This is exactly right. Hello and welcome to my favorite murder, the many the many showed from the quarantine, we're still doing it. Are you? Let's let's do it. You really you write us emails.

We read them aloud and and the symbiosis goes on and on.

It's a beautiful thing. When the first start, this subject line gives it away. So I'll just read it. Greetings from the Midwest. Let's get right into it. It was the mid eighties and my mom had a wild perm and my brother and I were not yet around to drive her and my dad bananas.

Bananas premiered last week on the Exactly Right Network plea from a code murder.

My parents just bought their first home in a suburb just southwest of Chicago. I just did that with a Chicago accent. Chicago one day, the real estate agent that sold them their house showed up at their door with the dog and asked them if they wanted to keep it. My mom, being the animal lover she is, happily took him in without question. How come that doesn't happen to me?

I want that to happen to me. Ding dong. Yes? Do you want the best dog ever? Yes.

He was a beautiful amber and red golden retriever that my parents named Duke rolled up beautiful being footage that Duke, the famous one, the me, the talking being dog, apparently the real estate agent, let's call her Peggy, was in the process of showing a nearby home that had belonged to a Chicago mobster who was recently murdered.

The man had left behind his widow as well as his dog. You may see where this is going. Peggy noticed that the mobster's widow would leave the dog tied up in the backyard all day long and did not seem to care for him at all. So one day she took matters into her own hands, snuck into the lady's backyard all my at the dog and brought him to my parents. As far as my parents know, the woman never went looking for him, which was for the best since I would imagine it'd be it'd be bad to piss off a mobster's widow.

When I asked my mom to tell me more about the story, she also mentioned that Duke was supposedly a gift from one mobster to another. He was purchased and likely a pretty expensive present. My mom adopts all her pets from shelters. So Duke was the only purebred dog she's ever had. My parents say the Duke was one of the sweetest dogs, and I can only wonder what kinds of things he saw before he ended up with them. I hope you enjoyed this story.

It's one of my family's favorites. Thank you all for what you do and for keeping me company as I run up and down my stairs in an attempt to exercise from home. Seeing you in Milwaukee last May was a dream come true, and I hope to see another live show when this is all over. We do to stay well.

And I'm a that's a great story. That's a great story.

I want a mob diamond a little lot lately. Dangerous. That real estate agent was a very brave woman. Yeah, good for her. Bold. OK, this one just goes. Hi, I just finished the latest episode about the Kent State massacre. My husband is from Kent and his whole family has a connection to the university in one way or another. The first time I went back home with him, his mom was driving us around showing us things in town.

When we got to campus, she drove us to the now parking lot where the massacre happened and began to tell us her story of that day. But first, a meet cute.

My mother in law was in the first nursing class at Kent State and my father in law drove for the campus bus service several times a week. He drove the nursing students to Cleveland to complete training at a hospital there. After a few trips, he and my husband's mom hit it off and began dating. I'm not sure the amount of time they were dating before the massacre, but it was enough time that he knew her family well and had been to her parents house many times on the day the massacre, attentions on campus were high and my mother in law was in her dorm just behind the hill where the shooting took place.

She watched from her window as students came pouring over the hill following the gunshots. She then got the order that everyone had to be off campus immediately and got a ride back to Cleveland to her parents house with some people from her dorm. This whole time she knew that my father in law was somewhere on campus but had not been able to get a hold of him all day. She worried as she sat at her parent's house, not knowing if he was OK or not.

As they were getting ready to eat dinner, a bus pulled onto the suburban neighborhood street where her parents lived. She was relieved as my father in law got out of the bus and exhaustedly sat down to dinner with them. Turns out as soon as he heard about the evacuation order, he began filling up the campus bus with students and drove back and forth to Cleveland all day.

Oh, it's about oh, I know. It's about a 45 minute drive to get students to the airport and other safe places they needed to go. The whole family was so relieved to see that bus when it pulled up on that little neighborhood street.

This story struck me in this time that we are seeing how people who do jobs we normally wouldn't stop to think about can be realized as essential. In the wake of the tragedy, my father in law knew it was essential for the students to get out and realized he had the ability to do that. He kept working for the campus bus service and eventually went on to run it for a few years. He and my mother in law have spent the rest of their lives in Kent and raised four kids who all went to Kent State.

Not a May 4th goes by that. My husband doesn't take a moment to recognize. One important part of history that day is even though it has. And before he was born, stay sexy and flirt with your best driver, Rachel. Oh, I love that. So that's so good.

I'm so good luck for the helpers, everyone, as Mr. Rogers said.

Also, it just one thing of like heat. They don't know where he is. And then the fact that he's safe A and then B just spent his day being a hero and then like, that's huge.

But on a tiny street, just fucking rolls of the neighbors spinning out of service, out of service, OK. This one just says hometown story. Hello all. I grew up in a small suburb in North Carolina, and when I was a sophomore in high school, a man named Pazuzu, all grad, was arrested after the bodies of two men were found buried in his backyard. Pazuzu, formerly John Alexander Laffan, saw it first.

Pazuzu is the devil from The Exorcist. You know, it is the face that shows up. I believe I could be wrong or could sound a lot like it. Stephen, if you are to back me up, you know that part where it's like all those things are flashing.

And then there's the insanely scary face.

It's the demon Pazuzu, I believe. But the idea that he had the plainest name, like, clearly name important to him wasn't going to make fun of the name. But then I realized he made it up. Then I was like, it's he he's trying to be scary.

It's supposed to be a scary demon name. I think if I'm right, Steve is correct.

Yeah. Is the main antagonist in The Exorcist horror novel and film series. Hmm. Pazuzu, Pazuzu Pazuzu.

Formerly John Alexander Larsen was born in San Francisco, but he and his mom moved to Clemans when he was two. He supposedly had a pretty normal childhood, but started drinking regularly at thirteen.

And he went to my high school but repeated ninth grade once and then dropped out. At some point. He was diagnosed with schizophrenia and agoraphobia, but his mom gave up on trying to get him to go to therapy. When he was in his early twenties, he legally changed his name to three.

He carried it's the stupidest name like Pazuzu, sounds like a 20s tap dancer. Yeah, it's not scary. It doesn't scare me. OK, what if behind you we see this head pop up and it's like Caradog Turner, something that can't just drop straight into hell? OK.

When he when he was in his 20s, illegally changed his name to Pazuzu all red and after a dream. Oh sorry. I hope I said that like I thought of it myself.

It's right here, Steven. Sorry about that.

No, leave it. Oh I love it. OK.

He changed his name to Zoozoo al Guerard after a demon in The Exorcist. I didn't realize the one. An exorcist had a last name to a Christian name. He filed his teeth into points and got tattoos on his face and apparently openly told people that he made animal sacrifices and that he could control the weather. I also read that he didn't bother to brush his teeth. It's hard to and they're just those little points. So I'm sure he was a joy to be around.

He eventually gained somewhat of a following and even had to fiancees.

How do they do it?

He lived less than a half a mile from my high school and some of the reported activities at his house included self-harm, drug abuse, orgies and drinking animal blood, performing animal sacrifices. There were satanic messages and blood all over the walls, animal carcasses lying around, and apparently even human feces on the floor here. Wow.

In 20 mentally ill, you know, it's not like he was just a fucking wreck or whatever. It wasn't just messy. There was more to it. Yeah. And it wasn't just demons.

In twenty fourteen, he and one of his fiancees, Amber Burch, Pazuzu, all Guerard were both arrested after the skeletal remains of two men were found in his backyard.

Both men had disappeared in 2009 and the autopsy said that they were both shot in the head. The house was condemned and demolished a year later. I don't have any direct connections to the story, but knew a few people that lived on the street. One girl said he spray painted satanic symbols on her garage door.

That would be horrifying. And another girl said her cat went missing and they'd always thought that Pazuzu had sacrificed or eaten him. Clemens is a very boring, very Christian suburb, and this was definitely the strangest and most exciting thing that ever happened in the 19 years that I lived there. A little over a year after his arrest, Pazuzu was found dead in his cell at Central Prison in Raleigh.

The autopsy said that he died from, quote, severe blood loss caused by a deep wound to a major blood vessel in his left arm at the pit of his elbow and quote, His death was ruled a suicide, but the instrument used was never determined or found. I tried to make this as short as possible, but there's just so much crazy stuff about this dude. There's also a docu series called The Devil. You know about him. If you're interested, stay sexy and don't get murdered by crazy dudes who don't shower AMA man, those like that.

That person in our neighborhood growing up, everyone knew or everyone thought or the house was haunted or this woman was a witch. You know, like I just love those stories. That was one. Yeah.

That's the most intense local color story I've heard a lot. Yeah.

This is a hometown story. Hello, beautiful furry babies and bad badass podcasting women. I have a fun woo. I have a fun story about the time I found out a murderer used to live in my house. Got another one of these. Yeah. I moved into a two bedroom house with my roommate in May of twenty nineteen and have lived there until this month. Recently I was packing to move back home due to covid-19 and was subsequently cleaning out my closet in the closet.

I found a birth certificate for a man named Watson Pressley and that's a fake name. You know, I'm nosy, so I immediately looked him up to see if I could find anything about him. He was born in Florida and would be thirty five years old. According to the birth date. When I did the Google search, the first thing that came up was a mug shot. And after further research, I discovered that he had been arrested for all caps, second degree murder, as well as armed criminal action.

This is what I get for renting in a cheap college town. I guess I dug deeper. And here's what I found out. The murder happened in twenty fifteen, fortunately not in the house I live in, but on another street in my town. It was a dispute between Watson and his uncle, which resulted in Watson shooting the uncle several times in the chest from far away and then a few more times at close range.

The murder occurred back in twenty fifteen, so I was curious how his birth certificate had gotten into my house and if he'd been in my room after reaching out to my landlord to reach out to my landlord, I discovered that he had lived in my house in twenty, sixteen and seventeen when the court proceedings were going on to decide his sentencing. Oh, he's out on bail, homeboy. Definitely slept in my bedroom. As it turns out, he was left out on probation and still lives in my city somewhere as of twenty twenty eight.

Hence the fake name that she gave. Smart, the judge let him off with a few years of probation and now he's just hanging out somewhere in town, no idea that a 19 year old museum studies student has his birth certificate now.

Oh, this let me know that my landlord clearly doesn't do background checks and that you should always investigate the top shelf of your closet to see what fun stuff you find. Stay sexy and don't want your house to murderers. Cameron Whoa. I like that, she said.

And if he'd ever been in my room, that's a good way to break into people's rooms. You sneak in with your birth certificate and you slide it under the boob, the bed. In 2012, a 72 year old man named Samuel Little was charged with three Los Angeles murders dating back to the 1980s.

So we finally got to where we were going. The crowd at Liverpool roar after only one appeal.

But since then, it's become clear he is the most prolific serial killer in the United States has ever seen, 93 victims, 19 states. Samuel Little has become infamous, but his victims, some of whom remain unidentified, are stuck in the shadows. It's time for that to change.

My experience in working with some of the victims families is that he was dead wrong then were missed. They were very loved and their families were hurting.

The Fall Line presents a special limited series. The victims of Samuel Little will cover both solved and unsolved Southeastern cases and tell you how you can help the victims. Still waiting for justice, featuring rare interrogation tape, FBI interviews and in depth detail. This is a series you won't want to miss. Episodes begin on September 16th from Exactly Right Network. Find us on Stitcher Apple podcast or wherever you listen. Hi, everyone, on last week's episode, you asked for stories about Mormon families, and this is my time to shine in all caps.

I come from a super religious family in Utah. This story is also about my sweet grandma jazz jazzy. So it's a twofer with Mormons and grandmas. My grandma loved and lived for expensive jewelry, real jewels, real gold, you name it. She loved it. She also loved to store money and other expensive things in weird places, like when my grandparents moved out of the house they lived in for forty five years, the new owners found seven hundred and fifty dollars cash in the furnace room.

Anyway, one day I'd like to imagine that it's a lovely day. In nineteen ninety seven, the Salvation Army knocked on my grandparents door to ask for canned food donations. All caps.

Well, us Mormons love our canned food so they had a lot of it.

My clueless grandpa in one fell swoop put all the cans from the storage room into a bag and sent the nice Salvation Army man on his way.

Well, I know where I know where this is going. And right here, it's these are my favorite as well. And we've talked about these types of stories. Well, cut to the local nightly news that night, there was news story that someone had accidentally donated an empty can of Campbell's chunky soup full of thousands of dollars worth of jewels. And if you know who this person is to please let them know that they have lost their jewels.

Wow. That's so generous of them to to announce it. Yeah. Kailey, here it is like just going to be gone forever.

My grandma was able to get all of her lovely jewelry back. Everyone had a good laugh and wasn't at all surprised to find out it was my grandma. With the missing jewels. Weirder things have happened. We just celebrated the three year anniversary of my grandma's death. I thought that telling the story would be a great way to remember her, although she probably wouldn't listen to your podcast because of all the F word.

Fair enough. Absolutely. I know she would love that. I'm telling the story. She was one special lady, so I guess stay sexy and check your soup cans for expensive jewels before donating them. Kandace, I love it.

I feel like everyone now that we're all home or some of us our home, have time to write in their grandma and grandpa stories because I got a lot of those and it's the best. Yeah. And maybe time to call them if they are lucky enough to call them on the phone and ask that question. That's right. OK, this and I don't want to tell you the name of it because it's just so funny. And Guten Tag. I live on a pretty crowded street in Philadelphia where the porch to my home is pretty accessible.

We have steps leading up to it, but no gate for about seven or more months. The most bizarre thing had been occurring on this porch. My roommates and I would come home from work and discover a single piece of lasagna noodle perfectly placed on either our porch, couch or table, not multiple pieces, not a random pile of trash, a single note. All my roommates thought it was like a funny neighborhood kid at first and I was not amused.

I was very creeped out that someone had walked under our porch and done something so harmless, yet powerful we would throw away the noodle and hours later another piece would show up.

This non stop, this nonsense would stop for weeks and then randomly start again. I started going into a full panic, cold sweat after like the fifth time because I consumed loads of true crime and I'm aware of the sick nature of humanity.

This is telling me like, you know it all events. What does it mean trying to kill us?

I literally burst into tears at the sight of the noodles once because I form the image in my head of a sick man watching me and my young female roommates from afar and waiting until you're in the house to trespass and commit this disturbing yet harmless.

That's what was the end goal. My one roommate is very nonchalant and chill, and after I drafted a handwritten note and it was about to leave it on the porch, that right. If you leave anything on this porch again or approach this home, I will call the police. My roommate was amused at how scared I was and insisted it was simply the squirrels, probably just dropping food. I shrunk squirrels from where the Italian squirrels with their own restaurant in the tree.

What I'm talking about, I shrunk. Who knows how squirrels love pasta?

You know, I shrunk my face in disbelief. I don't know what that means. That she believes squirrels were capable of such disturbing yet harmless terror. The other day I walked onto my porch and froze. I couldn't believe my eyes.

There were multiple squirrels digging through my neighbor's trash can and pulling out noodle and pulling out noodles.

Nope, my neighbor must get a hankering for lasagna and never use all the noodles in the bag. I caught one on camera and we'll link it in the email. The bastard dropped the noodle on my porch just like it apparently had been for months. Anyway, the idea that some pervert is actually still watching and waiting to drop raw pasta on my porch still lingers in my mind. Attached our random picks throughout the months of the place noodles and then the bastard squirrels DGM.

And that was called lasagna squirrel. What if what if the pervert is actually what? The squirrels and is even more perverted than you think he is because he's not even into you. Yeah, he's into like squirrel feeding like squirrels, sneak squirrel sneaking squirrels and carbs, school testing portion of the Internet, squirrel pranks. Those were amazing this week.

Good job, everybody. Send us your weird fuckin stories and the time you freaked out and it wasn't what you thought it was going to be like.

What do you do that for sure.

And whatever else you want, but also stay sexy and don't get murdered by Elvis.

Do you want a cookie jar?