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This is exactly right. Hello. Hi, and welcome to my favorite murder, the mini soad, it's Mini it's an episode. We've explained it to so many fucking time. Why don't you choose to listen? Really, it's so simple.


It's called reading email.


We're going to do it to you right now. Are you ready? Let's do it. Go first. Want me to go first? Do it. Mix it up. All right, fine. Yeah. This says freshen it up. Let's do it. This says hello, everyone. Hello. I'll try to make this as brief as I can. I was listening to your Minnesota number one eighty six when you read a story about a New Jersey man named Anton LeBlanc, who was hanged after murdering a family, a doctor did experiments on his body and made keepsakes out of his skin.


I thought this story sounded really familiar. Remember that one from a couple of weeks ago? OK, it was horrible. Yes. I live in Rawlins, Wyoming, a small town on Interstate 80 in the middle of the high desert. George Parratt was known as Big Nose. George was also known as Big Nose.


George was a cattle rustler and a highwayman living in Wyoming. In eighteen seventy eight, he and his gang were planning to rob a train outside of Rollin's.


Local law enforcement caught wind of the plan and attempted to stop the robbery. But two law enforcement officials were killed in the ambush diagnose. George and his gang fled to Miles City, Montana, and were bragging about killing the officers and a local bar. Big nosed George was arrested and returned to Rawlins for trial. He was sentenced to hang on April 2nd, 1881, but attempted to escape from his jail cell by filing down the shackles with a rock and hitting the jailer over the head, fracturing his skull shit.


Luckily, the jailers wife was quick thinking and grabbed a pistol and forced George back into his cell. Shit girl, I know. News of the attempted escape began to spread and the group of town a group of townspeople broke into the jail, held the jailer at gunpoint, and then it says this poor guy had the worst day in the fucking head and then held up by townspeople, just like I'm doing my job at Broke George out of the jail so they could hang him themselves.


He was lynched in the street on a telegraph pole with a mob of two hundred people. This is the part that sounds a lot like the New Jersey story.


After his death, Dr. John Eugene Osborn took possession of George's remains and attempted to do experiments on his brain for clues to his criminality.


The doctor was also assisted by 15 year old Lillian Heath.


Oh, to commemorate the experience, the doctor had gorgeous skin from his thighs and chest, sent to a tannery in Denver and made into a medical bag and a pair of shoes. And it says, what the fuck? Which is your face is saying as well.


You know, it's so insane. And recent it is.


Was this a common practice? In the eighteen hundreds question mark, Mark Lilyan decided to keep the skull cap and used it as an ashtray and doorstop throughout her life.


George's body was later stored in a whiskey barrel and buried near a medical office, the medical office. Dr. Osborne wore the skin shoes to the inaugural ball after being elected the first Democratic governor of the state of Wyoming. The story of Big George was kind of forgotten until construction workers unearthed the barrel with human remains in nineteen fifty.


Dr. Lillian Heath. Yep, that teenage girl became Wyoming's first female doctor then then in her 80s, was able to identify the remains when the skull cap she had kept all those years fit the remains perfectly sorry. The skin shoes are on permanent display at the Carbon County Museum in Rawlins, Wyoming. Wikipedia tells me that the shackles and skullcap are on display at the Union Pacific Museum in Omaha, Nebraska, and the medical bag made of his skin has never been found.


I'm hoping one day someone writes in about a mysterious bag found at a pawn shop or in their grandmother's attic. Thank you for all you do. Stay sexy and always keep your skull ashtray in case you need to identify a body.


Oh, I think I don't think it sounds that recent to me. Like that's what the eighteen hundreds looked like to me, is just people fucking experimenting on people breaking people out of prison to kill them in a month and a happy mob then experimenting on their brain and or body and then keeping a souvenir. That's fucking morbid and creepy. It's it's very like Wild West where it's like, you know what we're all going to keep to ourselves and then do whatever fucked up we've decided to rationalize.


It's just so we can all see inhumane.


We've all seen back to the future three. You know what it was like back then. We just Fabrício like the whole the whole canon is my is all I know about history is from back to the future is we've all seen back to the future three.


I, I don't I might, I might call you on that one. OK, ok. Here's my first month, I'll read you half the title nurse mom stories. Great. OK so. Masked up MFM crew a few minutes ago, you asked for nurse mom stories I meant to write in earlier, but DataDot quarantine life with a five year old. Oh my God bless you and bless your soul. My mom was a nurse when my sisters and I were growing up.


She worked in both the E.R. and in labor and delivery throughout her career in Denver and in Orange County, though her accounts from her time spent as an R.N. ranged from crazy car baby deliveries due to massive Denver snowstorms to having to do an emergency C-section solo as an R.N. watch due to a doctor not answering his pager.


And then in parentheses, the 70s were a different time.


A couple stand out like the time an ambulance pulled up with a non responsive individual. Her and the E.R. team worked 15 minutes to try and revive him with no success. After 15 minutes flat lined, the man sat straight up, pulled the tube out of his mouth, threw it on the floor and laid back down, all while still flat lined. To this day, the hairs on the back of my mom's neck stand up when she recounts that story.




But did he go on to live or was he still dead? I think he was set up and he was. But he did a thing that only living people can do or can they? That's why they need to keep experimenting on you.


You're justifying the last letter with the next. I'm justifying back to the right. That's what I love for it. OK, but the thing about my mom's time as an R.N. that stands out most to my sisters and I is how she worked in the E.R. alongside Jeffrey MacDonald. I know that the Jeffrey MacDonald still in prison for murdering his whole family. Not only did she work with him, they were friends. And here's how I found out that little detail.


One night when I was only 10 years old, I was somehow permitted to stay up late watching TV with my parents before bed. That was a mistake. They were watching a made for TV movie called Fatal Vision, apparently about Jeffrey MacDonald's murdering of his family. I was too scared to move, let alone go to bed. After the movie, my dad looks at me and says, Oh, and your mom's friends with him. She says he didn't do it.


Needless to say, I barely slept for years. And to this day, she says, quote, Everyone loved him.


He didn't kill his view. Oh, no. Huh. Cheers to all the nurses out there. Many in my family included be considerate and wear a mask. And don't let your 10 year old stay up late watching movies about murderers.


You know, Laurie, the scariest thing I feel like in a kid's mind, it's like my parents know this murderer. That means that they might be in on it.


And to possibly, although I believe the the Jeffrey MacDonald story is the one that Errol Morris went on to write a book and I think make a movie about it. Some of the hippies.


Right? I did. I did. Yeah. Yes, you did. And and moral Morris, this whole thing is that the whole case was botched and it is he is innocent.


I just I wish I couldn't I wish I wish I could believe that because the way those poor children were killed is just horrific and so awful. It's really awful. But I think there was there it's interesting. I it's an interesting thing because I figured it out. Yeah. I mean, I, I did that case years ago and I still don't know the details of it. It's just so horrible. Yeah. So bad. Yeah. It's very bad.


OK, this one's called my dad's friend, the serial killer. Oh great. I probably shouldn't. I told you that we're we're in a theme. Yeah it's good. Yeah. We're ready.


Greetings fellow Jew and Gentiles to they go. Oh mazel, mazel tov.


Well, talking to my dad on the phone one Sunday night, he casually mentioned that he was once friends with a serial killer. It's in the first line. It doesn't matter. Naturally, I said, tell me everything. In the early eighties, my dad was living in a small apartment above a food co-op in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, where he also volunteered regularly. He became friends with a man named Alvin who stepped into the co-op from time to time.


While my dad was volunteering, my dad also worked a second shift at a local hospital, and Alvin sang late nights at a restaurant in downtown Eau Claire. On his way home from the restaurant, Alvin would check to see if the lights in my dad's apartment were on and would stop by to hang out, I guess, until my dad decided it was time to go to sleep. One day, Alvin told my dad that he was leaving Eau Claire and moving to a to a rural town about fifteen miles away.


My dad thought this was a little strange, but didn't think much of it. A short time after Alvin moved away, my dad learned that he had been arrested for murder. It turns out that Alvin murdered four men in Wisconsin and Minnesota between nineteen eighty five and nineteen eighty eight. One of the victims, a thirty three year old man from Minnesota named Daniel Lundgren, was killed in what police believe to be a car accident in nineteen eighty six. However, when Alvin later admitted to killing the other victims, he told police that he had also shot and killed Lundgren, who was his roommate at the time Lundgren's body was exhumed and the medical examiner confirmed that there was three.


Bullet holes in his head. Police at the time said that Alvin likely shot Ljunggren in the car and that London drove a short distance before crashing. It's not clear how the three bullet holes were completely amiss the first time around. I guess if you get in a car accident, they're not going to, like, search your scalp for bullet holes, right?


Right, exactly. This is kind of reminded me of the beginning of Fargo, too. Oh, yeah.


It's that you'd have to really if you're assuming it's a car accident. Car accident. Totally. That's what everyone's doing, I bet. Yes, 100 percent. Why look into it. Don't look into it. Yeah. You've got better things to do. Alvin was arrested at the funeral of his last victim. Twenty seven year old Timothy Hayden. He was found not guilty by reason of mental disease or defect in all four killings and has been confined to a mental mental institution in Madison, Wisconsin, ever since we've been there.


Yeah, we love Madison. Very charming. But I'll ask my question. OK, stay sexy and never trust a person who suddenly decides to move to a shack in the middle of nowhere.


Ariella Ariela. Great job, Ariela. A Oh, OK. Here's my question. How does he get off by reason of insanity when he has the foresight to go and be at the funeral of a victim and to fake the death as a car accident?


That's yeah. Planning. That's which takes some for lot. Don't we know. I want to know. Yeah. This whole story. Yeah. Because obviously there's some bad stuff going on. Yeah. Wow. Yeah. And also just it's like that's like something from a movie where they're always like oh they come back and they go to the funeral so take pictures.


Yeah I actually did it but I wonder why I didn't kill her dad. Because it sounds like he was like a young man. Living alone is like the other victims or as well just fucking lucky he.


Yeah. Crazy.


All right. OK, the subject line of this is scientist who worked the Grim Sleeper case. And so the opening is this parentheses insert awkward and anxious filled opening here.


Perfect. You fucking nailed it. Dead on a welcome.


I'm about a month behind since there's only so much death and chaos a girl can take during twenty twenty. I mean real. Are you sure about that? You ask us at the end of this pause and thank everyone for hanging in there with a while. The world melt. Thanks. I just listen to Episode two thirty about the Grim Sleeper. Look, listen, I am a scientist that specializes in DNA and serology as they relate to forensic science. Hot for holes all day, every day.


And in parentheses, it's amazing all they every did as well as clinical diagnostics. I've also recently founded and built my own laboratory called Lander Labs because I saw a need in my community and decided to fill it out. A few years ago, I was working in another forensic laboratory when a new case came across my lab bench, a presumed homicide linked to the Grim Sleeper. At this point, Lonnie Franklin Jr. had been arrested but had not yet begun trial.


I had very little information to go off of before I began my analysis. Usually a victim's name was written on the evidence packaging, but not this time. All I was told was that she was a sex worker. There was nothing else to give this woman humanity. No report came with the evidentiary item. The date written on the evidence package was from the mid eighties and the package had never been opened. I was born in nineteen eighty nine and baffled by the fact that I was working on a homicide that was forgotten about before I was even born.


This woman who deserved a name had to wait until I grew up, went to college, became certified and randomly picked a box in an evidence room before her case was even open. I'll never forget it. The item was a pair of blood spattered purple jeans. It was my job to figure out where her killer would have left his DNA on this item of evidence. I had to think like he did. I used an alternate light source to see if there are any bodily fluids on the jeans.


Nothing. So I assumed I would only find touch DNA, which doesn't stay valid for long. But I tried my best. I swab the button and zipper, I swab the top of the jeans, I swab the side belt loops, I swab the bottom cuffs. All these areas I chose because I figured those would be spots he grabbed when he was trying to remove her clothing. Guess what? We were able to get a full DNA profile from those swabs.


The DNA was consistent with Lonnie Franklin Jr., a.k.a. the Grim Sleeper. In twenty sixteen, he was convicted of killing ten women. Since I don't know her name, I hope my lady in Purple was one of those victims. But I don't know, maybe she wasn't and is still among those stacks of photos he had of unidentified victims. Either way, I remember her. I saw part of her most intimate moment, evidence of her death that based on the evidence packaging only one other person had witnessed.


Let's remember her together from a raging stems. Stay, stay, stay sexy. Don't get murdered, Annie. So fucking any job, Charles. Well done. Wow, what a beautiful thing to think that there are people working in like forensic criminal justice that are caring that much about the people and the cases that they're working on.


That's the goal, is that everybody in law enforcement eventually gets the training and the vetting that is needed so that people like this are the people that are working in law enforcement. And that's that's the dream. That's that's amazing. That's amazing to. Thank you. Great job. Great fuckin work you're doing. We are proud to have you as a listener. Yeah. For real. And now I know why you can't listen all the time.


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Go by.


My last one is that time I stayed my friend from being abducted. Hello, Elvis and Co.


This story begins about six years ago when I was 18 years old and my only hobby was being drunk at clubs.


And I was out clubbing with some work friends, several espresso martinis in and heading to the dance floor to suggest vodka and coffee is wrong with or coffee liquor.


So you're just like vomiting coffee for a couple beans down in the bottom. Just make yourself perfectly nauseous for later on.


It's like when you and when you finally get home, you can't fall asleep because, OK, because you're you've got the spin's extra bath. That's right.


When we realized we had lost one of our group, we'll call her Sarah. After 15 minutes of searching, I finally found her back at the bar looking very lost and confused. Sarah kept saying, You left me. Where did you go? Assuming she had just had too much to drink, we decided we should leave and make sure she gets home OK. Once we got out to the front of the club, however, we turned around and she was gone again.


Taken aback. I went back in to find her and found her standing alone near the dance floor once again looking confused and saying, Where did you go?


At this point, I realized something was wrong and that maybe her drink had been spiked, making sure to keep hold of her hand, we walked back out towards the main strip where we could get a taxi home whilst walking. However, I ran into some other mates, at which point my dumb drunk self let go of Sarah to hug them and say hello. After a brief chat, my friend points further down the road and says, We're going to my horror.


I turn around to see my friend being led down the road by two men who would grab hold of her hands. Sarah was looking back at me, super confused, but seemed unable to pull away from them. I ran after them, managing to catch up and snatch Sarah back from their grasp. The two men turned around and began laughing and telling me they were simply joking around. Now, at 18 years old, I was extremely shy and deeply afraid of confrontation.


I still am. But in that moment, and probably thanks to all the espresso martinis, I, I channeled my impressive I channeled an impressive amount of fuck you energy and just let loose. I push one of them in the chest and began waving my finger in their faces, the other hand now firmly grasping onto Sarah's hand and yelled, fuck you, you fucking rapists.


Yes. At this point they stop laughing and swiftly turned around to walk away.


That's right, they did.


I continue to shout some more fuck you's and assholes as they left and then finally went and hopped into a taxi to take Sarah home. The next day. Sarah couldn't remember anything, confirming my fear that her drink had been spiked. Yeah, I was so relieved that we had managed to get her home safely because who knows what could have happened as GM. And never underestimate the value of a fuck you energy. Emma from Brisbane, Australia. Good job, Emma.


That's how you keep track of your friends. It's well. And also it's a good idea to have a friend if there's one person for some reason that isn't drinking or isn't going to get shitfaced because there needs to be somebody with big the big picture. Yes, like that was heart like. I felt like I was going have a heart attack the whole time. It's like drunk girls trying to help drunk girls is please, please get someone that's in the mix there that would see that immediately.


And I yeah, easy for me to say, but it's so scary. Watch your drinks.


It is me. Coffee, Martine. You start using it as your as your bar now espresso. More espresso martini. Just saying the word espresso like an eighteen year old would express Humoresque Martini. Please send us your story. What. So sorry, but we don't say send us your espresso martini.


Sorry. No, but let's I want them to tell us the most disgusting martini you've ever had.


Yeah. Well I mean, yeah. To tell stories of how bad you got this beans and then barfed on the Nespresso martini. Do you think an espresso martini has just the flavor of coffee beans in it and maybe a visual being or two, or do you think it has espresso in it.


I would guess it's espresso liqueur, liqueur, liqueur. I used to be a mixologist. I should know this.


It's this true. Yeah. When you had your little twist, you must know. But you know, I add all those cooking channel shows about making cocktails. You don't know. You don't know who I am. Have we met. You didn't make them professionally. No. Behind a bar every night. No, I never worked at a bar.


I think. I'm sorry.


I don't mean to take away the label of mixologist. I know that you combined something and and chicken nuggets.


So I'm not taking anything away, which you wouldn't otherwise.


I'm going to sit you down and make you watch fucking back to the Theater three with me and I'm going to make you make me an espresso machine bar. We get it ready for this last one.


Oh, yeah, let's do it. It's the subject line is Nursing Home Confession's Howdy. I am from a sleepy town in southern Indiana and I work as a nursing assistant in a nursing home. Thank you. That's God's work right there. Earlier this week, one of my residents confessed to me that she killed her husband in the fifties. I will call her Glenda in this story.


Wow. Yeah. It started when I came into her room with her favorite nightgown to get her ready for bed. Glenda said absence makes the heart grow fonder, referring to the night gown. You know how old ladies love sleepwear?


I'm an old lady.


But then she said, you know who else is absent? My husband I responded with, oh, did he pass away a while ago, assuming she was a widow? Like so many of my residents, she said, yes, he's dead.


And I killed him and got away with it. And then I pick my jaw up off the floor and got the rest of the story. Glenda married her husband when she was fifteen. He was. Yeah, and she he was thirty. Oh, no parentheses. Yeah. Not till her husband was an abusive, alcoholic police officer that started beating her immediately after they got married.


She stayed in the marriage because she had two little kids and it was the fifties, so. She couldn't really provide for them on her own and she couldn't call the cops because he was a cop. Then one day her husband got suddenly sick with flu like sickness. She stayed by his side as a beautiful wife, caring for him. As he belittled her, she said all of a sudden she realized how sick she was of him beating on her in front of her babies.


So when he fell asleep, she covered his face with a pillow and held on for dear life until he stopped moving in her own words. I just held it there as hard as I could until he stopped squirming and then held it there a little longer, to be sure. Oh, oh my God.


I just be like, no, I'm going to step out of the room for a second and then run up the middle of the street.


Why don't you put your nightgown on while I'm book screaming? And then she turned she turned to the nurse and there's a little bit of blood in the room.


I held her hand as she told the story and I asked her if she ever regretted what she did. And she gave me the most heartbreaking response. I feel bad sometimes, but then I remember how bad it hurt when he hit me and how much it scared my babies.


She said she called the cops in the morning and nervously waited while the coroner declared that he probably died from a heart attack or something. No one ever suspected foul play from tiny little Glenda because apparently murdering husbands was something else they didn't think women could do in the 50s. I asked Glenda if she ever told anyone about this, and she thought for a second and said, no, I think you're the first one. I could see the pain in her eyes as she told the story.


And it's clear to me that she knew this was the only way to keep herself and her baby safe from such an awful man. I don't know why I inspired her to come clean. My best guess is that she this has been weighing on her for a long time, and since she's now in her late eighties, she had to get it off her chest. I let her know that her secret was safe with me other than to email my murder friends where I would change her.


Glenda then became successful. Her kids became successful also and and became successful today. Glenda frequently asked me for kisses and loves when I paint her nails, stay sexy, don't get murdered, wear a mask. And if you have loved ones in a nursing home, don't forget about them because they still love you. Also, be kind and patient with health care workers, because although our country is acting like this pandemic is over, we are still being greatly affected.


Sarah Why? Sarah Shit. Wow. Big thanks for sending that to us. Yeah. And trusting us with that story. Incredible story of bravery and how many times as this happened. It's so many times it's this been like this secret, you know, unspoken thing.


I was thinking that there was a possibility that when they came, when the corner came, they knew what a prick was and they were just like, yep, heart attack, Celia. Wow. You know, that's happened before. Definitely. Oh, my God. That's heavy. Right? Well, OK. I'm glad their lives turned out good. I am, too. That was amazing. Please tell us your stories. Whatever you want them to be, don't make them up.


Tell it to us, though. At my end, we'll even we'll we'll copy. Edit further if you get sloppy. Yeah. You just tell people all the details.


My favorite murder at GML or go to our website and fuckin and tell us your hometown stories.


Let's everything and stay sexy and don't get murdered by Elvis.


Do you want a cookie.