Inevitably there comes a time in every gentleman farmer’s life when heartwarming nature crap wears the her down to a nub, and she is obliged to press the mellow agrarian keister into the lime green recliner, giving Phil strict orders that neither the TV remote nor the laptop nor the medium-sized plastic container of carry-out potato salad from Whole Foods should under any circumstances be pried from her nature-shredded fingers.
Sticklers will note that the lime green recliner has morphed into a white chaise lounge.
12:55 Prurient TV
2 hours of “Tori and Dean” on the Oxygen channel follow up 2 hours of a show called “Snapped,” which chronicles real-life women who absolutely lose it and murder innocent dudes and are sent up the river. Tori and Dean are a big yawn, because they are a straight married couple with kids who obsess about parties and their hip gay male friends. “Snapped” is far more frightening, because its entire schtick is documenting the downward spiral of seemingly normal, educated women from good families who, without any provocation, go off the deep end, get swastika tattoos and flit off on killing sprees.
Franny, the yella lab puppy, pees on the floor, requiring me to get off the chaise lounge, put on rubber gloves, and discover that the bunkhouse supply of Nature’s Miracle has dropped below critical levels.
“Steel Magnolias” on TV. Can a spinster aunt withstand the feelgoodness?
No fucking way. Spinster aunts immediately yak when the first line spoken in a movie is Julia Roberts squalling “Mawmah? Mawmah!”
Awaken from powernap covered in potato salad. “Forensic Files” on TV. Unlike “Snapped,” this gripping program profiles murderers of dudely persuasion, with quietly urgent voiceover narration by the same guy who narrates conspiracy theory shows. Current episode features a wife-murderer guy trying to get away with the tried-and-true sleepwalking defense, a gambit successfully plied by dudes who rape comotose women (“sexsomnia“).
Next “Forensic Files” episode features evidence in a woman’s murder, a drawing of the outline of a female figure, with bright red spots where the breasts would be. The red spots are labeled “bite marks.” Exceptional entertainment!
Spinster aunt reads comment on this post — which comment was prompted, no doubt, by my having revealed the nefarious origins of my potato salad — linking to one of those sites exposing the hypocrisy and other corporate malfeasances of Whole Foods.
We are aware, here at Spinster HQ, that all store-bought food is inherently evil because my sister Tidy called me up yesterday to tell me that she had just seen “Food, Inc,” and that I was crazy to even think about eating a storebought tomato. Before Tidy’s informative phone call, I thought Whole Foods grew all their produce on the roof of their corporate headquarters at 5th and Lamar and paid the laborers $30 an hour.
Sadly, the potato salad crop here at El Rancho Deluxe was killed off by the drought. In fact, everything we planted was killed off by the drought, except a rosemary bush, so I am occasionally obliged, unless I intend to eat boiled rosemary for dinner (garnished with coastal bermuda, perhaps with cactus purée), to purchase certain food items in grocery stores.
Laptop battery dies, forcing this riveting post to a close.