Over My Dead Body Locks and Loads With Character Before the Bullets Fly

Character is king to genre-busting degrees in Over My Dead Body, a true-crime, anthology-series podcast loaded with colorful personalities surrounding murder and intrigue in America. Accomplished writers and journalists unearth and host the forensic nitty gritty. Witnesses and friends share intimate knowledge of people on the edge and–voices from the grave. Deep dives leave the least nosy listeners’ jaws agape long before the shocking what-happens-next blows their minds. Avoid operating vehicles while listening?

It’s no surprise that the makers of podcast-to-TV hits like Dr. Death and The Shrink Next Door wrangled the talented hosts they did. Matt Baglio (Argo: How the CIA and Hollywood Pulled Off the Most Audacious Rescue in History) navigates bureaucracies again to reveal unpopular small-town truths. Matt Shaer (Suspect) needles mislaid justice to raise eyebrows in an East Coast divorce-murder run. Then there is journalist Robert Moore’s work producing Over My Dead Body‘s best season so far. 

Moore broke the freaky behind the weird in his prior L.A. Times story on renowned big-cat owners Joe Exotic and Carole Baskin. As most know, the story quickly became a global sensation. His exclusive follow-up of the tiger-troubled two in Over My Dead Body presents a trainwreck from which there’s no looking away.

Season after season, hosts integrate and bond with communities. They hunt and forage for tough answers to build stories listeners love. They expose the veiled dysfunction, wealth, and privilege of the “perfect” Floridian couple. They show how bereaved tiger owners become—not soulmates—but mortal enemies. And how reticent townsfolk deny toxic masculinity and dark details to idealize their dead-cop hero.

Amidst bizarre America with all the sides, listeners bond and wince with protagonists. No more b-lining to the sellable end. Over My Dead Body’s big slowdown for detail and character pounds the heart all the harder when the bullets finally fly. So, if you must drive while listening, hands at ten and two and buckle up, eh?