Garry casually dropped into the kitchen and said, “Jeffrey Epstein is dead.”
“Seriously?” I said.
“Really?” said Ben, who is visiting from Arizona.
“Well, that’s what the headline said” Garry reiterated.
When I finished making coffee and muffins and finally made it to the computer, I had to go through most of my email until I finally found the headline. Frankly, Fandango’s “How convenient,” seemed a better explanation.
Not like we are all getting paranoid, but it is awfully convenient. Frankly, I was looking forward to a long, involved trial that would really improve the quality of late-night television comedy.
I had a list of possible people who would stand up, take oaths on the bible, then lie like crazy in court, all of which would be followed by a multi-part television serial.
CBS? Fox? Netflix? HBO? Originally I thought a two-parter, but when I added up the witnesses — for both the prosecution and the defense — I realized at least a three-parter and who knows? Four? Two complete seasons?
It had serious television potential.
Now the show will be authored at attempts to unravel the paranoia of his “death.” I mean … is he dead? Was he spirited away to a secret paradisical island? Lifted away by rogue CIA agents who are water-boarding him in a black room in Guantanamo?
How about carried away by enraged women and lord only knows what THEY are doing to him. Secret cameras anywhere? Oh, this could be really too hot even for our media to handle.
I’m not at all sure he was spirited away to a lovely little tropical island. I beg to differ. I think he might have been taken away by parties who intend to show him the real meaning of suffering, thus to go through a far better punishment than any court could arrange.
I just wish I’d been invited to the party.