MFM Minisode 467

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Goodbye. Goodbye.

Daniel Craig returns as Benoit Blanc with an all-star ensemble cast for his most dangerous case yet.

When young priest Judd Duplentisi is sent to assist charismatic firebrand Monsignor Jefferson Wicks, it's clear that not all is well in the pews.

Written and directed by Ryan Johnson, critics are calling it the sharpest knives out movie yet. Watch Wake Up Dead Man, a knives out mystery now in select theaters and on Netflix.
Goodbye.

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Hello

and welcome to my favorite murder. The mini soad.

We read you our stories. This is a holiday episode.
Do you want to hear your holiday emails? Let's go. We want you to go first.
Okay.

The subject line of this is Christmas card photos at John List's house.

Hi, Karen in Georgia, longtime listener, first-time writer. I've been listening since I was 16.
And then it says scary in parentheses.

I've got a hometown story for you that gives me chills, but my dad could not care less. My dad and his four brothers grew up in Morristown, New Jersey.

In the early 1970s, they spent a lot of time visiting their cousins in Westfield, who it turns out lived just three houses down from the List family.

Their three oldest cousins were the same ages as the List children and even walked to school with them.

I've known about the Westfield connection for a while and always brought it up as a creepy little family fun fact.

I've even said how much I wish my great aunt and uncle were still alive so I could pick their brains. They were there when it all happened.

But it wasn't until this past week while I was talking about it again that my dad suddenly goes, oh yeah, I think we actually took a Christmas card photo in their yard once. Excuse me, what?

He then remembered that my grandma had taken their Christmas card photo in the front yard of the list house right before the murders.

There was this big tree branch that curved low to the ground and she had all five boys ages eight to one sit on it. She just liked the tree.
No one thought anything of it.

Meanwhile, I'm spiraling and tearing through family photo albums trying to find it. And my dad's just like, huh, weird, and goes back to watching the Yankees game.

And because apparently my entire life is an MFM plotline, I was also conceived via IVF. And years later, we found out that Melanie Maguire, the suitcase murderer, was a nurse at the fertility clinic.

She was one of the people monitoring my embryo's development. She was also allegedly in love with the doctor.

My mom, upon hearing this, just shook her head and said, He was handsome, but not murdering your husband handsome.

So, yeah, I was literally watched over by a murderer during my earliest stages of development. That's a little dramatic, watched over when you're an embryo, and somehow turned out kind of normal.

I guess my love of true crime started at day zero. Thanks for letting weirdos like me feel seen, heard, and only mildly cursed.
SSD GM forever, Shannon. Wow.
A couple of connections. At least two.

Okay. My first one's called Christmas Christmas Piñata of Terror.
Hello, MFM beautiful ladies. I am a pretty new listener, but just like anything new that I enjoy, I am now obsessed.

I even fall asleep listening sometimes, and let me tell you, I've had some weird dreams. I thought I'd share just one of my family stories that always gets talked about when we reunite.

Hope you enjoy as much as we do this horrid memory.

The year is 1993 in Oceanside, California at my Abulita's house on Christmas Eve. We are a big Mexican family.
My abuela had seven children and, in total, 19 grandchildren.

Well, at this point, there were only about 11 of us. Most of us under the age of eight.
I was five. 11 kids under the age of eight.
Yeah. That's intense.
That's too many.

That's a grammar school, basically. Yeah.
Like most Mexican families, we celebrate with a big party on Christmas Eve that lasts all night with lots of food, music, and of course, booze.

Well, on this Christmas Eve, we had a piñata to celebrate. But as it was winter and reading outside, the adults decided to have the piñata in the garage.

Like usual, every kid took turns trying to break the piñata, and once they couldn't, the bigger cousins took their turns. If you've ever been at the moment when a piñata breaks, all hell breaks loose.

We were all screaming with excitement and jumping to try and grab all the candy scattered on the floor.

Well, at this very excited moment, my uncle Daniel, who was the youngest of the seven and 20 years old at this time and also quite intoxicated, thought it would be a hilarious idea to grab a random box of stuff on a shelf in my abuela's garage and toss it on top of all the children who are head down scattered on the floor grabbing candy.

Nails? What he didn't know at the time was that this particular box was filled with nails. Oh, I guessed it.
Screws. Did I not do that? No, I like it.
Okay, okay.

Nails, screws, hammers, wrenches, and heavy-duty locks. Oh, shit.
This is trash, Uncle. It's so much worse than nails.
It's so much heavier and more dangerous than nails.

It's so bad. It's so bad in drunk, uncle.
Yes. You can imagine cheers of joy turned into cries and screams from all us kids.

My cousin, who was four, was holding his head crying because a giant lock had landed straight on it.

We all ran to our parents with our bruises, and my aunts and uncles were yelling at my drunk uncle, who was confused and also feeling so terrible.

Just like most Mexican family horrible moments, they get turned into the funniest moments to share now that we are all in our 30s and 40s.

Hope you laugh as much as I do every time I remember my drunk uncle ruining Christmas. Remember to stay sexy and don't throw a box of tools on children during a pinata.

Your fan, Kayla. Kayla, it's almost like your uncle thought that in that garage there were boxes of confetti or like boxes of Tootsie Rolls.

What could the like positive thing have been in a fucking garage? Nothing. It's just the idea of like, it would be funny if his other 20-year-old friends were doing it.
Yeah.

Because then it's like a box of whatever. Right.
But a four-year-old that's like, you hit me in the head with a master lock right

like what was the best outcome he was expecting

like push pins even like what could have been okay in a garage setting earplugs

would have been even then

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

The good thing is that these are holiday stories where it's like, holidays are made for fuck like that.

It's the best. Here's another one.
Hello there, all you bright young things. Been listening to you lovely ladies since 2018.

Love all you do for this community of adorable creeps, as well as the many other things you do for those in need.

In parentheses, it says, I'm actually the Instagram commenter who told you the story of my son and I when I was unhoused and living in a truck. Remember that? Wow, yeah.
Yeah, this is her. Amazing.

I'd love to share my shit adult story with you. As this revolves around a theater performance, let me set the scene for you.
For several years, I headed up a field trip for homeschooled children.

Yes, I was trying to socialize them, but they mostly remained stubbornly and gloriously weird.

I finally handed the reins of the group over to a more capable mom with seven kids as I was woefully unqualified with only a homeschool starter pack of five children. Oh my gosh, not a contest.
No.

Thankfully today, after 21 years of homeschooling, these days of tearing my hair out over fourth grade grammar lessons and begging my kids to put on pants are behind me now.

Hope it was worth it. One December, I was able to secure our group tickets to a local production of a Christmas carol that was putting on a special matinee for elementary students.

Happily, Dickens was an acceptable topic even for my most conservative group members. So off we went, congesting the city's traffic flow with dozens of eight passenger vans.

It's really specific.

We were all thoroughly enjoying the play. The actors were excellent.
The live orchestra playing in the pit were performing brilliantly.

brilliantly, we arrived at one of the seminal moments in Ebenezer Scrooge's moral arc, the graveyard scene.

Scrooge encounters his own tombstone under the bony finger of the ghost of Christmas Future, played by an actor dressed in a Grim Reaper-style hood and cape.

Just as Scrooge began to beg the Spectre to tell him how to prevent such evil prognostications, the ghost of Christmas Future, hood shrouding their face, floated ominously towards the front of the stage and immediately went over the edge.

With a very very loud, what the fuck in their headset, Mike, they crashed into the orchestra pit where all manner of instruments clattered and banged. Oh my God.
Fell into the pit. Oh, my God.

The specter had landed on the French horn player. The house lights went up and the theater staff appeared on stage.

They asked that all the students remain quietly in their seats while they peered down at the carnage in the orchestra pit. An ambulance was called.

The ghost of Christmas Future had a concussion and the French horn player had cracked two ribs. Oh my God.

I'm

so, it's so awful. Yeah.
Have you seen the video of Kelsey Grammar falling off the stage? Yeah. He's like acting and then he just like the run false moves.
It's so awful. It's so violent.

But I doubt anything will ever be as horrifying to him as looking up and seeing what appeared to be the Grim Reaper falling on him.

To our kids' credit, The theater manager said we were the best behaved group of children they'd ever had.

For many of them, though, their silence might have been the shock and trauma of hearing the F-word for the first time. Ooh, fun.
In a house mic. Like,

yes, residing, what the fuck is so much better than just a fuck.

I think those kids learned far more than we intended that day. Maybe there's no correlation, but I was deposed as group leader soon after.

Stay sexy and don't yell WTF to an audience of 300 homeschoolers, Betsy.

That's good. So good.
And like, he had his mask on, so he like never got in trouble for it, probably. Like, no one is ever going to.
Right. He, it's not really him.
It's anonymous.

Of course, death is gonna say fuck in front of your kids for the first time. He's falling off the fucking stage.
He's death who's dying. That's the scary.
The scary.

One time I was in Oliver and the guy that played the artful Dodger had this big long coat on.

And during his like song, I can't remember what the song was, he turned to like dramatically turned to the rest of the, you know, orphans or whatever.

And he had a bag of M ⁇ Ms in his pocket that just sprayed in an arc across the stage where I was like, oh, this is bad. Sick watching it.

If that came out of a piñata, that would be fucking hilarious. That would have fixed Christmas.
That's right. Not out of

coat. Okay, this is a trash kid story.
Hi, you earthlings. Trash Kids Unite.
It's December 1996, and I was a wee four-year-old trying to make my way in the world.

Preschool was wild, and we were tasked with making a Christmas ornament for our parents, but only one for the pair. But how will that work?

I have newly divorced parents and I can't possibly choose between the two. My teacher understands my predicament and kindly lets me make two ornaments.

Here comes the end of the day and Tammy, the mother of all mothers, comes to pick up her daughter, me.

And the teacher pulls her aside. Miss Tracy says, Tammy, I'm so sorry to hear that you and Doug are getting a divorce.
We had no idea. And he didn't say a thing during drop-off this morning.

Tammy is stunned and says, Excuse me? And thought to herself, when I left the house this morning, everything was fine. He gave me a kiss goodbye and told me he loved me.
Oh, no.

Miss Tracy says, well, Paige let us know this morning that Doug has packed up his stuff in boxes by the front door and things are not working out, so he's leaving tonight.

She insisted that she make Christmas presents for both of you since he will be alone for Christmas this year. And then alarm bells started going off.

My brilliant four-year-old ass decided to make up an elaborate ruse and tell my teachers that my parents were getting a divorce and my father has packed his bags to move in with my grandparents for the sole reason of getting to, all caps, make two Christmas ornaments.

She's like,

she's about quantity. That's right.

I can only make one. How about I make up an elaborate lie? How about I just pull together whatever it will take to get me a second ornament? But like, believable enough to an adult that it worked.

And a four-year-old. Yeah.
Giving you those details of like his bags are packed. Yeah.
It's pretty smart. Like, wow, how did they know that was the thing?

Much to Tammy's delight, her husband was there when we got home and confirmed they are not getting a divorce. They've been married for 37 years and are my favorite people in the world.
SSDGM page.

I mean, epic.

Just an epic. It's kind of a good brag story about yourself.
You're like, I was a pretty smart, precocious four-year-old. Here's my trash kit story.
I was a liar.

But imagine if that woman really was finding out that she was getting divorced through her

preschool teacher.

What a way to go. What are your terrible divorce stories? How'd you find find out you were getting a divorce?

I did lie in college and told my math teacher that I had been skipping class because my parents were getting a divorce. Oh, wow.
Because I just wanted her to leave me alone.

But then as I walked away from that conversation, I was like, oh,

that was a bad vibe for me to do. This feels bad.
It all felt so bad. Yeah.

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Here's my last one. This subject line is childhood magic with a twist.

Hi ladies, first off, thank you for everything you do, especially for advocating mental health awareness and for the life-changing mantra fuck politeness.

As a woman raised to keep things buttoned up and ladylike, this advice has been a game changer.

It's helped me grow into a badass mom who teaches her daughter to speak up, trust her gut, and take up space unapologetically. Now on to my hometown-ish holiday tale.

I've been listening since the beginning, and it's never occurred to me that this story might fall squarely into your wait-what category.

Did you know that was a category? No, but I love it. Wait, what? Back in the 80s, when I was five or six, money was tight for our family, like it was for a lot of people.

But my parents always went all out to make the holidays feel magical. One of our most sacred traditions was piling into the family truck after dark to go get the Christmas tree.

We'd bundle up, drive deep into the woods, and be told very seriously to stay quiet. Then, without headlights, my parents would disappear into the trees and return dragging the perfect pine.
Oh, no.

Flash forward to college. I'm swapping holiday memories with my roommate.
She's telling sweet stories about baking shortbread cookies with her mom.

And I'm like, oh, well, we used to drive into the woods at night without lights and whisper while my parents cut down a tree. Her smile slowly morphed into confusion.
That's when it hit me.

Oh my God, we were stealing Christmas trees.

It didn't, I didn't get it until I read it. There was like no lights to get a Christmas tree.
I don't know about that. She laughed so hard she cried, and I, mortified, immediately called my parents.

They didn't even try to deny it. In fact, they chuckled and said, Well, yeah, but it was all fine, they reassured me, because years later, my dad worked weekends at a tree farm.

So, in their minds, it was basically even.

I still laugh how sincerely naive I was.

My parents are strong, resourceful people who would do anything to make sure that we had joyful memories, even if those memories came with with a bit of a misdemeanor.

SSDGM and don't get caught stealing spruces, S. And then it says P.S.
Keeping my full name off this one because who knows if the statute of limitations covers holiday tree heists from the 80s.

I wonder, I'm wondering if it's like from the forest or from like a Christmas tree farm.

Yeah, it sounds to me like once I read all the way through, I was like, I bet they pulled up on like a little road next to that Christmas tree farm and then like cut through the fence. Totally.

Because I think they do extend past. I mean, that's all the Christmas tree farms up were.
Yeah. Like if you worked there eventually, then there's a place to work because.
Yes. Okay.
Yeah.

All right. We got to do what you got to do.
Right.

Okay. Trash dad parent story.
Hey, Murder Mavens.

You have been such a constant in my life since 2016, and I'm so thankful for the laughs and the reminders that I deserve to take up space in this increasingly wild world.

An additional hello to Steven, the crew, and the critters. If there are any young kids listening, might want to pause or skip this one.
Yes. But it's actually for a different reason.
It's funny.

It's about Santa Claus, everyone. So if you pause it, if your kid

loves him. Yeah.

Something you have to know about my father-in-law is that he is very dyslexic, and at the time this story took place, he was a bit of a mostly functional alcoholic.

So it's Christmas Eve in the late 90s, and my mother-in-law has pristinely wrapped the family's gifts and then passed them along to my father-in-law to label and put under the tree.

Shortly later, tasks completed, everyone headed to bed. The next day on Christmas morning, my spouse, then about seven or eight, was excitedly unwrapping gifts.

They grabbed the next gift, and my mother-in-law asked, Who's that one from? My spouse, um, Satan?

Mother-in-law. What?

Spouse showing mother-in-law the tag. It says Satan.

My mother-in-law then started looking at the tags on all of my spouse's gifts from Santa and sees that her dyslexic husband, several beers deep, had misspelled Santa on most of the gifts, making the devil seem like a very generous guy.

That's how he gets you. That's right.

And that, my friends, is how my spouse found out the truth about Santa. Oh.
So he like believed

Santa didn't spell his name wrong, friends. That's right.
He would know how to spell it. That's right.
Stay sexy and spell check the gift tags. Lara rhymes with Sarah.
She, her.

Oh my God. Yeah.
Satan. Love it.
A drunk dad being like, there you go. Satan.
Have fun. Love Satan.
We hope you guys are having a good holiday.

And thank you for writing your stories and write them into my favorite murder at Gmail if you feel like it. And this year, why don't you do some stuff that will then enable you to write in next year?

Yeah. What are you going to do? Throw a box of nails at your nieces and nephews while they're on the ground looking for candy.

Let us know. We want another story.
Please don't hurt anybody, but make something happen. Yeah.
And 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 Molly Smith, and our associate producer is Tessa Hughes.
Our editor is Aristotle Acevedo. This episode was mixed by Liana Squalachi.

Email your hometowns to myfavorate murder at gmail.com. Follow the show on Instagram at MyFavorite Murder.

Listen to MyFavorite Murder on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Or watch us on YouTube, search for MyFavorite Murder, and then like and subscribe.
Goodbye.

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So, whether your fridge is empty and you're too tired to shop, or you just ran out of essential ingredients in the middle of meal prep, don't worry.

Fill your fridge in just a few taps and get 40% off your first Aldi order on Uber Eats. For orders $30 or over, you can save up to $25.
Ends December 31st. See app for details.

At CVS, it matters that we're not just in your community, but that we're part of it. It matters that we're here for you when you need us, day or night.

And we want everyone to feel welcomed and rewarded. It matters that CVS is here to fill your prescriptions and here to fill your craving for a tasty and yeah, healthy snack.

At CVS, we're proud to serve your community because we believe where you get your medicine matters. So visit us at cvs.com or just come by our store.
We can't wait to meet you.

Store hours vary by location. Winter is the perfect time to explore California, and there's no better way to do it than in a brand new Toyota hybrid.

With 19 fuel-efficient options like the All-Hybrid Camry, the RAV4 hybrid, or the Tacoma hybrid, every new Toyota comes with Toyota Care, a two-year complementary scheduled maintenance plan, an exclusive hybrid battery warranty, and of course, Toyota's legendary quality and reliability.

Visit your local Toyota dealer and test drive one today. Toyota, let's go places.
See your local Toyota dealer for hybrid battery warranty details. This is Anders Holm from This Is Important.

This is Important is presented by Heineken 00.

So here's the thing. Anytime I'm holding a Heineken 00, people instantly want to know the reason.
They start guessing. Dry January, taking a break.

And honestly, most of the time, there isn't a reason. You can enjoy a Heineken 00 just because you want to.
For me, it's just a great tasting, alcohol-free option that fits whatever moment I'm in.

No explanation required. Zero alcohol, great taste.
Now you can. Available at your local Heineken retailer or for delivery at Heineken.com.
Must be 21 or older to purchase. Enjoy Heineken responsibly.