Location: United States

Monday, October 02, 2006

Time for some backpedalling.

Just as I was about to beat Toby senseless, I had a thought:

My darling Aldo is gone. Nothing can bring him back to me. I know, because I tried in vain for several years to resurrect my late husband, Jack Worth, and ended up pissing away a lot of good money on voodoo priestesses who claimed they could help me out.

I, however, am still alive. And I will need to keep living here in the Charterstone Condominium Complex. It would not be a good idea to alienate my neighbors. If I do, they might not come to me for advice anymore.

So, when Toby began to weepily blame herself for Aldo's death, I decided to do a 180 and take a hard line. "We didn't buy him that bottle!" I told her. "We didn't make him drive drunk!" Then I decided to toss in a whopper, just to make it clear where I stood. "And we weren't that hard on him!"

I was sure everyone was going to jump all over me and point out that, just a minute ago, I had blamed them all for Aldo's death. But fortunately, just at that moment, Toby began to bite her nails, and everyone was so busy shuddering in response to the disgusting sound of that vile nervous habit that they were distracted from my dramatic volte face (or voltafaccia, as my late husband's friend Lucky Luciano would have said).

Toby whined that she felt bad about "maybe" being "indirectly" responsible for Aldo's death. I wanted to slap her and scream, "There's no 'indirect' about it, you stupid twat!" But that would have been counter to my plans, so I kept quiet. It would've been fun though.

Then Ian Cameron said that he felt just as responsible as Toby did! And Toby said that the intervention had been intended to help Aldo too! It was then that I realized I would never be called on my lies because the whole room was filled with revisionist historians.

Toby said, "Who knows? Maybe his unrequited love for Mary was all he had going for him!" Of course, this is patently ridiculous. Aldo also had his devastatingly good looks, his irresistible charm and joie de vivre, and his overwhelming sexual magnetism. On top of which, he exuded the scent of red wine and aged salami. Divine. He could have had any woman he wanted.

I was struggling with my natural urge to contradict Toby and make her look stupid, but just then, Dr. Ian Cameron did the most amazing thing! He suddenly grew into a giant hulk of a man with the proportions of Andre the Giant! (Another devastatingly handsome actor, I might add.) Perhaps he had an accident similar to that of Dr. Bruce Banner. Those academics are constantly in danger of mutating into some sort of horrible He-Man.

Since Ian and Toby were obviously all-too-willing to delude themselves about their part in Aldo's murder, I went to work on Wilbur Weston. I said, "We did not cause Aldo Kelrast's death!" Of course, that was all it took to convince that weak-minded idiot.

But naturally that blonde drama queen kept on blathering and shrieking about how Aldo's death was all her fault. I decided that the only thing that would shut her up would be a glass of nice, refreshing lemonade...laced with a few drops of pentobarbitol. As I served, I told Toby I wanted her to listen to me because I was not going to tell her even one more time. I gave her the stupid party line about how the medical examiner listed Aldo's cause of death as "drinking and driving," not "death by intervention." Fortunately, Ian and Wilbur helped me to convince her. I can't stand the idea of listening to her talk about this over and over again for months or years. I need to forget my dear Aldo forever, or my heart will be torn apart by longing and regret!

Lucky for me, those deluded apes Ian and Wilbur are convinced that they were "within their rights" and that they "had" to intervene to make Aldo stop "harassing" me. It was perfect! I picked right up where their stupidity left off, and I said that the intervention was the first time that Aldo got the message.

Then, just for a little extra flair and drama, I added, "But Aldo couldn't handle the truth!" I just love Jack Nicholson, don't you? He bears a striking resemblance to a much, much thinner version of my own late husband Jack.

By the end of that exchange, it was plain to see that the pentobarbitol was having the desired effect. Toby sagged into an armchair as I shared with them Aldo's confession that he was drinking the night his wife died. This too had the desired effect. That pedantic puke Ian Cameron immediately pontificated that Aldo had a "history" of drinking while under stress. Would one call a single past incident a "history"? I guess creative writing professors are masters of invention.

Well, it looks like my reputation is safe. I wish they would hurry up and go away now. It feels like they've been in my apartment for days, and I would really like to change out of this red outfit. It is starting to hurt my eyes.


Anonymous the real victoria "toby" cameron said...

Dear Mary,

I still feel some teeny-tiny eensy-weensy little bit of guilt over Aldo's death. But I'm starting to feel a little better. And very, very sleepy.....

We'll talk some more when I wake back up and have time to give myself a good manicure. And change into something more appealing than this baggy jogging suit that I've been wearing for quite a few days now.

Your devoted, neurotic friend,

2:00 PM  
Blogger Dr. Jeff Cory said...

Dearest Mary,

I am extremely disappointed that you gave Mrs. Cameron the phenobarbitol. That was our special phenobarbitol, which I gave to you for those intimate occasions when we shared a bottle of gin and played "Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio." As we discussed at our poignant dinner at the Bum Boat the night before I left for Cambodia, when I return, it will be my turn to play Marilyn. How could you have forgotten? Now I feel betrayed, and will have to seek whatever shallow consolation that I can find here in Phnom Penh.

I was hoping that you would return to your senses after Mr. Kelrast reduced himself to an environmental hazard on the scenic slopes of Santa Royale (I fear that the leaking lubricating oil from his car may have matted the feathers of rare California Condors seeking to eat his carcass, impeding their ability to soar!) Sadly, it appears that your irrational infatuation continues, despite Mr. Kelrast's untimely passing, and despite your unsavory attempts to conceal it from Prof. & Mrs. Cameron and Mr. Weston.

Devastatedly yours,
Dr. Jeff

5:40 PM  
Blogger Mary Worth said...

Dear Jeff,

If you will read my post more closely, you will see that I did not use the phenobarbital (aka Luminal) that we use for our very special romantic role-playing games. I used the pentobarbital (aka Nembutal) that my late husband's doctors gave me to sedate him with when he went into one of his uncontrollable manic rages. Whenever I wanted him to calm down, I would liberally lace his Scotch and soda with it. He was none the wiser.

It still works pretty well, considering how old the prescription is. Of course, if it hadn't worked, I have plenty of other goodies in my medicine chest. I also have secobarbital (Seconal) if I'm having trouble sleeping, methylphenobarbital (Mebaral) if I'm feeling anxious, butalbital (Fiorinal) if I have a headache, hexobarbital if I'm convulsing, sodium thiopental if I need to cure a phobia or give a lethal injection, and amobarbital (Sodium Amytal) in case someone is having trouble telling the truth.

Jeff, I am struggling to overcome my inappropriate feelings for Aldo. Will you please be patient with me? Will you wait for me? Will you return to my loving yet chaste embrace? Please say you will! A widow who has been dumped by her regular suitor has her social reputation ruined forever. I might have to

Mildly yours, Mary Worth

6:07 PM  
Anonymous Elly Pattereson said...

You might have to.......WHAT?

Drug some other trusting, unsuspecting lackey? I've always believed that Farley's death was NOT due to exhaustion after he rescued April from her watery peril. It was YOU, Mary Worth - you poisoned my beloved dog! My Canadian wrath has been turned against you!

Beware the maple leaf, Mary.... you have been warned.

7:43 PM  
Anonymous Ian Cameron, PhD said...


I was so glad to find out that your judicious use of an implicit promise of sexual contact to lure Aldo into the grasp of a trio of hostile strangers was in no way responsible for his deep depression and subsequent demise. Hearing this straight from the source really does put my mind at ease. In retrospect, I should have known you could never have been involved. For the many years I have known you you have never been to blame for anything negative, not even once, while on the contrary everyone else you encounter (apart from Toby and myself, of course) is horrendously riddled with shameful flaws and moral failings.

Ian Cameron, PhD

P.S. There there, Toby my dear, rest your head on my gargantuan, hirsute chest!

7:48 PM  
Anonymous the real victoria "toby" cameron said...

Dearest Ian,

I will, but first tell me what "gargantuan" and "hirsute" mean. Through this drug-induced fog, I'm experiencing aphasia!

Ooooooohhhhh, look at all the pretty colors.......


12:13 PM  
Anonymous Dennie Worth said...


I am surprised you have any remorse for this Aldo fellow and would spend days talking about him. He was just lucky he didn’t have a lamp taken across his head, like you used to do to people in the good old days of the Great Depression.

As for your desire to change out of your red outfit, I am embarrassed you would write such a thing. During the Great Depression, you could go months in the same outfit and never complain. You had that old black hat, which you wore for at least 7 years in a row. Having a little money has gone to your head.

You should stop trying to make the blonde-haired trophy wife feel better about her guilt in killing this Aldo fellow. She’s doesn’t seem very smart, and you could be saying “It’s not your fault” to her for days before she finally gets it. Isn’t there someone around with a poor lovelife, you can counsel instead?

Your crippled grandson,
Dennie Worth

6:56 AM  
Blogger Mary Worth said...

Dear Dennie,

You need to stop trying to give me advice. You're terrible at it. Advice-giving is a skill that can only be learned by the very talented over a lifetime. The youngest you can be to qualify as an adequate advice-dispenser is 100 years old. Look what happens when the unqualified, like Wilbur Weston and Elly Patterson, give advice. Divorces happen. Terrible "comic" novels about miserable Canadian war brides get published. Thelma Keane gets a mannish haircut. Bad advice is a crime against humanity. Don't make me call the Hague and report you.

Sincerely yours, Mary Worth

9:12 AM  
Anonymous Dennie Worth said...


I love it when you threaten to call the Hague and report me. It really takes me back. I remember when you took me to your birthplace in Crawfordsville, Indiana and showed me the graves of your parents, carpenter Silas Jackson and his schoolteacher wife Ella. I remember you saying, "Dennie, when the First Peace Conference at The Hague was signed and entered into force in 1900, that was the year of my birth." Those were good times, grandmother. Thanks for reminding me of them.

Dennie Worth

4:29 PM  
Anonymous the real victoria "toby" cameron said...


I'm afraid that Dennie is becoming mentally impaired. (And I am an expert on being mentally impaired. At least, that's what Ian tells me.)

Dennie claims you were born in Indiana. You told us you were born in Jennings, Ohio. ( .

Of course, at the time you were born, I guess it was all just part of the Northwest Territory. That could explain Dennie's confusion.

And who is this Hague that the two of you keep mentioning? I thought a hague was an ugly old woman, like one of those witches in MacBeth.

Bewildered but getting perkier,

5:28 PM  
Anonymous dennie worth said...


You have fallen under the influence of the dreaded King Features Syndicate, who has time and again made over my grandmother so she would not reflect her true age, and have repeatedly denied that she ever sold apples during the Great Depression, and try to pretend that the many years grandmother spent in her Greenwich Village apartment at 535 Hudson Street, New York, New York, never happened, even though she was there for many more years than she has been the manager at The Charterstone Condominium. The King Feature Syndicate may have gotten confused because grandmother used to spend a considerable time visiting her longtime friends Frank and Anne Crawford in Jennings, Ohio, where Frank is superintendent of schools. But I suppose you have never heard of them either.

I was there. I know better. At 60 years old, my grandmother would have been a baby in 1946 after World War II was over, and she certainly couldn’t have foiled Nazi plots when she was a baby. My grandmother was born around 1900 in Crawfordsville, Indiana, to carpenter Silas Jackson and his schoolteacher wife Ella, who taught my grandmother to read at the age of five and instilled in her a lifelong love of good literature. My grandmother was the first girl to edit the town's high school yearbook. She did go on to Denison University in Granville, Ohio, where she majored in English literature and graduated with honors. A few years later, she married college football star John "Jack" David Worth, who turned out to be a financial wizard. Unfortunately, grandfather died young, leaving grandmother with a comfortable income and a ne'er-do-well son. John David, Jr., known as Slim to some, as dad to me, and was the major disappointment in grandmother's life. He was a close-to-unethical, knavish wheeler-dealer, who remained impervious to grandmother's good advice, if you can believe it. If he had been more responsible, then grandmother would never have ended up taking care of me. Life with grandmother is a lot better than it would have been with dad.

People try to rewrite history all the time to make their point. When your husband is looking at some younger and blonder woman, don’t believe him when he says you are just as beautiful as she is. He is lying, just like the King Features Syndicate does about my grandmother.

Dennie Worth

10:00 PM  
Blogger Dr. Jeff Cory said...

Dearest Mary,

There is nothing I yearn for more in all the world (with the exception of Cambodia) than your loving yet chaste embrace. I am so thrilled that you have come to your senses, except that I have some concerns that your senses have been dulled by your copious supply of barbiturates.

I now begin to understand why you have been such an enthusiastic candy-striper at our hospital. Few volunteers -- let alone those who are 106 years old, by your nephew Dennie's reckoning -- put in 90-hour weeks. Is it conceivable that the massive disappearances of controlled substances from the hospital pharmacy -- not to mention the Drug Enforcement Administration's appointment of a full-time monitor for the hospital as an alternative to indictment -- are somehow related to your dedicated volunteering?

And is it only barbiturates that you have in your medicine cabinet? I was somewhat surprised to read Mrs. Cameron blogging about seeing colors after drinking your lemonade, since barbiturates generally produce a sedative, rather than hallucinogenic, effect. Was there LSD in the drug cocktail that you provided?

Cherishing you,
Dr. Jeff

12:19 AM  
Anonymous the real victoria "toby" cameron said...

Dear Dennie,

Well, if Mary can look as good as she does at over 100, maybe I can be rendered young and perky forever by the artistic revisionists at King Features Syndicate. Ian says I should ask for bigger breasts, too.

All these years, I though that Mary owed her eternal youthfulness to the fact that she has that hideous painting of herself up in the attic.

She isn't aware that I know about it, but I discovered it accidentally when I was getting down some Christmas decorations for her two winters ago. Every time I went up there, the painting looked more and more decrepit and evil. With my great artistic abilities, I tried to touch up the painting for awhile, but it still deteriorated. I stopped going up there after that time last April when I could swear the picture turned its dreadful eyes on me and snarled, "Back off, bimbo!"

Confused as always,

6:05 PM  

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