MFM Minisode 451

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murder.

Hello

and welcome to my favorite murder.

The mini sode.

This is a special occasion because apparently Grandparents' Day is a thing.

It's Grandparents' Day.

Yeah, yeah, and it's coming up, so we're going to just do grandparents' stories.

Yeah, I mean, you have them for us to read, so we're going to read them.

Okay.

You want to go?

Sure.

Okay, this one's called Two Stories of the Same Murder.

Hello, Georgia and Karen, or Karen and Georgia, you are both equal in my eyes.

Thank you.

Finally.

I have a family story for you that I think you'll very much appreciate.

It involves the murder of my great-grandfather in, shall we say, suspicious circumstances.

Allow me to take you back to a different era and a different place entirely.

Okay.

Picture it.

Southern Italy right after the end of World War I.

I've been there.

At the end of World War I.

My great-grandfather had just returned returned home from his discharge from the Italian military.

Yes, he fought on the wrong side, but then they were on the right side.

I don't know.

It's a very confusing war.

Yes, it is.

It is.

My grandmother was around two years old, and my great-grandmother was pregnant on the island where they lived.

And it's Ischia.

Ischia.

You've been there?

Yes.

Ischia.

That's where my, when I do my very boring vacation slideshow, which I'm going to do for the Fancult.

Yeah.

That's the island I do it from.

Oh my God.

Yeah.

So you know it's off the coast of Naples.

Yes.

Amazing.

I love it.

There was a particularly honorary donkey that was causing some problems for the town folks.

I saw that donkey.

Not really.

I'm friends with them.

My great-grandfather decided that he was going to take care of the donkey and went to go shoot it with his rifle.

Sorry.

Sorry, everyone.

That's rough.

The story goes that when my great-grandfather was going to shoot the donkey, the donkey kicked the rifle, which went off and accidentally shot my great-grandfather.

He died from this shot.

Your fucking friend, the donkey.

Shit.

That is the story of how my great-grandfather died after having survived all through World War I.

That's horrible.

Or was it?

Oh.

A few years ago, I went to visit Iskia with my cousin and found out that he may not have been killed by that donkey.

Oh.

Instead, what really happened, or might have, who's to say, is that my great-grandfather had been having an affair with the wife of his captain.

And when the captain found out, he went and shot my great-grandfather.

Oh.

We know that he did indeed die from being shot, but I guess we will never know who pulled the trigger.

The donkey or

the captain in the army.

That sounds a little more likely.

It carries his own gun with him at all times.

My grandmother, despite not having her father and then being given up to her grandparents to raise, and then it says, remember that whole end of World War I, Italy rebuilding, everyone was poor thing.

Oh, wow.

Yeah.

She turned out to be a pretty awesome and badass lady in her own right.

She lived a long, long life and raised a great family.

Boy, do I have stories about her, but that's for another time.

Thank you, too, for doing everything that you do do and being a highlight of my week.

I'm a high school teacher, and I will listen to your podcast on my drive to and from work.

Stay sexy and don't get shot by a donkey or your captain whose wife you're having an affair with.

Love James from NYC.

P.S.

I know you'll be coming to Brooklyn in November, and my partner and I will absolutely be getting tickets.

He owns a pizzeria in Williamsburg, and you should totally stop by for a slice or two.

What's it called?

You didn't put the name in.

You son of a bitch, James.

James, how are you going to know?

James.

We'll go to every pizzeria in Williamsburg.

That's how we do it.

Is James here?

Hi, we're here.

We're friends of James.

He said we could get at least one free slice.

Or two.

People are like, no.

Yeah.

No, James here.

I love that story.

But also, it's funny because if you really think about it, who would shoot a donkey for being ornery?

Right.

That's what they're known for.

Yeah.

That's what they're famous for.

Yeah.

It can still carry things around for you.

Yeah.

It's like killing a cat for being a dick.

It's like that's their

primary job.

All right.

All right.

Well, along those kind of same lines,

I'm not going to read you the subject line.

It says, Hi, Karen in Georgia, longtime fan, first-time hometown emailer.

And I had to write in because yesterday just so happened to mark the 20th anniversary of my grandpa's very own Phineas Gage moment.

Oh, shit.

Back in the day, my grandpa ran a construction company with his two brothers.

One afternoon on the job, he fell off a ladder and landed directly onto a piece of rebar.

Oh, no.

It pierced through the back of of his head

and came out just under his eye.

And here's the truly unbelievable part.

He was conscious the entire time.

No, thank you.

Just put me under.

Right.

Oh, fuck.

Okay.

Yeah.

Bite this belt.

Drink this rum.

Like, hit me in the head with a mallet.

Anything happens to me, I'm going to wake up in the hospital.

I don't want to have the in-between.

Please.

You know what I mean?

Yes.

For sure.

Now that we've gotten.

I'll make sure that happens.

Thank you.

I'll be there.

I'll be there.

Whatever it is.

When my grandpa's brothers called 911, because yes, my grandpa's brothers had to witness this nightmare, the fire department arrived and immediately clocked this as one of those calls that would stick with them forever.

Yes, of course.

They even told us they practiced cutting a different piece of rebar nearby first because they knew the wrong move on this and it would cost my grandpa his life.

That's like the highest of pressure.

Yeah.

But the rebar they were practicing on, cutting kept bending and nothing was working.

That's when my grandpa, still skewered, pipes up and says, I've got a saw on the back of my truck that'll cut through it.

Because of course he did.

The firefighters grabbed the saw, had a few guys hold the rebar steady, and one brave soul cut it from underneath his head.

Meanwhile, he was annoyed that the sun was in his eyes while lying there and paying.

Put a pair of sunglasses on this poor man, someone.

Someone has got some Oakleys or some fucking, what do they call them, blue blockers.

Nice construction worker blue blockers.

And then we're moving into the weekend of Bernie's portion of this email.

And so, meanwhile, he was so annoyed that the sun was in his eyes while lying there impaled.

So one firefighter's sole job was to stand above him and block the light with a piece of cardboard.

Wow.

Priorities, obviously.

They managed to load him onto a stretcher.

And while in the ambulance, a priest literally stood over him, giving him his last rice.

Holy shit.

The hospital journey was another roller coaster.

We went from updates saying he's brain dead and he has no quality of life to he's paralyzed and he'll never walk again.

But today, he's very much alive, fully functioning, and until a recent knee issue, he was out there playing pickleball.

Oh my God.

The man was nearly rebar Shishkebab to death, but it's the knee that finally took him down.

That's kind of bullshit.

For five years, we would visit the fire department on the anniversary of my grandpa's accident and even donated the tool that saved his life.

My grandparents have since moved to Arizona as they realized life is too short to live in Minnesota when you hate the winter.

That's amazing.

They still come back for summers, and this last anniversary was special as we got to spend it with his heroes and caught up with three of the men that were called on the scene all those years ago.

Oh my God.

That's incredible.

I'll leave you with one of my favorite grandpa memories.

Just before his accident, I was eight, he was helping my mom renovate our house, and I'd follow him around like his little sidekick.

Anytime he'd get hurt, I'd ask, how come you're not crying?

And he'd just say, Wilbert, didn't you know your grandpa was made a steal?

And after what happened, I have no doubt about that being true.

Also, shout out to all the first responders and medical professionals.

They were the real heroes then and now.

It's wild to think that a well-placed dermal saw in the back of a truck, plus a truly badass team of firefighters, is the reason my grandpa is still around kicking ass.

Stay sexy and stay away from ladders.

Lily.

Oh my God, Lily.

Tough as nails.

So good.

Yeah.

incredible.

Shish kebab.

He got rebar through his brain, like an inch away, and it would have probably killed him.

Yeah, because it probably like went under his brain.

Could it have gone through and still be fine?

I don't know how brains work.

I don't either.

How rebar works.

I like saying rebar like I work with it all the time, and I'm just like, Is it rebarb or rebar?

It's rebar.

Okay, like reinforcement bar.

Ah, in the metal and cement.

I get it now.

Yeah, good job.

Thank you so much.

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Goodbye.

Cigarettes or sex?

Grandma's heart couldn't handle both.

Oh.

Good evening.

Let's get into it.

Since this is a free-for-all now, I had to write in about my Danish grandmother-in-law, Inger.

Change the name or not, but that bitch was proud of every decision she made, so I'm going to give her full credit.

Inger was a crotchety old lady with limited English who gave zero fucks about what others thought of how she lived her life.

There are many Inger stories, but I will share two today.

As she got older, Inger loved to go to her parties, as she called them.

What else was happening didn't matter, they were always a priority.

My husband flew from the U.S.

to visit, and she blew him a kiss as she walked out the door to join her friends, aka the swingers.

She finally had to stop going to her swinger parties when her doctor told her that she had to choose between her parties and cigarettes.

Like her heart couldn't handle them both.

Oh shit.

She chose cigarettes because she, and I quote, could smoke multiple times a day and didn't have the stamina to keep up anymore.

Just watch.

Jesus.

Grandma, I'm going to swinger parties.

Grandma, I don't want to hear about your life like this.

Inger also needed a babysitter to come to the U.S.

because she got into too many fights with the TSA agents.

Opinionated, not one to mince words, words and a limited understanding of english made for a challenging trip through security yeah when asked if she packed her bag because you know they'd ask you did anyone else besides you pack your bag she said quote i'm 80 why would i pack my bag are you stupid

After one too many fights, TSA kindly requested that she be escorted by another family member each time she came to visit.

So she's showing up like at security at the airport and just fighting with whoever talks to her.

Yeah, like being contrary for no reason.

Great.

Inger passed away just months before her daughter was born, and it grieves me often that they never met Earthside.

We hadn't printed, I thought they named their daughter Earthside

because it's capitalized.

But they never met Earthside.

Beautiful little Earthside.

We hadn't announced our pregnancy when we visited one last time before she passed, literally a day after we left.

But she told her daughter that she knew her grandson was going to be a dad soon.

When I see my impish kiddo flash a quick smile and tease her grandpa, Inger's son, I know she has more than a little of Inger's spirit, and I intend to fan those flames as much as humanly possible.

Sweet little Earthside.

Earthside.

She's a wild one.

Stay sexy and know which vice your heart can handle in your 80s.

Sarah, she, her.

Also, it's like, and we're going to raise our child to be just like their great-grandmothers.

Like, maybe, or I don't know.

Pick little parts of that.

Be careful for Earthside.

Well, I was actually looking to switch mine around because this one goes with that one nicely.

Great.

I won't reach the subject line.

It says, hey guys, I'm just going to get right into this.

I'd like to first start with a little background on my grandma.

She's an Italian Catholic bird who was raised in Peoria, Illinois and relocated to Sacramento, California, where she married a serviceman and had four beautiful children.

She then divorced that man and began an admittedly short relationship with another man with whom she had one child.

And then it says in parentheses, my favor.

I'm assuming that's how they want me to pronounce it.

She was a single mom and lived in a beautiful Victorian home in downtown Sacramento where she would sell Avon.

Wow.

Amazing.

She was a devout Catholic who collected creepy Jesus pictures, enjoyed gardening, and eventually spending time with her grandkids.

She fought and beat breast cancer and had only one boob, which I found incredibly amusing as a child.

And because she was deaf in one ear, she wouldn't hear herself fart, which again, I found awfully amusing.

She was just an all-around sweet and wonderful old lady, or so we thought.

Oh, no.

What's the lady from Sacramento?

Dorothea Puente.

My grandma was Dorothea Puente.

This is the true, or so we thought, email.

Anyway, my grandma Mary passed in 1999 after a long battle with cancer.

After she passed, we all found ourselves going through the relics in her basement, which had been acquired over a lifetime.

I'm big into nostalgia and anything vintage, so I found myself buried in letters between her and my grandfather, parentheses, who was a total piece of shit, but that's a story for another day.

And pictures, and we even found some old eight-millimeter film reels.

Score.

I immediately decided to hook up her old projector and see what was on the film.

Yes, yes.

No.

Yes, the answer is yes.

I guess I was expecting footage of a 50s-era Christmas or something of that nature.

Nope, big fucking nope.

Grandma was a swinger, and these were her big orgy sex tapes.

Oh, vintage orgy sex tapes.

Real to real sex tapes.

Unbelievable.

Now, I'm a total sex positive hippie.

But there's a level of horror in finding footage of granny in an orgy.

I mean, Jesus age.

I bet that's worth a lot of money.

Also, I just like, as I was reading this, I'm like, Catholic, Catholic, Catholic.

I'm just like, man, she really broke free.

I feel like my whole life was a lie.

Reading the letters only confirmed what a tart my granny was, and the pictures are forever scarred into my retinas.

I realize the story has absolutely nothing to do with murder, but is arguably just as horrifying.

Agree.

And I thought you'd all be thoroughly entertained by my misfortune.

We are.

Anyway, stay sexy and be careful while rifling through granny's belongings, Casey.

Unbelievable.

I mean, you're just like, am I going to see my uncle as a six-year-old?

Like, oh my my God, put that on.

Make sure we watch it.

And then it's just like, bear mirror.

Mirror, mirror, mirror, mirror.

Porn.

Real to real porn.

Also, just really quick, I do think we should do a call out for, or so we thought stories.

Great idea.

Right.

Or so we thought.

Or so we thought.

Please email them to my favorite murderer at Gmail about anything.

Doesn't have to be about grandparents.

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Goodbye.

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Goodbye.

Badass Grandma and her any fucking story embarrassing funeral.

Hey all, you know how awesome you are, but you don't know how awesome my grandma was, so I'm going to get right into it.

Great.

We want to know.

My grandma, Sandy, was a badass.

She escaped the abuses of my piece of shit grandpa.

Not a piece of shit grandpa's going to be.

And raised my mom and her siblings on her own while working full-time at Ford Automotive as an upholsterer.

The amount of women who have had to do that and do it, and no one ever emails about them.

That's just what you're expected to do when some piece of shit is abusive and then you get away from them.

And it's like, and good luck as you do this by yourself.

And they do.

They do.

They have to.

They do.

Amen.

I knew her as the most loving and funny grandma who golfed every day and lit up every room.

What I didn't know was that she had a wild side.

But before we get there, let's get to my role at her funeral.

I was 15 and for some reason, my aunt asked me to speak a passage from the Bible at this very Catholic funeral.

For some reason, don't ask a 15-year-old.

You're right.

You just speak fucking.

I did a little spit take on that because I'm like, oh shit.

Yeah, this is a high-pressure situation.

Yeah.

She she had put a post-it note on the page i was supposed to read when it was my turn i nervously walked up the steps to the pulpit turning the page i began to read only to realize that i was on the priest's page

upon realizing this i said oh

into the microphone and quickly moved to my page stammering at my part and rushing towards the steps where i proceeded to trip and fall down them on my ass oh oh no

when i got back to the pew face a tomato, I was met with my aunt's Catholic school teacher's angry gaze upon me.

Of course.

My great aunt was, however, laughing and said, my grandma would have found it hilarious.

Yeah.

That's kind of cool, all right?

That's very sweet.

And she said, oh, shit.

Shit.

She's shit to a microphone at a Catholic church.

Echoing.

It's so like

old-fashioned, oppressive.

At the wake was when there were even more revelations.

As people said their final goodbyes to my grandma, our family friend Troy came up to me to give me his condolences.

He then, liquor on his breath, pulled out a photo of him and my grandma on a cruise wearing penis balloon hats.

Oh,

okay.

Then you go, oh shit.

Oh, shit.

He then informed me that he and my grandma had basically been fuck buddies my entire life and that she had her nipples pierced.

No, no, I had not that part.

No, no, no.

Oh my god.

I guess

I was 15.

And it's your grandma, even if you were 45.

It's your grandma.

Also, apparently my grandma had brought weed brownies to the Ford Christmas party and got the head of Ford automotive blitzed out of his mind.

Oh, that's very mad men.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Alrighty, that's it.

Thank you all for your shenanigans and keeping me company through a lot of life's twists and turns.

Stay sexy and don't forget that grandmas can have a wild side too.

Best.

K they them.

Kay, we'll never forget that because of your grandma's pierced nipples.

Grandma's big taggy boobs.

Pierce.

I love it.

And he just felt like he had to tell her.

They were fuck.

Grandma had fuck buddies and nipples pierced.

I mean, it's good to know that your grandma contains multitudes, but there are certain people that you just would like to see in a certain light.

Yes.

But I guess not.

Okay, this isn't a direct, I mean, this is a grandparent story, but it is, you know, grandparents always have their pets.

Got it.

So I won't read you the subject line.

It says, hello, ladies and creatures.

Day one listener here.

Day one listener.

And then it says jumping right into it because this is my family's iconic dog story.

So to begin, my grandpa grew up in a small town named Edenderry in southern Ireland with his widowed mother and five siblings, the O'Connell family.

Oh my God, can't be more Irish.

Right.

They all lived in the town hall in the middle of the city.

Take me there.

Now they had a dog named Smokey, and Smokey, all caps, was period, a period menace.

He had the reputation around town for being dangerous around children, biting and chasing kids down, et cetera.

It's so old-fashioned to have like a biting dog that's just loose in town.

And it's like, you're not going to get sued for it at all.

No, that's Smokey.

Yeah.

Everyone says that.

Don't go near Smokey.

Yeah.

It's your problem if Smokey bites you.

So Smokey was looking at the end of his line, being labeled as public enemy number one and locked up by the civic guard in the barracks to be shot.

Oh, fuck.

And in parentheses, it says this was the 1940s.

Early one morning, the mongrel, who was locked in an outhouse, cleverly escaped and raced down through the streets of Edendary to get back to his family.

But when he arrived, the town hall was in flames.

This is the fucking Wizard of Oz shit right here.

It is.

It's like, oh, you think I'm bad?

Well, I'm about to do some

serious shit.

My grandpa Sean, great-grandmother, and all his siblings were still inside.

So, what does Smokey do?

He begins barking incessantly around the town square until my great-grandmother woke up, and wouldn't you have it, the entire townsfolk woke up as well.

So, yes, a dog named Smokey saved my family from a fire.

Oh my god.

My grandpa and his whole family made it out safely because of Smokey.

He was hailed as a hero, and the town praised him.

There was a song written about Smokey and the fire, and a newspaper article.

Give me Smokey.

Oh, my God, doomed dog saves a family.

Must Smokey be destroyed?

Oh,

it's exactly what I thought Smokey would look like.

And describe Smokey for the people.

Like a mutt with like kind of scruffy white hair with a couple spots here and there.

Super mutt.

Yes.

Probably like, I'd say 40 pounds or so, like the perfect super mutt.

Oh my god.

My grandpa and his whole family made it out safely because of Smokey.

He was hailed as a hero.

And my grandpa, Sean O'Connell, went on to be a detective and a captain for the Garda and saved many lives himself.

Holy shit.

Sean was also an amazing storyteller and jokester and had some incredible stories from his detective work.

He had his house shot at where my mom and siblings lived, worked easily with criminal informants because of his charm, and even prevented a bombing to the British royal grounds and much, much more.

He passed away two years ago in his hometown of Edendary and is greatly missed.

Thank you, ladies, for the joy that your podcast brings.

You two have been a major part of my life.

I've been listening since I was 15.

Oh, no.

And I'm almost 24.

You've been making sure people are staying aware of their minds, bodies, and surroundings.

I can't be more grateful to have found you and your podcast.

I will leave you with a poem that my grandpa passed down the family.

And then in parentheses, it says in a heavy Irish accent, which I will not do.

Come on.

Oh, darling Sue, I do love you.

I love you in your nighty.

When the moonlight flits across your tits, Jesus Christ Almighty.

And then it says, That's his humor for you.

Stay sexy, and maybe don't shoot the bad dog.

Ann Elise.

That's amazing.

Great.

That was a great one.

Those were all great.

Grandpa, grandma, grandparent.

Have a great grandparents' day.

Call your grandparents if you still have them.

You will miss them when they're gone.

Absolutely.

And stay sexy.

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 Squalacci.

Email your hometowns to myfavorate murder at gmail.com.

And follow the show on Instagram at MyFavorite Murder.

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.

Goodbye.

Bye-bye.

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Huh, a taste for taste.

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