MFM Minisode 423

This is exactly right. Hello and welcome to My Favorite Murder.
It's a mini-sode. And welcome.

To my favorite murder.

The mini-sode.

Oh, yeah. What's what we're doing here?

It's the email episode.

We read you stories about absolutely anything.

And then we just talk about email in general.

Yeah.

Just all the different ones we've had over the years.

The World Wide Web.

SBC Global.

You want to go first?

Sure.

The subject line of this email is a murder at a convent in the Czech Republic countryside.

Hi.

In 2013, at the end of my junior year of college, I studied abroad for the summer in the Czech Republic. There were 15 of us from our Catholic, in parentheses, this is relevant, university on this six-week trip.

We had classes from Monday to Thursday and spent the weekends traveling around the Czech Republic as a group.

What's the difference? in parentheses, this is relevant, university on this six-week trip. We had classes from Monday to Thursday and spent the weekends traveling around the Czech Republic as a group.
One weekend, we were meant to attend a seminar related to our classes. I could not tell you what the seminar was about, but it probably had something to do with religion, since we were staying at a former convent next to a church.
Also, I am and have long been an atheist. This isn't important, but I just thought it should be known.
I wouldn't have guessed. Anyway, this former convent was in a very rural village in the Czech countryside.
The village was so small that aside from the church, convent and cemetery, there was only a single restaurant and a grocery store in the whole town village. While the village was beautiful, it was slightly spooky and isolating.
Also, this was 2013 in the Czech countryside, so there was no Wi-Fi, but only a single dial-up computer in the main hall of that convent that we would take turns using to notify our loved ones that we were still living. After we settled in our rooms, one large room for the girls and one large room for the boys, both lined with twin beds.
It's a horror movie set. What's that one? Midsommar.
I'm going to say Midsommar. Oh, yes.
I tell the story of when me and Bridger went to see Midsommar, and then I realized that I didn't bring my regular glasses. I only had my prescription sunglasses.
So in that scene that's super disturbing where the boyfriend goes in and there's the big ball of people having sex, or she goes and catches him, whatever. Bridger looks over and I'm sitting there wearing sunglasses, watching the scene, kind of like this.
Too cool. Too cool for this.
So cool. Just like, I just want to see some details.
Okay. After we settled in our rooms, one large room for the girls and one large room for the boys, both lined with twin beds, we were given a tour by the current priest.

I'm only half listening when we get back to the door to the convent, and the priest is telling us where they hide the key for entry.

He began to tell us that there is a small memorial stone next to the door for the former priest who worked, is that the right word, at this church for many years.

I don't know. He began to tell us that there is a small memorial stone next to the door for the former priest who worked, is that the right word, at this church for many years.
I assumed he died of old age, but I was wrong. Apparently, only a few short years earlier, the former priest had awoken one cold and snowy night by someone banging on the door, begging for food and shelter.
The priest went to open the door and after speaking to the man through the door, decided to open up and let the man inside. As he did, the man took an axe and beheaded the priest on the spot.
I was now even more terrified and unsettled than I was before. I guess that was a collective feeling because we all did what college students would do.
We basically drank the local restaurant out of all their alcohol. Between the 15 students and five professors, we racked up a bill of about 120 beers, 50 glasses of wine, and 10 screwdrivers.
Who's paying for this? Jesus. The Catholic Church.
Nice. As we all stumbled back to the convent in small groups or pairs, we looked over our shoulders for the axe man, the ghost of the priest, or classmates

hiding to scare us.

What I remember from that night is a blur

of people running up and down the hallway,

two people possibly hooking up in the boys'

room. I mean, please,

what's hotter than being

separated and

in a convent, like, forbidden,

forbidden, forbidden? Totally. A girl

who threw up so much that she lost her very expensive mouth guard.

Gotta take your mouth guard off before you barf.

Too drunk.

Too drunk.

You guys, I'm gonna bed and I don't care what you want.

Yeah, like she was fine enough to put her mouth guard in.

Yeah.

And then suddenly you get that, oh no, everything's spinning.

She was like in the drunk mode where she was like, I'm still doing my night cam beauty routine, toner, serums, projectile vomiting. Oh my God.
Okay. She lost her very expensive mouth guard that protected her from grinding her teeth.
One of my friends crying that she needed our other friend to take her contacts out because her eyes and her skin were burning from the nettle field she had rolled in. Oh, fuck.
And my other friend and I quietly pushing our twin beds together and falling asleep holding hands so we would be protected from the Axeman ghost priest. While no one died or was haunted by the Axeman or ghost priest, we were no longer allowed to order alcohol on our school's tab for the remainder of our trip.
This was understandable and also not a huge deal since a beer was about $1 US and water, which the school would cover, was $2 to $3 US. Thanks for the podcast, Jay Sheher.
Wow. That's a good one.
That was just like, just here's a cool experience I had once that was also scary. And yeah, it's why we just keep asking for random stories, because there's so many good ones out there that you wouldn't be like, yeah.
And everybody's life, to some degree or another, has been touched by murder. It has been touched by the idea that a human being decided to turn around and end the life of another human being.
Yeah. And what that does to everybody else in the after effect.
Totally. I just explained to you why we're doing this podcast.
All right. Well, this one's called My Dad Sent a Cult Leader to Jail.
Hello, ladies. Let's dive right in.
It's November of 1980 in Frewsburg, New York, and it says pronounced exactly as it's spelled, Frewsburg.

It's the first day of hunting season, and my dad, Ron, who is 18 years old at the time, and his stepdad, Harvey, are driving through the country to their normal hunting spot. As they crest a hill, they see a hunter standing by his car, holding his rifle, pointed towards the ground.
He is being confronted by another man also holding a rifle, not quite pointed at him, but ready to be aimed as he waves his other arm at him, obviously pissed off. Harvey, the stepdad, instantly recognizes the man as Calvin of Oak Knoll.
Yes, this is his real name. Calvin of Oak Knoll is a self-proclaimed religious leader and founder of the Religious Society of Families, which only ever had seven members, including his wife.
Think naked gardening, tax evasion, and getting into tips with the government over planes flying through his airspace. Anyway, Harvey sees this.
Wait, how far up does your airspace go if you own property? I can't imagine it does. I'd say 10 feet, 20 feet.
What do you think? I mean. Let us know.
And also, does airspace count when a plane can fly over it? Like, what's the definition? Yeah. Or it's just the air and space above your house.
Yeah, but how high above the roof? That's the question. Yeah.
Aviators, let us know. Let us know.
Anyway, Harvey sees this confrontation going down and says to my dad that they are getting the hell out of there because this is not going to end well. My dad and Harvey quickly turn down a road when they hear the sound of a gunshot.
While neither of them witnessed the shooting, they both saw the hunter lying in the road and Calvin of Oak Knoll walking away very quickly holding a rifle in each hand. My dad recalls making eye contact with Calvin and seeing nothing but pure crazy in his eyes.
My dad and Harvey immediately drove to the nearest house and called 911. Calvin of Oak Knoll was confronted by two game wardens right after this happened, where he explained that he shot the victim because, quote, he argued with me and you don't argue with a man with a gun.
Yeah. But they both had guns.
Right. But I mean, it's who's willing.
Right. And because the victim, quote, had his gun pointed at my feet, I would have none of that.
So I shot him. He also admitted later that he didn't know whether the victim's gun was loaded.
And in reference to his own gun, he stated, quote, this is a 30-30 rifle. I'm sure it does a good job.
So obviously the man had a few loose screws. Yeah, he's not even answering the question asked.
No. State troopers were quickly called to the scene and after giving their statements, my dad and Harvey were driven in the back of one of the troopers vehicles close enough to the scene so that they could identify the shooter.
Months later, my dad had to testify in the preliminary hearing at a small courthouse in Frewsburg. My dad recalls sitting in a small room upstairs waiting to be called in to testify when he heard, quote, bodies falling.
Apparently, one of Calvin's followers had forced his way in with a gun and was trying to get to the witnesses. Holy shit.
Luckily, he was stopped, or else I would probably not exist to write this story. Calvin of Oak oak knoll was charged with murder in the second degree and sentenced to a minimum of 25 years to life in prison he spent the remainder of his life in prison where he died in august of 1999 the victim was douglas kelly he was a 57 year old husband and father and while i could not find much about him the murder victim my dad recalls meeting the son after the hearing.
He approached my dad and shook his hand, thanking him for putting the

man who killed his father in jail. The son passed away in August of 2024, but was a loving husband,

father, grandfather, and world-renowned powerlifter. Oh.
Stay sexy and don't confront

cult leaders with guns, Miranda G. She, her, hers.
Miranda's like, her dad was front and center for his own hometown. I mean, that's horrifying.
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Goodbye. All right.
Here's my number two. The subject line is fakingaking Injury Backfire Stories.
And then it says, Hi Butes. I'm up, you know, that's what my dad calls us.
No. You Butes.
Cute. I'm up with my toddler, a murderino in the making, in the middle of the night for the billionth time.
How do they do it, those parents? I don't know. How do they do it? I don't know.
The amount of get out of my room I would scream if I was a parent for the billionth time.

And I just remembered this dumb thing I did when I was 13. That's so perfect.

That's what we want.

I don't know if this has ever been requested, and I'll try to keep it short, but I am a bit word-vomity.

Hey, we relate.

Welcome.

So I was 13 around 2005. I was a good enough kid, starting my emo phase, and then in parentheses, it's not a phase.
I was okay in school, but so disorganized and never did my homework. Especially for classes I didn't like.
Well, one such day came along and my classes queued up outside my drama class. And my friend asked me if I'd done my maths homework.
British. British.
My maths homework for the next lesson. Obviously I hadn't.
So my probably undiagnosed ADHD brain set into action thinking how I could get out of the consequences and probably detention. This is how I spent every day of high school.
Oh my god, just like scheming, plotting and scheming. Just the amount of work I would have to do to get out of the consequences of the little work it would have taken to just do homework.
Totally. Sat in drama class, Britishism.
Sat in drama class, I turned to my friend and just casually mentioned that I could no longer see through my right eye. What? Yeah, it's just gone black, I say as nonchalant as possible.
My friend got up and it discreetly informed my teacher who sent me straight to the school nurse. I think everyone involved was mildly freaking out, especially as from a now adult perspective, I imagine that they all thought it was some massive brain injury or something.
Oh, my God. You can't fake blindness.
Partial blindness. Well, don't tell that to 8- and 10-year-old Lauren Karen Kilgareff.

That's all. I told you that story a thousand times, walking around Mervyn's because we were copying Mary from Little House on the Prairie.

She went blind, so my sister was pretending to guide me.

Oh, my God.

Stare up at the ceiling, kind of smiling. I thought that's what it looked like.
Anyhow, no one told us. Okay, so the school nurse called my mom, who couldn't come to get me, so called my dad, who picked me up and threw 500 questions in my directions about the loss of vision.
I did my best to just say, it happened quickly. No, I can't see anything.
Just the right eye. It's just black.
At my dad's house, my stepmom asked me all the same questions and I answered the same answers. Smart.
A&E were called. So I think that's 911 like ambulance.
I needed to immediately go to hospital. Mom picked me up from my dad's and drove me to, oh, that's something in emergency.
Yeah. It's their.
Ambulance in emergency? It's their emergency room, I believe. God, we're smart.
With the same 500 questions with the same answers. No, you're taking it too far.
On the way, right? On the way to A&E, I realized that this was potentially more serious than I'd realized. Oh my God.
Waiting to see some kind of specialist eye doctor, I exclaimed to mom that it seems to be grayish now.

I can roughly make shapes out.

After a full eye exam, the doctors obviously couldn't find anything wrong with me, but sternly prepared me for what to do if it happened again.

I'd like to point out that I never dramatized it even a little bit.

So how it got this far remains a mystery.

Because it could have been a brain injury.

Yes, that's right. Oh, my God.
A long-awaited brain tumor sitting there yeah any number of a fucking 13 year old stroke a rare rare junior high stroke like a problem that that symptom like a huge problem that this small symptom is showing that you randomly made yeah that you're not freaking out about oh my god and just to this day this person's like i mean i don't know what they were like is like i didn't make a big deal why did they have to make a big deal because you picked the thing where it's like you didn't pick your shoulder yeah my shoulder hurts this would have worked the organ closest to my brain right isn't working right all right we don't want to yell at you but jesus fucking christ yeah okay oh they say sorry. The end of that is, so how it got this far remains a mystery, unless that's a sign of a tumor I don't know about.
That's literally what it is. Mom didn't talk to me on the way home, and we never brought it up again.
I still forgot or deliberately didn't do homework, but instead, I just went to detention. Luckily, none of my family listened to this, except for when I make my partner listen to all the stories I've already told him.
Thanks to all the NHS staff I wasted time for that day. They didn't deserve my bullshit.
Thanks for whoever reads this, even if it doesn't end up on the pod. That's nice.
Stay sexy and I guess don't fake a possible brain injury to get out of homework. Love to you all.
Becky. That's so good.
It's so funny. It's exactly what we want.
It's exactly who we are. I know an opposite story, which is Bradford, who works in our legal department here at Exactly Right.
I worked with him at the Elegy Generous Talk Show for five years one day he had he was blind in one eye oh my god in one eye and had been since he was a teenager and one day i walked into his office to get something from him and he goes oh hold on hold on i can see through my other eye right now what and for like a couple hours that day i think it was like for the, he had his vision back and then it went away again. Yeah.
It's psychological then. Sorry, Bradford.
We're going to have to get him on the pod to have him explain it all. Isn't that crazy? That's so crazy.
I know. And I was there for it.
It was really exciting. Maybe you're the reason.
You're like an angel. Walked in the room.
It's finally the proof. Your beauty was so beautiful.
It cut through blindness. It cut through producing a daily fucking talk show that was killing us all inside.
Yeah, his eye was like, you don't want to be here. And I'm black again.
This is awful. Just use one.
Okay. Speaking of, here's the one called Laughing at Inappropriate Times.
Hi, what is up, my guys? Seven-year listener, multiple times writer, I think. Honestly, they might be sitting in my draft still.
I'm just going to jump right in. I'm not sure if you ever asked for a story of laughing at times when you most definitely shouldn't, but I'm going to tell you my story.
We need it. We want it.
We need it. I mean, hell yes.
Hell yeah. Two years ago, my best friend's mom sadly passed away.
Me and my boyfriend attended both the funeral and the wake the day prior, and I was definitely crying a lot already, but for different reasons. The day of the actual funeral, we were waiting for the service to begin when the funeral director, a tall, maybe 70-ish year old man, started to walk down the center aisle of people and call to our attention.
He started saying something along the lines of, all right, everyone, we're going to begin shortly. If you could just, and then proceeded to trip and fall like a whole dang tree being cut down in the forest.
I'm not lying when I say he was stiff as a board and he all caps face planted. So naturally everyone's reaction was to gas, the most dramatic gasp that's ever been gasped, and absolute silence followed.
Then there's me, my boyfriend, and the girl sitting next to us, absolutely cracking the fuck up. Yes.
Yeah. A priest eating it.
A priest eating it, and it sounds like going over like a redwood tree. We were trying so hard to hold it in.
And when we looked to my best friend who was at her mother's funeral and saw she was also trying not to laugh and was standing in the front of the room with her sister having the same reaction as us, we lost it. He was okay.
And he stood up and carried on like nothing happened. But that didn't stop me and my boyfriend from having tears streaming down our faces the entire service, both from being sad and also from picturing this dude fall over like a log.
I actually had to ask my boyfriend to leave the room because it was so inappropriate and he would not stop and was choking from trying to hold it in. But it was the funniest, most movie-like fall and reaction I've ever seen and heard.
You would already be laughing at the fall. Yeah.
And then the context makes it triple pressure. Now you're laughing.
And then trying to hold it in so hard you can't. But then it goes wider than that, where then you're kind of like, what are all these feelings I'm feeling? Like now it's your brain just goes, oh, throw it all up there.
I need this. I need this.
It's been a while. Oh, my God.
We still talk about it and it will make me laugh every time. I'm glad something like that happened and made probably the hardest day of my friend's life a little silly for a short period of time and that her family was able to laugh about it, too.
Just wanted to send in a quickie and I hope more people have stories like this they want to share too. Anyways, bye.
L-M-A-O, Cassie.

Cassie. Cassie.
Cassie, great topic. Great topic.
I know I've over-storied this episode already, but I do have a fast one. Okay.
And she asked. Cassie asked, so I would like to answer.
Okay. I would like to write in mine back to her.
Okay. My Uncle Martin just died, and he is my dad's oldest brother.
brother is the oldest brother of the family. He was a teacher at the fire college in San Francisco.
So for a certain generation of San Francisco firemen, he's the one that taught them how to do it. Wow.
And so a lot of people knew him. He's a great man, hilarious, lovely, and he kind of looked a little bit like the Wizard of Oz.
Oh, wow. So we'd always go, there were men in my town.
And like, we'd always kind of do impressions of him. But he's a wonderful man and lived a great life, all great.
His funeral was in this beautiful, very modern church where, you know, usually there's a crucifix. They all look relatively the same and they're pretty grim up at the front.
in this church the the jesus wasn't hanging on the cross it's as if the jesus was trying to they're trying to represent him rising up through to heaven so he's kind of like free and one arm is up and it's very art like very artistic and my aunt mary who is a nun yeah of like 65 years, who's sitting next to me.

And it's very sad.

Like, it's the saddest point.

My family is sick because this is what we do.

This is what we live for.

And she leans over to me and she goes, honey, do you think that Jesus is playing volleyball?

Like, he's trying to hit us.

Because they're trying to like, it's like that, like he's rising up. And I'm hit a spike they're trying to like it's like that like he's rising up and i'm like you're a nun the fuck you're a nun that makes it 300 times funnier oh my god oh so good jesus trying to spike it's like those photos of like when you're trying to hit the little boy's hitting a baseball and jesus is behind you this is just a fucking it's him by himself he's like jesus is not helping you i can do it my fucking jesus is him by himself.
He's like, Jesus is not helping you. I can do it with my fucking self.
Jesus is spiking on your life. Yeah, for once.
Can Jesus have his own sport? He is the star of this team. Let him.
Yeah. Oh, my God.
Amazing. Cassie, that's my hometown to your podcast.
Send them in, everyone. Inappropriate crying.
I mean, laughing. Inappropriate crying was funny, too.
Oh, inappropriate crying is great. Laughing is fun too.
Laughing is a real joy.

Yeah.

What if I told you the most important part of your spring cleaning routine takes place in your sock drawer?

I still have socks from 1991.

Oh no.

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I have one more. Do you have one more? I have one more.
Yeah, and then I have one more. Did I read that one or did you? I think I did.
Okay, so it's my turn. I know it.
There was a second where I was like, okay. I have to stop the crosstalk.
I just distract myself. Yes, this is my last one.
Hello. Buried treasure story.
Dear beautiful MFM queens. That's nice.
Thank you. First off, your podcast is the only one I listen to religiously.
You have kept me company on my commute to work for an amusement park, which, side note, never ride the zipper. Trust me on this one.
Oh, I wouldn't anyways, but I love confirmation. I mean, hell no.
And everybody go back and watch the Nick Terry zipper MFM animated because I do tell a zipper story. Oh, that thing.
Okay. And your voices have become my Monday to Thursday happy place.
Or Monday and Thursday. There's a Wednesday episode now, too.
Just saying. Yeah, let's get some more days of the week in there, please.
Can we get some love for the Rewind episodes, everyone? We need all of your time. Okay.
It literally says okay. Okay.
I need to know, does this story make anyone else as unhinged as it makes me? Because I've been holding onto this frustration for years, and I feel like you two are the only ones who will understand. Also, since I know you love a good buried treasure tale, buckle up.
So my husband is from France, and there's this family

lore on his dad's side that they are direct descendants of Hector Berlioz, yes, the famous

composer. I should know because my dad is obsessed with classical music, and I'm sure he said it to

me a thousand times. I've never heard of it.
I bet you right now if we played, if we could play his, and I bet we can because it's over a hundred years old, but if we played like his most famous thing, you'd know it. Yeah, I'd be like, oh, I know that.
Yeah. Jam.
His grandmother was the one who carried this story, but no one in the family ever seemed all that interested. Enter me, a person with multiple advanced degrees in classical music who immediately lost my damn mind upon hearing this.
I mean, how cool is it that my husband, a composer himself, could be connected to one of the greats. Hey.
Wow. Painful side note, my husband's grandmother claimed she had the violin and she gave it not to my composer husband, but to a cousin who doesn't even play music.
No. Fine.
No. Whatever.
Family politics. But then she also had a mysterious box that she would never let anyone see.
When questioned, she'd just vaguely say that they could open it when she died. Oh, I'm going to have a mysterious box when I'm an old lady, for sure.
Start it now. Starting it now.
Just full of cat's whiskers. She constantly teased the family about hidden knowledge, but never actually revealed what was inside.
She was apparently pretty secretive, and I guess everyone just respected that. Weirdly.
Anyway, naturally, my brain went wild. Was it banknotes, letters, unfinished symphonies, proof that my husband's family is the true heir to the Berlioz legacy? We were finally going to get answers.
Except, one week before she died, she told my father-in-law not to open the box and instead bury it with her. No, absolutely not.

Okay, Grandma, see you later.

No, we'll definitely do that, Grandma.

Sounds good.

Sounds great.

What do you want me to do, sign paper?

I'll shake hands and goodbye.

Shake hands with God.

Yeah.

Good night.

And this man whom I love dearly, even though I cringe at this life choice,

followed her instructions to the letter.

He didn't even crack the lid.

He put the box in a coffin without ever looking inside. All caps.
And he still has the key. I was gobsmacked.
Who does this? Who buries what could be priceless historical documents without taking just a little peek? I bet he did. And it was like old school pornography with his grandma in it.
So he was like, okay, I got to take this to my grave too. He had to have looked and he deserved it.
One person, the person who has promised it, who has to bear it with him is allowed a peek. I think so.
Yeah. You were the trusted heir to the mystery box.
Oh my God. Look inside and then lie to whoever you need to lie to to cover what the problem is.
But what's the problem? No problem. She did.
She did. And also, guess what did she do? Have sex before marriage? Yeah.
So did 89% of every human being on earth. Like, what are you talking about? Oh, God.
Okay, we're still going. The Berlioz Museum in France might want whatever was in that box.
And yet here we are. Mystery forever sealed in the ground.
This is driving me crazy. Do I casually write to them suggesting an exhumation? Maybe.
Would my in-laws disown me? Almost certainly. I am sorry to have to share this story and I hope it doesn't drive you as nuts as it does me.
But am I crazy here or rightfully upset? We got your back. I mean, correct.
A thousand percent. Yeah.
And you knew we would. Yeah.
I will never know what was in that fucking box of secrets and I will never be okay. Nor will any of us now.
No, that's okay. Stay sexy and always look in the box before burying potential treasure, Melissa.
Yeah. And there's P.S.
Oh. And it says, P.S., why do you pronounce treasure like treasure? Did I miss an episode where this was explained it haunts me oh

it's you what is it it's me it's me doing an impression of my friend lydia lewis who used to do this baby talk voice like just kind of being funny yeah i'm pretty sure it's lydia where she would kind of and she would like talk to her cats like that wouldn't she be like me to me Do what you want.

Yeah.

Cat talk.

Treasure.

I think I ripped it off from her or my friend Alicia Gonzalez.

I just always accepted it. I never asked its origin.
I was just like, that sounds right. Sometimes that happens when you're young and somebody does a funny thing and then you can't say it a different way.
Totally. It feels almost like you and Diamonds are the same thing.
Diamonds. That's me doing an impression of Natasha Leggero.
Oh, okay. All right.
Well, okay, I have one left. Okay.
Okay. Hometown festivals, which we love to hear about.
Always. This is a fucking good one.
I live in Ontario, Oregon. It just starts like that.
There's not much here besides weed, onions, and potatoes. Sounds like a great stew.
That's like a nice winter's night. One of the biggest suppliers of jobs in town is the O'Rida potato plant.
Hey. Famous.
It was there in 1953 that instead of throwing the scraps of potatoes that weren't worthy enough to be french fries to the livestock, that one F. Griggs had an idea.
He smashed all the extras together and created the tater tot. Oh.
F. What? Say his name again.
F. Griggs.
Just F. The initial F? F.
Francis? I'm gonna go Francis. Frank.
Frankenstein? Yes, friends. Because he mashed them.
That's good. Yes, friends.
The tater tot was invented in my hometown. Yes.
Every year in September, we throw a tater tot festival. We have live music, face painting, and of course, tater tots.
Each vendor competes for the best tot. I know.
Mark your calendar. For real, though.
Yeah. It's still growing as a festival, but our town tries to do it big.
The main street is shut down, and there's many vendors selling handmade trinkets. I'll save you each a tot when you come visit.
SSDGM, Lindsay Sheher. Lindsay, this is like true breaking news.
Tater Tot Festival. Tater Tot Festival in, was it Oregon? Yeah.
Oh, that's easy. Yeah.
That's a two-hour flight. Chili cheese tater tots, do you think those exist? They fucking must, right? They better, yeah.
You mean like chili cheese fries, but tater tots. Yeah.
I mean, and also what else? You know they make some sort of weird tater tot dessert that you're like, why is this so delicious? With vanilla ice cream or something? Yeah. Like magic shell on tater tots.
Oh, God. That's disgusting.
Hey, tell us your story, whatever it is, atMurder at Gmail. This must be the longest mini-sode you've ever done.
There's nothing mini about this one. Thank you guys for listening so much.
We appreciate you. 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 Alejandra Keck.
Our editor is Aristotle Acevedo. This episode was mixed by Liana Squalachi.
Email your hometowns to myfavoritemurder at gmail.com. And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at My Favorite Murder.
Goodbye. Safe on family favorites at Safeway.
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