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Can’t we all club together to pay for Marilyn Monroe to be buried somewhere else? The creepy Hefner stalking from beyond the grave (or actually more literally, in the grave) shouldn’t be countenanced surely. Or we should make him pay some other way. Maybe we could bury someone he would be appalled to be next to on the other side. Jimmy Savile was looking for a new spot I think. Though who knows what those two might come up with if they’re left together.
I am not going to get embroiled in the debate about whether Hefner was a good or bad man in real life (because he was clearly a cunt… joking… or am I?), but I think him paying his way to lie next to the dead body of someone who didn’t care for him is properly creepy. It’s symbolic creepiness/heroism (delete as applicable), but it does feel like a violation. But still. Fantastic new zombie sitcom/play, right?
My guess is that Marilyn doesn’t look as sexy these days (except to very specific sexual tastes) and it’ll be the first time that Hefner has gone to bed with someone who is in their nineties (and unlike some ninety year olds Marilyn has really let herself go. So maybe the true punishment will be for Heff.
Personally I am going to be buried in a barrel of tits - and I am not stupid, I am going to have both my thumbs cut off.
Tonight Phoebe got to sleep in her new bedroom for the first time and in her brand new bed. She’s nearly always been in a cot up to now though had a couple of attempts at staying in the single bed at the old house with various degrees of success, but this still felt like a big transitional moment. And suddenly the house is looking like a home, as the decoration is nearly finished and stuff is getting unpacked. I thought that my box of booze had been purloined or somehow disappeared and had been searching for it for days, like the countryside alcoholic that I now most surely am. I was ready to level off all kinds of accusations at the removal men or whoever, even though I felt it was extremely likely they’d risk their jobs for a few bottles of (admittedly very nice) whiskey. I also knew the way to find the box would be to fire off an accusatory email and then I would immediately trip over it. But luckily I found it (well most of it, but I have to presume the rest is waiting for me somewhere) before demanding any arrests. But what a brilliant blog this would be if I hadn’t.
