My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 374
Episode Date: March 11, 2024This week’s hometowns include a badass big sister and a ghost story from Australia. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices...
Transcript
Discussion (0)
This is Exactly Right.
I'm Kate Winkler Dawson, a journalist, author, and podcast host.
And I'm Paul Holes, a retired investigator with Experience Solving Some of America's
Most Notorious Cold Cases.
Together we host Buried Bones, a historical true crime podcast on the Exactly Right Network.
Each week we examine a different case from history
and use our years of experience and 21st century forensics
to bring new insights into these very old tragedies.
Like the time the Sausage King of Chicago's wife went missing in 1897.
Don't miss new episodes every Wednesday.
Follow Buried Bones wherever you get your podcasts.
Hello and welcome to my favorite murder. The mini-soad.
That's right.
We read you your stories.
You listen to them.
You watch them if you're in the fan cult on video.
Amazing video.
George and I with outfits on, makeup on.
The whole thing.
Hair done.
Earrings.
You have earrings on.
I do.
Small hoops.
I have my French press nails.
You don't? No, I hoops. I have my French press nails.
You don't?
No, I don't.
You tricked us.
French press, I combined press on nails
and French tip nails.
I've created a new thing.
French press.
Which is coffee as well.
Yeah.
Coffee stains on my fingernails.
That is real.
Okay, classic hometown, attempted break-in
and learning to fuck politeness.
Dear MFM crew and murderinos, a bump in the night
just set off my dog right as I was trying to go to bed
while my roommate is out of town.
And it reminded me of this story,
which I've now been composing to you in my head
for the last hour in the dark.
So here goes.
I fucking know that feeling.
You're like, you might as well just get up and do it.
You're never falling asleep like this.
But that feeling when you hear a bump in the night
and your dog starts barking.
And you're alone.
And then you're like, what do I do?
Go check on it.
What am I supposed to do at this point?
I mean, that's why camera's all over your house.
When I was about 12, I spent the night at a friend's house.
Both her parents had to work the next morning,
so we were left alone to watch TV until my mom came to get me.
Around mid-morning, there's a knock at the door.
We both get up to look, her through the peephole,
and me through the side window right next to the door.
We see a scraggly, older man wearing work coveralls
with a blank name patch and no company logo.
Red fucking flag.
Holding a cracked bucket full of a miscellaneous
assortment of tools.
An unmarked white van is parked at the curb.
And if it says in retrospect, that's like what,
37 red flags?
Yeah.
But unfortunately, I make eye contact with this man
since I'm peeking through the side window
and my misguided politeness instincts kick in.
Aren't you gonna to open the door?
I ask, feeling guilty for ignoring him when he has clearly seen me.
Are you crazy?
My parents didn't tell me to expect anyone.
My friend rightfully answers that said, we go back to watching TV,
still in sight of the front door.
A moment later, the doorknob slowly turns.
My friend and I freeze and look at each other.
The nod turns again and again.
As we watch this man very obviously try to get
into the house in broad daylight,
we bargain with ourselves that we'll call the police
if he tries to go around to another door.
That's the threshold.
Well, did they say how old they were?
They were 12, around 12.
12, yeah 12. 12.
See, again.
No.
Decision makes you skills.
Not the decision, yeah.
Not in this hideous situation.
No.
Fortunately, he didn't, and after several long moments, both he and the van disappeared.
Naturally, we continued our show.
My mom came to pick me up a little while later, and as we're driving home, I tell her about
this quote, totally weird random thing that happened.
To which she responded by shouting, and you left her alone.
Oh no.
And basically pulled a U-turn on the highway.
Thank God.
We filed the police report, my friend spent the rest of the day safely at my house until
her parents got off work and nothing more came of it.
Over the following 20 years, I have mostly thought back on this story with a self-deprecating
laugh about my naivety and our inexplicable reluctance to call the police on a man who
was most likely just looking for an easy opportunity to rob a house.
But every once in a while, like when there are weird noises at night while I'm home
alone, I think about how he realized that there was at least
one young girl inside that house
and decided to see if the door would open.
Cause remember they fucking saw each other.
And he still went for it.
Yeah, yeah.
Stay sexy and don't leave your friends home alone
after an attempted break in, even in the daylight.
Kat.
Kat, wasn't your friend scared?
Like if I was the friend and the mom pulled up,
I'd be like, yeah, I'm at your house tonight.
Yeah, thank God the mom like had, you know,
was a mom.
Not 12 year old brain, yeah, exactly.
Oh my God.
Jesus, so stressful.
The second you said the tools were in a bucket,
I was just like, nope.
No, it reminded me of the Boston's Drangler,
like him saying, I'm here to fix your landlord called me
to fix this and that.
Yep.
And also the kind of like wearing that suit,
that jumpsuit is the jumpsuit normally worn by men
who take care of business, fix things, help you.
There's something to it that's like stolen valor
where it's like, oh, you're not actually a handyman or a mechanic.
You're a criminal. Yeah. Yeah.
Terrifying. So scary. Okay.
This is funny.
The subject line is bad ass big sister story and it starts forwarding this email again because I think it's a good one.
On a now long past episode about the rescue of baby Jessica, that is an old one,
Karen mentioned the time Shannon Doherty
smiled at her sister and her reaction was to go bullshit
because that's what sisters do.
It reminded me of a version of that moment
I once had with my sister.
Only mine involves the dangers of swimming in the ocean
at a young age, let's get to it.
Every year my parents took us on a week-long vacation
to Southern California from our home in San Francisco. We'd go to Disneyland,
Knotsbury Farm, Griffith Observatory, etc. But we were all really there because we loved the beach.
My two siblings and I did swim team and spent most of our free time in various bodies of water
anyways, so we were all very good swimmers and my dad had us thoroughly trained on riptides
and what to do if we were caught in them. We recognized that it was dangerous but we
loved swimming in the ocean. I think I was around eight or nine, so my sister Ashley was probably
10 or 11. Sister Ashley, right there. And we were out together catching waves on our boogie boards.
My parents were sunbathing on our blanket oblivious to the trauma I was about to endure. I was facing the beach my back turned to the waves behind me and I was ready to catch a wave
My sister had just caught one so she was paddling back out to me
Her back to the beach and her face looking out at the open ocean suddenly she says to me perfectly serious
Shelby don't freak out, but there is a shark right behind you. Oh
Shit, of course. I assumed it was the type of prank
that a terrible older sister would pull.
I looked behind me, not convinced
by the obviously fake fear in her voice.
As I looked, a wave came up,
blocking my view of the waters behind.
I didn't see anything.
Clearly, this was a prank.
I'm serious. Look behind you.
She practically screamed that time,
and now I was getting sick of her
and this not funny at all joke.
You're so full of it and you're not gonna scare me
that easily, I said defiantly,
and turned around again to prove her wrong.
This time, clear as day,
there was a huge black dorsal fin
jutting out of the water less than 10 yards away.
Oh my God.
She hadn't been kidding.
I didn't scream, I couldn't.
Never in my life before or since
have I been so frozen solid with fear.
I couldn't move a muscle in my body.
As soon as I saw the fin,
it sank in for both of us the amount of trouble we were in.
My sister, who is now one of my best friends
in the entire world, has many admirable qualities.
Uh-oh, but what's not one of them?
Yeah, I love that.
And one of those is her determination to survive.
Really up-siting it for us.
I love it.
Ashley, when my instincts kicked in, they froze me solid, terrible fucking instincts,
how am I alive?
But when her fear kicked in, she jumped immediately into action.
She started swimming with all her might to shore,
leaving me out there alone and unable to move.
All I could do was scream at her to come back and help me.
I could see people on the beach starting to point at the water,
which confirmed to me that, yes, this was actually happening.
I can't begin to tell you how afraid I was.
My sister, realizing that she had left me behind, turned around, came back out to me
and used her strength and adrenaline to pull us both safely back to shore.
Oh my gosh.
At the time, I was just glad to be uneaten and it didn't really hit me until later what an
absolute badass she was. We ran up to the beach, to my mom, both of us panicked and shaking,
and to our surprise, she was calm and happy.
She pointed out of the water we had just escaped from
and said excitedly,
oh, did you see those dolphins out there?
They were swimming really close.
It hadn't been a shark at all.
It had just been a small pod of very cute dolphins.
Oh no, you could have had the best day ever.
They could have experienced dolphin magic
and also you know that pot of dolphins is like,
look at these two cute little girls.
We're gonna go interact with them.
So then she says, usually I was excited to see them,
but this had been way too close a call
for me to really care.
My mom laughed when we told her about our ordeal.
This isn't really a murder story, but I had to share it because I was convinced that it
was going to be the end of me.
We are 30 and 32 now, and we both still love to swim in the ocean as much as we can.
But I do it now at least partially to manage the lingering anxiety that this incident left.
I love my sister.
She is still such a badass
and she's the one who introduced me to your podcast
as we are both murderinos to the core.
Stay sexy and don't get eaten by sharks.
Lots of love for you all.
Shelby, my favorite name, Shelby.
Shelby, okay.
This has just brought this new thing to me
which is how do we let children
just go in the ocean by themselves? When I
was a kid, it was like mom sleeping on the sand, leaving her alone, five years old, just
going into the fucking, like I've almost drowned so many times. And then I would never like
if my nephews went in the fucking ocean, I would keep my eye on them the entire fucking
time. I wouldn't take a nap or like read fucking people magazine.
For real, we used to go in the ocean in Northern California, which literally is only
riptides and great white sharks. Those are real great white sharks. That's where they hang out.
And we would go in there. I mean, I think I've told you this, but one of my earliest memories
is me standing, we weren't in the water because it was usually way too cold. That was the one
thing that kept you out of it,
which was good, but standing on the beach
and standing there looking at my dad as he's screaming,
he's wearing like a Gilligan's Island, a Gilligan hat,
and he's yelling, never turn your back on the sea.
Like at the top of his lungs,
it'd be where I'm just like,
why didn't you say it in the car?
Why didn't you say it at home?
Like now I'm doing it and it's high risk.
Like you assumed I knew this and I'm six years old.
God damn it.
Send us your stories of when you shouldn't
have been allowed in the fucking ocean.
I mean, what the fuck?
Oh my God, young people in the ocean.
Don't do it.
Hey Karen, I have a pop quiz for you.
Okay.
Do most break-ins happen under the cover of night or in broad daylight?
I'm going to go with broad daylight.
That's right. According to the FBI, most break-ins happen during the freaking day.
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Goodbye.
The term bed rotting is all over the internet, Georgia.
And I don't know if you know,
but it means like basically lying in bed all day.
Oh, that's me.
To successfully bed rot,
one must procure the necessary supplies.
This includes, but it's not limited to beverages,
snacks, pets, and most importantly, content.
And in that content lineup,
you might be considering, you know, streaming channels, etc.
But what if you tried Audible?
They have an incredible selection of audiobooks across every genre,
but arguably the best genre is thrillers.
Thrillers on Audible take your listening experience to the next level.
You will hear dramatic performances and eerie soundscapes.
Listening to these thrillers keeps you engaged
and you'll find yourself hooked.
Then when you're ready to balance those cortisol levels,
explore the rest of Audible's audio catalog.
They've got all your favorite podcasts,
guided wellness programs, and comedy specials.
The last audiobook that I was hooked on
and got through so quickly was All Systems Read
by Martha Wells.
It's coming out as a series,
so of course I had to listen to the audiobook first
because I want to know everything.
It is about essentially a murder bot in the future
who's tasked with protecting the group they've been assigned to.
And the murder bot starts to like them and has feelings.
Sorry, my court is all levels going up so high.
I can't even listen to this.
It's so good.
New members can try Audible Free for 30 days.
Visit audible.com slash murder or text murder to 500-500.
That's audible.com slash murder or text murder to 500-500.
Try Audible Free for 30 days.
Audible.com slash murder.
Goodbye.
Okay, Australian ghost story.
Oh, here's my ghost story all the way from Australia.
I was renting a tiny 100 year old terrace house, one of three in a row,
all exactly the same in a suburb called Paddington in Sydney.
As soon as I moved in, I started having the same dream slash nightmare every night.
Three or four babies in the corners of my bedroom ceiling,
waving and slapping their hands at something and screaming.
No.
No pits and all.
Waking up and crying in a cold sweat
and numerous nights and mornings,
I decided to ask my friend who's involved
with the Paddington Society,
I'm guessing that's Paddington history,
if he knew the history of the house.
My friend did some research and got back to me
with some startling news.
Across the road from my little house
was a hideous 1960s apartment building
that was previously a hospital for unwed mothers.
And those three cottages were used
for the quarantine of babies with diseases
who were deemed terminal.
So screaming, dying babies.
I know.
I'm not religious, but I invited everybody I knew
to my housewarming slash blessing slash exorcism
to bring sage to burn, Buddhist bells to ring,
and crucifixes to wave, you name it.
I even convinced the local angelic priest to pop by
with his holy water to quiet those poor baby spirits.
And so the dream stopped to make great relief,
but a few months later,
I started to hear scratching in the ceiling
when I was totally awake, like during the day.
I called the landlord and a fix-it man came by.
After listening intently with his ear to the wall,
he declared, white ants.
Thank God.
What? What?
Yeah, white ants.
What? What are white ants?
Ask Australia.
You know they're like poisonous fucking gnarly ass shit.
But it says still not religious, but I was about to call the Vatican.
Are you looking them up?
Sorry, I had to.
I was like, what does it say?
Yeah, it's just a fucking ant that's white and it's so creepy.
Oh, oh.
They are fucking termites.
Oh, okay. They're termites. We call them termites here.
Yeah.
For some reason, that's way less scary.
Yes, for sure. Still terrible, but that's the scratching he heard.
So we got his ladder and moved a panel of the ceiling to look in and said,
what do we have here stored in my ceiling and only above my bedroom were 1800s babies cast iron cots
and beautiful vintage ornate frames of children's hospital beds.
Oh.
He asked me if I wanted them, otherwise you'd get a pretty penny for them at a secondhand market.
I told him this whole ghost story and he vowed he would take them to the tip,
which I'm guessing is the dump, and make sure they were buried.
I really hope he did that.
Stay sexy, love your work,
and burn sage at every housewarming
just to be sure love Sammy, she, her.
Whoa, scary.
That's like a truly disturbing ghost story.
Yeah, like you never know what happened in your house.
God damn.
I know.
Has there been like a horror movie
that's like a baby ghost is coming at you?
Definitely, right?
There's gotta have been.
There must be.
Not like Chucky.
Not like Chucky.
There has to have been a baby.
Yeah.
Well, remember the scene in Trainspotting with the baby?
Oh God.
Yeah, terrifying.
Yeah, horrible.
Well, let's change the vibe right now.
Yeah, can we?
With a Colin Farrell story.
Great.
Hello, friends.
I'm not funny, so I'll just move forward.
I can't tell you how many times
I've said that to myself in my life.
Okay, it says, I was just listening to Miniso 346
and I heard you talk about meeting Colin Farrell.
We didn't meet Colin Farrell, did we?
That was somebody else, probably.
Oh, that was the one where he helped the person
clean up the cafe that was all fucked up.
Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Oh, and then we asked for Colin Farrell's stories.
I saw him in a new mommy burger once, but that's it.
How far away?
It was not that far, but we were,
it was like during the day,
so we were literally like only two tables in the restaurant.
And he had like this, like, bandana pushing his hair back.
It just looked great.
That's kind of his workout look.
He likes to wear that.
Or like the girl's kind of volleyball headband
where it's two very thin pieces of elastic.
That's what he was wearing when I saw him at the Arclight.
Right.
Okay, anyway, this is not about us.
This is not a tell-all.
Okay, when I was 19 years old,
I worked at the happiest place on earth.
And then in all caps it says not ha ha.
Yes, bring that back.
Not.
Anyways, I used to work at a popcorn cart and we are trained to treat the celebrities
like any other person, even if they're with a handler.
Well I was lucky enough to help that beautiful Irish accent man and he ordered a popcorn
bucket, But unfortunately,
I was out of lids and was waiting for a co-worker to bring me some. So I let him know and he said,
no problem darling, I guess I'll have to come back and see in a little bit. I'm sorry.
That was a terrible, terrible Irish accent. And he took his popcorn and he left. He did come back
about 30 minutes later for the lid and was nice enough to sneak a quick picture with me
And no one was the wiser. I talked about that day for a very long time
He seemed like a nice down-to-earth and polite person. It made my whole year. Well, that's my story. Have an amazing day
Trina, cheer
Yeah, we need you just need constant proof that he's a good guy like that's all we need I think it's out there. Yeah, but need, you just need constant proof that he's a good guy. Like, that's all we need.
I think it's out there.
But it is fun.
I mean, any celebrity story is kind of fun.
But I feel like the Colin Farrell's sighting really is like thematically
accurate to what we're looking for, because it's just that thing of like,
oh, I met someone, then they weren't an asshole.
Right, right.
They were a normal person, even though they're not clearly.
They're not at all.
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Goodbye.
Okay, here's my last one.
The title is Part Dad Lore Part Trash Dad Part Something You Never Asked For All Caps.
Pick me, pick me, please pick me.
Exclamation mark, exclamation mark, exclamation mark.
Hi besties.
It says I have no business saying besties.
I'm almost 40.
You asked for dad lore.
You asked for trash dad.
You like goofy stories from the 80s.
This has it all.
My dad Ray is your classic blue collar,
Bud Light drinking, and then it says always and forever,
kid rock be damned,
mustache toting American father.
He can hang sheet rock, he can fix your car,
he can do the dishes and put away the laundry.
He is my best friend and hero.
And probably the reason I'm still single
because what other man could possibly live up
to these standards, get real.
I grew up in St. Louis and every weekend when I was young
was spent on an island on the Mississippi River
with family and friends.
We boated, skied, camped, barbecued,
adult-strength copious amounts of beer
while the kids caught toads on the bank,
swam off the dock and swung on the tire swing.
At night, we roasted marshmallows
while one of the moms told us scary stories,
mostly about a crooked girl scout
who murdered other girls by stabbing them
in the back with a golf shoe.
What the fuck?
What the fuck?
That's not true.
It didn't happen.
We would have heard about that one.
Yeah, that's right.
During the day, the big kids would scare us little
by telling us that Freddie Krueger lived under the dock.
But nothing scared us more than greasy Pete.
Greasy Pete, according to legend, AKA my dad,
lived on the island and hid deep in the cattails
on the other side of the slough, basically a swamp.
He watched us all day long and would come out
only at night to feast on the scraps of our cookouts.
We would wake up many mornings to a mess,
food wrappers, beer cans, et cetera,
that would be attributed to greasy Pete.
My dad warned us constantly not to stray far from our campsite,
lest we wander too close to greasy Pete's hideout.
And we lived in fear that he would snatch us up.
But time were on.
My parents divorced in the early nineties.
They all did.
All the parents divorced in the nineties.
No, mine.
And less, let us, you know, play.
And less and less time was spent out on the island.
However, I always thought about Gracie Pete,
whatever came of him after all.
Ladies, I'm ashamed to admit that I was well into my 20s
before it dawned on me that my dad completely made him up
as a way to keep us kiddos from wandering too far
from the campsite.
You got in still some fear,
just a little fear in those children.
And to cover their garbage
with the parents to get drunk the night before, right?
Exactly.
She's gonna say that.
The mess every morning, raccoons obviously,
oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.
And our parents being too drunk to clean up after themselves
before crashing into the tents.
How could I be so foolish for so long?
Willful ignorance, I suppose.
Anyway, I still think back to those days
as some of the best in my life.
Truly best life living for kids and adults alike.
An ice-cold butt light on a boat on a sunny day
is the definition of pure happiness in this family.
And we still enjoy that lifestyle to this day
as often as possible.
I've been listening to MFM since the summer of 2016.
So not a day one listener, but pretty fucking close to it.
Shout out to my murdering sister-in-law
who introduced me to the pod.
You have kept me company on bike rides, car rides.
It says I essentially work from my car.
You get a lot of air time.
Hey.
In the shower, you name it.
Thank you for being you.
Stay sexy and don't get murdered by Gracie Pete.
Goodbye, no name.
Gracie Pete's the best murdered by Gracie Pete. Goodbye, no name. Gracie Pete's the best name.
Gracie Pete.
Yeah, that's such a dad thing.
It's so good.
And it's also like he's watching you from over there.
It's genius.
It's genius.
Totally genius.
My dad's story that he always,
scary story was about a giant eyeball.
It like went on these adventures.
So just like a giant, I don't know where it like, it's the same as a Gracie Pete. Like where did you fucking come up with a giant eyeball. It like went on these adventures. So just like a giant, I don't know where it like,
it's the same as the greasy feet.
Like where did you fucking come up with a giant eyeball
as a character?
Okay, dad.
And that was like around the campfire
when you guys would go camping or whatever.
Dad, tell us a story about the giant eyeball.
Okay, that's your last one.
Okay, here's my last one.
The subject line is hot dog musings.
Yay.
And then it says, hi, I'm here to join the hot dog conversation.
What is this podcast?
I don't know.
People listen to it, we get paid to do it.
I mean, what a joy.
It's a blessing.
It's a joy and a blessing.
A true blessing.
Truly.
So it says, I love a classic Costco hot dog as much as,
like we're right into the hot dog conversation.
There's nothing else, I love it.
I love a classic Costco hot dog as much as the next person,
but today I'd like to tell you
about the wildest hot dog concoction
I ever had at an amusement park.
It's 2014, I'm at Six Flags with my little brother.
I was 24 and he was 17.
We both love a good hot dog. Side note, I have vivid childhood memories of him coming home from
elementary school and eating two hot dogs for a quote unquote snack every day.
It's like my brother did that shit. That one with a cheese on the inside too. Oh my god.
It says sometimes he used to gnaw around the outside and eat the skin layer first,
so he was left with the juiciest inside bite for last.
And then it says, somehow, despite this, he's become a lovely young man.
So hilarious.
So it says, anyways, back to Six Flags.
We encounter a hot dog stand that had, picture it,
a naked hot dog on a stick,
dipped in funnel cake batter and fried.
Then the whole thing is wrapped in bacon
and dusted with powdered sugar with a maple syrup glaze.
Oh, my heart attack.
For real.
Behold the maple bacon funnel cake dog. Obviously, we shared one.
It was just as glorious as you can imagine and we still reminisce about it fondly.
Oh my god, I love that. And then it says one last hot dog thing to say. My sister's mother-in-laws
made a name was Frank. When she was growing up, all the kids called her the hot dog queen. Maybe this makes Karen's Frank the hot dog king.
Love you both very much.
Stay sexy and be a hot dog queen, M.
Oh my God, did you ever feed Frank a hot dog?
Oh, absolutely.
There's been times that I have, of course,
not noticed that I'm out of dog food.
Then I make Frank, I'm like,
oh, you're so lucky you get to have people food.
And then I make him an insane concoction.
Oh, for his birthday.
Yes.
If we fed a bite of hot dog to cookie, it would be fucking World War three.
We, our hot dog guy at Costco is the sweetest man and he was, we took cookie there once.
Vincent, I got hot dogs and the guy said, look, my daughter said that I can only have this hot dog cart
if I promise that every dog I meet gets a free hot dog.
Can I give your dog a hot dog?
It was so cute and sweet.
It had to be like, no, dude, I'm sorry.
Like it was it was so it felt so wrong, but like our dog is not
Frank. Yeah, not handle.
That's right. That's right.
Sweet. Oh my God. So sweet.
You should have been like, yes, absolutely. Here we'll just take this and right. That's it. That's sweet. Oh my God, so sweet. You should have been like,
yes, absolutely, here, we'll just take this,
and then you guys eat it.
That's true, we could have got,
damn it, we could have got a free hot dog.
Send us your stories, whatever they may be.
Yeah, tell us how you swindle hot dogs
out of people who are just trying to be nice.
That's right.
Or trash dad stories, or camping stories,
or anything you'd like to tell us about.
Made of parent stories to scare you, yeah.
Yeah, we want those.
No, don't, you don't make them up.
It's things your parents made up to scare you.
Exactly, my favorite murder, Gmail.
Stay sexy.
And don't get murdered.
Give it.
Give it.
Elvis, do you want a cookie?
Ah.
Ah.
Ah.
Ah.
Ah.
Ah.
Ah. Ah. Ah. 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!