Transcript of MFM Minisode 512

This is exactly right.

Hello and welcome.

To "My Favorite Murder."

The Minisode.

We read you your stories.

And you love it.

You love it, we love it. Let's do it. I'm going to go first this time, right?

Do it.

Yeah, okay. This is called "How I Met the Third Man in Hawaii." And the third man is that story I've done before. I did a long time ago of, like, a ghosty person saving helping save your life, and then there was nobody there.

Yes, I love these stories.

Okay. This is kind of long, but hopefully so is their life. Okay. "Hello, kind strangers who give us weekly tales of ghastly deeds and human triumph. Last month, while vacationing in Hawaii, I had the unfortunate, or maybe fortunate, luck of, quote, 'meeting' the third man. I'm a 46-year-old male and a decent swimmer, though slightly overweight, which, as I found out, does not equate to buoyancy. I've been snorkeling in Honolulu before when I was younger, and because of this, I probably overestimated my current abilities."

You're just like, ugh, I've done that before. So easy.

I'm still in great shape.

Let's go.

"It happened three days into vacation when my wife and I headed to the beach with our two boys, 17 and 5. Afternoon winds and waves tend to churn up the waters a bit on the beach, so I couldn't see the reef when I headed into the water for what I thought would be some light snorkeling. Unfortunately, as I would later find out, I picked a spot on the beach right in the middle of what is listed on the map as 'Grey's Channel,' which happens to have very little reef and is actually the deepest stretch of the whole ocean."

Oh, the whole thing?

I mean, of that ocean. I don't know, maybe. "A few other vacationers nearby were snorkeling in the same area, and I heard one excitedly call out that there was a sea turtle probably 50 or 60 feet to my right. After staring down at sand for the last 15 minutes, I turned to their voices and put in some good kicks, hoping to catch some video of the turtle with my GoPro wristwatch." Just experience it. Why are we always filming?

Why do you have to capture it and make why do you have to make it into content? We'll be right back.

Right. Speaking of, and as I approached them, that's when things went sideways. My chest tightened up. I felt lightheaded, and I realized that I was in trouble. This was an asthma attack.

What? A scuba diving asthma attack?

Who knew?

Fuck.

I turned to head to shore, and that's when I realized how far out I had gone. I could see the shore, but I was about 100 yards away. Now, when you're having an asthma attack on land, for most cases, it's not a huge deal. You take a few puffs of your inhaler and on your way. In the water, though, there are complications. First of all, I went out like a dummy with no flotation. Just me, a snorkel, and some flippers to keep myself afloat. Less air in your lungs means less buoyancy to stay up. Breathing through a tube in this state is not ideal, and to pile on further, kicking your legs is drawing away critical oxygen in the blood that you're trying to use to breathe.

Wow.

Yeah.

That's so scary.

I know.

It just turns like that.

100 yards is so far, like, when you think about it as, like, shore and how far you have to swim in an asthma attack.

Yes. And no one seeing or hearing you or.

No. That's when I, quote, 'met the third man.' I never saw anyone with my eyes, but there was suddenly the sensation of another person there and a voice that I could hear. Quote, 'Stop talking to the camera. You're burning air. You might still be able to make it. Take a bearing on the shore, float on your back, and start kicking. Even if you don't get all the way on your own, you'll be closer to shore, and someone might be able to get to you in time the closer you are.'

Yes.

End quote. So I did what I was told and started kicking my way back while still struggling with the tightness in my rib cage. No talking. Every movement calculated on getting back to shore. Get a few breaths. Keep going. It took me about 10 minutes until I finally felt my flippers hit the bottom, by which point the family had realized something was wrong. My oldest son had to haul me out onto dry land as waves carried me up the last 50 feet or so. And that's when the voice departed with a, 'See, you made it.' My legs and arms were numb from exhaustion, and for the next hour I could not move.

That is an unrealistic asthmatic, right?

Totally. I'll be fine.

It's fun.

I haven't talked with too many people about what happened because I feel like even after reading about the third man and hearing you guys talk about it, a disembodied voice telling you to shut up and giving you directions in the middle of the ocean would probably sound a bit nuts to most. Thanks for taking us along for the ride every week. Stay sexy and fight for every last effing breath. Smartacus is the name they use. Anonymous. Smartacus.

Wow, that's, first of all, very meaningful to me that Smartacus would share his third man experience with us.

Totally.

Because it's like, yeah, you would be kind of embarrassed, but we love this shit.

Right. And then I wonder if he hadn't listened to that episode, if he would have either not listened to it or just, like, blown it off.

Right.

So we saved his life is what I'm trying to say.

Yeah, it absolutely was us there in Hawaii. It might as well. We are the third man.

Yeah.

Third and fourth.

Now you owe us a trip to Hawaii.

That's what we have figured out. But I do love that idea where in the stories I've heard, like that one and others, where it isn't a familiar voice. It isn't like my grandmother came to me. It's literally like some weird right in your ear, like.

Totally.

Do this, don't do that, get it together.

And do this in a way like you weren't thinking that you could do that. Like floating on your back and doing backstrokes to tell you can get close enough and they can find you. Like didn't cross his mind. He had to, like, hear it from an outside voice.

Right. And kind of like a voice that said, don't give up. You have to start. And here's how you can start. It's not impossible. Just, like, cut through.

Totally.

I know I've talked about this before, but I recommend the podcast "Snapped" a bunch of times. It's amazing. But it's people telling their own first-person stories. And there is a woman who tells a childhood story of the third man coming to get her to basically run away from people who are trying to kid, like a truck that was trying to follow her when she was on her bike.

Yeah.

And it was a third man voice in her ear basically going, run now, stop.

Stop. Yeah.

It is.

It's called "Snapped," the podcast.

"Snapped." God, it's so good.

Amazing.

Anyway, very similar story here. The subject line of this email is "Lemonade Stand Scam."

Okay.

Hello. I heard a lemonade stand story in Minisode 508, and I knew I needed to tell my lemonade stand story. It says, "I live in a northern cold place where winter lasts nine months and summer must be fully taken advantage of. A couple of years ago, it was the first nice day of the year. It was a Sunday morning, a nice 65 degrees, and everyone was coming out of their homes to enjoy the weather. I was driving, listening to music with the windows down, and feeling extra chipper. So when I saw a little kid manning a lemonade stand, I decided to pull over.

Oh God.

Had he used this cup on other people already? Would he clean it after I drank out of it?

Absolutely not.

Would he actually dump out the water?

Yes, exactly.

The whole thing seemed a little too sketchy for me. Too sketchy after you took the sip.

Totally.

But I do appreciate his strategy to make sure he secured that 50 cents. Anyway, stay sexy and make sure you have the product in hand before handing over the cash. J.

Wow.

Yeah. Learning and growing here. Early Minisode.

Early scammers.

Yeah. That's fucking hilarious.

You don't have lemons right this moment. I would go, like, wash my mouth with antibacterial soap. I was just thinking how gross children are, you know?

Yes. And where, yeah, the cup could have been sitting next to their front porch, like gathering rain.

Totally. It's a rainwater cup. Pour it out. Turn on the spigot outside. There are lead pipes.

Get the tadpoles out of there. Rinse it. Serve it.

That.

Okay. I'm not going to tell you the subject line. Hello, incredible people. In the 1970s, my grandma and grandpa were having a vacation and had just arrived at their hotel. Grandpa decided to go play at the casino while my grandma jumped in the shower after a full day of travel. After a few minutes, she heard pounding on the door, the door being forced open, and men yelling, "This is the FBI. Come out with your hands up."

Whoa.

My grandmother, terrified, jumped out of the shower, covered herself with a robe, and went out to her hotel bedroom to find five armed FBI agents. Apparently, my grandma.

She was dealing coke.

Maybe. Apparently, my grandma looks a lot like the kidnapped Patty Hearst, who had just robbed the bank in San Francisco and was wanted.

Holy shit.

Someone in the lobby of the hotel, some nosy fucking bitch, you know.

You know my song? Patty Hearst.

Sorry, I called your grandma a bitch, whoever it is. Someone in the lobby of the hotel called the police while grandma and grandpa had been checking in. As grandma is explaining everything, someone alerted my grandpa, and he came up from the casino to help sort out the mess and describe it. No, my grandma was not Patty Hearst. After a bit, the FBI left. Turns out, throughout this entire mess, my grandma was more panicked about the two joints left on the dresser, all caps, in plain sight of the FBI agents. So this is what, the '70s or '80s?

Yes.

And there's joint. Like, that's.

Early '70s.

That is straight to jail.

Yes.

Right?

Oh, yeah, yeah. Straight to jail.

Straight to jail. She knew she couldn't hide them covertly, so she just had to wait to see if they would arrest her for the pot once they realized she had not robbed any banks. Thankfully, grandma and grandpa didn't get arrested, and we still laugh about it to this day. Where'd you get pot back then?

I mean, yeah, they either lived next to a pot farm.

Yeah.

Or they actually were drug dealers.

Right.

And should have been arrested that day.

Yeah. Thank you for everything. I've been here since 2016, and you've gotten me through so many tough patches and beautiful moments. Thank you for all of your discussions on mental health. It was what inspired me to finally start medication. And wow, this stuff works.

Nice.

You have a listener for life here. And remember, don't put anything on a dresser. You don't want the FBI to see. Taylor and then side by side of grandma and Patty Hearst. Are you ready?

Yes.

Okay. Tell me if you think they look alike.

Oh.

See, not enough. That person was being so nosy. They do not look close enough.

Well, here's the thing. This was like the monoculture where this was the only thing that happened that day.

Totally.

It wasn't like, oh, well, flip, flip, flip, and there's a bunch of other exciting stuff. It's like this.

And what if they were right?

Yeah.

All right. Cool. Thank you for writing that in, Taylor. We love grandparent stories. We love, like, rebellious grandparents.

Also, false identity, mistaken identity.

Yes. FBI being involved.

Grandparents' mistaken identity within the FBI.

Yeah.

It's everything we love. Very similar to this subject line, "Tornado/Grandparent/Dog Survival Story."

Oh.

It says, "Hello, all. I heard a call for Tornado stories. As someone who was born and raised in Oklahoma, I could not resist sharing mine." It's exactly who we want to hear from.

Yeah. Oklahoma. Boom.

On May 3, 1999, an F5 tornado devastated my hometown with wind speeds reaching 301 miles per hour, a total of 8,132 homes, 1,041 apartments, 260 businesses, 11 public buildings, and seven churches were damaged or destroyed.

That's an entire large town.

It took out a town.

Holy shit.

And I think, I mean, F5, obviously.

Yeah.

But it's like that's what they do in a swath, in a strip of, I mean, it's just tornadoes, man.

Yeah.

Okay. So the tornado lasted for over an hour and tracked a 38-mile path through the state. Amongst the rubble was my grandparents, Jerry, pronounced Gary, sorry, Gary, pronounced Gary.

That's like the parks and rec. Two parks and rec in one.

So it was Gary and Kathy's home. So Gary spells it Jerry and pronounces it Gary.

No, you're not. That's not allowed.

I've never been angrier. They had been in downtown Oklahoma City at a minor league baseball game when the sirens rang out, signaling that a tornado had touched down and they had to take cover. Upon returning home to the suburbs of Oklahoma City, they found their home destroyed. To be able to get in and out of their neighborhood after that, they had to prove their identity to the National Guard, who patrolled the streets armed with guns at all times. Amongst the shock and horror of seeing their entire home destroyed, they realized something horrifying.

Popeye. Good boy.

Just a little. It's a little girl.

Girl. Good girl.

A little one-eyed girl. That's only, it's just a baby. My grandparents have only been able to assume that she sensed what was coming and took cover. They had thought that they heard a whimper coming from the ruins of their backyard all day, and they were right. Because my papa documents everything with photos, I'm able to include pictures of Popeye.

Oh God.

In the spot where she had sheltered herself.

No, I'm going to cry.

Yeah.

Oh, she's.

That's where they found her.

Good girl.

Just like, I don't know what's going on.

I'm going to hide for a minute.

Did that little dog fly up into the eye of that fucking storm? I mean, like.

That's a baby.

Just a little one. Popeye went on to live a full life in my grandparents' new home, fully equipped with a tornado shelter, passing away in 2011 at the age of 12.

Wow.

Despite her generally grumpy attitude, she was my fiercest protector. So sweet. And then it says, "I've heard you mention about weather newscasters being a serious job, and you ladies are so right. I'm now engaged to a newscast director at one of the major stations here in Oklahoma, and he frequently pulls 12 to 13-hour shifts."

Wow.

"I'm grateful for my fiancé and his coworkers that work so hard to keep us safe. And before I go, I want to thank you ladies for showing me that loving true crime can be something you can make a career out of. When I began listening to this podcast, I was a community college student with absolutely no idea of what I wanted to do with my life. Because of you, I had the courage to pursue my master's degree in forensic psychology."

Oh my God.

I earned it in May 2026. Master's. A master's.

I'm speechless.

Right? And I'm currently getting my doctorate in forensic sciences. Stay sexy, support your local news stations, and take cover when you hear tornado sirens. Z, she's her.

That is incredible.

Oh, and here's another picture of her grandparents' home, the devastation.

Wow, that is trashed.

It's just like, have you ever seen the footage where it's just like.

Yeah.

And then every once in a while, there'll just be one home untouched.

Totally. It's so crazy that we've been on long enough that someone could not know what to do with their life, decide what to do with their life. Do the thing.

Do it.

And then start working in the thing.

Yeah. Get a serious accreditation. What do they call it?

Yes.

Okay. It's, yes, that.

Teacher drug dog confession story is my last one.

Nice.

Hi, Karen and Georgia. You didn't ask for this, but what the hell? Here goes. In my first month of being a public high school math teacher, the drug dogs came around campus, standard procedure, and a student immediately raised his hand and told me that he had a little pot and asked if he could just give it to me now instead of waiting for the dogs to come by. I started absolutely panicking, like, all caps, "Oh my God, why would you tell me that?" And he starts begging me to take the pot from him, and I'm sweating telling him and the whole class that I'm going to have no choice but to call the front desk and have them bring the dogs straight to our classroom.

The kid was in on his own joke. It wasn't like he didn't.

It was his joke. It was his joke. I have a little pot. Can you hold onto my little pot for me?

It's a joke or is it a narc test?

Right. Now he knows.

We know you got up to walk toward that phone.

That's right. Never trust you. Stay sexy and always keep a little pot in your bag. See?

That's ridiculous. Like, do not give me that pot.

Do not give it. I'm telling on you. Yeah, total dark.

I mean, I literally was like, could they open the window and put the backpack outside? I'm like, wouldn't you help?

She wouldn't. I mean, she could get fired and probably arrested for that.

Well, that or a teen. Teen going to jail?

True.

Okay. This is going to be a nice round us out.

Great.

Because we've really talked about everything today.

Surely.

So the subject line of this email is, "My boyfriend won a baby modeling contest."

Okay. Baby modeling. What is this? What is? I'm just imagining a mom, like, holding him up, turning him this side, like a cat show when they hold the cat and they're like.

Yep. And they're like, here's the stretch, here's the tail.

Open the mouth of the baby, check out the tail.

When you show a sheep, you have to hold their jowls down and stick your knee into their chest.

Same with the baby.

Right? So that the baby bloats out.

I didn't want to know that.

Hello, MFM crew. Too bad. That's how I live from age eight. Hello, MFM crew. Listening to your most recent minisode, you asked for baby mall contest stories.

Who are we?

Just total lunatics.

Yeah.

And I have a strange one. My boyfriend told me on our first date, oh, I love that. And I make him tell it at all dinner parties/family gatherings/to random people we meet. My boyfriend, Gus, had two truths and a lie on his Hinge profile that led to a very interesting conversation on our first date. When he was a baby, his family was living in Malaysia for his dad's job. His mother entered him into the highly competitive baby racing contests that plagued the early 2000s malls, not only in the United States, but also in Malaysia.

When they, it's like a dog, like a doxing race.

Yes.

Where they just, like.

Yeah. They kind of put out little lanes.

Kind of love them.

I know, right?

I'm fine with those.

Because some babies just hang out.

Totally.

And the screaming makes them stop or go faster.

It's always funny.

It's very random. It is on par, parallel to chicken ship bingo.

Totally chicken ship bingos.

Okay. So baby Gus dominated the competition and won the crawling race. And unbeknownst to him, caught the attention of a baby modeling agent who approached his mom with an offer for a cover modeling shoot for a popular baby magazine. His mother accepted the offer and has gifted me, 23 years later, the most hilarious photos (and blackmail) of my boyfriend. I've attached them to this email, and I would love to point out the headlines of toxoplasmosis and failure to thrive surrounding his face.

Oh my God.

Just making a bizarre situation even more hilarious. The idea of this happening in 2026 and our different generational perspectives on privacy for children online makes an agent scouting out babies at the mall seem just a little creepy. If one day we do have children, I know I will not be continuing the baby modeling legacy, but it's nice to know the cute baby genes are strong. I'm incredibly lucky to have met such a sweet, interesting, and caring guy. I'm sending this two years after that first date where we could not stop talking for hours until we were asked to leave the restaurant at closing.

A baby model.

This baby model.

It's my boyfriend, the baby model.

The baby model's got a red Corvette, and he's real. He's got a lot of.

He wins races.

He's got charisma.

He's on modeling covers.

He wears a blazer and a shirt with no tie.

Ask God.

Okay. Grateful for him. Blah, blah, blah. He's listened to many MFM episodes as I've been falling asleep to your podcast for years now. You don't wear headphones.

I know.

How could you do that?

Oh my God.

At night? Yeah. Good night, sweetie. In the background. He's never seen that as a red flag. Well, that's nice. Yeah. I love you ladies so much. You've been in my ears from my freshman year of high school during geometry class to my commute as I work as a board-certified music therapist.

Shit. She did it. The timeline.

She did it. And then she says, "Stay sexy and stay away from baby modeling agents." Bailey, she, her. Are you ready for this baby modeling picture?

Bailey, let's see.

Of a lifetime.

Wow. That's a serious-looking baby.

That baby went from this straight to public library shoots.

Yeah. It says the failure to thrive right next to it.

Failure to thrive. He's like, "Fuck you, bitch. I'm thriving."

Me bitch?

I'm thriving.

Right. From bailing to thriving.

Who's paying for these overalls? I am, bitch. I'm a baby model. That's how we do it.

Oh my God. Bailey, amazing job. Thank you for writing that and becoming a.

Becoming Mrs. Baby Model one day. Fingers crossed.

That's like your whole wedding has to be themed on baby models.

It's just.

It's just that on every table.

That picture's on the top of the cake.

Yes. The invitations.

Yeah. Only other baby models are invited.

Yeah. What table are you at? I'm at table baby model three.

I'm the one with all the high chairs. So much crying, but it's fun.

And he wears overalls. They both wear overalls.

Overall tuxedo.

Yes.

Overall wedding dress.

That's right. We love you, overall. Send us your emails at my favorite murder at Gmail.

Here's one I was going to do. Well, that was a great show, overall.

That was good.

Woo. Stay sexy.

And don't get murdered.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Elvis, do you want a cookie?

This has been an exactly right production.

Our managing producer is Molly Smith.

Our consulting producer is Kate Schellenbach.

Our creative lead is Alison Agosti.

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

This episode was mixed by Liana Schwalache.

Email your hometowns to myfavoritemurder@gmail.com and follow the show on Instagram @MyFavoriteMurder.

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Goodbye.

Goodbye.