Monday, June 23, 2008

i know i'm unhealthily obsessed and no one cares, but

i have to get this off my chest.

it makes sense when monk or matlock or magnum run into murder once a week, because they're detectives or lawyers by profession and they signed up for the body toll. what makes less sense to my delicate constitution is why the hell a teacher-turned-mystery-writer keeps running into bloody corpses everywhere she goes. there were 264 episodes of murder she wrote and every episode saw the murder of at least one person. do the math! i did!

mrs. jb fletch originally hung out in maine exclusively, but i guess the producers decided that was getting a little far fetched - all these dead people in the vacation state - so they made her start traveling around to la and nyc and other godless locales of vice and destruction.

i guess this helped some? but no, my god, what if in a span of 12 years, just in your everyday doh dee doh life, you came across 264 dead people? and still remained so jolly? and still wore cheery seersucker kerchiefs and rode a bicycle with blueberries in the basket? wouldn't you feel just the smallest bit depressed about things? if it were me, if i couldn't have a cup of tea in the morning without someone bleeding out on my sneakers, i just don't think i could go on. and while i'm sure this was all supposed to be very inspiring to the elderly, this ballsy old lady taking on criminals left and right, wouldn't it mostly just scare the shit out of you?

there are just so many questions that i have, you see?

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