How Angry Are These Penguins?: The Ern Malley Affair

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Zarin. Elizabeth.

How are you?

I'm doing pretty darn well. How about you, girl?

You know, pretty good. All right.

Pretty good. Sounds kind of believable.

Pretty good, yeah. I'll take it. I'm convincing myself.

I'm not going to recycle it, but I'll take it. Do you know what's ridiculous? Oh, man, I've been waiting to tell you this one for a week.

Uh-huh.

So did you hear about Amy L. Jones' case in Wisconsin?

No.

No. Milwaukee. She went to Rufus King International High School. No. She's a 23-year-old woman. And she walked in and the class, sorry, the school rather, they had eight teachers absent that day. Oh, okay. Seven substitute teachers showed up. And then so did Amy. And she pretended to be the eighth substitute teacher. Yes.

So then she goes to this classroom with another teacher and the teacher like sets her up. So it's like 20 minutes with her and just convinced she's a teacher. And then the teacher's left. The other teacher left. And this leaves Amy alone with the students.

The fake substitute.

The fake substitute alone with these high school students. And they complained later about how her demeanor changed once there was no longer adult supervision. even though she herself was an adult. So apparently, according to students... The Amy Jones asked the students if anyone had any at a marijuana or a vape pen.

Oh, oh.

This is like 830 in the morning. She's like, and the reason why she won.

At 830 in the morning, three in the afternoon, the teacher doesn't ask that question.

No, she's like, I need like a marijuana or a vape pen because this class is boring. So the students are like, what?

I love that she's like, it's 830 in the morning. Had she done this around two, understandable.

Well, in my world. She also then started using like profane language. Some racial slurs at the white students. I don't know what she was calling the saltines, but she was saying some stuff. And then she also was bragging about, quote, having felonies and being OK with going to jail. Like, I ain't afraid of no jail.

Oh, my God. Yes.

And then she organized the students by race and gender and started insulting some of them based on their looks. What? Yes. Then she also began to graphically describe bedroom acts to the male students on the one half of the class.

Oh, my God.

Yes.

Once class was over, students immediately went to the main office. Yes. And it did not take long for the police to arrive. And arrest her. And then she, Amy Jones, admitted to the police that I don't even like children. I would just simply want to see if I could be a substitute teacher for the day because I was bored. So she went to class. And then they also reported that she seemed to think that this would make her famous.

And she's like, well, yeah, you know, I'm talking about it, right? So apparently she went to this school and some of the other teachers also recognized her as a former student from like five years ago. But I saw, like, she's bored one day. She's like, it's almost school time. I'm going to go sit up there and insult some high school kids.

Ma'am, you need a job.

I shouldn't be laughing because of how she did it, but I.

Just, like, it's the impulse. It's hilarious, but it's horrible, but it's hilarious, but it's horrible.

So there you go. It's definitely ridiculous. It's 100% ridiculous.

Do you want to know what else is ridiculous?

Please.

When something is so bad, it's good.

Oh. Oh.

This is Ridiculous Crime, a podcast. It's about absurd and outrageous, capers, heists, and cons. It's always 99% murder-free and 100% ridiculous.

You damn right. So right.

Before we get started, you've had some time to digest Spooky Ranch. And I'm wondering if you can now, with some distance between you and Spooky Ranch.

In your face. Think back.

If you can now, what did it taste like?

It tasted like * * * *. It tasted like creamy baby droppings with like charcoal flavoring. Have you eaten baby droppings? No, it's what I imagine baby droppings would taste like if they were creamy. Yeah, but it tasted. It tasted like, I don't know, like what Bigfoot leaves steaming in the forest. It just was offensive. Yeah. All right.

I just wanted to check on that.

But I mean, I've eaten worse things that you have given me.

That is true.

On this show. Oh, yeah. Pickle related. That was worse. Okay. That was worse.

All right, let's totally shift gears here.

Please.

You know that I love poetry.

Yes, this is true.

Which is what we're spitting right now.

Yes.

I read it.

Spitting bars, girl.

I read it, I write it, and I know you love it too. Do you have a favorite poet or poem?

Favorite poet? No, there's a lot of poets I like, but I'd say... You kind of put me on the spot here. So I'd say one of my favorite poems is Gwendolyn Brooks.

Yes.

What is it? What's the title? I always remember the title. Oh, yes. We Real Cool.

Yeah.

Yeah, we thin gin, we jazz June.

We skip school.

Yeah, we die soon.

Yeah, jazz June is such a great line in the poem.

I love her. That's one of my favorites. I also like a lot of the more rhythmic and musical poetry poems. anything that i can either because i like song lyrics that in jazz songs i remember the jazz song usually because of the lyrics but how it works with the the song yeah so i can hear the song in the lyrics and so i like when poetry does the same thing i kind of just imagine the music that goes with.

It listen to the coltrane roll yeah that one totally i remember how that is was that her um Since you asked, yes. What's your favorite? What is your favorite poet and or poem? Well, there's three poems. My third favorite.

What's your third favorite poem?

Always come to mind for me when asked the question. So one is At Rowan Head by Robin Robertson.

Okay.

It's really beautiful and dark. And there's this one line.

Kind of elegiac. Yeah.

It would put the heart across you, all that grief. I love that one.

I knew you would have one with grief or death.

Here's the thing. I was trying to think, how would I explain this poem to someone? It takes place in an isolated coastal house. Why are you laughing? It's only going to get worse from here.

I'm sure.

The narrator is a selkie, you know, half seal, half man.

Yes.

They shapeshift by putting on a sealskin. And then there's a dead collie named Angus by the door.

You got a dead dog by the door?

And a woman lives there with her half-fish sons. And the dad took off because they weren't human. But then he comes back and he kills them all because, you know, possible witchcraft.

Oh, Lord.

And then the narrator shows up and the mom gives him all these various talismans, including the dad's severed head. Plus a sealskin so he can slip back into the sea and the implication that he's the real dad. It's like writing it out made it sound way different than it actually is.

I'm sure it feels better when you read it. It's so beautiful and moving.

Anyway, I also love Anne Sexton's Her Kind.

By the way, it also kind of sounds like one of the heavier Decembrist songs.

Oh, 100%, because there's like water involved.

Yes, and there's mystical creatures. There's a murder.

Yeah, I'm seeing a thread now. Yeah.

So, anyway.

Anne Sexton, all-timer.

Oh, yeah.

I love her.

I know you do.

And I really recommend reading Her Kind. It's a fantastic poem. And then we have W.B.

Yeats. Classic.

I love his evolution. He's so complicated. He starts out as this new romantic. He's incorporating Irish myths and legends into his work and writes stuff like The Lake Isle of Innisfree. And then Maude Gonne comes into his life. He's smitten. She becomes his muse. That brings up poems like When You Were Old. He proposed to her five times and she rejected him each time and then married another man.

Oh.

But she sparked a connection with Irish nationalism in him. And like he was committed to Irish self-rule, but then he's horrified by the violence of the movement, but then stoked that Maude Gonne's estranged husband was executed for his involvement in the Easter uprising of 1916. Dear Lord. That gives us the poem Easter 1916 and the line, a terrible beauty is born. There's a lot more going on in that poem, but this isn't one of my class lectures.

Okay.

He fell in with Ezra Pound.

Oh, yeesh.

And that's when his, like, fascist era emerged.

I was just going to say, just before he went full fascist.

He's like, you know who's awesome? Mussolini. And he still wanted an Irish restate. But then, like, his Protestantism starts showing.

Oh, my God.

He becomes, like, a womanizer.

Full color. Yeah.

His later poems pulled in his interest in the occult and spiritualism.

Okay.

And there's also this sort of like fatalism as he ages. And then you get the big dog of his poems, his masterpiece, The Second Coming.

All right.

So he was getting closer and closer to modernism as he grew older. And he became a sort of bridge to it.

Okay.

And that takes us to my topic today. Look at, see what I did?

Look at you. You bridge so well. I got to ask you a quick question about poetry. Do you like Auden? Yeah. Okay. I was just curious.

I do like Auden.

All right.

Yeah. Glad you asked.

Well, you know, I just wanted to know for my own edification.

I'm trying to think of the name of the one that I like so much, and now I can't off the top of my head of his poems.

Okay.

So, topic today. My poet, my scandal, my crime. Poem crime. Zarin, there's poem crime.

Hell yeah.

So, let's hop forward to World War II and down to Oceania.

Okay.

So while the Second World War raged, Australia's literati were busy with a smaller, pettier war of their own. They were duking it out about who got to say what Australian writing was supposed to be.

Identity.

The literary historian Brian Matthews observed in 1988 that the argument was, quote, much more cutthroat, more terminal, so to speak, in Australia than, say, similar quarrels elsewhere. So in Adelaide, the champion of the modernist side was this guy, Max Harris. In 1940, while he was still an undergraduate at the University of Adelaide, he co-founded the magazine Angry Penguins.

Angry Penguins. Angry Penguins. Sounds like a literary magazine.

Yeah.

Ever I've heard of one.

One of the other founders was this guy, D.B.

Kerr.

Harris worshipped Dylan Thomas and T.S. Eliot. Eliot was a frenemy of Yeats, by the way.

That's what I was just about to ask.

Yeah. So back to Harris. He had a particular weakness for verse that was like dripping in strange images. The stranger, the better. He would have loved Robin Robertson. The opposition, like such as it was, if you could call it that, sat at a desk in Melbourne. And his name was James McCauley.

James McCauley.

He had gone to Sydney University. He was a star there. He played jazz piano. He drank and he smoked with enthusiasm.

My man.

He loved gloomy, romantic symbolism. He hated modernism and communism basically like both the same. He's like, I hate you both exactly the same.

Wow. Interesting choices.

Yeah. His colleague.

Other than jazz, what did he really love if he hated modernism and communism? I'm talking like at the political levels. Was he into like expressionism and hoping it became political?

I think he was, really loved being self-satisfied.

Ah, that is, yeah, that's up there.

He had this colleague, Harold Stewart. He was a Sydney boy who had abandoned university after he went there for like a year and studied poetry. And then he kind of like, at that point, he's like, I think I like this whole modernism thing. And, you know, was dabbling in it. But then he turned against them fiercely. I don't know why.

Everybody's going against modernism. Yeah. Not that I'm defending it, but.

Well, they both served in Army Intelligence. Macaulay was a lieutenant, lieutenant. Stewart was a corporal.

This is starting to make sense now.

And they were at the Directorate of Research and Civil Affairs. In October of 1943, they were both working there together. And apparently they had a lot of spare time in the afternoon.

Yeah. Army Intelligence.

Yeah. So by their own later account, they wrote the entire life's work of a poet. In one single sitting.

What? Yeah.

They wanted to.

Is this a real poet? No. Okay.

They wanted to thumb their noses at the modernists.

Ah.

Make fun of them. And what they saw is like this deliberate obscurity and difficulty.

Okay.

They didn't like how they were abandoning tradition. They said it was empty. They were elitist.

This is me in the abstract expressionist painters. Correct. Yeah.

And these two didn't like the forced novelty and whimsy of the modernist.

Like I said, yes.

So they drew from whatever books happened to be within reach. A concise Oxford Dictionary, the collected works of William Shakespeare, a dictionary of quotations. A report on mosquito breeding grounds. Whatever they had at hand.

Okay.

And they gave themselves these kind of like mischievous rules. So for not loving whimsy, they got whimsical.

Are they going to use like Burroughs style cutups where they're just taking random phrases? No, no.

You'll see. So there's no coherent theme. Only vague hints dangled like bait. No attention to technique whatsoever. Beyond occasionally exaggerating the sloppiness.

All right.

And then a general imitation of the fashion embodied by Dylan Thomas or like Henry Treese. And Dylan Thomas, as you know, the poet known for vivid imagery, raw emotion, do not go gentle into that good night.

Totally.

He drank himself to death. Henry Treese was this.

Who I do not know.

Yeah, he was a really prolific English writer, big in what was called the New Apocalypse Movement.

Okay.

And so that was this loose group of British poets, and they were reacting against the austere... politically focused poetry of the 1930s. They wanted something more imaginative, myth-laden, romantic.

It's not so angry, so polarized. Exactly.

Henry Treese wrote a study of Dylan Thomas.

Okay.

So Macaulay and.

Stewart- They want more of that lyricism of the past? Yes. Okay.

Yes. And like full- Celebrate.

Little moments, not the social milieu. Yeah.

So Macaulay and Stewart They're so pleased with themselves.

I bet they are.

Like, much like I am, irritatingly, when I make fun of the quirky. Like, I know it's an a * * hole move.

I am an a * * hole.

Like, I own it.

Anyway. So, Stuart— I never think of you as one, but I see what you mean.

I totally am. So, Stuart typed up the poems and, like, filled them with deliberate errors and corrections.

Okay.

And then they set them out in the sun to age and, like, get dusty.

Sure, put some lemon juice on them.

Yeah.

And then the poet's name that they came up with was its own joke. They called him Ernest Malley, Earn for short. Malley nodding at the French mal, meaning bad. So like a side eye at Le Fleur de Mal, the flowers of evil.

Bad Ireland?

Well, no. When we're talking about mal, that Charles Baudelaire landmark volume of poetry exploring beauty, decadence, eroticism, and existential despair. And then Earn. Because, as the story goes, they were anything but earnest.

Oh, okay.

Yeah. So kind of Molly, Mal-ish.

Yeah, I got you. So they were playing a little bit more than straight up.

Yeah. And so the poet needs a biography, right?

Naturally.

This one, pathos-laden. So Ernest Laylor Malley was born in Liverpool in March of 1918, March 14th to be specific, because it's Einstein's birthday.

Okay.

That's right, 314, Pi Day. Exactly.

Ernest, Ern lost his father to war wounds in 1920. He came to Australia with his mother and his sister, settled in Sydney. After his mom died in 1933, he quit school. He fixed cars at Palmer's Garage in Taverners Hill. And then when he was 17, he went to Melbourne to sell insurance for National Mutual, which And he owned, reportedly, a single book.

What was that single book, Elizabeth?

Thorstein Veblen's Theory of the Leisure Class.

Oh, yeah.

Yeah.

So the book, if.

You're not familiar, is a satirical sociological critique of economic life in the Gilded Age. And it's also, that's where we get the phrase conspicuous consumption.

I was just about to say, you could flip through that one right now and get a lot. You're like, the parallels.

Yeah. So Veblen... He said that a lot of what people buy and do is driven less by need or comfort than like by the desire to display status.

Yes. Bingo.

Wealth alone isn't enough. You have to show it off.

People got to see that. Yeah.

And that the demonstration becomes like a central organizing force in society. You love things simply because they're expensive.

Yes. And other people will be impressed.

And it's a flex to show that you don't have to work. So your time is your own and your money makes you money. Yeah. And so, like, how do you prove that leisure life? Well, you get a classical education. You have all this elaborate etiquette. You have hobbies that don't have any practical use. And then meanwhile, the 99% work hard just to survive. Is this sounding familiar?

No no i keep going that.

You work paycheck to paycheck i know that feeling yeah you know you live it every day so um it's a curious choice of books for these hoaxsters to cite like really great shorthand for the life and beliefs of this invented poet of theirs so back to earn mally the invented poet he died oh no yeah he.

Was only 25 sarin He lived such a fast life. He did.

He was the same age as John Keats when he tragically passed.

Oh, right.

As an aside, I love the inscription on Keats' tombstone. Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

Beautiful.

That is nice.

So, Earn died, though. Sad.

How did it happen? My name was written in a smoky ranch. Just Black Ranch. Black Ranch. My name written in Black Ranch.

Black Ranch. How did Earn die, Zarin?

How, Elizabeth? Drinking Black Ranch?

Unmanaged Graves disease.

Wow. Wow. Did they really? Is that really what they went with?

That's what they said. Apparently he lived with the symptoms.

He had a thyroid condition?

Didn't seek treatment.

Yeah.

And it got worse and worse. He went into thyroid toxicosis. Full blown into what's called a thyroid storm.

Yeah.

And that's when like every system in your body red lines and it gets crazier and crazier. So like Earn had a elevated heart rate, super elevated heart rate, tremors, exhaustion, muscle wasting, hair loss, sweating. He was, Earn was sweaty.

That man falling apart.

Eye problems. You know, if he, but here's the thing, if a person pops a fever, it's basically the end. And that's what happened. So on the 23rd of July, 1943, age 25, Earn Malley died.

Crossed 107 degrees body temperature and out he went. Boom. Shaboom.

Except he didn't because he didn't exist.

But there is that.

Yeah.

So we're safe from the grief. We are.

So I can stop being sad now. Macaulay and Stewart, they had to let the world know about the poet that they invented. But like, how could they do that?

How, Elizabeth?

I'm going to tell you. They invented a messenger. And that was Earn's invented sister, Ethel Malley of Croydon, New South Wales.

Okay, so she's the one who writes the ode to an Australian urn?

Uh-huh.

Oh, Zarin.

Oh, that felt so good. No, that felt so good.

So that was for you.

Oh, that's just like all the muscles in my back just relaxed. Oh, that was so good. Thank you. All right, so in October of 1943, Ethel, not Ethel, wrote to Max Harris, co-founder of the magazine Angry Penguins. And apparently, Ethel had found Earn's poems while sorting through his belongings after he died. And she was like, you know, I don't really understand them, but a friend of mine said they might be worth publishing. I don't know.

I love people playing dumb in this case.

So Harris reads the poem, takes the bait with both hands.

He's just like, oh, you absolute fool. These are brilliant. This is what he wrote back.

Quote, the stuff was one of the most remarkable and important poetic figures in this country.

Whoa.

At Earn, man.

Damn, Earn. RIP.

And so it was a masterclass in forging a paper trail, and the mark never asked for a second source before going to print. Took it at face value, whole thing.

That's one thing about the arrogant. They will move quick.

They will. Let's stop for some ads. We'll contemplate conspicuous consumption. And when we return, publication! Zarin.

Elizabeth.

Zarin. Max Harris. Max Harris. Max. Harris to the max. Sincere modernist poetry enthusiast.

I can't believe you found a crime about this.

I mean, did this just come down from the heavens and kiss me on the forehead?

In a shaft of sunlight.

Pretty much. Co-founder of Angry Penguins. Man, about to make a huge mistake.

Are you making all this up and at the end you're going to reveal that I've just been duped?

No, dude, I'm telling you, like, I was maybe about 60% through with the outline. It was like, am I hallucinating?

Am I having a fever dream?

It's like, Marissa, did this really happen?

Marissa, hold my hand with this one.

No, I really did think, like, what happens if I finish this and then people are like, no, none of this ever happened. And then I'm like, boom, got you. You got Max Harris. Anyway.

Harris to the max.

So Harris got the Urn poems and he was thrilled. He's like, these are wonderful. These are important. When you find something like this, you want to share it, Zarin.

Of course you do.

So he took the poems to John Reed. Reed was this lawyer who became one of the most important patrons and promoters of modern art in Australia.

Okay.

His wife, Sunday Reed. This is so good.

This is amazing.

This is so good. She was a renowned Australian poet. And so John Reed gave up legal work to devote himself to the arts. And one way that he did that was by being one of the founders of a literary journal, Angry Penguins.

There we go. You know, his wife, Sunday Reed, reminds me of a debate I had with a friend. We used to play role-playing games. We would make up names all the time for characters. And I one time asked him about naming a character Saturday. And he's like, no, you can't name a character Saturday. I was like, why not?

It's a perfect name. And it was like, Because I had another character I named Saturn, and I wanted to use that same— it was Saturday, and he's like, no, Sunday could be a name. And I'm like, I disagreed. And then here I learned that Sunday Reed is a real person, so some other parents were like, no, Sunday is my baby's name. And I was like, that's crazy.

There's got to be someone named Saturday out there.

That's a cool name. But he's also the same friend who one time told me that when I asked him about— I said, I wanted to name somebody Christmas. And he's like, no, but Halloween, that's a name. Like Halloween, it's like Halloween Roberts. I was like, what? Do you have that ready? So that's for you, Jay. Oh, Jay.

This is Sunday. Sunday read. All right. So John Reed, right? He read the Urn poems and he was like, these are excellent. Honey, these are fit for print. Sunday, Sunday, come read these.

You've got to read these. You will love them from Sunday to Monday.

So Max Harris is like, I have to show these to more people. He gets the poet Jeffrey Dutton, no relation.

Sure.

And so he looks at him. He told that guy, Michael Haywood, in 1988, quote, I was absolutely carried away by it. I was envious. Here was somebody who had the real voice.

So he's from California?

Yeah, totally.

Yeah.

Because the voice you did, I just assumed that was Californian. Oh, he's Australian. How would I know?

It's the California of the mind.

How would I know?

You wouldn't know. You wouldn't know where this takes place. Just put that out there.

I'm easily confused.

So poor G. Dutt. This is the real voice. Oh, honey. So now Harris, super fired up. So he's like, I have to publish these poems in Angry Penguins. He organizes them into a collection called The Darkening Epic.

Oh. Yeah. That's some serious self-satisfied energy.

Oh, you have no idea. About three dozen pages of Earn Malley poetry. He had Sidney Nolan, who was one of Australia's finest artists, paint a cover for that edition of Angry Penguins just for the Urn poems. Nolan would later get praised for his series of paintings depicting the outlaw Ned Kelly.

Oh, hell yeah.

And he wouldn't have been able to make those stylized paintings if it weren't for the whole Urn Malley thing.

For this commission.

This commission like then kind of informs, well, no, it like gives him this whole experience.

Gives him inspiration to like, let me take on Ned Kelly.

So anyway, this painting for the cover, there's like a large rounded tree-like shape that dominates the upper half balanced on like a thin wobbly trunk. The quote unquote foliage is just like a modeled patchwork of reds, yellows, blues, greens, and it kind of looks stained or watercolored. There's this pinkish sort of nude figure that kind of reclines or floats within the canopy. So the tree reads as both like a plant, but also like a cradle. It's very dreamlike and unsettled. Everything's very symbolic. It's not literal. Like I'm, this is just my interpretation of what I'm seeing.

Okay.

And the paint handling is really loose and, like I said, kind of stained looking. So it fits the mix of surrealism and expressionism that Nolan and his circle were pushing in the early 40s.

I got you.

And I'm guessing that, you know, Macaulay would hate this. You know, the Earn inventors, those two, hate this. So the issue went to press. And Harris was so stoked on it. that he planned to mail abroad to Faber and Faber in London and the Gotham bookmark in New York. He was going to send copies out there. Like he's all in on this. And so are all his pals.

And like the modernist movement in Australia was a buzz. So in his introduction, Harris declared himself, quote, firmly convinced that, quote, this unknown mechanic and insurance peddler was among the most outstanding poets this country had produced.

They're like, he's the Australian rainbow.

Yes, totally. Harris is 22 years old.

Yeah.

So he has the hubris of this young creative soul. Like rarely has a man been so confident with so little evidence.

I got other examples of that, Elizabeth. Yeah, I know. Go on, though. Go on.

So the issue hadn't been released yet, but the secret was starting to leak.

Uh-oh.

And so Macaulay let his old school friend, John Kerr, later a governor general of Australia, and the poet A.D. Hope in on the joke.

See?

But then Macaulay had to go off to service in New Guinea, right?

Okay.

But Harold Stewart, he's around and he's still dying to share his secret that the new yet tragic face of Australian modernist poetry was one big joke. And like, oh, those fools at Angry Penguin, like he just can't wait. Zarin, close your eyes.

My eyes are closed.

I want you to picture it.

Hell yeah.

It's April 1944. A soft Australian autumn. You are Harold Stewart, poet and newly minted prankster. You are sitting in your improvised bachelor flat attached to the back of your parents' house in the Croydon suburb of Melbourne. The window open, trees rustling in the cool breeze. You run your hand over a lump on your arm. On the radio, a tender wartime ballad plays. Slow tempo, restrained orchestration, a simple melody with a clear voice carrying words of reassurance and love.

It's like all the top songs of the day, like You'll Never Know by Vera Lynn. That one plays all the time. In your later years, you'll hear these ballads and be transported back to this weird time in your life. This time when the buzz in the various Australian writing and art communities is the newly discovered late poet, Earn Malley. Or, actually, you.

You and your pal James McCauley are Earn Malley. Every time you hear someone gush about his work, how eager they are to finally read it all, you bite your tongue. You are terrible with secrets, and you are dying to tell people.

So you do.

There's a knock at the door. You jump up and open it to reveal a stylish young woman, her blonde hair pulled back, her sweater and skirt prim on her silhouette in warm autumn colors. Tess, you exclaim with glee. Tess Van Sommers is a would-be journalist awaiting a cadetship at Sydney's Sunday Sun. You invite her in and turn down the radio. She asks what you are so insistent she see. You pop up from the small sofa and rush over to your desk. You shuffle through some documents and pull out a stack of papers. You sit back down next to Tess and hand her the small pile of penciled drafts. She looks at you, puzzled. You tell her to start reading. As she scans the pages, her eyes narrow, then widen. She looks up at you.

Is this?

Are these? You interrupt her. Earn Mally.

Yes.

She asks how you have the drafts. Did his sister give them to you? Ah, so you've heard the whole backstory, you say to Tess. You give a dramatic pause. Tess, dear, I am earned, Mally. She screws up her face at you. You tell her she is sworn to secrecy right now, but when the time comes, she will have the scoop on this stunt. Tess, you tell her, we are going to absolutely slay Max Harris and guarantee yourself a job at whichever paper you want. Am I the only one who knows this, she asks. Well, you tell her, James McCauley knows about it because he is earned too. The two of us concocted it together. And anyone else, she asks.

You pause, pursing your lips. Uh, nope, you tell her, that's it. You hope she can't detect a liar. She reads through the pages again. This is so good, she tells you. Ugh, not you too, you sigh. What, she asks. We made this drivel to embarrass Max. She tells you she doesn't think it's drivel. Oh, come on, you say.

If you really read it, if you really think about it, it's garbage. Here, you say, taking a sheet of the paper from her hands. Let me read to you from the poem, Documentary Film. You clear your throat. Innumerable the images... the register of birth and dying under the carved Rococo porch, the Tigris, Venice, Melbourne, the Chen Plain, and the soundtrack like a trail of saliva. I mean, come on, you shout.

Pick that apart, you tell her. What even is that? She takes the paper back and reads the page again. I guess you're right, she says, then reads out more of the same poem. The young men aspire like departing souls from leaking roofs and fractured imploring windows to, all must be synchronized, the jagged courts of vision with the asphalt of human speech. Yeah, what even is that? You lean back on the sofa, satisfied to be right, and loving that you could expel some of the steam of this secret that had been building inside you. You remind her that she has to keep this totally secret until after the issue of Angry Penguins is released. She nods and hands you back the drafts. You fan through them quickly and then place them on the worn and scratched

coffee table. The two of you chat for a little while longer. Tess sees the lump on your arm and asks what happened. Oh, it's an abscess, you tell her. Disgusting, she says. I'm scheduled for surgery to have it removed. Even more disgusting, she says. Well, you ask, you tell her. Tess says she's late to go meet a friend and takes her exit. You walk over to your desk and sit down. The steam inside you begins to build again.

You've got to tell someone else. Ah, you know the perfect person. You look at the phone on the corner of your desk. Such a luxury, such an indulgence right now. But a gossip like you simply has to have one. You pick up the heavy Bacolite receiver and spin the dial to enter a number. The line rings its double ring, and then a man picks up. Hello, Roger, you say with glee.

Oh, Zarin. That was fun.

Zarin, the word is out.

Yeah, I was going to say.

And the issue hadn't even been released yet. It took a bit because of all these wartime delays.

That's what I was wondering about.

Yeah, but eventually the Earn Malley issue hit the streets. Tess Van Sommers was ready to run the story, but more senior reporters took it over from her and ran with it.

Oh.

She got scooped.

Yeah.

They hunted the hoaxers down before the hoaxers had finished preparing their own victory lap. So the investigation was like this comedy of errors on both sides of the continent. University of Adelaide lecturer, this one guy, he publicly suggested that Harris had written the poems himself.

Just free on his own. Yeah.

He's like, he made this up. Harris is earned Malley. And then that put Harris in the absolutely hilarious position of defending his innocence in a fraud that had technically been committed against him. Harris hired a Sydney private detective named Bannister to watch Ethel's address on Dalmar Street, Croydon.

Okay.

And it turns out that number 40 there was occupied by people named Stewart.

Stewart.

And then when Bannister inquired at the residence, he was told that the only person who could discuss Ern Malley was in the hospital. And that was true since Harold Stewart was recovering from surgery on an abscess. So student newspapers Andit in Adelaide and Honeysoit in Sydney then joined forces and established that Ethel's address was the home of the Sydney poet Harold Stewart.

Yeah.

On June 18th, 1944, the Sunday Sun teased its readers with this question, quote, Earn Malley, the greatest poet? Or the greatest hoax.

I love how quickly he gets, like, greatest poet. Oh, I know.

Immediately.

And they're like, oh, yeah, of course. We all agree with that, right? But is he also a hoax?

This stuff's amazing. And then within days, the answer arrives. June 25th.

Did you, by the way, get to read a bunch of Ernst poetry?

Oh, yeah.

That was what I was reading.

Oh, I figured that. But I was thinking, did you read multiple? I read it all.

I read all of it. And it's terrible.

None of it's even salvageable in terms of like the wordplay. Cause I did like that, like string of river names.

Like I was like, well, yeah, but I mean like when you take, when you take.

A step back, it's gibberish.

It's total babble.

Yeah.

Um, cause there, there are those elements where this kind of sounds nice. That's one of the most appealing things about poetry is how musical those elements are. And you get things like I get lines stuck in loops in my head that I kind of just roll around in my head and savor. Um, And that happens occasionally, but it's so all over the place. And I actually, I know a person who writes like this, and it's just like not a well mind.

You leave my poetry alone, Elizabeth.

So in the June 25th issue of Fact, which was a supplement of the Sunday Sun and Guardian, ran the confession under the headline, quote, Earn Malley, Poet of Debunked. So Macaulay and Stewart, they recast the prank as what they called, quote, a serious literary experiment.

Oh, okay.

So the fashion they targeted was their argument said it was, quote, rendered its devotees insensible of absurdity and incapable of ordinary discrimination.

Ouch. Yeah, it's basically we revealed that they don't have good taste.

Yes. And so speaking years later.

And they're easily fooled.

Yeah, exactly. Years later to the ABC in 1959, Macaulay added that the quarrel that he had with modernism was about the nature of inspiration and that he felt that modernists had embraced, quote, a surrender to irrational forces.

All right. And that's a lot of words to say.

That's a very modernist reply.

Yeah, I was about to say.

So Stuart, with this like touch of crankiness, complained that people would listen to musique concrete or stare at the most hideous Picasso, as he said, and call it beautiful.

Well... So is his argument that, like, you know, Manet, Monet are beautiful, and that's the limit of, like, how abstract you can get?

I don't know how— And once you get to the.

Cubists, it's like we all went downhill. I think so.

But I'm wondering, will he go as far as the Impressionists, or is this, like, full-on fascist art where he's like.

I want the classics. It has to be— yeah. Representational of the human form.

Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.

Okay.

And it's worth noting that the poems that the hoaxers described as deliberate rubbish had by then convinced a roomful of intelligent readers otherwise. Anyway, we need to take a break. And when we get back, the law gets involved.

Earn.

Earn Mally.

Elizabeth, these guys, they kind of like their critique, right? They're like, well, actually, we're doing a really sensible critique of the fact they have no taste. They kind of remind me of Jean-Michel Basquiat and his partner Al Davis being Samo. Yes. The graffiti artist. Yes. But at least Samo was fun. And even if you did read his like, you know, graffiti poetry.

Yeah.

It was like amusing. You know, there was like, there was still a critique of the art of the moment. Yeah. But it had value unto itself. And I'm like, you guys aren't quite hitting that mark that Jean-Michel Basquiat reached. Anyway.

Not quite, no. But, yeah, it has to be fun. Have fun.

I should also remember Al Davis. Sorry, Al Davis. Al Diaz, my football fan, just jumped right out.

I was like, Al Davis.

Wrong Al D.

What's Al Davis' kid's name?

Oh, Mark Davis. Mark Davis.

His haircut is legendary.

You like that?

I do. I do love that. I once accidentally gave one of the interns a Mark Davis.

How would you describe that haircut?

I would say it's like a very severe short bowl cut, like a shallow dish cut.

Shallow dish cut. Interesting.

Oh, Earn Mally. I wonder what kind of haircut Earn Mally would have had.

Flouncy.

Very flouncy.

Okay.

So when we talk about Earn, we're really talking about James McCauley and Harold Stewart.

Yeah.

Um the issue of angry penguin dedicated to the work of earn malley was released as we said uh the press immediately descended to expose the hoax so he.

Doesn't even get to live for like a month or a week as like no let's all enjoy it it gets published everyone's like we've been.

Waiting everyone was like perched On the top of the bookcase, waiting to jump down like a cat. And they were like, oh, the printing's been delayed?

We also want to take out a precious poet.

Yes, they want to knock over a couple glasses of water. All right, so Max, right? He's humiliated.

Yeah, of course.

Absolutely humiliated.

He's 22, so it's like everyone's getting on like this poor kid.

And he has hinged everything on this. But here, okay, to make matters worse, he now has the cops knocking on his door.

Why?

Well, South Australian authorities impounded the Earnmalley issue. not because it was a fabrication, but because it was obscene.

Oh, I forgot we're.

In that era.

August 1944. Yeah.

Detective Vogelsang called on Harris to ask about indecent publications. And the legal climate, not on Max's side. So, like, state obscenity law was really broad and really vague.

And fully up to interpretation.

There was no defense on literary or artistic merit at this point.

Okay.

None. In fact, Australian customs officials had spent the 30s barring thousands of books, among them Joyce, Huxley, Orwell, Hemingway.

This is when Henry Miller couldn't sell his books in America. He had to go to Europe to buy them. Mm-hmm.

So now they're coming for Max Harris. The case opened September 5th, 1944. And according to Jacket magazine, quote, the trial was the hottest show in town. Nothing like this had ever happened in Adelaide before. On the morning of September 5th, the courtroom on Victoria Square was crowded as a picture theater and buzzing with anticipation. The national press was in attendance and the trial was reported throughout the country.

So this is just huge, huge news.

In the middle of World War II.

Yes, exactly.

Let's focus on this.

Eyes over here, guys.

This poetry journal may be kind of dirty and also a hoax.

Well, it's like a relief. I guess so.

That's a good point.

So Harris pleaded not guilty to the charge of indecent advertisements. It was, as far as anyone could tell, the first official attempt to suppress Australian poetry.

All right.

So the prosecution got off to a wobbly start when its first witness, Reg Carter, who was the manager of the Argonaut Business Library, he took the stand. The place had sold a bunch of copies of this. And he admitted under cross-examination by defense counsel that milder profanities turned up in plenty of respectable modern books. And he said that in, quote, quite a number of modern books, the words loving, loving, bugger and bastard could be found and seem to offend nobody and so like that didn't help the prosecution yeah they want to knock it off so next they bring up the the detective vogel.

Saying next they brought up a zoologist how angry are these.

Penguins According to Jacket Magazine, quote, the Crown then called its major witness Detective Vogelsang, whose name translates into English as Birdsong, but who was known around town as Dutchie.

Hey, Dutchie.

Hey, Dutchie. So Dutchie was not really the intended audience for the poems.

No.

He was not a poetry guy, if you can believe it.

Birdsong didn't like poetry.

So the court introduced the poem Sweet William, and I shall read to you from it.

Please do.

I have avoided your wide English eyes, but now I am whirled in their vortex. My blood becomes a damaged man, almost like your Albion, and I must go with stone feet down the staircase of flesh to where in a shuddering embrace my toppling opposites commit the obscene, the unforgivable rape. One moment of daylight let me have, like a white arm thrust out of the dark and self-denying wave, And in the one moment, I shall irredeemably attest how, through with sobs and torn cries bleeding, my white swan of quietness lies sanctified on my black swan's breast.

Mm-hmm. Horny.

Well, I just see swan. I think of Yates, Leta, and the swan. And then what was bouncing in my head the entire time I watched The Odyssey, the line from there, an Agamemnon dead.

Oh, yeah.

And I don't know why that always gets stuck in my head.

Anyway.

Hmm.

Vogel saying he objected, quote, to the thing as a whole. He's like, I don't like any of it.

None of that's for me. Can't even hum a tune.

And they're like, well, what's your analysis? And he said, quote, the last five lines of the first verse are suggestive of sexual intercourse. And the second verse is suggestive of the person or whoever it is having yielded to the temptation of sexual intercourse.

I'm against it.

Yeah. So the defense attorney says, quote, is this person a man or a woman? And then Dutchie replies, quote, in the second verse, I should think perhaps it is a man. I think it is a man or somebody who is yielded to sexual temptation. I couldn't say if it's a man or a woman in the second verse because it's related to the five lines of the first verse. Yeah.

It refers to sexual intercourse. In the second verse, my white swan of quietness lies quiet in the black swan's breast. The person I is... is testifying how he yielded to temptation.

The part of the first part, identifying the part of the second part.

Zarin, never yield to temptation.

What? That's all I do. I know. That's all Elizabeth. That's all.

That's my life.

That's my chief hobby. It's my profession. It's my vocation. It's my avocation. It's my hold it now. It's my rhyme. In the first stanza.

So Vogel's saying, that was like probably, that's like one of the bad essays I would have received.

Yeah. Yeah.

Vogel's saying, testified... That there really weren't like bad words in the poems, but it was just a ton of sexual innuendo. And regarding one of the poems that was about people in a park at night, he said, quote, I have found that. People who go into parks at night go there for immoral purposes.

A bunch of fornicators.

My experience as a police officer might, under certain circumstances, tinge my appreciation of poetry.

Let's just say they're probably not bird watchers.

You know what I mean? Oh, you're being a cop might tinge your, yeah, me, I think.

I think it might tinge everything, sir.

He said of the poem Egyptian Register, which is like the best. He said it was indecent because it contained the word incestuous. And he admitted to not knowing what the word meant.

What?

But said, quote, I think there is a suggestion of indecency about it.

He's like, almost a lot of the same letters are in incest and indecent. So it's got to be.

I'll tell you what's offensive about Egyptian Register, which sounds like the name of a Wes Anderson movie.

I was just about to say.

This little section. Magic in the vegetable universe marks us at birth upon the forehead with the ancient ankh. Nature has her own green centuries which move through our thin, convex time.

I love that.

Like, it is offensive to my sensibilities, Zarin. Although I do love the vegetable universe.

Yes, I like the green centuries.

Yeah, and the ancient ankh.

That one, not so much. So bad. That reminded me of, like, how much is the incense? Is it $ 5 for five sticks?

I'll take two of the ancient ankh sticks. Okay, next on the witness stand was Reg Ellery, a consulting psychiatrist at the Women's Hospital in Melbourne. He talked about how the poems would impact the average person. And everyone's like, well, how was that?

Quote, bewilderment.

He went on, quote, the majority of persons are mentally lazy and would not interpret them. Those not mentally lazy would interpret them and come to conclusions along the lines of Mr.

Harris.

There are others, again, whom I do not think would try to reach a specific interpretation, but would be satisfied with an emotional satisfaction. Sentences in these poems, so far as I can see, are held together not by logic so much as association of ideas. And there we get to the whole modernist thing, right?

Yeah, I think that's actually not bad assessment. Also, I like that he's like, most people are idiots.

Most are too stupid to really think about this.

They're like, you might as well hit them with a newspaper, just like a rolled up throne newspaper, and they probably get more out of that than reading a poem.

Well, then he goes on, quote, The sexual references in these poems were too involved in their meaning to have a direct sexual effect or appeal to the reader. Like, they're not sexy, the sexual references.

Yes, they're sexual, not sexual.

So, like, you know, common sense, you're thinking, at long last, but then common sense was lost. The judge found Harris had, quote, far too great a fondness for sexual references. and warned that, quote, boldness in sexual reference is too often mistaken for brilliance. And then he fined him five pounds in lieu of six weeks in prison, and then costs of more than 21 pounds. And Harris is like, I'm going to appeal this, but he never did. So this fake poet who had been invented to expose pretension had, in the end, been convicted of the wrong kind of excess.

Yes, I love that. He's offensive.

The court mistook a parody of modernism for something way more dangerous.

Smut. Smut, yeah, yeah. Obscenity and smut. Unpure thoughts.

Then came the part. That, like, nobody planned, right? Harris went on to a long career as a critic, publisher, and bookseller, and he refused to disown his dead poet. Earn Malley's Journal was a magazine edited by Barrett Reed, John Reed, two different spellings of Reed, and Harris, and it appeared in the early 50s and ran until 1955.

The editors grew anxious about whether readers got the joke that they ran an article explaining, like, this is who Earn Malley is.

Mm-hmm.

In 1961, Harris republished the poems, observing in his introduction that, quote, the myth is sometimes greater than its creators.

That happens with myths.

And, you know, it's like people who bought the Spinal Tap album and loved the songs.

Okay.

You know, I think of it that way.

I loved the Blues Brothers soundtrack. Okay. The first album.

That's a great song.

That's an amazing bunch of albums. But it's got like real songs. Yeah, it's like.

Elmore James songs.

Yeah.

So the same year, 1961, the American poet Kenneth Koch printed, or I don't know if he does it Koch.

Koch or Koch.

Yeah, or Cook, whatever, Kenny. Printed two Malley poems in the avant-garde magazine Locus Solus. In 1976, John Ashbery asked his Brooklyn College MFA students to compare Sweet William with an early poem of Jeffrey Hill and say which one was genuine. The class was split, and he's like, that's the point. Authorial sincerity, is what Ashbery suggested, may have little to do with whether a poem works.

Hmm. Interesting note.

So maybe these two came up with it, Stuart and Macaulay.

Yeah, but it exceeded them.

You know, yeah, unintentionally.

Or maybe even like their subconscious still recognized taste and style, even if their conscious mind was being like poo-poo-y. Right.

The literature that grew from the hoax now dwarfs the original joke. So the Australian Literature Database lists more than 240 works about Earn Malley. Peter Carey borrowed the story for his 2003 novel, My Life is a Fake. Stephen Orr gave Ethel her own voice, thank God, at long last.

Ethel needed it.

In Sincerely, Ethel Malley. The composer Peter Tehorden set 10 of the poem's music in 2007. Wow. Scholars have produced book-length studies, The Earn Malley Affair, Earn Malley, The Hoax and Beyond. Macaulay and Stewart, like they were like dead set on killing a fashion by inventing a poet too bad to be real. But they got the poet who has outlasted nearly everyone they were trying to embarrass. And the fashion is still with us.

Feels like Peter Gabriel would have a song about this guy.

Don't you think so? Yeah, definitely.

Definitely.

So Zarin, what's your Ridiculous Takeaway?

Um, I'm such a, like, of two minds on this, because naturally, I immediately sided with the guys making fun of modernism. But then they turn me off with their self seriousness, which is just like modernism, self seriousness. And so then I started pulling for Max Harris, the kid, because I'm like, at least he cares about what he cares about. And then like, I started being like, okay, he's still a kid. So he really doesn't know what he cares about yet. So it's essentially I get back to the standpoint I like That poetry, much like how the Supreme Court views porn, is I know it when I see it. But in this case, it's I know it when I hear it. And I don't care what anybody else says. If I like it, I like it.

So I like Basquiat's poetry of graffiti. I occasionally like poetry that I find that is not poetry, that is just like phrases that happen to line up on my desk because of two pieces of paper. And I'm like, look at that. That's awesome. So to me, poetry is where you find it sometimes. So I think you can almost take the human... Not the human need for expression or the will to capture a moment or divine something.

I don't mean that part. But sometimes poetry can just like almost manifest. And so I was kind of curious about if anybody would get to that point. It seems like, you know, Asbury is kind of like, you know, well, guys, you know. Right. Poetry is in the eye of the listener, the eye of the beholder, whatever, how you want to put it. So, but I'm much more curious. What was your ridiculous takeaway, Elizabeth?

Well, you know, I was thinking that.

As a poetry professional.

Everyone has different. taste, you know, and they like a different aesthetic in messaging and delivering. And I think that, you know, most people aren't so heels dug in on a certain genre or being opposed to it. But, and I think for the most part, you know, people have their favorite styles, but, you know, you can understand the appeal of things. And when I'm reading the Earn Malley pieces, and some of them didn't bother me. Some were so bad and irritating to me. And, you know, a lot of it had to do with I want like a through line. And that's not always true. But I felt like they're so disjointed. You have to have something that's going to connect through. And I love the idea of just image to image to image. But I have to

have something. holding it together.

Some thematic thread. Yeah.

But then there's a part of me that also thinks, well, maybe that's the art too, of just let go of that and let it wash over you and feel what you feel and grab out of that what you like.

And what you don't. Let the reader find the thread as opposed to you providing it. Right.

So then it kind of then becomes experiential. And I had to ask myself too, am I looking down on this? Because I know it's fake. I know it's crafted just as a.

There was some good wordplay.

Yeah, there's interesting pairing of words, but then they just pulled so much. So you start to wonder. I mean, you can do that any kind of found poetry. There's the classic example where you get a piece of a sheet from a newspaper or a page from a book and you just start crossing out random words to build a poem that's hidden within there.

A lot of the lyricists also just take random lines and And they cut them out and then they kind of throw them down and they just let them land however they do.

Well, I think a perfect example. And so, I mean, here I am here, I'm talking about this, but one of my favorite lyricists and, and, you know, songwriters and I love Michael Stipe.

I was about to mention him, but I didn't.

And he's all over the place. And sometimes it doesn't make any sense, but my God, the way that the phrases hit.

I think he does to the cutout phrase.

I think so too. I think so too. And because there are like just the most beautiful phrases. phrases in his work that maybe don't connect to everything around.

It, but it's... It's not a through-line commentary. Yeah, yeah.

So, I don't know. I mean, the whole thing, this is the deal with art, right? Like, it's not... First of all, it's not life or death, you know? But we act like it is.

Yeah, we love that invisible hand. Yeah.

And like the warring factions within a poetry scene is hilarious to me.

In the middle of a world war.

You know, if you don't like it, you don't like it, let it go. Yeah, in the middle of a world war.

And these are like, you know, soldier age men.

Yes.

Exactly. I'm busy with my poem fight.

And I mean, maybe that's why they're seeking refuge.

In this foolish... I think so. They can act tough.

Yeah, yeah.

This is more important than anything else going on.

Well, and I think, too, that some part of it, though, is people like to, as we know, gatekeep. And people like to have their own secret language. And I think, like, with modern art, once you learn the language in which they're speaking, like, it starts to make sense. But if you don't, it's meaningless on a canvas.

Modern visual art.

Yeah. Modern visual art. And, but there's also that sense in some of these literary circles that like, if you don't, if you don't know, if you're not in with it, then like, and I, that exclusionary sense.

I've never liked that.

No, I don't. I think that also if you need too much of an explanation to go along with something, it's.

Like explaining a joke.

Yeah, exactly.

I think even in modern art, I think at some point it should, it should hit. It should have some emotional resonance. And then the more you know about what it's in commentary with, the deeper your impression is. But it should still hit on its own.

Right.

When nobody's saying a word to you, even if you walked in, a five-year-old adult's holding your hand and you look at it and you're like... wow, that blue dot is hitting me.

Well, it's like Rothko. You know, like you see it in a book and you go, okay. But when you see in person, it's like this kind of weird gut punch. And then when you find out like his mental turmoil and how he's putting that on the canvas, it becomes a whole other thing. So you're, you're given like a little bit of an answer key and then now, okay, everything starts to click, but you can't deny that like emotional electrical line that exists there, you know, anyway. That's my takeaway. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. But my real takeaway, I'm so stoked I found a poem.

I'm very impressed.

You have no idea.

All right.

So I think what I do need is a talkback.

Hey everyone, it's Lisa from Massachusetts. I just finished listening to the Nicky Arnstein episode and I can do a direct line from him to the dog I had when I was five years old. Sadie Sadie Married Lady from the movie Funny Girl was still playing on the radio. I really loved the song at Thanks and love the podcast.

Sadie's a great dog name.

Sadie's a great anyone name.

But I love that direct line.

Yeah, I do too.

That's awesome. Thank you for.

Letting us know.

I love that.

Please give your intern our regards.

Exactly. And the thing is too, it's like when you have like a childhood pet that you get to name after some piece of music or art, you know, like I love that.

Yeah.

I've always wanted to name a dog Puddin' Head. We named.

My brother and I had a dog named Jack, a Springer Spaniel, that was named after a dog on a TV show.

Oh, okay.

It was cool.

Good stuff. Anyway.

You remember the show?

Was it Tales of the Gold Monkey or something like that?

Oh, yeah. I know which one you're talking about.

Anyway. That's it for today. You can find us online at RidiculousCrime.com. We're also at Ridiculous Crime on Blue Sky, Instagram. You can email RidiculousCrime at gmail.com. Leave a talkback on the iHeart app. Please, please reach out. Ridiculous Crime is hosted by Elizabeth Sutton and Zarin Burnett. Produced and edited by Master of the Vegetable Universe, Dave Kustin. Our Ridiculous Assistant is Hawk at the Wraith of Remembered Emotions, Terry Maldonado-Fong.

Research is by That Rabbit's Foot I Carried in My Left Pocket Has Worn a Hemorrhage in the Lining, Marissa Browne. The theme song is by mechanical men posting themselves that built you a gibbet in the vile morass. Thomas Lee and Travis Dutton. Host wardrobe is provided by Botany 500. Producer Dave Kustin's wardrobe.

Is by Mr. Guy of Beverly Hills.

Guest hair and makeup by Sparkle Shot, Mr. Andre. Executive producers are Reef of Coral to tantalize the wide grinning shark, Ben Bolin and Noel.

I don't know.

I think these are kind of deep. Brown. Ridiculous Crime. Say it one more time. Ridiculous Crime.

Ridiculous Crime is a production of iHeartRadio. For more podcasts from iHeartRadio, visit the iHeartRadio app. Apple Podcasts are wherever you listen to your favorite shows.

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