MFM Minisode 509

[music] This is exactly right. [music] ♪ My city loves you ♪ [music] Hello. Hello. And welcome to my favorite murder, the mini-sode. That's right. We read you stories. You listen to them, and then maybe you write your own in. For fun. See, you know, it's like a casual agreement of content churning that you've never consented to. You want to go first? Yeah. Okay, my first one is called the Brazilian Boogie Man. Just starts. I was born and raised in Brasilea, Brazil's capital. I think I'm saying that right. I have a Brasilea story for you that has everything. A family massacre, a massive man hunt, the Brazilian wilderness. A guy who seemed to disappear into thin air, and because apparently we cannot have a Brazilian true crime story without some seasoning, rumors that he made a deal with the devil and was basically fucking magical. Wow. In 2021, mid-COVID madness, the entire region was introduced to a man named Lazaro Barbosa. For about three weeks, it felt like the entire country was looking for him. In June 2021, Lazaro was accused of killing four members of a family at their rural property in an area about 40 minutes outside central Brasilea. He fled into the Sahado, the huge savanna-like wilderness surrounding Brasilea. The Sahado is dense scrub, tall grass, trees, rivers, rocky terrain, and enormous stretches of land where you can disappear if you know what you're doing. And apparently, Lazaro knew exactly what he was doing. For 20 days, he stayed ahead of the police. More than 270 officers from different police and federal agencies were involved in the search. There were helicopters, drones, tracking dogs, roadblocks, and news crews following the whole thing. And somehow, this one guy kept getting away. He crossed rivers to throw off the dogs, moved between rural properties, stole cars, took people hostage, and allegedly committed additional crimes while he was on the run. Every time the police thought they had him surrounded, he disappeared again. And then something fascinating happened. Lazaro stopped being just a dangerous fugitive. He became a legend. People in the area were terrified. And rumors started spreading that he had supernatural powers. Some people said he made a pact with the devils. Other claimed he could disappear into the woods, turn invisible, or somehow transform himself so police couldn't find him. Obviously, there was no evidence of any of this, but when you've got hundreds of police officers, helicopters, dogs, and drones looking for one guy, and he keeps disappearing into the Brazilian wilderness, reality starts to feel like folklore. The media coverage was also insane. It became a bizarre national obsession. People were afraid to leave their homes. Rural families were locking themselves inside. Some people even left the area because they were so afraid he'd show up at their property. And then after 20 days, it finally ended. Lazaro was located in a city just outside Brasília. He exchanged gunfire with police, was shot, and died. And just like that, the manhunt was over. The whole thing reminded me a little of Richard Ramirez. Not because their crimes were the same, because they absolutely weren't. But because of what happened to the criminal's image, Richard Ramirez became almost mythical while he was still at large. The media turned him into the night stalker and people became obsessed with where he was and when he would strike next. Lazaro became something similar in Brazil. He became bigger than the individual crimes. He became a boogeyman. And honestly, if you've ever been around Brasília, you understand why the setting made this so terrifying. The Cejado is beautiful, but it's huge. You can be relatively close to the city and suddenly feel like you're in the middle of nowhere. So the idea of someone dangerous disappearing into that landscape, terrifying. Add Brazilian folklore, sensationalist television, social media, and three weeks of everyone asking where the fuck is Lazaro? And suddenly you've got a true crime story that starts feeling like a campfire legend. Anyway, Brasília says hi. SSTGM, Lorraine, like Lauren, but with a Latin rolled R and an A at the end. Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorraine. Wow. I know I've never heard of that. Never heard of it. Also, sorry to say, never knew, well, of course, never knew that Brazil was the capital of Brazil, but then also that there was like this surrounding landscape. Like that sounds amazing. Yeah, the insects though. Oh my God. And that really big Jesus. It's so big. Insects and Jesus everywhere. Insects and Jesus everywhere you look. OK. I think because of the international flavor of your first one, I'm going to use this one as my first one. OK. The subject line of this email is no sex, no raft, just a man in a rowboat. And it starts, hello, gals, pals, and pets. I just listened to Karen's story about the sex raft. And your discussion about how terrifying the ocean is reminded me of a story from my home country. I'm from Finland. So apologies for any grammar mistakes. Please, you're writing an email in English. Could we do that in Finnish? No, never. Not even like that. Well, sorry, sorry to speak for Georgia, but not even with Google translate. Could I? Then it says, we fins are known for a little thing we call Sisu, which I've told you about that movie. There's a movie called Sisu, S-I-S-U. Oh, yeah. If you end Vince or Everboard, I tell you, it will be a rollicking romp that you will not regret watching, unbelievable movie. And it's about this finish of minor during World War II and the end of World War II. He's trying to stay away from the Nazis, that one. It's so good. But basically, you learn a little bit about what this person is about to start talking about in that movie. So it says, we fins are known for a little something we call Sisu, which basically means having an unreasonable amount of determination, grit, and resilience. And sometimes, apparently, using that determination to row across an entire fucking ocean. Enter Yari, a 53-year-old Finnish firefighter. In 2023, Yari decided to row solo across the Atlantic Ocean in a rowboat, because I guess running into a burning building for a living wasn't enough excitement. Oh, my God. He rode from the Canary Islands to Antigua, then he made his way to Canada. So he could row back across the Atlantic to Germany. Oh, my God. In total, he spent 178 days at sea. By the time he finished, he was malnourished and could barely stand upright, because his body had gotten so used to being thrown around by ocean waves that walking on land was difficult. This made him a bit of a finished legend. So after finally recovering it from spending nearly half a year alone in a rowboat, Yari had a very normal thought. I should do that again. So in 2025, he set off on another solo expedition. Yari, go to therapy. It's just words. You'll be fine. Like, do a cold plunge every morning or something. Eat some tinned fish and talk to another human being. So in 2025, you set off on another solo expedition. This time attempting to row from Cape Horn, Chile to Cape Town, South Africa. The trip was expected to take three to four months. And for 65 days, things were going relatively well. Until one Thursday night, his team back in Finland lost contact with him during a storm. Then a massive wave hit his boat and flipped the entire thing upside down. Thankfully, the boat was designed to flip back up by itself, which it did. Unfortunately, it also swallowed a massive amount of seawater. And that seawater got into the electrical system. And the electrical system, all caps caught on fire. So just to recap, Yari is alone in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean at night. His boat has flipped upside down, and now his rowboat is on fire. Pick a struggle, my guy. So it says, he managed to put out that fire, but his electrical system was destroyed. His boat went completely dark. He no longer could operate it properly. And his only satellite phone had about 10% battery left with no way to recharge it. He managed to briefly contact his team in Finland, and they agreed he would only turn the phone on once an hour to save the battery. Meanwhile, he was soaking wet, freezing, and getting dangerously close to hypothermia, while his powerless little boat continued drifting further away from the coordinates rescuers had been given. Eventually, he got word that a South African rescue boat was about two to three hours away, which is great. Except it was the middle of the night, pitch black, and he was still drifting around the Atlantic Ocean. Finally, around 2.30 a.m., Yari saw the lights of the rescue boat. They found him. After being awake for nearly 48 hours, surviving a capsized boat and electrical fire, freezing temperatures, and almost being lost in the Atlantic, Yari was finally pulled to safety. After thanking the South African crew for saving his life, he had one request, a glass of whiskey. Honestly, fair. I would, too. Yari has since vowed that he will not attempt another ocean crossing, but he is finished, and clearly has no interest in staining still, so I personally would not put any money on that. Thanks for reading my story. Stay sexy, and stay on dry land. Helena, from Finland. Bye. guys. I mean, dudes, dudes. What's out there so bad? What's out there that you think you're going to, that's going to help you, that can't help you at your, at your local library therapist office, community gathering spot. Okay, my next one's about cats. I'm not going to read you this subject though. Hello, lengthy ladies and fellow murderinos. About 25 years ago in Aberdeen, north of Scotland, I worked in an office from nine to five and then in a bar from six to 11. Jesus. One evening while I was working behind the bar, my mom called to tell me that their cat Sparky, affectionately known as little shit, had died. I was devastated. Sparky was a gorgeous, long-haired black and white cat until he wasn't. He would rub his head against your hand until you gave him one pet too many. At which point he would attempt to remove your hand with his furry flick knives, hence little shit. He actually responded to little shit, which I found hilarious. I sat behind the bar and shed a little tear, desperately trying to hide my face so nobody would notice. Unfortunately, I didn't fool the regular customers who were very concerned because I really wasn't much of a cryer back then. 25 years later and then a puzzle, I can confirm that things have changed considerably. Anyway, my mom told me they had found Sparky at the bottom of the garden. They assumed he'd been knocked over or hit by a car because the main road running through the village ran alongside their house. We always had cats growing up, and whenever one died, my dad would bury them in the garden. My parents, Mary and Alan, would then go to the garden center, C-E-N-T-R-E, and by a rose bush to mark the grave. So my dad dug a hole, puts Sparky directly into the earth, no blanket, no box because apparently my dad had very firm views about fueling funerals and called my mom outside to say goodbye. She didn't want to go, but dad insisted. Come on, come and say goodbye to him. So she went out into the garden. Sparky was curled up in the earth, and according to my mom, worked exactly like he was sleeping. She went back into the house, sat in the conservatory, crying, and pretended to read her book. Yeah, someone's got a conservator. Oh, I know. Thank you. Yeah. Play the violin. Why not you? Dad told her he was going to have a shower, and then they could drive to the garden center and choose a rose for Sparky. My mom was sitting in the conservatory when she heard dad walk down the hallway, and then she heard, all caps, Jesus, Mary, mother and fuck, followed by Mary, Mary. Oh, I wish I could hear it in the accent. I know what this is. Do you do? Mom came running. She got to their bedroom and they're lying on the bed, fast asleep, was Sparky. They just stared at him, then they stared at each other, then back at the cat, eventually my dad whispered, "If that's Sparky, who's in the ground?" My mom called Sparky. The cat opened his eyes, looked at her, had a stretch, and went back to sleep. Basically, his expression said, "Stop bothering me. I'm trying to sleep." At this point, my parents went running back into the garden, and there still lying in the hole was the exact same cat, identical. Same long, black and white fur, same size, everything. What the actual fuck? Whose cat was this? Oh, you thought it was? Yes. Okay. I thought the cat was going to come back to life. That was what I initially did. Yeah, like dig its way out of a hole. I kind of thought it would be covered in dirt. It would be covered in dirt. They started asking the neighbors if anyone knew another black and white cat in the area, but nobody did. Unable to find the owner, my parents decided to continue with the burial. They went to the garden center, bought a beautiful rose, implanted it over the grave. Problem solved, except two or three days later, there was a knock at the door. Standing there was a young couple from around the corner asking if my mom and dad had seen their missing, black and white cat. My parents invited them in and explained the entire bizarre situation. Then they introduced them to Sparky. The couple took one look at him and immediately understood the confusion, but unfortunately, they wanted their cat back. So my dad had to go back into the garden, all the caps. Dig the cat up again. No. And hand it back to them. Remember, dad didn't believe in burying animals and blankets or boxes. So this poor cat was pulled directly out of the earth. My dad handed the cat to its owners while trying to brush the soil off him. Apparently, the look on their face is what I was want to pure horror. No, I'm sorry. You don't get to have a look on your face. No, leave the cat alone. I be happy that someone cared enough about a strange cat. Yes. And I'd come and look every year on the anniversary. And I'd go, I'd be like, that was so nice to you. Thank you. And as I walk out the door, I pick up Sparky and just take him with us. Is there all this one the same? Same diff. Meanwhile, back at the bar, it took me about 10 minutes to explain to everyone why I had gone from crying over the death of a load cat to absolutely pissing myself laughing. And honestly, I couldn't stop because the mental image of my dad calmly digging up somebody else's dead cat and then handing it back to them while sweeping the dirt off it still makes me giggle 25 years later. Sparky lived on completely on phase for the whole experience. And somewhere, presumably, another family had their own black and white little shit, SSD GM Angie. That's a great story. I mean, basically the same thing where we had this old cat and my mom drugged the cat. She got drugs from work and then drugged the cats. She had like seizures and all this weird shit and was clearly not okay. Yeah. But my mom was very close to this cat because Lauren, I had left like this at the same time. So she was like, that was her empty nest friend. And so she drugs the cat and she's crying. Feels bad that she has to do it, but it's putting the cat out of her misery and the cat walks outside and goes in a circle and lays down and my mom cries and goes inside and has a moment. And then like an hour later, the cat jumps up on the fucking couch and as if nothing happened. So she didn't kill the cat. She didn't kill it. She didn't give it. It basically got enough drugs kind of like let take a long nap and be like drugged out on the lawn. Oh, your mom's just going through it the whole time. That's a good morning again. Oh, my God. And the cat's like, what's up? Thanks for that. Can I get another hit? Yeah, for real. Oh, my God. Okay, here's my next one. The subject line of this is corded phone catastrophe. So there's so many people had no idea what that would even could possibly mean. It says, hi, Karen and Georgia. It was 1993 around 3 p.m. when I got home from the burning hot hellscape that was my southern California high school. I went straight to our yellow refrigerator. That's that's the one we had. Uh-huh. Mustard yellow grabbed a leader bottle of bright orange crush and poured myself a glass thirst quenched. I walked around the counter to make a phone call. We had a typical late 70s ranch house with an oversized u-shaped countertop open to the family room on one side. So you could pull up a bunch of vinyl bar stools and never actually have to dine in your dining room. The phone was on the outside wall closest to the living room with a fairly long cord. Just long enough, they could stretch across the kitchen. I delved my friend and started talking about whatever we talked about at 15. And then in parentheses, it says probably boys and drugs and began to pace around the kitchen. As I paced, I began to circle back around the counter and somehow smack the leader bottle of closed orange crush off the counter and onto the kitchen floor. You probably assume this would be no big deal since it was closed, but you would be wrong. In fact, it would have been better if I'd left the cap off, which honestly is more like me. Instead, somehow the plastic bottle cracked, but just enough in and around the right place, so that the bottle spun around in circles on the floor while a jet stream of orange crush coated the ceiling walls, cabinets, counters, appliances, and me. I was in so much shock that my teenage brain didn't even entertain the thought of trying to pick up the bottle or put something on top of it to stop the spring. There was not a crevice in that kitchen that was left untouched. It's just, that's like a car accident, like a minor car accident. It's never going to be the same again. Yes, like it's just a little fox for the rest of its life. It's just always going to be sticky and a little orange crushy. I did the typical teenager thing and cleaned in quotations, but I don't think I got past the floor and countertops before my mom came home and I left to change out of my orange sprayed clothes. She was already on a ladder cleaning off the ceiling when I came back and I snuck out of the house to avoid helping clean up the rest. This is why no kids, no children, ever horrible, horrible things because I was a teenager and teenagers can be pretty selfish assholes. Yeah, you know what? That's self-awareness. I respect it. It's very true. Yeah. But also, I just love, there's households where that you just had the kind of mom that's up on the ladder like, oh no, we'll be back for dinner. Oh my God. You'd be destroyed emotionally, financially and reputationally if you did something like that in our house. Same. Janet, you think she's fucking be cool with that? With you walking away. For one fucking. She's saying, I'm leaving to get a drink and by the time I get back, this better be fucking clean up. For real. That's not wrong. It's not wrong. Now the countdown is on. I wonder if that's why I'm so obsessed with games and stuff like that. Let's do it before mom beats the shit out of it. Yeah. You have 15 minutes. Okay. They go on to say, I now have two teenagers of my own and although neither of them has managed to spray soda all over the house, which they don't drink it anymore. Right. These young people, I'm always like, hey, you want to dye your coke and they're like, now I'll have water. I'll have water from my bottle, please. Okay. They want reverse osmosis water with electrolytes. That's right. So neither of them has managed to spray soda all over the house, but I do feel like my experience helped me somewhat keep my cool when one of my sweet baby angels went to fill the bathtub and instead of waiting and watching it fill up, decided they had enough time to go play video game. (laughing) No. I'm not sure how long the tub ran for, but it flooded the bathroom so bad that the water ran out of the bathroom onto our second story landing down the stairs and even through the bathroom floor. Through the ceiling, we're dripped down into the dining room below. No, that is structural damage and mold toxicity. Fuck. Luckily our house was 106 years old, drafty full of cracks and built mostly out of redwood. So it dried out surprisingly well. So, oh my God. I mean, I did however get to clean up that mess myself. What goes around comes around. Amazing. SSDGM and don't buy vinyl barstools when you live in a hot climate. A. (laughing) Okay, here's what you know, I love this. Send us the fucked up thing that you did as a kid that maybe you think when your kid did something fucked up, you couldn't get that mad at them. Yes. They pay back you got from your kid because of what you did to your parents. Yes. That's a great one. Okay. My favorite murder at GML, send us the-- And we'll call it grandma's revenge. (laughing) I told you so. Speaking of, I have a grant. My last story is a grandma story. Oh nice. Grandma Jackie Robinson story. Ooh. Hi Karen and Georgia. My grandma lived in a small town in Wisconsin in the 40s and 50s. Jackie Robinson was playing for the Brooklyn Dodgers when she was in high school. In August 1952, just before her junior year, she heard that he would be playing a game in Chicago. Lucky for her, her best friend's dad worked for the railroad at the time and was able to help get the girls to Chicago via train ride to watch him play. After a long day of travel, the girls got to their seats in the stadium just as the teams were warming up. Grandma grabbed her camera, walked down the railing, yelled, "Hi Jackie," and he turned and smiled at them. He held a throwing pose for her to be able to snap a photo of him. She said it was by far one of the best memories of her youth. I loved hearing her tell people this story with such youthful joy like she was right back there in the stadium every time she told it. Coincidentally, my grandma's name was also Jackie. (laughing) It was the perfect combination. After she passed away a few years ago, my uncle had the photo professionally retouched and printed on canvas, including a school photo of grandma and a copy of Jackie Robinson's rookie card for my mom. He titled the photo Jackie by Jackie. (laughing) It says, "See attached photo of the canvas and the original." - Yes. - Grandma was notorious for writing on her photos, but there's something cozy about seeing her handwriting. Grandparents are such treasures, slash treasures, and I hope you enjoyed this little story about mine, S-S-D-G-M, Renee. And then it says, "PS, shout out to my bestie Kate, a day one listener who introduced me to MFM. We saw you in Chicago and watching you pull a hot dog out of your dress pocket and tossing it into the audience." So it was one of the highlights of my life. - Spoiler teaser, spoiler teaser. - Spoiler coming. (laughing) - You guys will know. And so let me show you this photos. We'll put it on social media, but you can see him posing like he's about to throw the ball. - He's like, "Here, is this what you want?" - Oh. - I know, thank you. - Yes, God, that's so funny. It's like, I was picturing the famous picture of him that's very close up, but grandma, Jackie, got like the full scene of them warming up on the field. - Thank you. - It's so good. - I know, okay. - Got one more? - Yeah. - I got one more for you. I'm the subject line of this email. Just to change the direction one more time, is Toddler Khan Woman. (laughing) You asked for scam artist con stories, and my parents love to talk about how I was a toddler con woman. And then in parentheses it says, "Con girl, con child," question mark. Okay, so my dad was a lawyer with a small practice, and my mom was his office manager. She would bring me to work with her daily since what was the boss going to say? (laughing) My mom used to put baby meat in one of those walkers that you can sit in and walk around in as it had wheels. Remember this? - Mm-hmm. The pitos? - I had free reign of not only the law office, but the whole building. For some reason they'd open the door and let me watch around when I got full screen. - No, just like down the stairs, out the door. - Is it also like down the stairs? The baby's like holding itself back, trying not to fall. But it's just like the things that I think you and I have such reservations about raising children, it seems like most people have never cared about any of that. - You and I are the only people who have thought of these things that people who are never having children are like, wait, maybe you shouldn't do that with children. - I don't know if you should let your toddler go door to door. I don't know. What would I know? Okay, so it said, thankfully all the other building tenants knew me and I quickly learned that the other office employees would give me candy or snacks. - Yeah, they would. - I would go office to office making grabby hands at the various candy bowls and everyone would give me a piece of candy. At some point, I think my mom told them to stop giving me candy because the supply dried up, but I was undeterred. My mom's favorite part of this story is that I would make my way to the building's vending machine on the first floor. Her office was on the second. - Jesus. - She's got the elevator down or what? - I would wait by the elevators until someone was going down and ride alone. - I'm sorry, if I had thought a baby getting an elevator with me. - I would never stop screaming. - I wouldn't be like, what floor? I would be like, get the fuck out of here. - Pond that baby out of here. - I would have this strangest reaction. I think, um, you can't come in here. - No ladies in the evening. - You don't go to this school. - Okay. - You can't sit with us. - Okay, yeah, that's crazy. I would then stand next to the vending machine and wait for a poor sap to walk by. When someone approached, I would tap on the vending machine, quiver my lip, and tears would fill my eyes. I would say, Coke? - Coke? - Well tapping pathetically. I guess people would fall for it because they would insert coins and buy me a Coke. - Yeah. - They often open the can for me, which I would happily accept and taut a lot of things. - Oh shit. What if you were high and that happened? You were just like, did I hallucinate a baby? - Yeah. - Did I buy a baby a Coke? - Or am I the baby? One time it was a client of my dad's. So he followed me as I went to the elevator. I wrote up with him and I accompanied him to the office. When he got into a meeting with my dad, he told him that he'd bought me a Coke and my dad was very exasperated. As that day, it would have been the third one that day that someone had got for me. - I don't know. Maybe supervised the fucking baby. - Or just put a fucking note on the fucking vending machine. If there's a baby trying to make you-- - Yeah, no Cokes for this baby. - No Cokes for babies, please. - How about you shut that baby into the conference room? - Right. - That's a full round of mini racetrack for a baby. - Absolutely. - Of course, when I'd show back up at the office, holding the can, they'd take it away from me. I never cried. I just shrugged it off and went back to Khan, some other person out of a Coke. And this is in bold. Eventually, they put up a sign saying, don't buy the baby a Coke. I wish I had a picture of that. - That's so good. Don't buy the baby a Coke. - She got her diet only. That's what they should have. Diet or nothing. - Because then you think about it where you're like, there's some babies that look older and they're toddlers, but you're like, oh, is that a four-year-old or whatever, but they're nothing. Then there's some babies that look younger. What if it looked like a six-month-old baby? - Yeah. - Coke. - So scary. And then this is the next paragraph. After it says, don't buy the baby a Coke, it says people still would though. And then it said, now we're in the kind of questioning philosophical part of the email. Why was I left a wander in office building? Why was I left a wander in office building by myself? I guess it was the '90s. My con toddler days are over and I grew up to be a law by the citizen. Nowadays, my toddler hasn't had to perfect any sort of routine because my parents are her biggest suckers. - Yes. - The ultimate scam, which is the Lucy Goosey parents in the '90s are now the greatest grandparents in the 2020s. - No. - Thanks for being a bright spot to my weeks. I listened a lot during my daughter's extended Nick Eustay as you brought me a lot of comfort. Ah, so scary. - Oh my God. - She is written in the car and we often listen together though I screen episodes now beforehand and don't listen to the darker slash violent ones with her. Thank you, that's good. - Yes, good parenting, turns out. Look at you parenting out of nowhere. (laughing) It says, "When I start the car, I'll ask her, do you want music or talking?" And oftentimes she says, "Talking." And if I put on a different podcast, she'll say, "No, I want to listen to the ladies." - Yes. - Yes. - Tell her to leave her review. We need it. (laughing) - Tell her, ask her if she's interested in the fan cult. - Yes. - She wants to listen to the ladies. - The baby likes us. I'm going to get that baby. a coat. Anyway, that's probably not a good idea either. Oh, well, it's your league, baby. Katie. Oh, what was the baby's name? We don't know the new baby. Hi, new baby. Hi, new baby. Hi, baby, old enough to be able to make requests on the car. Now the babies are calling the shots from the back seat. That's right. Before you were left to scam for for cane sugar, what a time. Send us your, you know, whatever it may be. But my favorite winner at GML, obviously at anything. This was more like a hang with Katie, where Katie was kind of like, hey, here's a memory of her from being trolley. And I loved it. One of the best. Yeah, we loved it. Good job. Good job, everyone. Thank you for listening. Thank you all kindly and stay sexy and don't get murdered. 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 Schelmbach. Our creative lead is Alice in the Gosty. Our associate producer is Tessa Hughes and our editor is Aristotle Acevedo. This episode was mixed by Liana Squalachi. Email your hometowns to my favorite murder at gmail.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 thumbs up button. Goodbye.