My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 373
Episode Date: March 4, 2024This week’s hometowns include an FBI raid and insider information from a Glensheen Mansion tour guide. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices...
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This is Exactly Right
It's 1943 in the Kingdom of Bulgaria.
As the Second World War rages, King Boris dies suddenly and every nation is a suspect.
The Butterfly King premieres March the 21st on exactly right.
It's a cruel tale of a doomed royal dynasty. Somewhere the truth is out there.
Listen to the butterfly king on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts. My favorite, my favorite, my favorite.
Hello.
And welcome.
To my favorite burner.
The mini-soaked.
That's right.
Did I say burner?
My favorite burner.
I left out the D.
Is this the spin-off podcast?
My favorite, Myrna.
What could a Myrna be?
My favorite Myrna, which is someone's grandmother
named Myrna, and it's dedicated emails to just Myrna.
Kinda, that's what it's become, yeah.
Okay, so if your grandmother's named Myrna
and she's got a great story, please write it in.
But for real.
This is your moment.
Yes.
You wanna go first? Oh, sure.
The subject line is,
my dad's run in with a member
of the international most wanted list.
Hi, Karen and Georgia,
longtime listener, first time emailer.
Love you guys.
I have so many stories
that I could be telling you right now.
My family and I have this weird habit
of falling ass backwards into the weirdest situations,
all of which make for great tales to trade for free drinks when I'm out.
Oh, that's smart.
Yeah.
But one of my favorites actually happened to my dad when he was in grad school.
Back in the 90s, her dad was in grad school in the 90s.
Wow.
I was so old.
Back in the 90s, my dad was living with a bunch of male models. And then in parentheses, it says that's another story.
And one of them had a female model friend
who would come around a lot with her boyfriend
who owned a shoe store.
My dad didn't know this guy well,
seeing as he was his roommate's friend's boyfriend.
But they've all hung out together before
and they got along well enough.
The guy even lent my dad and his roommates a futon
when they had a bunch of family staying for the holidays.
Wow.
I'm gonna borrow my friend's boyfriend's futon for you, mom,
and you can go ahead and sleep in the hallway.
You can crash there.
Unbeknownst to everyone,
this guy was a low-level mobster
and the shoe store was a front.
He and his business partner, also a mobster,
came up with this big insurance fraud scheme. He took out a massive life insurance plan and his business partner, also a mobster, came up with this big insurance fraud scheme.
He took out a massive life insurance plan
on his business partner.
Then they flew to another city,
killed a random man,
and turned the body in as the business partner.
My dad comes home from class one day
to find the FBI had raided the apartment,
tore open the pillows, overturned bookshelves, the works.
Apparently, in between committing the murder slash fraud
and fleeing the country,
the guy stopped by my dad's apartment
to pick up the food ton.
What?
He was fleeing with the food ton.
Oh, my God.
It was the last time he was seen in the US.
The guy ended up on America's most wanted,
then international most wanted, where he was finally recognized by he was seen in the US. The guy ended up on America's Most Wanted, then International Most Wanted, where he was finally recognized
by a girlfriend somewhere in Greece.
Like I said, ask backwards into weird situations.
Hope you like the story.
I have others, but this one was pretty long.
Sticks. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Amazing show of restraint. Stay sexy and don't accept futons from mobsters.
Lily, she, her.
Wow, they went somewhere else, killed a random dude.
How sad.
Oh, my God.
Horrible and random, one of those kinds of crimes that are really hard to investigate.
And you know what I mean?
It's why they do it that way.
Totally.
But then, slow themselves down by getting a futon. Where are they, you're gonna, sorry,
are you shipping it overseas?
Like how does that work?
I feel like you can buy one when you get there
after that kind of criminal.
Aren't they from overseas?
Like America didn't, we're not the first in futons.
We can't be.
Okay, mine's called Murder Mansion Tour Guide
from the story I did recently about the Glensheen Mansion. Right. Anna Little who works at Exactly Right Media also had a
story today on our staff meeting. That's right. Everyone in Duluth, it's a national
treasure. Greetings. I wasn't sure if I was qualified to call myself a long-time
listener until I realized that it has actually been quite a few years of listening to you tell stories.
Oh, time goes by so fast.
So yes, I am indeed a long time listener.
I look forward to every episode and have had so much fun exploring the early episodes I
missed.
I can't imagine my commute or making dinner without you.
But I have been waiting with pated breath for your episode covering the Glensheen murders,
which by the way, I covered when we were in Minnesota,
it turns out.
So when you were like, this sounds familiar.
And I was like, no, it doesn't, because I had covered it.
Well, if it's new to you, then it should be new to me too.
Right?
Sure.
OK, but awaiting braided breath,
I went to college at the University of Minnesota Duluth
and my side slash summer job was drum roll
as a tour guide at
Glensheen mansion. Insider. I have been in each and every one of the 39 rooms and in almost every
nook and cranny. I've been in the apartments above the carriage house and in the furnace room in the
basement with a secret tunnel. I've even had the opportunity to give a tour to some descendants of
the Cogniton family.
And that says, I was kind of a big deal on the staff, and then there's the nail painting
emoji.
Which I love.
Yeah, flex it.
Flex it if you can.
Glen sheen is really stunning.
It has nearly all the original furnishings.
It's gilded age opulence, gold leaf ceiling, imported marble, colored glass fireplace tiles
that would glow, endless hand-card woodwork, and the list goes on and on.
Wow.
As a tour guide there, when I was working there in maybe 2007,
we were taught not to make the tours about the murders,
but about the history of the family and the estate.
But if people asked about the murders,
we had a few talking points
and could answer questions respectfully.
And we directed people to the books
on the topic in the gift shop.
Oh, there you go.
That's how you do it.
But we also had a little freedom to read the room.
If a tour group was acting foolish about it,
I would shut it down.
If people were respectfully asking questions
and the vibe was right, I'd go into more detail.
Things may have changed since I've been there, of course.
The only actually remnant of the murder in the mansion
is a large blood stain on the wall.
They left it there?
Yeah.
At the top of the staircase where Velma Patia
was bludgeoned with the candlestick.
The walls weren't wallpaper.
They were almost like a fine, high quality burlap
that was hand-painted with a design.
It was like a tapestry and absorbed enough blood
to permanently stain it.
To clean it would destroy it.
Few people know to look for the stain, but it's there.
Wow.
I know.
There are all kinds of other cool, manchini things about the home, though.
Hidden cabinets and the wood paneling on the staircase.
A writing desk with a secret drawer that can only be opened by pushing a hidden latch.
Yes.
The aforementioned basement tunnel.
It had a central vacuuming system in 1908.
Oh, shit. What was it? Was it run by children?
It's like little children in the basement.
Oh, that's Oliver Twist getting all his hours in.
The boys' room still had letters and journals, closets had family photo albums,
the cedar closet still had blankets and linens. It was wild how many of their things were still in the home.
So is it haunted?
I can't say I experienced anything unusual at Glensheen and I spent a lot of time there.
But is it spooky as hell when you're locking up the estate at midnight after
a working a wedding?
Yes.
Can you believe you can get married at Glensheen mansion?
How fucking cool would that be?
Incredible.
Yeah.
It could be run up the stairs out of the basement before the demons get you level spooky.
All in all, Glensheen is fabulous. And if you find yourself in Duluth, it is well worth the visit for the sheer beauty of the
estate. Stay sexy. Brian from Queens, New York.
Brian, thank you for that insight information. Now I'm like, I realize slowly but surely when we talk about stuff like this, all the different things I'm actually obsessed with.
And old houses with secret panels and latches and buttons
and all that stuff.
But I also have an idea for the current people,
maybe they've already done this,
they should do a totally separate tour
for people who are into true crime.
Oh, yeah. Right?
So that nobody has to talk about it if they don't want to in the tour at 11 and 3.
Yeah.
And then you get that late night spooky tour.
Yeah.
That's a great idea.
I'll send him an email.
Guys, everybody doesn't like true crime.
Yeah.
Everybody doesn't want to talk about the horrible thing that happened in
someone's family.
A lot of people do.
That's what we've discovered over the years, but not everybody. horrible thing that happened in someone's family. A lot of people do.
That's what we've discovered over the years, but not everybody, and that's important.
That's okay.
That's how you find your people.
Do you find the ones who do?
That's right.
On the tour, and then you decide how much you're going to bother the person to make
them tell you.
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Okay, this is okay. The subject line of this email is speaking of stories you didn't ask for,
and then it just starts, how about the time I, as a five year old, was forced to abandon my family
and find a new home?
And then in parentheses it says lighthearted.
And then says, but first, love you.
Anyway, I was in kindergarten when I experienced
my first substitute bus driver.
This guy's method of dropping us off
involved reaching a stop and calling out,
anybody get off here.
Oh my God.
See, I never took, I think I've talked about this,
I never took the bus to school.
Can't be either.
But, cause we went to Catholic school,
our next door neighbor, Andy Winnington,
went to public school.
So he did, the bus stopped right near our house,
but we never took it.
And it was like this exotic cool thing
that like other people did.
So reading this email made me laugh really hard
because I'm like, oh, I think I actually don't know how school buses really work.
No, I don't even know. Honestly, if we had one, that might be really naive of me, but I was in such
a small little community that we had to walk like from kindergarten through high school. I
walked to school. And I still have heart attacks thinking about you as a kindergartner walking
home alone from school. So insane.
So insane.
Me, you're at home, nobody, because nobody was home.
Let me get this key out from around my neck and let myself in.
Exactly.
If there's a problem there, I guess I'll handle it.
I am six.
OK.
So anybody get off here.
We eventually reached my stop.
And when he yelled out, anybody get off here,
I grabbed my bag and stood up to start getting off. Maybe I was too small to see. Maybe I just
wasn't fast enough or maybe I missed the part where I'm supposed to answer verbally. Either way,
he decided no one got off there and pulled away. Horrified and highly distressed, I sat back down
and tried to process what had just happened. My home was long gone, and now I had to figure out what to do.
Obviously, I had to go home somewhere, even if the home that I knew was no longer an option.
Despite losing everything I had ever known, I knew I had to buckle down
because I had a new task ahead of me, finding a new home.
Oh, my God. The logic is so sweet. I love it.
And it's so dead on.
Like if you're left to your own devices when you're a child,
you literally are going, okay, I guess I don't live there anymore.
Yeah, this is a conclusion.
Yeah.
It's why we need older people, at least to help.
Okay, this is bringing up a lot of stuff for me. Okay,
I used all the focus my five-year-old brain could muster five years old, same age as you.
Could muster to assess house after house, looking for one that appealed to me. I rejected houses
that were too brown, too small, too dreary, and so on until we finally pulled up to what appeared
to be a mansion.
It was straight out of a movie,
sitting on a big green hill,
shining white in the sun and too perfect to be real.
This was the one.
I had my bag ready this time
and when the driver yelled out,
"'Anyone get off here?'
I made sure to use my big girl voice and yell,
"'Me, I do!'
I got off the bus and ran up the hill,
fully convinced that the act of choosing this home
meant my new family would be inside waiting for me.
So I called out, mom, dad, I'm home.
Oh my God, you give up your old parents so easy.
But what choice did she have?
Her other home had disappeared
because the bus driver didn't stop.
Right, because it wasn't in her site anymore.
Her fire-old brain.
Yeah, object permanence is maybe not fully developed.
Okay, I yelled out,
mom, dad, I'm home, not understanding
that life does not, in fact, work like the movies.
When I got to the front door,
two white ladies opened it with puzzled looks on their faces
and asked how they could help me, a little black girl.
This is when I realized that I had fucked up.
I burst into tears and they rushed to bring me inside
and console me.
They brought me into an office, sat me down
and gave me a mini can of Coca-Cola, asking what was wrong.
I sobbed, I lost a tooth at them,
which while true was entirely irrelevant
to the matter at hand.
For some reason, they had hallmark style cards
explicitly for congratulating kids on losing teeth
and they gave me one.
Did she like happen upon a dentist's house?
This was very cool and distracted me for a moment,
but when they started asking questions
to try to figure out where I belong,
I remembered I was lost and alone in the world
and broke down all over again.
They asked where I went to school
to which I replied, HK something,
sobbing over my Coke and Tooth Fairy card.
And apparently that was enough information.
They made a phone call and not long after,
my principal pulled up in his red pickup truck
to take me home looking pretty miffed.
It wasn't my fault I had become a tiny runaway,
but I wasn't going to plead my case. I just quietly sipped my Coke.
I don't remember anything that happened after getting home,
but I still think about this story sometimes.
Hope you enjoyed, stay sexy,
and maybe just let kindergarteners be car riders.
All the best, Karina.
And then it says pronounced Karina.
Not doubting your abilities,
I've just had a lot of people get it wrong over the years.
Amen. I mean. Oh. Karina, not doubting your abilities, I've just had a lot of people get it wrong over the years.
Amen. I mean.
Oh, let's look after our five-year-old, please.
I just feel like so much in common with Karina
and five-year-old Karina trying to make executive decisions
and fucking it up.
And then it's like,
and then you're gonna get in trouble
for handling that brand new situation incorrectly.
The principles mad at you
because you inconvenienced him, a five-year-old?
Because you hired a bus driver
who didn't know not to yell anybody get off here.
Yeah, yeah.
Okay.
This one's called,
parents without partners save my dad's life. Remember the Parents Without Partners from my Glensheen story as well?
I do.
Hey, MFM crew, longtime listener, longtime procrastinator, and trust me, with my little story collecting ADHD brain, I've had about 99 reasons to write.
What got me to sit down and do it? Fucking without partners man buckle up this is a crazy story
okay my dad grew up in a little town super close to Seattle the houses were narrow and tall but
the staircase on the outside of the house leading to a small deck off the second floor kitchen
his mom was beating a rug on the little deck and he watched as the entire staircase slash
deck structure literally just fell off the house with his mom on it.
That's so horrible.
You know those fucking,
just like they just kind of stick them
to the wall a little bit.
I mean, I think you and I have talked about this.
Yeah. It happened one time in San Francisco
when I lived there, I was in my twenties,
but it was like a high school house party.
You covered one once, yeah.
Oh, it's the, yeah, we covered him.
It's horrible.
Nightmare.
So the whole thing just kinda detached from the wall
and fucking falls.
And that's a child watching his mother.
Yes.
That's the worst.
It gets worse even.
It says she didn't die, yay,
but wouldn't you know after coming home from the hospital,
she was a completely different person.
His once normal mom was suddenly violent, both in words and actions.
She was always screaming at someone and got very good at hurling dishes across
the room where they shattered against the wall, taking pieces of the plaster with them.
I know what you're thinking, his mom had a traumatic brain injury from the fall.
Totally, but this was 1958, so she was shipped off to the local mental institution without a second thought.
It says her story ends here although she did find love in the institution with a guy named Rusty
and the two of them broke out and enjoyed a several year long petty crime spree.
Oh, that's an aside. Anyway,
his dad was now a single father working two full-time jobs and trying to keep tabs on three kids who received no help from the trauma they had endured.
My dad's oldest sister was the first to go.
At 16, she left town with some cowboy on the traveling rodeo circuit.
Fun fact, her secret baby she gave up for adoption during this time actually just found
us through 23andMe.
Whoa!
The story has a lot.
This story has it all, actually.
It does.
His older brother killed himself via high-speed car crash
into a concrete pile on the Ballard Bridge.
Oh, no.
I know.
My nine-year-old dad, the youngest,
found a little crew of troublemakers,
and they spent their time taking the bus to Seattle,
stealing hubcaps, and taking the elevator
to the top of the Smith Tower.
Then Seattle's tallest building
at a whopping 38 stories.
Whoa.
Obviously, my grandpa was out of his depth.
He was down to one kid and knew he wouldn't have him
for long at the rate they were going.
A coworker told him about parents without partners
and desperate, he carved out some time and started going.
And that's where he met Grandma Kay.
Her husband had recently died and she had two teenage boys.
At this point, my dad was 11 and Grandma Kay's boys were heading off to college.
She had some extra time and used it to literally change the course of my dad's life.
Oh, I'm gonna start crying for sure.
You are definitely gonna cry.
They moved a few towns over so my dad didn't have access to his little street crew. And grandma Kay forced my dad to partake
in her 1960s home economics teacher hobbies.
Instead of stealing hubcaps, he was now attending garage sales,
refinishing furniture, gardening, making jam,
and cooking balanced meals.
It says, she made sure at least three different colors
are on your plate.
She had that kid doing fucking needlepoint
so they could recover the seats on some dining chairs they got from a fancy downtown Seattle hotel at least three different colors are on your plate. She had that kid doing fucking needle points
so they could recover the seats on some dining chairs
they got from a fancy downtown Seattle hotel
that was being torn down.
And here's the coolest part.
He actually liked doing all that.
She took a surly 11 year old kid
and taught him that hard work is rewarding.
And actually the cooking thing may have saved his life.
He was drafted for the Vietnam War in 1968.
When he was at the training camp,
they found out he could cook and put him in the kitchen. He ended up serving time as a cook at
the Army base instead of going to Vietnam. Like my dad, Marty. Right. Lucky. Anyway, my dad still
has a little bit of troublemaker running through his veins, but he's also managed to build a business
for our family from the ground up because he has never stopped working. We were flipping houses for my dad to turn into rentals
long before HGTV. In fact, my favorite dad story is from one of these old houses. He was working on
the very outdated knob and tube wiring. He needed to get into the electrical box but was rightfully
nervous instead of deciding to hire a professional. And it says this was the 80s. He handed seven year old me a broomstick
and said, if I get electrocuted,
my hand is going to be stuck to the electrical box.
I'm going to need you to use the broom to hit my hand away
and then call 911 immediately.
It says, so anyway, stay sexy and don't knock parents
without partners. And he says, so anyway, stay sexy and don't knock parents without partners.
Who says also please hire a professional
for your electrical needs.
It's super expensive, but my dad failed to mention
is that he would have for sure been dead
when I knocked his hand away with a broomstick.
Yes.
The broomstick wasn't a solution to the electric use.
No.
Just the stuck to the electric issue. No, just the stuck to the wall part.
Yeah.
Just as, Jessica, she or her.
Oh my God, Jessica, that email.
I mean, we journeyed with your family
that was beautiful and touching and yes, like grandma,
hey, thank God.
That's her heart.
Also, I think like she came into Jessica's dad's life.
What she was doing was pulling a little kid in
and going, you come with me because you still belong with me.
And any kid's gonna be interested in needle point
if they're getting focused attention.
Because it's like saying you and I are doing this thing
and let's get this done together.
Yeah, and who doesn't have a garage sale?
I mean, right?
I love it.
That was great.
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Goodbye.
Okay, here's my lastie.
And it's, the subject line is an MFM meet cute
in time for Valentine's Day.
Hi.
Hi MFM crew.
A while ago you asked for listeners to send
in their me cute stories or any other story bar none.
I attribute my me cute to MFM as well as a beautiful obsession
to this podcast that you have created
for both me and my best friend.
Wonderful.
I love that when we're in the story too.
It was the weekend of my 27th birthday
and my best friend and I were out day drinking
in Denver, fucking luckies.
We were contently tipsy off of Margaritas
and we decided that we would take a lift back to my place
to drink champagne and watch whatever
murder documentary Netflix recommended.
Perfect day.
Perfect day.
Right, just a dream.
We got into the back of the lift
and started talking about the latest episode of MFM. As we recanted the crazy details of episode 78, our driver chimed in,
explaining that he was a paramedic with some very crazy stories and a true crime fan himself.
He recommended that we watch The Voyeur, an interesting documentary about a guy who owned
a motel here in Denver and would watch his guests from the vents. Oh, yeah
Yeah, I remember that one. Yeah, I do too because it wasn't a hundred percent true, right?
Jesus, I don't remember that part. Wasn't there something where there was like there was no way they could prove it because it was the man
That wrote the book about it. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, but a great documentary either way watch the documentary because
Whatever is the truth. it's like wild.
But yeah, amazing.
Okay, back to the email.
We had a great conversation
and as I got out of the car,
I told him to stay sexy and don't get murdered.
Parentheses, thanks to the liquid courage,
confident one-liners are not typically my MO.
Flash forward several hours
and several bottles of champagne later, several bottles.
Oh dear.
My friend and I had taken his advice and watched the voyeur
and as I drunkenly complained that I would never find
a good guy to date but somehow this vent watching creep
found a wife.
That's what I say every time.
I know, it's not fair.
My best friend goes, you should text the Lyft driver,
you guys kinda hit it off. And with just enough drunken fervor, I should text the Lyft driver. You guys kind of hit it off.
And with just enough drunken fervor,
I thought that was a great idea.
I went into my Lyft app and I reported
that I'd left something in the car.
Oh my God, brilliant.
Yes, brilliant.
So brilliant.
My heart, my heart.
Also so alcohol-fueled.
Oh, absolutely.
In some ways, yes, please don't drive a car, but in other ways, watch as your
brain serves up like some, this kind of cunning shit that you're like, the skeins come out.
So I wrote him a note saying I hadn't really left anything in his car, but if he ever wanted
to go out, he should call me.
Now we're getting ready to celebrate our sixth anniversary.
Oh my God.
Oh my God. Oh my God.
I'm so glad I finally met the good man I was always looking for
and fell in love with someone who shares my love of true crime.
And I owe it all to your show and finally being able to talk
about my true crime obsession in public,
even in the back of a lift.
Oh, I love credit.
Stay sexy and strike up a conversation with your lift driver.
You might just fall in love, Katie.
When we tour again, someday, someday, they got to come to our Denver show.
Oh my God.
Maybe he can propose on stage.
Oh my God.
Well, maybe, maybe he already did.
Oh, okay.
Sixth anniversary. I don't know what that means.
But maybe she could propose to him then.
True.
Love it.
Loving it.
Loving it, all right.
Only in Wisconsin slash two bars, one house.
Ladies, hope all is well.
This past week you asked for house bar stories, kinda,
and I knew it was finally my chance.
Yes.
I grew up in Green Bay, Wisconsin in the 2000s
and was lucky enough to have some badass great grandparents
having not one, but two bars in their home.
My Avon selling great grandma, Marion,
and Prism Guard slash World War II vet great grandpa Joe,
Joe and Marion, knew had a fucking party.
Walking down into their basement was akin
to walking into your favorite dive bar.
Wood paneling on the walls, massive wood headboard
behind the bar, and it says whatever the fuck those were
called.
I don't know, like a wall, I guess?
I'd love to see a picture.
Why can't people send in pictures?
Oh, yeah.
A headboard.
Massive mirror in the center and liquor shelves on each side.
The bar was even complete with a kid's section.
It says, yes, a kid's section.
Where the bar top dipped down and three small stools stood where my mom and their cousins
spent plenty of holidays and neighborhood get-togethers.
They gave them a seat at the bar.
Hell, yes.
This is what we're talking about.
Tiny stools.
I love it.
As my great grandparents got older,
they built a sunroom onto their house
and added a second bar so they didn't have to hike
everything up and down the stairs.
So smart, so smart.
Industrial.
The bar was complete with vintage beer signs,
not stupid vintage, but legit vintage,
photos of my great grandma's childhood,
and our personal favorite,
a Dean Martin singing bobblehead.
As kids, my brother and I would play behind the sunroom bar
until we were old enough to ten bar for family, friends,
and neighbors at the ripe old age of maybe eight.
Sure.
Little did I know this experience would serve me well
as I bartended my way through college just ten years later
in a gay dive bar now owned by the iconic Trixie Mattel.
Oh my god. I love Trixie Mattel. Absolutely. Some of my absolute best memories came from
holidays, birthdays, and really any excuse to go to grandma's for a drink. Both of my great-grandparents
have been gone for a good handful of years now, but I feel so beyond lucky to have those unique
memories. Definitely. Currently, I'm living in Ireland where now, but I feel so beyond lucky to have those unique memories. Definitely.
Currently, I'm living in Ireland where there's obviously no shortage of house bars, but that's
another story.
Stay sexy and have a few drinks with your great grandparents if they're still around.
Alex, he, him.
Alex, what an email.
I love that story and I love that whole email.
But the thing I'm talking about is an actual business, not just family.
I know. He was saying that you kind of asked for that, not really,
because he knew that it was like that. But yeah, you're asking,
you're talking about businesses where you come over and yeah.
I interpreted that as that's how we said it is kind of not really.
No.
I thought we were being vague about what we were asking for.
No, I think it was like any excuse to write
in the hometown at this point, this works.
Got it.
Well, we love it.
Yeah.
That was perfect.
And hey, write yours in at my favorite murder at Gmail.
If you're in the fan cult,
you can watch this whole thing you just listened to.
I guess we should say at the beginning,
because now they have to go.
That no one wants to listen to this again,
but in video form.
Yes, but if you do, you don't have to look at that.
You can see how I have not dyed my roots in so long,
and my hair is so many different colors
I look like a Calico cat right now.
I love it.
Can I show you my little vintage sweater detail?
Yes.
It's a golf bag.
Bag?
That's gorgeous.
It's a golf sweater.
Do you golf with Vince?
Absolutely not.
I've never golfed in my life.
Miniature golf.
I just like that a little golf stitch.
Oh my god, that's so good.
Well, thanks for listening, guys.
Appreciate you.
Just saying, these are some of the wonderful visual details
that you could be picking up if you were over in the fan cult
watching this video.
Perks.
Perks.
Perks. Stay sexy. And don't get murdered. details so you could be picking up if you were over in the fan cult watching this video.
Perks! Perks! Perks! Stay sexy. And don't get murdered.
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 Scolacci.
Email your hometowns to myfavoritmurder at gmail.com.
And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook
at myfavoritmurder and on Twitter at myfavemurder.
Goodbye.