Irony in Action
I've got that wretched "Hollaback Girl" song stuck in my head and I'm considering throttling myself with my own shoelaces. But then again, time's tough all over.
In my younger and more vulnerable years, whenever I got to feeling like taking my own life with footwear, I'd just pop open my wallet and take a look at a clipping I kept with me at all times.
I'd found it in the local paper, and had to read it three times before I could get through the whole thing. At first it was shock that made me have to go back, then utter horror, then, finally, hysterical laughter.
The article itself was only a few paragraphs long, as though the AP copywriter had to get it all typed up in one breath before he completely lost it. It concerned a murder investigation in Florida which had taken an unexpected turn. The principal of the investigation was a young lady whose husband turned up dead under mysterious circumstances, leaving her as the prime suspect.
Exacerbating the situation for the merry widow was that when her home was searched, it was found that she and her Late Husband had been producing and selling lovely little items called "Crush Videos," wherein the wife would take a small animal (such as a bunny rabit), and step on it until it was dead while the husband filmed. They sold these videos, of course, over the internet.
No, seriously. It was and remains--despite fierce competition--the single worst fetish I've ever heard of.
But the best part of the article, and the reason that the police had started investigating Stompa in the first place, had been the murder of her husband, who was crushed to death. In his own driveway. By his own truck.
I kept the article to remind me that even in this brave new world that has such people in it (that's a total of two pretentious literary references for those of you keeping score at home), sometimes the wicked get exactly what they deserve.
Which is what I can only hope will happen to the genius scientists that have unleashed The Undead upon us all.