead of a relaxing night of eating hospital jello and binge-watching food network, I was stripped, shaved, and wheeled into emergency C-section.

Oh, shit.

Yeah.

I don't like the shaved part.

Stripped and shaved.

Stripped and shoved.

Why?

It's up here.

Why does it have to be?

It's up there.

Because you know why?

They open you up.

They open you all the way up.

Sorry, mom.

Janet.

Three.

Three C's?

Three C sections.

Wow.

Anyways.

I'm sorry, mom.

I did that to her.

All caps, I was panicked.

My husband wasn't allowed into the surgical suite until I had received my spinal tap because so many men pass out when they see the big needles.

I roll.

So he was situated in a waiting room with a TV.

Whilst watching this TV, he was informed of what was happening just down the road from the hospital we were sitting in.

When he was finally allowed to join me, his eyes were wide as softballs and his voice was more like that of a robot when he said, Hi, babe, you're doing fine.

Everything is fine.

Everything is fine.

Immediately picking up on, like, it's not the C-section.

She's like, no, this is not even the C-section.

Yeah, it's like you are about to get split open.

Yeah.

And then someone walks in clearly trying to cover.

Right.

Or just like, just tell me.

Yes.

Immediately picking up that his vibe was way off.

I asked him what his deal was.

As he was trying to assure me that everything was okay, the anesthesiologist said in the most nonchalant voice, Well, my son is in lockdown.

For what?

I asked as tears welled up in my eyes.

Oh, the whole hospital is in lockdown.

There's an active shooter on the Michigan State campus.

There were shots fired in the Union Hall, and the entire hospital is in lockdown as the shooter is at large while she's laying on an operating table.

I thought my husband was going to puke.

He had tried so hard, despite his own fears, to keep me calm.

And Fern, not his real name, just spilled every last drop of tea.

Yeah, like keep her calm.

She has preclampsia, which already means her blood pressure is high, right?

Yeah, exactly.

Like, can you not?

Yeah, and also, how about you just put that mask on and let her leave the scene?

Just telling her horrible stories as she goes under it.

Yeah, bye.

Bye.

Just as he said this, all the pagers on every employee blared.

And as many people who could leave my OR did and rushed to the ER to help the victims in whatever way they could.

The shooter ended up taking his own life after fleeing five miles on foot.

The names of those who lost their lives on February 13th, 2023 are Brian Frazier, Ariel Anderson, and Alexandria Werner.

We'll never stop saying their names.

Our baby was delivered safely and was taken to the NICU for the next 20 days as she grew and gained strength.

We named her Noelle.

At first, we were heartbroken that her birthday was marred by such an unthinkable tragedy, but she has shown us time and time again that we brought a blindingly bright light into a very dark world that day.

I know.

We have been given the opportunity to raise three strong women who view others as valuable, important, and equal.

If you are struggling or thinking of hurting yourself or others, please know there is hope and help for a better day.

You are loved, you are important, and violence will not make anything better.

I have fucking chills.

Thank you, Karen and Georgia, and everyone else on the exactly right team for spreading love and stressing the importance of self-care and mental health awareness for all.

I apologize for the lengthy read, but I feel it's a story worth sharing with so much love.

Taylor.

Taylor, it is a story worth sharing and also like a story of your own vulnerability and then basically like delivering that ending part, which is like, this horror show.

People are brought into this world and it is often a horror show.

And you can make something of that and you can turn it.

Like I wouldn't have read this if it didn't have such a beautiful ending.

You know what I mean?

Because it's just so awful.

But she just really tied it together.

She nailed it.

She nailed it and she also

so mad at those men in that room.

She's like,

you get me five more push presents or whatever they're fucking called.

Like you owe me.

You all owe me.

Get to Swarpski.

Stad.

Okay, well, let me turn it around a little bit.

So a couple weeks ago, I told the story of the Pappy Van Winkle bourbon heist.

You could call it the slowest heist of all time.

Subject line of this email is, my dad sold Pappy Van Winkle out of our house.

Hi Karen in Georgia, longtime listener, first-time writer, and lifelong fangirl.

I just want to say you two are my absolute favorite humans to listen to while I walk, commute to work, and avoid my problems, etc.

I've been with you since the early days, and your podcast has been a constant source of joy, laughs, gasps, and the occasional inappropriate giggle in public.

So when I heard Karen's bourbon story last week, I had to write in.

Why?

Because my serious, entrepreneurial, non-bourbon drinking father accidentally ran an underground Peppy Van Winkle empire out of our suburban basement.

Oh my god.

I love when people get to tell us their story connected to our story.

Totally.

It's my favorite.

When they thought they'd never tell the story

for anyone.

Right.

I love it.

I love it.

Even when it's the slightest connection, it's still fun.

Yeah.

Okay, so it says: Back in the day, my dad had some friends in DC who were part of a very serious bourbon club.

The kind where middle-aged men sit around pretending to blind taste bourbon like it's the Westminster Dog Show.

You know, hold out the bourbon.

Yeah.

Lo and behold, the bourbon that kept sweeping every round was some obscure bottle with an old-timey label, Pappy Van Winkle.

Now, my dad is not a whiskey drinker at all.

He much prefers wine, but he is a businessman, and like any good businessman, he took mental notes.

Fast forward to when he'd come to visit me around 2008 at college in Fort Collins, Colorado, and he'd always want to stop by this local liquor store, Wilbur's.

I figured he just wanted to bond or like buy a bottle of Tube Buck Chuck to celebrate my academic success.

I had no idea he was casing the joint for Pappy.

But every time he left that store with a smile and a brown paper bag, he was one step closer to his destiny.

bourbon mogul.

He was buying Pappy for $52 a bottle.

What?

Yes, $52, and hoarding it like liquid gold in our basement.

My mom eventually asked, honey, why do we have a whiskey graveyard downstairs?

You don't even drink it.

And my dad, unsure what his plan was, but full of hustle, said, I don't know, maybe I'll sell it on eBay.

And sell it.

He did.

Oh, my God.

First bottle, listed for $700 with a few bids.

It sold.

Next one, $1,000 with even more bids.

Why are they selling it for $52?

Because they don't know.

So he knew, because he was in the very serious bourbon club.

The dad did.

But poor Wilbur, they were like how thrift stores used to be when they would have the gold just sitting there and if nobody knew to use the eBay or like look it up.

Totally.

Suddenly we had golfers, doctors, and suspiciously well-dressed bourbon bros showing up at our door with envelopes of cash asking for Mike.

Oh my God.

I'd love to, is Mike or dad's name?

Did he make up a new name?

My code name's going to be Mike.

Right.

He was shipping bottles across the country in rugged up photography mailing tubes, living his best bourbon bootlegging life, all while my brothers and I were completely unaware.

We just thought dad had weird new friends.

He ended up making,

you want to guess?

$25,000.

Exactly right.

Exactly fucking right.

Stop looking at my notes before we review.

I was like, 50 is too much.

Yeah.

Holy shit.

You nailed it.

$25,000 in three months.

Paid for a whole semester of my brother's tuition, all from a liquor store run and a hunch.

And after all that, he finally tried a glass and was like, meh, not that good.

Incorrect.

I would love to try it.

He also let my brothers try it, and they weren't sold either.

I only took a small whiff of the stuff one day, and I wasn't too impressed.

Anyway, thank you both for everything you do.

You've kept me company and laughing through the years, and I cannot wait, all caps, to see you again live in Denver.

Much love, Lara.

Oh my God, Lara, that was excellent.

She came from a Pappy Van Winkle family.

That is wild.

Yeah.

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Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Okay, I'm not going to read you you the very funny title of this.

Okay.

Hello to all my favorite people I've never met.

I see your mini-sode story featuring a children's pilgrim-themed birthday party and raise you a children's Victorian-themed birthday party when I was a young, weird fifth grader.

So it's called my 11-year-old Victorian Ghost-themed birthday party.

Nice.

A dream.

Uh-huh.

One day, as my mom and I were driving through Tempe, Arizona, we passed by what appeared to be an old two-story Victorian house.

I asked my mom what the house was used for, and she told me it was one one of the oldest dive bars in town.

Oh.

Confused, I asked why someone would make an old house into a bar and she responded, it's very haunted.

Oh, shit.

Yeah.

I immediately wanted to know everything, especially considering that growing up in Phoenix doesn't hold the same ghostly intrigue as other parts of the country.

Hot places don't have as many ghosts for some reason, right?

Only if you think about it in terms of a ghost town, that's where they're, the hot ones are ghost towns, but then everywhere else feels like.

And it's just tons of new build in Arizona, too.

Yes.

Yeah.

Okay, I get it.

McMansions aren't haunted.

I mean, depends on the horrible things that happen inside.

Yeah.

And what's buried underneath.

The home was built in the early 1900s by a wealthy family who is said to haunt the place today.

Ownership changed over in the 1980s and was converted into the area's Irish pub slash dive bar.

Take me there, please.

The house is situated on a residential street, and homeowners have reported seeing lights on in the wee morning hours or a couple dancing in the attic when the place is unoccupied.

Dancing ghosts.

That's like the scariest thing you could do.

Staff have reported dishes falling with no explanation, chairs being stacked seemingly by themselves.

That's a fucking hell no.

That's Poltergeist.

Yeah, that's Poltergeist.

And it's also, you know, the very haunted comedy store.

Really?

Because it used to be a mafia nightclub.

Oh my God.

There's a story of the bouncer walking out of the main room, which is gigantic, and walking back in, and every chair in the place was stacked in the center.

No, fuck you.

No.

I would quit.

Yep.

Leave.

Yeah.

And footsteps on the second floor when no one is up there.

I can handle footsteps.

Yeah, because that's like, I'm crazy.

Who cares?

Yeah.

Everything.

It's a raccoon.

Yeah.

When you're like physically picking things up and putting them in weird positions.

Fast.

Fast.

Like turn around and they're there.

A few months later, when my parents asked what I wanted to do for my 11th birthday, my little goth heart knew exactly what to ask for.

I told my parents I wanted to have my party at the Victorian house in Victorian clothing with a dozen preteen girls.

My parents' response at the bar?

Well, they didn't just oblige, they committed.

My mom being an avid thrifter before it was cool, spent a few weeks collecting Victorian-inspired dresses, hats, gloves, and shoes from the racks of Goodwill and the like.

Wow.

Yeah.

What's it like to have a mom like that?

I don't know.

My mom was literally like, it's DIY on Halloween.

From age.

You're wearing your brother's old costume.

Yep.

Deal with it.

Have fun.

It's definitely going to catch fire.

Okay.

She had to call the bar and arrange, and I'm pretty sure pay a little extra, to have a bunch of children hosted in the attic of the house for afternoon lunch.

But it's a legitimately haunted place.

On the day of the party, my friends and I got to pick out our items of Victorian clothing we wanted to wear and got all dolled up and yes, went to a bar.

Yes.

Little me was so excited until I saw the very confused and amused faces of several college-age hipsters standing around drinking their beers to witness children walking up the stairs dressed in Victorian gauze.

If I was at that birthday party, what would you do?

I would, first of all, I would go, we're ghosts,

we're dead.

You can see us?

Just put a bunch of white powder on.

Oh,

well, no ghosts were sighted that day.

It's still one of the most cherished birthday memories because you know they were freaking each other out the whole time.

What was that?

I mean, imagine how you would be legit kind of scared the whole time.

11 is the perfect age for that.

One of my most cherished birthday memories.

I'm still a spooky bitch who loves a good ghost story and who wears mostly black.

Yay.

Some things never change.

Yeah.

But yes, I know I started this email with my favorite people I've never met, but I'll get to meet you both at your live show in San Diego and I couldn't be more thrilled.

Yay.

You have to tell us you're the Victorian birthday girl.

Please scream Victorian birthday girl at us.

Dress up like a Victorian ghost.

Please.

How about everyone at every show has to dress up like a Victorian ghost?

I would love it.

Also, it's like, or you could dress up like a Victorian ghost and you could bring your mom that was the best mom ever.

We want to meet your mom.

Pam.

Bring Pam.

Pam.

Stay sexy and maybe remind your mom some things aren't just a phase.

Sierra.

She her.

I'm going to be creepy for the rest of my life.

Yeah, I'm always going to love this.

Yes.

No, you're not.

Yes, you are.

You're always going to have to work with this ghost aspect of my personality.

Yeah.

Love it.

I'm going to be the goth you look for.

Just the idea that children, we've evolved in that way where that isn't the worst thing a parent could be dealing with with their child.

They can enjoy it.

Yeah, there's very few things that make me wish I had children at some point, and that is one of those.

If my kid did that, that'd be like,

it's a bar.

I mean, my mom would be like, well, okay.

We'll wait for you downstairs.

Okay.

Subject line of this is, hey, what about trash moms?

Greetings, dadies and gentle thems, for I bring a tale of trash mommery.

Trash dads may be prevalent, but moms are trashy too.

My mom always had her struggles with alcohol and drug use, so we weren't close.

But every summer, I went to stay with her for one feral month in the most feral of decades.

Yes, I'm talking about the 80s.

Ooh, I can smell, I can smell the cigarettes.

It's such a, to me, that's such an anachronistic kind of thing where it's like, you can't live with your mom, but go stay with her for a month.

Right, but a month is fine.

And then the next paragraph starts.

She was not a very vigilant mom.

You would get no Victorian children

birthday parties here.

Absolutely not.

This is kind of the opposite.

Yeah.

As a result, my summers were loaded with near-death experiences, ice-cold water from hoses, and truly excellent 80s music on my Walkman because everyone scammed Columbia House to get free tapes back then.

Yep.

Sure did.

My mom, Ever the Grifter, devised what I like to call the chuffle or church shuffle.

To flee the summer heat and our shenanigans, my mom would shuffle around.

Wow.

You made that up and it works.

That's like hard to do.

Perfect.

It's so good.

The chuffle.

She would chuckle.

The chuffle.

You know, she'd just be in town shuffling around until she found a church offering free sleepaway camps.

Okay.

Brilliant.

She gets her children for the one month that she gets to have them a year.

And she's like.

Get them out of here.

You love Jesus, right?

Bye.

Tell them you love Jesus.

I'll see you in three weeks.

Tell them you're Jewish or like

whatever the religion is.

Yeah, just get in.

So

it said, we were like spiritual tourists hopping from Baptist bonfires to Methodist bingo nights, all in the glorious pursuit of complimentary mosquito bites.

And many younger folk might not realize that in the 80s, we actually went to a camp, not just the bleak vacation Bible school they offer now.

We rode yellow buses singing 99 bottles of beer on the wall.

We slumbered in smelly bunk beds.

We downed hot dogs, tumbled off of unstable swings into lakes, flipped canoes, and stank at archery.

God, we did all of that.

Did all of it.

Camp Pass Kramer.

Camp St.

Andrews.

Amazing.

And also ours was Episcopalian, and we were Catholic.

Oh, right.

That's right.

And we came back.

I told you the story.

We came back on a Sunday and we went straight to the Episcopalian church to like have mass and say goodbye.

And then when we got back to my Aunt Kathleen's house, my grandmother was there and she said, are they going to go to real Mass now?

She wanted us to go to another.

She had to have a church twice in one day.

Yeah, because Catholic church is the only real one.

Look, it's an intense Irish thing.

I'll talk to you about it later.

I had my first kiss and my first heartbreak at one of those camps.

And in parentheses, it says, I'm looking at you, Brett.

First kiss and first heartbreak.

I love it.

Brett, you sunk.

It was a killer way to spend the summer, excluding one wee little detail, a little white lie, if you will.

Her ruse to get us into the camps was to tell them that I wanted to be born again or baptized.

She's actually being like a very generous mom.

She's giving her these incredible experiences and they're safe.

Like she's putting her somewhere safe.

You know what I mean?

Safe at a church?

At a camp.

Filled with church people?

Yeah.

Am I being naive?

I don't know.

I didn't go to church.

Again, I'll tell you, I'm from the Catholic church.

Okay.

I hear you, Daniel.

I hear you.

I hear you.

I think the Episcopalians are very safe.

But also, just that's the idea where it's like, we're going to get you into a free camp and you have to go do the show to get yourself in.

It's just, it is trash, mommy.

Yeah.

Tales of my pilgrimage to find Jesus flowed freely.

I was a sinner and I wanted to be saved.

As a result, I've been baptized not once, not twice, but over 10 times.

Oh my God.

Salvation was found in baby pools, lakes, dubious streams, bathtubs, you name it.

If holy water was being zealously poured into a vessel by someone claiming to chit-chat with God, I was doused in it.

Did you know that there are different types of baptism?

I do.

Aspersion, effusion, immersion, or submersion.

Wow.

My luck, I was usually submerged in front of everyone and I had to convincingly renounce Satan.

Dost thou renounce Satan and all his works?

Sure, he seems pretty aggro.

Picture this.

I'm being baptized in a freezing cold hot tub, donning someone else's white Laura Ashley dress, and then in parentheses, it says that I never gave back, and angelically smiling because I knew those s'mores were made possible by my blasphemy.

Every summer, I returned to school with tales of debauchery and a few new cavities.

No one else I knew got to go to three camps that summer.

She became and probably still is the most interesting person at any gathering.

Hell yes.

The most interesting person.

Because you're right.

Hardships.

Yeah.

Hardships and you're being sent to be with different kinds of people, not your own.

And you're experiencing these insane things that most people don't ever experience.

So like you just have more life.

Yes.

All the politics of camp, like the Sunday when you get there and you don't like these people and by the end you're crying.

No one else I knew got to go to three camps that summer and threw up because they broke the cardinal rule of swimming too soon after eating.

Who cares?

I was saved.

Fast forward to today, and I'm a proud card-carrying Satanist.

Hail Satan and fuck the patriarchy.

That's what happens.

That's right.

You just cram it down someone's throat and they're going to go the opposite direction.

They tasted that buffet over and over again and they're like, this sucks.

I stopped speaking to my mom when I was 13, so I was keenly aware that I was a motherless daughter.

Now with three children of my own, I get to share my wild childhood stories with them.

So much of my life is unimaginable to them because I have made sure that they they had the kind of childhood I should have had.

Oh, she's a Victorian dress mom.

She is.

She became.

The children who get sent to free camps by their trash mom become the mothers that are like, what era of dress would you like to dress up in?

Exactly.

Oh my God.

Lovely.

Some of our moms are too close to the flame.

Yeah.

It's like, it has to be another generation or two.

Like my sister.

It ends with Laura.

And it's like, why do you think we don't want kids?

Yeah.

Remember what?

Remember?

What that was like?

That's what I think we're supposed to be doing.

For somehow, Laura and Lee both knew better.

Yeah.

Not me.

Nope.

There's nothing I'm more proud of in this life than being a cycle breaker.

And as I always say, if there really is a God, I am golden.

If not, I do have a few good memories with my mom.

And I guess that is enough.

Stay sexy and send all your pennies to Columbia House.

PCP.

PCP, that was epic.

PCP, thank you for sharing your life and those details because, man, it's just as good.

It's just as valid.

I want to hear more what made you the weird, interesting person.

What made you interesting?

Like, what fucked up thing?

You know, when you showed up at camp and everyone else went, huh?

Yeah.

What was it about you you thought like and that you learned at camp from other kids where you're like ooh stop saying that or never stop saying that or like you had to become clever because this is the position you were in.

Yep.

We want to hear those stories.

Yeah.

You have to win over three different camps full of kids every summer.

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Goodbye.

Bye.

Okay, I have one more quick one.

Whole company calendar story.

Hello, murderinas.

Oh, that's interesting.

Some in a recent episode, you asked for stories of accidental company emails, specifically mentioning someone accidentally tracking her period on the company calendar.

I'm so glad we asked for these because this is

asking for more all caps.

I have one.

Yay.

My husband, Brandon's best friend, Jeremy, is an upper all caps position in a major tech company.

They have a history of pranking each other.

So when BFF Jeremy's, when BFF Jeremy left his phone unlocked and unattended, my hubby Brandon added a daily calendar event with a pop-up alert.

Jeremy loves Brandon.

It's the pop-up.

Weeks passed of Jeremy getting smirks in the office before Jeremy realized everyone was getting an alert that somehow my technically challenged husband had sent this alert to everyone in the company except Jeremy.

So Jeremy didn't even know it was happening for weeks.

Wow.

So what my husband intended as a one-to-two day funny annoyance to his friend, which is supposed to pop up on his phone,

right?

Was actually going out to thousands of people announcing that their high-tier manager was in love with someone for weeks.

These are both their real names and welcome to be shared because so many people were involved.

There was no point hiding it.

And poor Jeremy had to send out a company-wide email explaining/slash apologizing, and their friendship is only better for it.

Jeremy used to weed out the folks who had a problem with Jeremy loves Brandon in a major company, and that benefits us all.

That's true.

That's so true.

Yeah.

Not a story I expected to share on MFM, but one I sincerely hope brings joy to at least you, but I'd positively explode and so would they if they were actually shared.

It's, hey, what's up?

Hi.

Time to explode.

It's a delightful memory for them.

And I hope for the thousands of people who got that daily alert for two plus weeks who can now find out the backstory.

Yeah.

Sarah.

Yeah.

Yeah.

That is embarrassing.

It's also like, then did that, did he cross a line where then Jeremy's revenge has to be worse and more humiliating?

Yeah.

You're really upping the ante with something like that.

Almost like hard to think of it.

It being an accident is so much better because doing it on purpose is almost like mean, right?

Well, yeah.

But doing it on accident is hilarious.

Hilarious.

When you're like, oh, we prank each other all the time.

But I'm saying, like, at the end of the day, whatever the intention was, the prank is company-wide.

Yeah.

So now Brandon has to go company-wide with something.

Definitely.

Next picnic, pants him.

When he's giving a speech.

Okay.

This is a nice way to end.

It's so hilarious and goofy.

So the subject line of this email is: number one, snail mommy.

Hi, Karen in Georgia.

After hearing the hometown where you spent a good chunk of the end talking about snails, I knew I needed to write in.

I have three aquatic snails, Jacques, a Narit snail, a rabbit snail named Francois, and a mystery snail named Pierre.

I didn't even know there were different types of snails, honestly.

That's amazing.

Okay.

And then in parentheses, it says, I gave them French names because, you know, that's Cargot.

So funny.

I'm going to eat all these.

I've had fish tanks throughout my life and was given Pierre as a gift gift a few years ago.

He's the OG.

I had no idea how much I'd enjoy having this little slime nugget in my life.

I feed Pierre one leaf of lettuce or spinach every two weeks.

Wow.

During this time, he can be seen crawling on top of it, leafy greens float, and surfing it around the tank while simultaneously eating it.

And then all caps.

It's the best.

That's so cute.

Fun fact alert.

He also does this thing that all mystery snails do, which is to creep up to the water line and then release from the side of the tank and parachute their bodies out like a squirrel suit?

They gently glide toward the bottom of the tank with their antennas wafting in the aquatic breeze.

I have read the only reason they do this is because this is the only time in their tiny lives that they get to go fast.

That's right.

They do it for fun.

See video.

Okay, here he goes.

Ready?

Does he take himself out of his...

Oh, he's sliding down a leaf or his lettuce.

Holy shit.

Boom.

Boom.

Oh, my God.

He did it.

That was a game.

That was a, he was playing a game.

He's playing a little game with himself all bored in that little tank.

A snail is playing a game.

That just changes everything for me.

I'm never eating S Cargo again.

Also,

right?

Because they're like a sense of fun in there.

But also that idea that it's like...

They go so fucking slow.

Yeah.

And suddenly they're like, wee!

It must be like 500 miles an hour to them.

Oh, my God.

Amazing.

Look at it.

It's adorable.

And then it says, I love my snails, as strange and silly as it sounds.

My snails inspire me to take it slow, eat my greens, and go inward.

Check them out the next time you're at the pet store.

I will.

Or the sidewalk in front of your house after it rains.

Much love, Jen and Austin.

Jen.

More snail emails.

We need them.

Snail mail.

Snail email.

Snail mail.

If you've got snail mail or any other shell-based mollusk, is it?

Sounds right.

Email us at my favorite murder at gmail.

That's right.

Any fucking story at this point.

Any story.

I think Pranks Gone Wrong or Pranks Gone Wrong is great.

It's great.

It's kind of the Jeremy Brandon story.

Oh my God.

My favorite murder.

Send us Pranks Gone Wrong.

Yeah.

That's exactly.

And also stay sexy.

Oh, and don't get murdered.

Goodbye.

Elvis, do you want a cookie?

This has been an Exactly Right Production.

Our senior producers are Alejandra Keck and Molly Smith.

Our editor is Aristotle Aceveda.

This episode was mixed by Liana Squolacci.

Email your hometowns to myfavorite murder at gmail.com.

And follow the show on Instagram at MyFavoriteMurder.

Listen to MyFavorite Murder on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

And now you can watch us on Exactly Right's YouTube page.

And while you're there, please like and subscribe.

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Goodbye.