This is exactly right. On Tuesday, Prodigal Son is back on Fox, Malcolm Bright works with the police to solve murders and he's very good at his job. In a twisted way, that could be something he inherited. His father is an infamous serial killer who's locked up for the rest of his life. So Malcolm is out to save the world from people like his father. But who does he turn to for help when solving the really tough cases? Yep.

His dad, Prodigal Son, premieres Tuesday night at nine eight Central after the season premiere of The Resident on Fox. Goodbye.

Hello and welcome to my favorite murder, the many so many, so the first one of twenty twenty one, everyone is welcome.

Wow. Sound effect.

Wow, that's my old fashioned car. Like coconut.

Did you want to. That's just my hands. Oh, good idea. Yeah. Let's do this is where we read your stuff in twenty twenty one. You sent it to us. We read it to you. That's right. It's so exciting. All right. I'm not, I'm not going to read this subject line. It gives it away. But one of the greatest intros ever. Hi guys. Gals and non binary pals. Yes. Love it.

Right. Inclusive.

I'm currently rocking my newborn to sleep listening to your podcast and was reminded about a chilling story from my childhood that I had to share. So when I was a wee young and my mom thought it would be a great idea to have my twin brother and I take photos at the school she worked at, apparently this was a yearly thing where a photographer, let's call him Richard, would come take slightly incestuous photos of siblings who went to school together or what what how?

My brother and I were the lucky ones to pose, holding hands, hugging a tree. Super great. They're just saying that basically it's like stuff the siblings would normally never be doing, OK, because remember, it's like you you'd have to take a picture. It's like you and your sister cheek to cheek where it's have what we have one where we're leaning our heads on my brother who's in between us. And I'm making a face of, like, just I don't want to be here.

Face. Yeah, just get me get me on one of these two people punches me, right. Yeah.

Well, well, I was looking at the photo the other day and my mom said nonchalantly, I love those pictures. Too bad the guy who took them was a murderer. Shocked.

I asked her to explain. She said that every year Richard and his wife will call her Pam would come to school and take pictures. Pam was always in good spirits and assisted Richard in lighting poses, etc.. Well, one night Pam was found bludgeoned to death in the snow in front of her house. Richard had been physically and emotionally abusing her for years, killed her with a baseball bat and he was later found in their garage. Having killed himself.

Apparently, Pam had been working at a well. It will just say she had been working part time and told her co-workers that if anything had happened to her, Richard was to blame. Richard and Pam are survived by two daughters, one of which is adamant that her father didn't do it. Thank you for keeping me awake during my son's four a.m. feedings, especially since his dad is deployed and my dog doesn't help much with the baby. Stay sexy and don't trust baby photographers.

All the best, Bay. Wow, what a horrible story. All around. All around. Horrifying. Just awful.

And I wonder if this story is especially sensitive to a new young mother.

Oh, a baby photographer where it's just like I bet that's the kind of stuff that all comes back up as well. I mean, her mom said it, but. Right. But also, just as now you're in that position of like where you're bringing your kids and what you what you decide to do and who you expose them to and not having any idea. Yeah, yeah. I a being a new parent is just constant red flags everywhere you look.

Oh it must be. It must be. Must be. All right. This one, this is called Christmas Eve near murder miracle.

Oh OK. It's just start.

Hey, hey my hey. My husband and I were flying home on Christmas Eve when we got a text from a neighbor that read, OMG, someone just got shot in your driveway with that. The flight attendant shut the main cabin door and we were forced to turn off the phone and sit in suspense for the next two and a half hours. Oh, my God.

By the time I got home, there was nothing left but a medium sized bloodstain in our driveway. However, we were able to piece together what happened thanks to our neighbors, the police and our security cams, which caught a lot of the action. Apparently, a group of four guys at a nearby apartment complex had tried to buy pot, which is not legal here, using counterfeit money. Oh, don't do that, guys. I honestly I honestly didn't even know counterfeit money was still a thing.

The dealer is that they know it's like a piece of paper that you draw on counterfeit money.

Now, more than ever, the dealers took offense and shot the guys as they drove away. Four bullets went into the side of the car, one hitting the driver in the leg. One last shot went through the back window, missed all four guys and lodged in the back of the driver's headrest. Oh, exclamation mark. Exclamation mark, exclamation mark. But he didn't get. Yeah, yeah, yeah. So the guy sped off into tear. They turned down our street and at about when they hit our driveway, they realized the street is dead end, so they pull in and ditch the car running into our backyard.

We're assuming the plan was to run through to another street. But and luckily for them, our yard backs up to our reservoir. This is when the adrenaline starts wearing off and the driver realizes that he's spurting blood from his legs. They get back to the front yard and call nine one one. That's when my neighbor's son, a former police officer and current owner of a tattoo parlor, a.k.a. a very big guy, comes over and shouts at them to, quote, get on the ground.

Now he ends up having to use his own belt tourniquet, get the guy's leg, and probably saved his life by then. The cops are pulling up. The guy who was shot went to the hospital and the other three guys had to wait for one of their grandmas to pick them up since the cops towed the car for evidence. Oh, my God.

Probably not a very merry Christmas for any of them, but, hey, it could have been a lot worse. Or stay sexy and just legalize pot already.

Sarah So Evreux Olsen don't do drugs.

Drugs are, you know, drugs are drugs.

So you don't use counterfeit money for anything, especially a not with a drug dealer.

No, you fool. I bet you they're not fucking around. No. You know where you use counterfeit money. Just this is off the off the top of my head like a Redbox machine. You know, somewhere, I guess. I don't know. They take cash to a victim like that. Yeah. Of skeeball. Like somewhere where you're just you're hurting yourself. And that would hurt the business, too. But yeah. Yeah. Don't use counterfeit money, but not with a drug dealer that Lulea not always have guns.

They have to.

They have to. Wow. Yeah. So that's that. OK, my friends, I can't believe that after all these fácil motorino years, I never thought to send this to you. But after the documentary about the killer in question came up in a recent episode, my memory was jogged and I thought you might enjoy this story. A few years ago, one of the owners of my company was going through a full on mid-life crisis. Having recently separated from his high school sweetheart wife, he found himself heartbroken and rich with lots of wild oats to sow.

So he did what most attractive recently single wealthy men in their late forties do. And he bought a sports car and got a killer bachelor pad and hosted Hefner level parties every night with 20 something year old strippers. Yeah. So after enduring weeks of late night drunk and hot tub shenanigans, his downstairs neighbor was more than fed up. One morning, he awoke from his stupor to find a note taped to his front door that said, If I have to clean cigarette butts up off my balcony one more night, thanks to your parties, you and I are going to have serious problems.

Signed your downstairs neighbor, unfazed. He went about his day, but happened to mention this note to and its contents to his doorman as he was leaving for work. The door man's eyes immediately widened in a very concerned tone. And he said, Sir, do you know who your downstairs neighbor is? To which the owner replied, No, why? And the doorman paused, looked around, moved in closer and said, Sir, your neighbor is Robert Durst.

I knew I was going to kill it. Oh, my God. That's right. Robert fucking Durst. Suffice it to say, a love note from a serial killer who is not only who not only murdered his neighbor, but dismembered him, too, was all that is right?

Oh, yes. This neighbor.

Yes. Oh, my God. I totally didn't even think about that. That was all D.B. needed to put an immediate end to his party boy ways for which his liver and brain cells were eternally grateful.

He even ended up reconciling with his wife. So I guess to some degree, Robert Durst saved not only his health, but also his marriage. Nothing not really sure what we all can take from this one except to say stay sexy and maybe do some research to see if you have a neighbor dismembering serial killer in your building before you accidentally wind up on his bad side. Love you all. Zozo name withheld to protect my career just in case. Absolutely.

Yeah, that's your real thing to me. That's like in California, you'd have to disclose that. But like anywhere else in the country you wouldn't like. Hey, your neighbor has murdered neighbor before, right?

I mean, do you have to disclose that? You have to disclose shit. I feel I don't. I feel like if you're like out and about, you just get to go live and people it's like if you have that's the thing about rich murderers is they can do whatever they want because they have the money to do whatever they want.

Are people who got off. That's why. Because they're rich. You can't guys be don't flip people off in the car. That's my thing is like you just don't know who you're driving. You know what I mean? Yes, you're going to that's a great opportunity if you're feeling road rage to practice, just separating yourself from your emotional yes. Tidal wave and saying let it flow through you and don't react real time, because especially these days where people are just getting angrier and angrier and angrier, stressed, everyone's stressed and enraged and you just don't want it.

This one is called Creeping Out the FBI Greetings, MFM crew and Furry Companions. I'm a crime analyst for an urban police department. Several years ago, my partner and I, along with other analysts in our area, got to take some specialized training at the FBI Academy in Quantico, behavioral analysis as part of our certification training. But we mostly see serial property crime and not serial killers. So being in the FBI Vayu is a big deal. After one of our sessions, they took us down to the basement where they had some artifacts to show us.

The first thing we saw was a Life-Size animatronic, Hannibal Lecter in a cell who greeted us as we got off the elevator.

We went to a small room where they had letters, drawings and papers on display. We were shown a letter that I recognized as being from Keith Jesperson. So I said, Oh, that's the happy face killer. There are a few clown paintings that I recognized as being done by John Wayne Gacy. This happened with a few other items in our instructor turn to look at me and said, is there something we should know about you? I was a bit embarrassed to be the only analyst who could identify a lot of the objects.

I guess all analysts aren't naturally murdering those. Stay sexy and never let the FBI know how much you know about serial killers are.

I mean, they all know that they freaked out the FBI.

Congratulate them. You're a I want you to be at every dinner party I have when this is all over. But also, I love that it sounds like it's like the wax museum in their basement, like an animatronic. Hannibal Lecter is corny as it is. And did my tax dollars go to pay for that? It's my second question. What do you did you see that from someone? So it was like a gift from some foundation. Well.

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Goodbye. OK, this subject line is so good, it includes handclap emojis, its grandparents, a woman named Bonnie Names. This story has it all handclap.

OK, I've submitted this story before, but after hearing your episode from stories from twenty sixteen, I figured I'd try it again.

Here's to hoping it works. It worked. Yes please. If if you haven't try again. We've told you this before. Yeah. Onto the story. My great grandma was raised in southern Utah during the early nineteen hundreds really a long ago. Hot. It's very hot. It's hot, hot and salty. Her name was Bonnie. OK, you saw people have sent us so many bodies that are bunnies. But we also got a couple bunnies that are babies.

Oh and the two that I saw were two of the cutest babies I've seen in a while.

Oh, my God. Yeah. You got to pull that name off with reliables. Oh yeah. They they they nailed it. They're just like there are some Beanie Baby bunnies out there and there they are. OK. Her name was Bonnie but everyone called her good, which she owned her own cafe, bake the best pies, cinnamon rolls and homemade candies. She led her local women's relief society, swore like a sailor, made and sold bootleg moonshine during prohibition and raised ten kids, the two youngest of which she won in a pinnacle game.

What?

I'm sorry, what? Anything more about that? No, no. That's the end of the paragraph. Holy shit. What the fuck? You're going to have to write back in about the horror of my butt, although it's essentially like the Wild West we're talking about totally OK.

Growing up, she was one of 12 children who lived in a small two room house in the middle of nowhere, what is now Zion National Park. In the spring of nineteen hundred, an outlaw gang called the Wild Bunch were on the run from the law and were making their way from Arizona to Wyoming by way of Utah. That April, my grandma's parents were making their monthly multiday trip into town for supplies and left my 10 year old grandmother in charge of her younger siblings.

Knowing that the Wild Bunch was potentially in the area, her parents instructed her to lock the door and keep the lamps out so as not to draw attention to the House and under no circumstances to let anyone in. My God, that evening, my grandma was awoken by the sound of men's voices. She looked out the window and saw a group of men roaming around her home. She grabbed her four siblings, her youngest sister being just about a year old and hid under the bed.

One of the men knocked on the door and when they didn't receive an answer, proceeded to break in. The group of men entered the house, and once they thought no one was there, made themselves at home eating their food and making a fire.

One even slipped his boots off and laid down on the bed in which the kids were hiding, under which the kids were hiding. As my grandma listened to the men chat, they called one of them by his name and she realized the man laying on the bed above her was Butch Cassidy, the leader of the Wild Bunch.

She was obviously scared for her life and she knew if they were discovered, they could be taken hostage or killed. Luckily, she and her siblings kept quiet and the baby stayed asleep. They hid in total silence for hours before the baby finally woke up and made a little whimper. Hearing this, the men suddenly stopped talking and drew their guns. Butch got off the bed, lifted the blanket and looked under the bed. He and my grandma locked eyes.

He winked and smiled at her. He then announced to the others that there was no one there and instructed all the men to remove their guns and place them on the table in the middle of the room. I've since read about Butch Cassidy, who, contrary to popular belief, was famously non-violent and prided himself for never having killed anyone. So this move makes total sense. Now, my grandma said that she knew that she knew then that the men weren't going to hurt her and she actually felt safe.

She and her siblings eventually fell asleep. Sometime during the early morning hours, the gang left. When she woke up in the morning, the men were gone, the door was fixed, the woodpile restocked and a pile of cash sat in the middle of the table. Right.

I describe I always knew she was about us.

I'm hearing this story only confirmed it. She passed away in the nineteen nineties and left behind an amazing lifetime of stories that are captured in her daily journal entries. My prized possession. Stay well and thanks for all you do, Nick.

That is fucking legendary hometown story.

Dowrick That's so good. Mean. Oh my God.

Butch Cassidy was nice to me because he. To see why they leave a 10 year old in charge of three children by themselves, little by little Nexrad, we complain about the 80s, but remember, they were they weren't shit compared to the nineteen hundreds.

The early aughts were fucking right. Oh shit. Nick, that was this story did have it all.

Nick nailed it. OK, well, I have a father story to break with the families. My Scottish father taught me how to headbutt people. Yes.

Hidey ho MFM gang. Perfect.

I just finished listening to your many soad with the key in cheek story where the reader mentioned that her mother taught her self-defense skills. I thought you might like to hear about how my Scottish father, which somehow makes it so much fucking better even. Yeah. Taught me female and my two older brothers had a headbutt. People as children.

Yeah. For Sally Glasgow, the Glasgow Hello supremo. And then it says for self-defence question mark. Not really.

I distinctly remember my dad describing to me the right way to headbutt people. I was maybe eight or nine years old at the time.

It says, quote, People think that you headbutt other the other person's head, but you'll hurt yourself with skull to skull contact.

The thing for you to do is use your forehead and get them in the jaw to dislocate it or get them in the bridge of the nose and break that. He told you, this is great advice and I'm glad we all know it now. I mean, yeah, it's something. It's something when you're in a pinch. Yeah. Don't ever forget that the yield head. But OK. Yeah I have get used this knowledge in the real world. Bummer.

But my dad is my oldest brother, have used it a number of times for my mom always tells a story about going to the bar for drinks with my dad. When they first started dating she had turned a bar stool to have her back towards the wood and some random guy came up to her, grabbed her chest and gave it a squeeze. My dad grabbed the guy by the collar and immediately head butted the guy, knocking him out cold.

Yep, that's right. It's a perfect move because it's like what you're basically doing is like controlling this, controlling the situation entirely. Right. Or other people are going to get hurt. And also, when you grab someone by the color, like both of your hands are occupied, they don't know anything's coming. They're almost relaxed in that way. I've seen headbutting became popular in my high school. The senior boys. Yes, the senior boys would head butt like the younger kids.

The it was like it was very high level bullying. And I watched many of the boys in my class burst into tears because it was so. But they actually did it forehead to forehead and it was loud and it's very fucking disturbing. But I'll tell you what, I've also seen it at a bar we both used to go to that the owner did when somebody somebody was getting riled up in the front and demanding that they get to come in and he walked them outside and then just head butted him on the side.

Well, I'm guessing it wasn't the fucking Soho House or like I was a diary diver, so, you know that we love to hang out at the fucking window, so.

Oh, it's so great.

There you have multiple head butting stories. And I don't have I mean, I'm glad I don't have one. It's just it's my people. It's how my people do. It's pretty impressive, I have to say.

All right. So also, my mom tells the story of watching my oldest brother soccer game at a soccer tournament in Pentagon, British Columbia. I'm sure I got that wrong. He was about fourteen years old at the time. My brother got in a fight on the field and the other players spit on him, prompting my brother to head. But the kid Helion, my brother, got a red card and was asked to leave the game. My father, sitting in the bleachers, berated the referee, arguing it was a bad call.

The ref responded by ejecting my dad from the air arena. My granddad, who was also there arguing with the ref about throwing my dad out and became the third person told to leave the arena.

Then Robert Wallace came and screamed freedom. When I saw his face, most of their great great grandfather showed up. It says, like father, like son, like grandson, I guess anyway, as well, I haven't had someone to mess with me enough to warrant ahead, but I guess it's nice to have the knowledge of how to head butt under my belt, stay sexy. And if you're going to head butt someone, aim for the nose. Abigail Yep.

Hell yeah. It's a bridge in the nose.

I didn't know that if I were to have ever had, but anyone which I honestly like have always like in my anxiety, I've always expected I'm going to have to do someday.

Just something you've anticipated had. But I've pictured it. Oh oh yeah. During my insomnia, insomnia fights. It's been there, you know, my plan, my plan. But I didn't know. That's that's great to know. Yeah. These details are important to. Actually, how to do it, I tell you, though, if I was in a bar and some fucking asshole came up and groped me, the man who headbutted that asshole would be my betrothed.

I mean, like what? No, better. No surprise she married him. I mean, that's the the dad should have been like, thank you so much, sir, because you basically like, you know, what's better takes care of shit.

You don't get to touch people.

And I'm going to teach you that lesson by slamming my forehead into your nose. Shit.

Way possible. Yes. And it's going to be a total. It's going to be OK. Oh, I love going to the bar. I love that. I do love to that. Like, if a guy comes at you, he's expecting you to try to kick him in the balls. Right. So, like, this is another way to like, surprise, surprise, attack, surprise you. Maybe lift your leg.

You do kind of a faint lift your leg as if you're you're making the effort and then as you lift your leg and you're looking down, then you just slam your some ab work going on in there to say, you know, some yoga because you got a balance on one. You're like, also don't be afraid to drink like seven shots of whiskey before you headbutts, because I feel like that's the crucial element that we are not discussing because it's nice to be fucked up when you do it right.

It's almost I would imagine that's fair. I guess I've been watching too much Kobuk, too much Cobra Kai over here.

Well, we've done it. We're back to twenty, twenty one. We're not going to say anything positive or negative about it because we don't want to jinx it. So welcome. Just let's just keep it up. Welcome. Let's just let's just do this thing as we do. That's right.

Send us your stories at my favorite murder at Gmail.

Whatever they are, send them. Yeah. And practice your headbutts while you're home in quarantine and stay sexy and don't get murdered.

Go by Elvis. Do you want a cookie? I.