Thursday, January 9, 1998

This morning, the almost unbelievably stupid dolts of our beloved free press announced, in breathless tones, what some official had told them. The official reported that Ted Kaczynski, the alleged Unabomber, was discovered with a red mark on his neck. He also was not wearing his underwear. The prison official, his own panties in a wad over the excitement of it all, no doubt, deduced with deft Sherlock Holmsian brilliance that Mr. Kaczynski must have attempted suicide by trying to hang himself with his underwear. Needless to say, our beloved free press reported the prounciementos of officialdom verbatim, with nary a question of the verity, let alone the sanity, of it. Of course, we are all to surmise, Mr. Kaczynski is a few tacos short of a full plate. One wonders exactly who in this important news flash is having a problem with a loosening of the Reality Grasp, but methinks it is probably our beloved free press for believing anything they are told, especially by officialdom. The story, heard over the legendary National Public Radio, was repeated numerous times.

It was more than a bit of a stretch for me to buy this particular whopper that early in the morning. However, one of my New Year's Resolutions, imposed upon me by family, friends, acquaintances, co-workers, casual passers-by on the street, God Almighty, and even my cats, for pete's sake, is to not be so cynical, Patty.

I did the only thing I could think of to do. I took a pair of my own underwear (purple, men's bikini briefs, size 28-30) wrapped them around my neck, tied them in the traditional and time-honored hangman's noose, and went outside to the oak in the front yard (trees reportedly being more than a touch homicidal these days anyway) and proceeded to hang myself by the neck until I was thoroughly and unmistakably dead. My neighbor Fred questioned me sternly: "You crazy redhead, what the hell you doin now?" "Testing the underwear theory, Fred. Don't you listen to the news?" was my reply. "Hey do I have a red mark on my neck?"

I then hung myself by my underwear until I was dead two more times, just to make sure the method worked, and that you all wouldn't think I was just making this up, or nuthin.

Turns out that underwear is indeed a fine weapon to use in suicide. Mine were so effective that they did the trick three times, making them, I guess, a weapon not only of destruction, but of mass destruction.

© Patricia Neill, 1998

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