Someone Needs to Murder A Kid Soon
Please, God, let some little kid get abducted soon. He could be a little shit, just some brat running around in his front yard, with a mother too busy neglecting him by making dinner in the kitchen. Some pervert scoops him up, leaves no obvious clues, and Nancy survives for another three months.
That kid’s blood is going to pay for my kitchen expansion. Perhaps I’ll name it after him or her (it’s probably going to be a her). Or perhaps I’ll call it Cold Justice, since I have a new refrigerator coming in as well.
I care about these kids. I name each of my house’s expansions after them. Little John Bennett, I loved her. I loved her so much that I rearranged the tiles in my walk-in shower to look like the last living photo of her. No, I wasn’t a TV show journalist at the time; I just cared.Can one be guilty of caring? Is it wrong to want swift vengeance brought down on anyone I deem needing it? Can one blame me for slowly becoming a deluded Eye of Sauron, sweeping my gaze across the newspapers, looking for the murder of little ones?
When I get murdered, everyone is going to search for my body.
Do you know how many kids there are? Dozens. We don’t need all of them. Have you seen the reports on overpopulation? Meanwhile, it’s getting harder and harder to nail down Enrico for doing some interior decorating. If I don’t get him working on a breakfast nook by Fall, he’ll likely get gay married and retire. Is any pervert reading this? I saw four or five kids hanging out at the park next to my house. I didn’t see a single parent. If you take just one- Just one, don’t get greedy- those other four kids will probably grow up as better, more careful people. And don’t take a little black boy. Every week my assistant gives me all these news clippings about lost minority children in Chicago or New York. No one cares. Now I just use them to set my coffee mug on my wooden desk with a carved depiction of Elián Gonzalez.
I know how it is to be the next little girl or boy who will be featured on my show. Sometimes my husband David leaves the house, exposing my two beautiful babies and myself to anyone bold enough to come in and steal us. When David leaves to go get take-out, it feels a lot like being chloroformed and tossed in the back of a sedan. The only difference is those children can’t watch reruns of my show Swift Justice while tied up or dead. Swift Justice! Now on at 8pm and 11pm every night on HLN!
There are sickos everywhere. When I was a little girl, a man in a station wagon tried to hit me over the head with his arm cast and toss me in a large, comical wooden barrel. He said he was going to throw me over Niagara Falls. Luckily I had strong little legs and kicked my way out of the barrel, backseat window and then my abductor’s head. As I sprung out of the moving vehicle he yelled, “I will come back with a knife.” That’s why I sleep with a kevlar vest over my bosom; just to be sure.
This is a country built on punishment and hard edges and 24-hour coverage. We are ever vigilant. We will never sleep. Rise, Sons and Daughters of Grace! We shall unite! Descend on my Vengeance House, bring your weapons, and watch me as I fall asleep.
[editor’s note: I just guessed his name would be David. Turns out I was right. Nailed it.]
Posted on July 7, 2011, in Chad Quandt, Character and tagged abduction, Chad Quandt, character, child, exploitation, Headline News, journalism, murder, nancy grace, paranoia. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.