So it�s Wednesday now, and I�ve returned to my regularly scheduled misery here at Titanic Cruises. Let me tell you, the week is back with a vengeance, y�all. I thought that maybe, just maybe, this week would go with the theme I�d set up (you know, of me not actually working), but I guess both that and my sweeping Broadway as the lead in Riverdance shall remain pipe dreams.
FUCK YOU, PHONE! Fuck you to HELL! You ringing piece of shit bitch pachyderm fucker! I hate you! I hate you! Do you hear me??? CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW, YOU SHIT-SUCKING, DONKEY-PUNCHING, COW-HUMPING, WHORE-MONGERING, FASCIST SON OF A BITCH???
I�m sorry. I needed to get that out of my system. Anyway, let�s move on!
I was inspired by a post in my guestbook from Heather, in response to my mention of Murder, She Wrote in yesterday�s entry. For those of you who are too damn lazy to check the guestbook (and I know you�re out there), Heather wrote:
�I love Jessica Fletcher. Everyone she encounters is, like, DESPERATE to win her respect, and all she has to do is cock an eyebrow at you to get you to confess to every murder (or deep, dark secret/vendetta). That used to INFURIATE my father. He'd be like, "What the hell? Why are they confessing? What is wrong with these people? I HATE THIS SHOW. When is it on again?" Hee. God bless Cabot Cove.�
Word, Heather. Word.I�m not ashamed of my Murder, She Wrote love one little bit, thank you very much. J.B. Fletcher is the whip! Seriously, though, she was this nosy old bag who wouldn�t mind her own even when her life depended on it. And she�d just start butting in and asking you all kinds of personal questions, and you�d be like, �I really don�t want to talk about this,� and she�d make some kind of casual, passive-aggressive comment about how that was fine, and that maybe she�d get the information from your WIFE or your DAUGHTER or your MISTRESS, and you�d be like, �Okay, okay! I�ll talk! I�ll tell you anything you want to know!�
Also, I loved the way she would figure out who did it, and then confront the perp, alone, mano a mano, and reveal how she -- Jessica Fletcher -- had deduced the identity of the killer. And they�d protest at first, but then she�d be like, �See, that�s what I thought too�at first! But then I remembered what you said the other day at lunch�� and that would segue into a flashback of the killer, sitting at lunch, and saying something incredibly obvious like, �I can�t believe they think Jennifer, in her blue dress and matching heels, did it!� Only, of course it�ll have turned out that Jennifer had changed out of her blue dress and matching heels, and the only way the killer would have ever seen her in that particular ensemble would be at the murder scene itself or something.
And then, faced with Jessica Fletcher�s incontrovertible reasoning, the perp would always break down and admit it. And then you�d get the money shot. You know the one I�m talking about. The Non-Flashback Flashback! Where the guilty party would start his or her confession, and then the camera would go all hazy and you�d watch as the killer offed the vic, and then struggled with the body and orchestrated the cover-up. That was the best fucking part, man. Some of my favorites were the one where the chick kills the guy with a poker and then dumps his body down a hill and into the water, the one where the chick kills the guy with a frozen tuna (!), the one where the chick kills the guy by dropping the hairdryer into the tub�ah, good times.
And the woman wrote like 876 novels, too. Did you ever notice that in every single episode, she was either working on a new book or else reading it aloud to the audience, like story hour or whatever? I didn�t like those episodes. I�m watching this show so I can watch J.B. Fletcher nail someone�s ass to the wall, passive-aggressive style, yo. Not so she can yap about �Billy� and �Susie� and how their lives are so hard, what with him being accused of murdering her rich father and all.
Anyway, you�ve got to give it up for the folks back at Cabot Cove. Any other small town in Massachusetts would have kicked a death-magnet like Jessica Fletcher out on her ass, or burned her at the stake or whatever. Yeah, that show was pretty fuckin� awesome.
