MFM Minisode 501

Hello, and welcome to my favorite murder the minisode Let's do it. Let's read emails from the world you go first. Okay, this email is a response email to a thing I said one time. We love those ones. And the subject line of this email is the real Transylvania University has a professor buried in the administration building.

What that's from the Meet the Kentucky Meat Shower.

Right, Yes, I believe so. I think they say. Oh here. It starts hello, lovely ladies. I've been listening since well before COVID, and then in parentheses it says not quite day one, but close enough to feel like we're friends.

That's nice.

I like it. We're COVID friends. I thought about writing in so many times. Then I heard episode five point thirty nine. It keeps getting ruined and Karen. Karen asked if Transylvania University was actually real. That's my alma mater, so naturally I had to shoot my shot. Transylvania University is a real, tiny liberal arts school in Lexington, Kentucky, with only about eleven hundred students. Wow. It was founded in seventeen eighty, making it the first university west of the Apple Achians right, and despite what every person I've ever met immediately asks, No, Dracula did not attend. Why is it called that hold on? Okay, the name comes from the Latin. The name comes from the Latin trans Sylvam meaning across the woods. Okay, trans Sylvan. When the

school was founded, Kentucky was basically one giant forest. Nothing creepy in those woods.

Nope, everything is non cryptoid camp away, let's keep going.

Now for the fun part. Every student quickly learns about Constantine Samuel Raffanesque, an absolutely brilliant naturalist, botanist, and by all accounts, an eccentric menace. Yes right. Legend says that he was so angry after leaving the university that he cursed the school. That's my energy entirely. Naturally, instead of just letting go, alumni decided decades later the best solution was to dig him up and bring him back to campus.

This is shades of Widow's Bay.

Wow.

Today he's entombed inside Old Morrison, our main administration building.

That's like, yeah, he got bit by that animal and he became that.

Animal, became the animal. Every relationship I've ever had, except there's a very real possibility they dug up the wrong person. What I should have kept getting better now. No one's entirely sure the remains in the tombor actually Rafinesques, which somehow makes the whole story even better. Very true. We embrace the weird. Every October there's RAF Week. Students can enter a rap to spend Halloween nights sleeping in the tomb.

Oh my god.

Our campus cafe is called the raft Scaler, and our mascot is Raphanesque's big eared bat.

They just like double down on saying fuck you to him, Yes, like triple down.

They're like, we'll move your body wherever we want. Yeah, we're gonna theme you out like Mickey Mouse.

Everything after you.

Get ready if curse professors aren't enough. The campus is also forever connected to the tragic nineteen sixty one murder of student Betty Gail Brown. She was killed after leaving a late night study session, and despite decades of investigation, it's still one of Kentucky's most infamous unsolved murders. Walking past Old Morrison at night definitely hits it a little differently once you know the history. Oh and because apparently the universe decided one bizarre story wasn't enough for our little school. Our library became the site of the infamous two thousand and four rare book heist. I remember I did this. You did the rare book heists that inspired the movie American Animal. Wait, will you check if I

did it?

I'm akan right now.

I could have just seen that movie. You should do it on it, like write it down to do it. I think I did because it was Remember it was like the boys that kept going into ask to look at the books that were behind the glass.

I'm going to say yes, and then Moll's going to say, you didn't do it. Cover it, and I'm going to.

Look the stupidest, and then that's right. That's how I do it, is that I put my ass out there. But yours is the one in this lane, right, Yours is the one in the jackpot.

Okay, Karen, I'm not seeing that you covered it, but I'm going to keep checking.

How dare I knew that? I shouldn't say that I knew what you were talking about? Is what I'm saying.

Can someone call Stephen? We're texting him now if we won't The idea that this show has been going on so long that the memory is reality. What we've watched, what we've seen, what we've talked about casually.

One hundred something episodes, almost like five hundred and fifty episodes.

We're not going to rumin goddamn anything.

Well, and also we remember everything, so it's like it's all the old book heist. But you know, now I realize I watched the movie. It was a good I think I watched it on a plane. It was kid. Well, it's just crazy because they you know, those heisters, and they're logic.

Let's have a high schirl summer, high squirrel summer.

Yes, Bolla Clava's fucking stealing people's shit and driving away SPF.

It's UV coverage of Balaklava opera gloves, Balaclava's really bright lipstick and like bikini.

Yes, okay, sorry, that's spring Breakers.

That's true. Oh shit, you're right.

Okay did you do so? Yes, our tiny liberal arts college somehow produced a Hollywood crime film. So to answer your question, yes, Transylvania University is very real. For a school with barely eleven hundred students, we've managed to accumulate a curse professor, a possible case of mistaken remains inside the Administration Building, and unsolved murder, a multimillion dollar rare book heist, and a name that makes everyone immediately ask about vampires. Anyway, thanks for giving me an excuse to finally write in again. If you ever need more weird transy stories, I guess they call it transy. I've got plenty SSDGM Jay she her Transylvania University class of two thousand and six. And here is a picture of himself,

Constantine Samuel Raffiness. Wow, that's the man that they moved the body and put him in the Administration building. A thumb.

He's They look like they drew with that, like drew a thumb and then drew his picture on the thumb.

To me, it looks like he's done so much reading that his eyes are moving around his head like a flounder.

Like he's he's turning into he's what's it called.

He's morphing into a book. He got bit by a book, and then he's turning into a book.

He's morphing for easier reading capabilities. Okay, love it, good job, thank you, Okay, good job Jay?

Start Yeah.

Is it weird that I'm like, I bet that college would have accepted me. If I had, like, you know, I would have.

Been accepted at Transylvania.

Someone in Pennsylvania would have Oh god, what if we got a fucking honorary diploma from Pennsylvania University for being creeps?

We major in being creeps?

That would be rad okay, hey, friends. Back in the glory days of two thousand and three ish, my mom was going through what she now lovingly refers to as her middle aged crazy aka. She was post divorced and really into cheap vodka and dudes on motorcycles.

This is very Aaron BROCKOVICI. I bet she's like thirty nine, right, Yeah, you mean when this is happening. Yeah, yeah.

I was a disaffected fifteen year old, my first cell phone and an addiction to AOL instant messenger.

What a time.

My mom was dating one particular shithead with a motorcycle and the two of them enjoyed going out for long rides on the weekend.

What else were they doing?

You're not my dad, Ramby.

My dad was a flight attendant, so I was expected to watch my eleven year old brother most nights they went out. This particular evening, my mom made sure to tell me that they were going to a movie after their ride and probably wouldn't have their cell phones on, so I should call my dad if I needed anything.

Being a teenager, I rolled my eyes or gave her some equally asshole response, and they were on their way. An hour or so later, I was chatting on AIM while my brother watched the Tom Green show.

Oh my God, Yeah.

And we were drinking Jolt cola right when suddenly my cell phone started to ring. The number was blocked, and as I was a sweet summer child who still believed in answering the phone at all times, much less unknown numbers, I picked up. I said hello, and was greeted with the lowest, most gravelly voice I'd ever heard.

I've been waiting. I know you're alone.

I'm in the backyard, I screamed, and immediately hung up the phone, and like a good baby, Murderino locked the bedroom door. Even though I was freaked out, I knew it was likely one of my friends messing with me. I quickly sent AIM trats to all my closest friends, demanding that they admit they'd call me, but they swore over and over that it wasn't them. Meanwhile, my phone was blowing the fuck up. I answered it a few more times, trying to convince the person on the other end to give up the gag, but the threats continued.

I'm on your porch now I have a knife.

Fuck.

It was then that my brother and I heard banging on the sliding glass door downstairs, followed by scraping along the walls at the back of the house. Our backyard was basically a big forest that cushioned us from another neighborhood, very easy for someone to hide out back there. At this point, I was sobbing, calling my mom, dad, and even the shitead boyfriend, only to get their voicemails. I was convinced I was about to be murdered and had no idea what to do. The phone kept ringing, so my sweet angel baby brother yelled at me to call the cops and get in the closet.

It's eleven.

I watched as he darted down the hall and grabbed the shitty boyfriend's hunting rifle from under the bed. Eleven oh, and he closed the bedroom door again and sat there staring at it with the gun pointed directly at it. The nine one one operator who had been talking me off a ledge told me to peek out my bedroom window and I would see a patrol car pulling up with no lights on. Sure enough, an officer was sneaking up my driveway to assess the situation. About a minute later, the operator explained that everything was okay and I should go down to the driveway to talk to the officer.

Scared shitless but wanting to follow directions, my brother and I walked down the stairs to find my mother. She and her boyfriend were drunk off their asses and trying to explain why they'd been pretending to be murderers in.

The backyard for the last hour.

The shitty boyfriend had been using a rake against the walls to create the creepy noises, and Mom had turned her phone off so we'd get her voicemail When we called.

Everyone could have killed her. Everybody, fucking cops, the brother.

I mean, I'm so furious, What in the fuck are you doing? Totally to aa, you fucking weirdo.

My brother called both of them bitches, his favorite part of the story, and stomped back upstairs. Well, I sat there basically apopalyptic.

Apoplectic, apoplectic.

It's a tough and sobbing.

My mom walked over to comfort me, but my crying made her laugh so hard that she, no shit, almost peed herself and had to walk away. This isn't This is not called trash trash mom, and it should be.

It isn't.

No, you'd think she'd feel bad about it, but to this day, my mom can't tell that story without laughing until she hears it here.

Your mom is a sociopath.

I love reminding her of how she turned me into a neurotic weirdo who always locks her fucking doors, and how her insane antics are going to fill my memoir one of these days.

That's working right.

Thank you for everything you do. If you're ever in atl at Lama, facials are on me. Oh yes, I know, stay sexy and avoid the middle aged crazy Amy.

Well, I mean that I forgot about Amy. His mom basically at the beginning, was like, hey, I was going through some stuff, but that is torture. Yeah, And I also is it wrong to admit that I have a crush on that eleven year old boy that went I'm gonna go get the fucking gun.

He knew what he was doing, and that eleven and two thousand and three.

That was twenty three years ago, so that means he's thirty or four.

Perfect for me. It's just because that's it. That's a that's a boy who got turned into a man that day and that probably never stopped where he's like, these bitches are in charge now I have to be in charge totally.

And he took care of his older sister, so obviously he knows he's doing well. Yes, match made in Heaven.

I mean, this is this is what you know the bad parenting begets, which is hyper responsible and handling. You stay here, I'm gonna go get the guts totally.

So like, lock your guns up, people, lock your boyfriend's guns up.

When your children are so many things.

Don't be in the seventies socializing with fuck and Hell's Angels or whatever the fuck it was you were doing.

It was two thousand and three.

Yeah, oh that's bad. Oh well, okay, Uh. The subject line of this email is making customers cry. I was listening to MINNISO two ninety nine about that poor fraud rep who was expected to out the guy with the sex work credit card charges to his wife when Karen said, quote, if anything you're about to do is going to make the customer cry that goes upstairs, and I thought, do you remember not know what you're talking about? It was basically like tell the manager before you okay, blow it up, and they say, And I thought I'd share some tales of making customers cry. So Karen nailed it. Most customer service reps do not get paid enough to deal with this shit. But guess who does up there sitting at the top of those proverbial stairs. That'd be me. I'm

a customer service manager at a small town bank. I manage a team of tellers and I tell them the same thing Karen said. You don't get paid enough if a client is escalating in nice a woman, and then you tag in the eleven year old boy with the shotgun. A woman came in already in tears. Her husband had taken her debit card and kicked her out of the house, and she wanted to know if she could just withdraw some cash. She said, he's just not very nice and looked away with tears rolling down her face. I took her to my desk, reviewed her account, and in my perkis customer service voice said, well, look you here. You are listed as the second account owner on your joint account, meaning you have full authority to do anything with the

account that you need. Yes, we closed the account, issued her check, made payable only to her, used it to open an account with only her name on it, got her own debit card, gave her a thousand dollars in cash, and called her a cab to the next town over where her sister lived.

Fuck.

Yes, that's the end of the story, right and goodbye.

She had no more tears going out the door. But guess who had big fat crocodile tears the next day when he stumbled in wondering why his card wasn't working. That's right. Then he was crying because how could he live without her paycheck? Who was going to pay his bills? Then he said, quote she never thinks of the consequences when she does stupid shit like this, and quote When I was unmoved by his tears, he turned them off like a faucet and stormed out the door. Of course, thank you ladies for all you do good.

I thought it was I thought the scam the lady was a scammer.

No, no, you got okay.

I think it was basically like they're the customer service people who actually give real needed customer service. It stay sexy and maybe don't be a money grubbing douche canoe. Oh and be kind to customer service personnel. Sarah love it.

Yeah, this is a side hustle, children's side hustle. Oh yes, hello all, you asked for stories about late confessions, late in life confessions. Perhaps the story will tickle your fancy. I was in grade nine when I realized that I could forge my mom's signature. All of a sudden, I wasn't scooping class. I had an excused apps. The kicker to all this. My mom taught at the same high school I attended. I would hand in the notes with her signature on it, and no one in the office.

Would question it. That's a fucking dangerous game you're playing.

That's sloppy. Well, but also yeah, it would literally take one of this like huh, just a light curiosity. You'd be like comparing this, Hey, Joan, could you just write your signature in here for me?

Andrea called out again today, Joan.

Every time I brought my report card home, my mom would comment about not remembering that many absences, but she never followed up on it. One day, a friend asked if I could forge her parents signature. She got me a sample. I practiced a few times, and my high school side hustle was born. For a mere five dollars and a sample signature, I could get my friends out of class, or sign the disciplinary note that had been sent home, or give permission to attend a field trip.

I kept it fairly low key as to not get caught, but I made a nice little sum for it.

Over the four years.

Holy shit, five dollars a signature, or maybe like a couple of month.

I wonder what like the blaw she's breaking is like? For example, like in Law and Order they're always like, this is a Rico case or whatever? What is that? I guess forgery?

But under eighteen a teenager, they proably don't give a shit, right, They're.

Just going to scare them.

It's just a field trip, yeah, to the more.

Liquor store missionary.

My sister could got my mom's signature down so hard she used to do it for us, of course she did, uh huh. About six or seven years after I graduated, my short stint living the life of a criminal long forgotten, and my mom retired.

The two of us went for lunch.

She had recently had surgery on her right hand, so when the credit card receipt needed to be signed, she passed it over to me. She was in the middle of telling me not to worry about how it looked, because she'd notify the company about the surgery.

When I, out of.

Habit, did my perfect forgery of her signature. She took one look at the sign receipt and demanded to know how long I had been able to sign her name. I watched the pieces fall into place. After I told I first did in grade nine, she said, I knew I had never signed you out of that many classes. Since then, I've continued to sign things for her when she just doesn't.

Feel like it.

The number of birthday checks I've signed for myself and my siblings should probably get me into some sort of legal trouble. But my mom's hands are shaky now and she doesn't want to lose her backup, so she'll never squeal.

Cheers Andrea, She.

Her, Andrea, that is perfection, yea, because also that's the kind of I feel like we're out of that age in the tech age that we're in right that truly feels like a Little House on the Prairie story. Totally remember when you had to forge signatures and your parents wouldn't even know or like it's a report card they never knew came.

It's like driving stick shift, like you won't need that and forging signatures until the end days. Yeah, they're going to come in handy again someday. I learned the other day that Vince doesn't know how to drive stick shift, and I kind of was like, you got the egg.

No, I was just like I thought I knew you.

Oh yeah, it's a brand. Oh your whole relationship. You're gonna have new discoveries. Is't that wonderful?

Thirteen years in and I'm still like what I was very shocked.

I'm really good at teaching people how to drive stick shift.

If he ever needs to, great end days, we're gonna come over, Yes exactly.

We'll mount a machine gun on the phone.

We'll get the little brothers in the back with his fucking right.

Yep, we'll tape him to the front mad Max style.

Okay.

My last one is I have a deathbed treasure hunt story.

Come on those two things together.

Yeah, and listen to this. Hey you guys, Greetings from Wisconsin. So it's kind good. You love kookie grandparents stories, you love treasure, you ask for deathbed treasure hunts and minnesot for sent before and this story has it. Oh, let me introduce you to my Grandpa Randall, whom I affectionately call And this kind of ruined it for me, but we're going to power through it. Grampy Gray was Grampy was the true definition of a self made man. He rode bucking broncos in the rodeo. He had his pilot's license.

He was a business owner twice over all on just an eighth grade education. Wow, see, we're like Grampy. He loved telling us stories of his childhood in the forties, like how his parents gave chickens to the local hospital to settle a medical tih.

My god, amazing.

Gee, I just think you're like I pictured them giving them to the medical center to become doctors. And then the chickens had little like doctors cats on and little stethoscopes.

They come, they're not food, they become the doctor. That's right.

We got to get these guys in training. We need more help and X ray okay. So, or how they would trade car parts from their salvage yard for tattoos. Amazing even see you. I have him to thank for my love of true crime. I can remember spending my many childhood sleepovers at Grammy and Grampy's curled up in the living room. Oh, it makes more sense with Grammy sounds gross. We can't have a freestanding Grampy. It's just too thick. Yeah, curled up in the living room, eating peach rings and cheese bopcorn dam and watching true crime classics like Forensic Files in Dateline. He was quick with a joke and even quicker to tell us he loved us. Sadly, we lost him in twenty nineteen, about a year after his passing. I was sitting at my grandma's kitchen table

drinking coffee when Grammy abruptly blurted out, Have I told you about your Grandpa's hidden stash? Huh? I asked, uh No, But I need to know. Then she proceeded to tell me this story. A few months after he died, Grammy had finally worked up the courage to go through some of Granby's belongings when she was cleaning out his wallet.

Tucked in the very back was a piece of paper folded up with her name on it. Upon unfolding it, she was confused to find a rough drawn outline of their home.

Oh my god.

As she examined it closer, she realized it was a treasure map X marks the spot and all. After a quick hunt, she located the stash in the utility room next to the water heater, and tucked into the wall behind a loose piece of insulation was a ziploc bag stuffed with cash. Yes, over the decade that they had lived there, he had squirreled away over six thousand dollars.

Holy shit, safe to say. When she moved out that summer, she turned that place inside out, making sure there wasn't another hidden stash. There wasn't. Thanks for keeping me company and adding some joy to the otherwise mundane tasks of life. Stay sexy and hug your grandparents, Robin, She her.

Oh my god, that is amazing.

I am gonna make vince We're worth going to buy each other a present, hide a map in case one of us dies.

Yes, right, post death surprises and price.

I love that.

It's really sweet.

It's so sweet, it's really a lovely wee.

Cash is amazing. But then any kind of like, Hey, I was thinking of you before I left.

Before I left this murder mortal coil, I love it. Yeah, okay.

My last one is called Little Sister Lore. Hi friends, longtime listener and lifetime older sister. Here. I've spent the last time plus years trying to get my little sister Mandy to listen to your show, simply because you guys get the dynamic we have. It's exhausting being right all the time.

Mandy is the.

Best kind of person, a con artist in her past life with the biggest heart. When we were ten and twelve ish back in the nineties, we'd go to Costco with our parents every week. We weren't allowed to be left alone in the aerostar after we thought it would be funny one time to hide under the seats when our parents came back from shopping, making them think we were kidnapped.

Yes, fuck yeah, when the kids do it, it's funny. Yeah, when the kids do it, it's.

When the parents know, and then it says whoops. In the store, I'd spend the whole time in the book section while my parents shop, and Mandy would be my shadow. One day, when it came time.

To check out. A worker approached our.

Family and told us to come to the manager's office, where it was revealed that my tiny, sweet Mandy shoplifted an electronic translator.

The nineties.

The worker accused both of us of being in on it, and my no bullshit Filipina nurse mother immediately said, no, I know this one, pointing to me her eldest didn't do it. It had to be my younger daughter. She knew us and immediately set the story straight.

And she was right.

I was none the wiser wanting to read. Mandy was a sneaky kid who saw a translator system, knowing I wanted to learn a new language and wanted.

To steal it for me.

Oh so criminally sweet, we had to abandoned the huge cart of groceries. They wouldn't even let them check out. Am I gonna get fucking toilet paper in bulk?

I mean? And also, just don't punish the mother of the older sister totally.

Mandy was banned from Costco for a whole year.

She did it at Costco.

Yeah, and she had to write an apology letter to the store.

It's extreme, our family.

Hot dogs, I'm so sorry.

Our family still laughs about this today, because while Mandy avoided a life of crime, I ever stopped being the creative, considerate, and fearless woman only little sisters can be. I know you both talk a lot about your role as younger sisters, and while us elders can be bossy, deep down we love you more than any book, fancy new gadget or cartful of wholesale priced goods. Plus, I think the funniest people in the world are baby sisters.

Sorry, Laura and Leah, but it's true. It is true.

Thank you. That's an official older sister vote.

Hell yeah, it's why this podcast is my favorite breath of comedic fresh air. Oh my god, eat that, Laura, Lea.

Laura's like, I don't know that you're saying that because I don't look exactly.

My sister is like same.

Lea's like, can't hear you.

Yeah, stay sexy and don't steal from one of the few companies that stand firmly with DEI initiatives and sell a dollar fifty hot dogs.

Missy, Missy, thank you for that messaging at the end. That was flawless, Missy, very strong. Cosco is now on TikTok and one of the first videos was that guy that said he'll never raise the heat. He told the CEO that if you ever raised the price of the hot dogs, I'll kill you.

Oh my god.

The owner basically, and he made a video of himself eating one of the hot dogs.

Hell yeah, so good, missy, you've shoplifted our hearts.

Thank you for that email, and thank you guys for listening.

Yeah, this was a really good one. This is a nice bout.

Send us your stories, whatever they may be at My Favorite Murder at gmail. We need to hear from middle sisters. Oh my god, what are they like?

What's the fifth of five? Sisters? Act like Jesus so the book Little Women? Oh all right, we'll.

Stay sexy and don't get murdered.

Goodbye. Never read Little Women?

Sae Elvis, do you want to COOKI?

This has been an exactly right production.

Our managing producer is Molly Smith.

Our consulting producer is Kate Shellenbach.

Our creative lead is Alison Agosti.

Our associate producer is Tessa Hughes, and our editor is Aristotle.

This episode was mixed by Leona Squillacci.

Email your hometowns to My Favorite Murder at gmail dot com and follow the show on Instagram at My Favorite Murder.

Listen to My Favorite Murder on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts or wherever you get your podcasts, or.

Watch new episodes every week on Netflix. Search for My Favorite Murder, add us to your list, and hit the double thumbsup button. Goodbye,

MFM Minisode 501

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