The Talegate Podcast

S1E10 - Huggin' Molly of Abbeville

January 05, 2021 Harrison the Florida Man & Aaron the Cheesehead Season 1 Episode 16
The Talegate Podcast
S1E10 - Huggin' Molly of Abbeville
Show Notes Transcript

This quiet town of Abbeville seems innocent at a glance, but restless spirits stalk the night. Huggin’ Molly has her hands full as The Talegaters investigate Alabama’s very own Banshee. But is she as wicked as her legend alludes? Listen and find out!

The unassuming town of Abbeville, AL, warns travelers of their very own resident specter on their welcome sign which features the silhouettes of an evil wraith chasing down a terrified child. This alludes to a story that dates back to Abbeville's founding years, culminating into a modern phantom said to chase down anyone wandering the streets at night, giving them a tight squeeze, and screaming bloody murder into their ears before releasing them and vanishing without a trace. But is Huggin' Molly really as wicked as the stories make out?

Journey with us to this small town to learn about Huggin' Molly, restaurants she's inspired, and even her role in the town's annual Spring festival,
Yatta Abba Day, taken from  the Creek Indian expression for "Grove of Dogwoods."

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THE TALEGATE PODCAST

Episode 8: Huggin’ Molly

Part 1:


FLORIDA MAN: Howdy folks, and welcome to The Talegate!


CHEESEHEAD: For those of you just joining us, we’re on a roadtrip across America to uncover the mysteries behind tall tales, fairy tales, folktales, fishtales, & urban legends, one interview at a time.


FM: We inherited a truck from our late Granny May only to discover that the crystal hanging off the rearview mirror was more than decorative. It is a Dowsing Pendulum leading us to the good folks behind the tales we all grew up with. With that, I’m Harrison, the Florida Man. 


CH: And I’m Aaron, the Cheesehead. Today we come to you from the quaint little town of Abbeville, Alabama. Fun fact: Abbeville is a colonial settlement that predates even the state of Alabama itself, beginning as an outpost for early European settlers.


FM: Wonder if the folks from that early settlement got anything to do with that nightmarish welcome sign the town has at its entrance. But before we get down to business, what we drinkin’ today, Cheesehead?


CH: Today’s brewskies are “Shadowcaster,” a porter by the aptly named Folklore Brewing and Meadery. Brewed south of here in Dothan.


FM: How ‘bout I give that bad boy a try? Ooo yea, mighty fine.


CM: Yes. Yeees. Now, don’t get me wrong, Florida Man. I do appreciate lagers. I enjoy the very occasional IPA. But porters are the sweet spot, and this one here is right up there with the best of them. You can taste the subtle notes of coffee and chocolate without it overpowering the rest of the drink. 


FM: Better still--and you know what I’m gonna say--they ain’t skimp on the alcohol, baby.


CH: They most certainly did not. Shadowcaster porter sends a right hook to your tastebuds with 7.5% APV.


FM: Good find, man. Good find.


CH: Thank you. Now back that welcome sign you mentioned?


FM: I mean, yea. You saw it


CH: I meant to describe it for sake of our listeners.


FM: Oh right. A description. Well, you come cruisin along at night and ‘bout time you finally clear no man's land you’re greeted with a sign reading “Welcome to Abbeville, Home of Huggin’ Molly” followed by a silhouetted image of some old hag chasing a frightened child. 


CH: He’s not joking. It is as creepy as it is hilarious.


FM: But you know what ain’t hilarious?


CH: Investing years of time and money into a college degree only to end up working two part-time, minimum waged jobs?


FM: I think if you just punched me in the face right now, it’d actually hurt less. But no, what ain’t hilarious is our guest tonight, if that welcome sign is any indication, anyway.


CH: That sweet, terrified little boy running for his life?


FM: No, the phantom chasin’ after the terrified little boy running for his life. Huggin’ Molly.


CH: Ah geez. This may be the first time I’m actually scared of meeting our interviewee, assuming she even arrives. 


FM: Oh, I got no doubt she’ll be here when she’s good and ready.


CH: So here we sit on the tailgate of the truck like live bait on a hook just waiting for a spooky spectre to happen upon us.


FM: I mean, I pulled over on this curbside here right where the dowsing pendulum led us. Ain’t much more we can do but wait.


CH: There is one more thing we could do…


FM: ‘Nother beer?


CH: Get out of my head.


FM: One for you… and one for me. Cheers.


CH: Hey, you look here!


FM: Dang, sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you.


CH: No no, you look here, where I’m pointing. Down the road a bit. Just off the curb there. 


FM: I see the general direction. Mind being teeny bit more specific?


CH: That tree by the side of the road a ways. Does that tree look like it’s moving to you? 


FM: Prolly just the wind.


CH: Funny you mention it, Florida Man, cause there happens to be no wind right now.


FM: Yea, no you’re right come to think about it. There ain’t no wind. And...hold up. That ain’t no tree neither. 


CH: It’s gotta be though, right?. It stands over seven-foot at least. Do you know any humans that tall? I think I’m just scaring myself. It’s just a tree. It’s just a tree. It’s just a...


FM: Telling you, ain’t no tree. Do seven-foot trees have wispy hair, eerily glowing eyeballs, and carry an open parasol?


CH: I’m going to level with yah, I’m not all too familiar with Southern Flora.


FM: The answer is no. It’s her. And she’s looking right at us.


CH: She’s ah...she’s floating right at us. And rather quickly. Christ almighty, run!


MOLLY: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH


CH: She’s gaining on us!


FM: Just keep runnin, Cheesehead!


CH: Too late, she nabbed me, save yourself! Hide my MLP plushies, the world dosn’t need to know!


FM: Would if I could, but she got me, too! Jumpin Jesus, I think she’s stranglin’ us!


CH: Except she’s just...kind of wrapped tight around my waist. Like a bearhug almost.


FM: Actually, I think you’re right. But why is she huggin’ us so damn tight?


CH: And why is she screaming in your ears!?


MOLLY: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH...re you guys doing a podcast?


[panting]


FM: Come again?


MOLLY: I was just wondering if you guys were doing, you know, one of those podcast things. 


CH: I can’t hear a gosh darn word anyone’s saying! My ears are ringing so bad!


FM: Ma’am, mind cutting us loose? We can’t breathe!


MOLLY: Don’t mind a lick, sugar. There ya go!


FM: Oh man. You alright, Cheesehead?


CH: Ah sure. At least I think so. Let’s regroup at the truck. Follow us, miss!


MOLLY: Sure thang!


[tailgate sitting soundbyte]


FM: So you must be Huggin’ Molly from that sign out yonder. 


MOLLY: That’s me alright! I just love huggin’ all these youngin’s. And, wouldn’t you know? They just love me, too.


FM: Uh, just curious as to what gave you that impression.


MOLLY: They love playing their little games! Warms my heart right up the way they include me in their games of tag. I run up and hug their little necks and they just take off a’hollering and having a good time.


CH: That sure is one perspective. Anyway, pleasure to meet you Miss Molly and welcome to The Talegate. [open beer] Do you partake?


MOLLY: Is that alcohol? Why, young man, it’s never too late for communion, praise the lord above! 


CH: Oh no, no this is more for recreational use.


MOLLY: I see. Well then, that’s mighty courteous of you but I must decline. And don’t you worry none, I’m not here to judge you for these heathen acts. [whisper] But know that the good lord will.


FM: Yikes. Any rate, pleasure to meet ya, but we do gotta work on that greetin’ of yours.


MOLLY: I haven’t the slightest idy what you mean.


FM: You know, the runnin’; screamin to high heavens; huggin’ folks with the constrictin’ force of a coke-snorting Burmese python.


MOLLY: Well I declare! Here we just call that some good ol’ Southern Hospitality.


FM: Ma’am, I’m familiar with the concept of Southern Hospitality, but you’re a bit much.


CH: Have you ever considered maybe just toning it down just a tad? Because I’m not gonna lie, I was spooked out of my gourd having to run from a giant screeching spectre. 


MOLLY: Do you not greet people you are excited to see by runnin over and huggin their necks?


CH: I mean I do. It’s not so much the actions themselves, I guess, as much as… I don’t know. How do I put it? 


FM: Okay, it’s like this, ma’am. Imagine walkin’ at night and stumblin’ across a big ol’ bear. Now, unbeknownst to you, the bear’s a friendly type and just wants to say “hello,” but his way of sayin’ “hello” is by charging at you full force with his claws bared, and roarin’ to high heavens. How would you respond to something like that?


MOLLY: Why, with a hug of course!


FM: With a hug. Reckon I stepped right into that one. Different folks, different strokes.


CH: Yah Strokes, Like what Huggin Molly just about gave me back there.


PART 2


MOLLY: You two have introduced yourselves like true gentlemen and here I plum lost my manners. My name is Huggin’ Molly, residential spirit of Abbeville, Alabama.


CH: Funny you should mention Abbeville because I wanted to discuss your history a little bit. My research details a story that arose in the Columbus Newspaper at the end of the 19th century. The paper recounted a series of encounters with a female ghost that is almost you to a tee, only in Phenix City, AL, not Abbeville. So I guess my question is, was that your first appearance or a different spirit entirely?


MOLLY: I am a product of Abbeville, born, raised, and buried. The encounters in the Columbus papers could have been a Banshee perhaps. A good many of us Alabamians were Irish immigrants from the start. Perhaps the fairy spirit of the Banshee came to them to warn of them of approaching deaths, because there sure were plenty of them.


FM: Yikes. So what you’re saying is you ain’t from Phenix City and you ain’t no banshee. Then just what is your story?


CH: Yah, fill us with your history while we fill ourselves with what’s left of this delicious beer.


FM: Cheers to that!


MOLLY: My story is from the turn of the century, and begins just like every other story in Alabama... with a girl gettin’ pregnant out of wedlock. 


CH: [Spittake]


FM: Well Damn, Molly. I...don’t think that’s true.


MOLLY: Hush and let Old Molly Talk! Now, this weren’t just any girl got pregnant. She was a victim of tragedy. Abused, lied to, and ultimately poisoned to death by the father of her child: the dastardly Mr. Bordan. All so she and the existence of their baby wouldn’t be a burden on him no more.


CH: Aaaah. And you’re the grieving ghost of the dead mother.


MOLLY: Not so.


FM: Right, clearly she’s the child of the dead mother, returned from the grave for vengeance to the man who done ‘em dirty.


MOLLY: Also not so. The mother, in her death, finally found peace. And the child was in fact a boy. The saddest little boy I ever laid my eyes on. Poor dear, growing up parentless. I used to see the child lay across his momma’s grave weeping for hours on end. My heart went out to him.


CH: So you knew the family?


MOLLY: If you think Abbeville is a small town now, imagine it in the early 1900’s. Everybody knew everybody then. Well, unlike the baby boy, who perished prematurely, Old Miss Molly here lived a long and happy life. I hugged the neck of every townsfolk and passersby a thousand times over as sure as the night sky twinkles. 


FM: Something you take for granted. Most cities and towns are lit up too much to see the stars clear as this. 


CH: The night sky here truly is a beaute. Come to think about it, despite scaring the poop out of people, none of my research indicates that you ever actually killed or even harmed a person. Besides maybe their ear drums.


MOLLY: Why I never! Why would you even say such a thing? I do hugs, not harm.


CH: Someone should put that on a t-shirt.


FM: I guess one of the pieces to this puzzle lost on me then is, if you ain’t out for revenge, then why you still here after all this time?


MOLLY: Some people are just so full of life that they just can’t leave it! The moment I saw that poor, parentless boy crying over his momma’s grave day in and day out, I vowed then and there to double my efforts in showing kindness to others. The spirit of death is powerful, but a spirit of life is, too. And so that’s what I’ve become.


CH: Wowzers, so people have you all wrong. Legend makes it out as though you are menacing wraith, but in all actuality, you’re just a bonafide sweetheart.


MOLLY: Takes a sweet heart on the inside to make one on the outside.


CH: They should also put that on a t-shirt.


FM: Heartwarmin’ as this all is, whatever became of that no good, murderin’ baby daddy, Mr. Bordan? Ever get his comeuppance? 


MOLLY: Not enough comeuppance, if you ask me. Mr. Bordan was arrested, charged for murder, and sentenced to a hangin’. However, the snake escaped the jail and fled Abbeville to somewhere in Texas.


FM: Hold up. So the bastard not only ran out on his boy, but ran out on his own damned death  sentence? At least he never showed his face back in this town, I guess.


MOLLY: Oh, but he did.


FM: Oh hell no.


MOLLY: Mind your tongue, young man.


FM: Shoot, sorry ‘bout that.


MOLLY: All is forgiven. But, as I said, Mr. Bordan did indeed make his return to this very town. Citizens of Abbeville later gave accounts of having seen a large person in a black robe wandering the streets at night. A gentlemen one night was out for a walk when he saw this hooded phantom and was scared half to death. The figure took off his hood, revealing himself as the very same Mr. Bordan who done his lover wrong and escaped a hanging all those years ago. 


CH: Takes a big bag of jewels to return to the same spot where you murdered your own girlfriend and let your 

son die all depressed and alone.


MOLLY: As the weight of age and regret grew heavier on the Bordan, he returned home in secret to find solace with what relatives remained to him. In his last days, he slept in their barn like a dog during the daytime and walked the dreary streets at night, dressed in all black to avoid detection. In the end, he, too, died depressed and alone. 


CH: Do you think Mr. Bordan’s moonlighting as a bargain-bin grim reaper is why Abbeville attributes a mysterious dark-cloaked figure to your own legend. 


MOLLY: Perhaps that is where they got this notion, but it's a false one. Dark-cloak indeed. Why, I’m in a fancy dress fit for Sunday and carry a parasol like a true southern belle.


CH: Why the parasol at night though?


FM: That’s fashion, baby!


MOLLY: This is actually not for fashion. It’s by nature of practicality. For you see, dumplings, sometimes Huggin Molly gets caught up in the moment and her huggin’-sprees goes on til morning. Being the nocturnal guardian I am, I don’t take well to daylight. This parasol keeps me from harm.


FM: That’s practicality, baby!


MOLLY: Practicality is the new black.


CH: You are really full of phrases that would do well on t shirts. Wait, what are you doing with the hook of your Umbrella on your rear end like that?


MOLLY: Scratch it if it itches, even in your britches.


FM: Now that’s a t-shirt I’d buy.


CH: Ah hush. Following your story about Mr. Bordan, I got to ask: if you two both roamed the streets at night, why didn’t you ever mingle? You could have scared him right to death if you wanted to.


MOLLY: As I said before, I am a spirit of Life, not Death. And I do hugs, not harm. That being said, there is nothing in my moral code forbidding me from choosing who I hug and who I don’t. Simply put, he and I didn’t mingle because I don’t hug folks who don’t deserve them.


FM: Don’t blame you for that one.


PART 3:


CH: So we’ve talked about your legend and history, but I believe there are more to this tale. For years since these earlier stories, several more accounts have mounted. One such occurrence was in 1908, with many eyewitnesses testifying sightings of a “Woman in Black” who haunted the streets at night.


MOLLY: 1908, yes. That was the work of a charlatan, an imposter high on his own theatrics. People caught onto this prankster and got so fed up that the Headland Post editor, Smith Deal, printed this little ditty:


 “Some unprincipled person is parading the streets of Headland at all hours of the night dressed as a ‘Woman in Black.’ It is frightening the women and children and causing our large number of dogs to be kicking up a racket at most any time of the night. I have been requested to notify the person or ‘Thing’ that it will be shot on sight by a certain husband and father whose wife and children were frightened out of their wits the other night. Somebody is likely to get ‘hurted’ if they don’t learn to behave themselves.”


FM: Sounds like Smith Deal had ‘bout enough of that bullshit.


MOLLY:  What’d I say about language?


FM: Right. Sorry, ma’am.


MOLLY: But he had indeed have enough. The whole town did, in fact. There is nothing wrong with a little 

good-natured joshing’ around, but this person took their pranks too far. 


FM: I heard a tale that in 1920, guy named Mack Gregory wrapped up his final delivery for the night and was headed home, only to have a shadowy figure described as “very tall, very wide, and all dressed in black” chase the poor man all the way home. Vowed never to do a night delivery again. 


CH: This does kind of sound like you, Miss Molly. You’re very tall. Not very wide in girth, but your bustle sure is. You’re dressed in black and you sure run at people like the dickens.


MOLLY: Oh, Mack Gregory, that sweet boy! I watched him grow up since he was but a tadpole in the bucket. Chased him down and hugged him good in 1920, just as I did when he was a youngin’. Sure was happy to see him. Mack sure grew up, but he never lost those cute little dimples. You see, most people don’t go out long after dark here in Abbeville, so I get real excited when I get to see familiar faces.


PART 4:


CH: The road to self-urination is paved with good intentions, the proverb goes.


FM: Does it though?


CH: Eh, I made that up. We now find ourselves at the part of the show where we discuss the other culprits 

behind your legend. You mentioned how Smith Deal ran a campaign against a charlatan posing as you in 1908. So what other jabronies have masqueraded in your likeness?


MOLLY: Well, there was the account of James Robert Shell, who was chased by a hooded hooligan in the dead of night during a walk home. His mom held the door open, witnessing the end of the chase. But it was certainly not me. This person didn’t even scream as they ran.


FM: So you’re saying that it weren’t a real would-be killer on the loose and was instead just some old tom foolery?


MOLLY: The Tommiest of Foolery. The momma and son both survived, so the culprit was quite obviously not a real killer. Oh, speaking of fools, there was also the curious case of the college kids.


CH: Sounds like a children’s mystery novel: Nancy Drew and the Curious Case of the College Kids.


FM: I’d read it.


CH: Would you really?


FM: Nope.


MOLLY: This story involves not a single Nancy nor Drew, far as I recall. As memory serves, many college kids would sneak out of their dormitories at night to mingle with friends. One of their male professors, who happened to be 7ft tall, had enough of their midnight meddlings and took it upon himself to don a dark garb and terrorize them. This, of course, was falsely attributed to sightings of me, as well.


FM: You really can’t catch a break.


CH: Heard of a more recent and light-hearted affair. I believe it was at the town’s historical celebration in 2010?


MOLLY: Yes, Yatta Abba Day. It’s a big deal here in Abbeville.


CH: Yatta Abba? Sounds like Swedish Music Festival.


MOLLY: Yatta Abba is a Creek Indian term meaning “Grove of Dogwoods.” Abbe Creek that runs through town got its name after the term and, beforelong, so did the town of Abbeville.


FM: Dang that’s awesome! So like, Yatta Abba Day is a sorta like a heritage festival then.


MOLLY: It started more as a celebration of Spring but it’s really blossomed into a grand to-do these days. Car shows, food trucks, garden vendors, and craft shows. But of it all, the music is my favorite part. I’m talking bluegrass, country, rock, pop, and of course some good wholesome gospel.


FM: You said you’re a night spirit though, how do you manage sneaking into the daylight for the festival?


MOLLY: Parasol, silly. I just pop her open and take in the merriment from afar.


CH: Sounds like a rootin’ tootin’ good time! So what happened at Yatta Abba Day in 2010 exactly?


MOLLY: That year Yatta Abba fell on May 8th, as it always falls on the first Saturday of May. During this particular celebration, a retired educator gave guests a historical ghost tour through our cemeteries. Another woman dressed as “Huggin’ Molly” bolted towards the unsuspecting tourists like a bat out of, well, I won’t taint my tongue over a story, but you get the idea. Scared the living daylights out of them!


CH: So people still dress up as you to this day for some good-natured scares, is what you’re saying?


MOLLY: They dress up alright, but nothing the way I do. No class at all, just a drape of cheap material and an maybe an umbrella on a good day. 


CH: It seems like your legend has elevated to more than just a ghost story to scare kids into good behavior. You’ve become a legitimate icon to these people. A mascot even. 


FM: Yea, we was looking for a spot to eat ‘round here and one the highest rated restaurants read: “Huggin Molly’s: Serving Burgers, Shakes, and Friendly Hugs.” At least they got the right idea about you.


MOLLY: That old eatery brings me such joy. Of course, I cannot go inside and have no need for the consumption of nutrients, but I still get tickled seeing all the families with children go in there for cokes, icecream, and malts. 


CH: Yah, it looks like a 1950’s diner complete with retro decor and movie posters and props from the era. I did a little digging and found out that Huggin Molly’s is owned by the founder of Great Southern Wood Preserving, who produces the YellaWood brand of timber.


FM: Yea, I’ve seen them Yellawood commercials. They were an homage to classic westerns so it weren’t a wonder to see posters of The Searchers and Roy Rogers films. Some of the other posters include To Kill a Mockingbird, and Casablanca. Plus they have one of the most gut-punching props in film history.


CH: The boxing gloves from Rocky?


FM: I meant more figuratively. 


CH: Ah, you must mean the red wagon from Radio Flyer.


FM: What’s sad about the wagon from Radio Flyer? It converted into an airplane to fly little Bobby far away from his abusive step-dad. They launched him off the cliff and he lived happily ever after.


CH: Uh, try reading inbetween the lines there, Florida Man. Bobby rolled a wagon off a cliff and “escaped.”


FM: Yea he escaped by flyin’... wait. No. No! NOOOO!!


CH: Ah geez, I’m sorry! Maybe you were right. I’m sure Bobby flew away just fine.


FM: You promise?


CH: Ah sure. I mean, the movie said as much. Nothing unreliable at all about the way the narrator said, “that’s how I like to remember it.”


FM: Good point, good point. 


MOLLY: What prop were you gonna say, sugar?


FM: Oh, the gun in the shop. It ain’t just any gun. It’s the gun from Disney’s Old Yeller.


CH: Which gun from Old Yeller? There were several.


FM: Uh. The gun from Old Yeller.


CH: Again though, there were several guns from Old-- wait… No. No! NOOOOO!! Come back, Yeller!


FM: Best doggone dog in the West. 


MOLLY: You Youngin’s and your moving pictures.


CH: Speaking of moving pictures, are there any movies based on the legend of Huggin Molly?


MOLLY: Not that I’m aware of.


CH: Damn shame. Damn shame.


FM: I mean, for the sake of yall listening, Molly here kinda looks like the ghost from the horror movie, Mama


MOLLY: Mama must have been a real looker.


FM: Suuuure. She was a real looker alright. Tall, gangly, wispy hairs floating around like she was alwayssubmerged in water. Definitely lacking your fashion sense though.


MOLLY: No big bustled dress or parasol? Mama my foot. She needs a mama to dress her up proper.


CH: I don’t think “Sunday best” that was her aesthetic. 


PART 5:


[popping umbrella sound]


MOLLY: I’ll be, will you look at that. The sun is already giving rise to a beautiful morning.


FM: Damn, it’s mornin’ already? 


MOLLY: Third time! Do I need to get the soap?


FM: Sorry. No ma’am.


CH: Aw geez, did we keep you too long Molly?


MOLLY: Well, I don’t have any more time to go out huggin’ the children, that’s for sure.


FM: We’re awful sorry for keepin’ ya.


MOLLY: Oh, but that’s alright. I got to hug the necks of two of the most darlin’ youngins I’ve ever met. Most people just see me tearin’ after them screaming for a hug but escape before I can squeeze them. I can’t thank you boys enough for spending time with this old lady. It really means the world to me.


FM: Ain’t a thing, ma’am. Thank you for lettin’ us interview ya. Anything you’d like to say to our listeners before you head off into the sun...rise?


MOLLY: Check in on your grandparents often and hug everyone’s neck like it’s the last time you’ll see them. A little love goes a long way.


CH: That’s a real sweet sentiment to pass along, Molly. Can we ask you one last favor before you go?


MOLLY: Anything! What can I do you for?


CH: How about a hug?


FM: Yea, Molly bring it in!


MOLLY: Oh, you boys are gonna make me cryyyyyyAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH... 


[Intense hug]


CH: Molly, you’re doing it again!


MOLLY: ...AAAAaaaaaaah’m sorry. I get carried away sometimes.


CH: It’s okay. First hug from a woman I’ve had in months.


FM: Feel free to shoot us an email at thetalegatepodcast@gmail.com and follow us on Instagram @TheTalegatePodcast for photos, cast info, updates and more!


CH:  And, as always, be sure to return in two weeks for our next episode!


FM: Comin’ up, we’re interviewing one of my old college mates.


CH: What’d you say she was again? A pyramid schiemer?


FM: An Egyptoligist.


CH: Maybe she’s a pyramid schiemer and you’re just in de-Nile. 


FM: Say that to her face and she’ll send you straight to the Cairo-practor.


CH: Good times, good times. Welp, see ya on the next episode!


MOLLY: Hurry back how, ya hear!


FM: See ya later, Talegaters!