ONCE UPON A TIME, there was this case in Texas captivating to the Nth. Molly Daniels orchestrated her husband’s fake death. And then, his reincarnation. What’s compelling about the case is how Molly Daniels was so diabolically clever in her research and at the same time so spectacularly stupid.
This is rather delicious.
It starts with Mrs. Daniels using her trusty home computer to research all manner of sticky how-to’s. She learned how to burn a corpse beyond
I don’t think girls suffer from this malady. Just guys. My gym trunks are on their last leg. I am sad.
They’re great gym shorts. I’ve had them maybe 15 years and they’ve survived hundreds of washings. Well. More than six.
All the things to fret about in the world — no more ice (or too much) at the North Pole, pesky terrorists and Rosie O'Donnell has yet to move to Canada. Me? I’m worried about how long my trusted gym trunks will last.
THE ONCE VAUNTED & HIGH HOLY MALE CHURCH of ESPN is falling upon hard times. Hundreds of staffers have been let go in the last year-plus. Viewership is down 10 percent across the board. Viewership is up at Fox Sports I and NBC’s cable sports programming. Cable providers gouge viewers, up to $20 a month, just to carry the sports network and viewers might be crying uncle. Some say it could even be ESPN’s dipping their toe up to mid-thigh levels into the brown and toxic waters of parent company Walt Disney’s self-righteous political correctness.
I’m not as big a fan of ESPN as I used to be.
It has to do with their Top 10 Plays of the Day list and Brazilian surfer, Carlos Burle.
I USED TO WORK FOR THIS SWASHBUCKLING NEWSPAPER. It was one of those grand jobs, the rare kind where you jump out of bed every morn and can hardly wait to get to work. One day, the heavens opened. I was sent a gift. Instead of faxing the family of the deceased, the local mortuary accidentally dialed my number with a request for embalming instructions.
Imagine. Of all the people on the planet, they asked me — me — for detailed directions of how to prepare the corpse.
I suppose I could have gone with the obvious: “Please plant me in a shallow grave under a mighty oak with my rear end sticking out so the kids may have a place to park their bicycles.