POSTUS INTERRUPTUS
I was going to rehash an article tonight on a Hollywood scandal that happened back in the 1950s about movie star Lana Turner’s 14-year-old daughter stabbing Lana’s gangster boyfriend Johnny Stompanato to death when he threatened to kill her mother. It would have started like this:
SAVAGE FLASHBACK — April 4, 1958
The night Lana Turner’s boyfriend got it in the gut
Movie star’s 14-year-old daughter stuck him with a knife
Lana Turner had been dating ex-Marine Johnny Stompanato for about a year. Johnny Stomp, as he was known, was an enforcer for gangster Mickey Cohen. It was a violent relationship from the start, blah blah blah…
But then I realized who the hell cares? A waste of words and time, just another meaningless distraction from the heartbreak and aching loneliness of everyday life — little children with terminal illnesses who will never have a chance at life, young soldiers dying in sacrificial wars engineered by cowardly politicians in the name of oil or strategic positioning so generals whose lifeblood is war and death can kill some more, the lives lost every day to the covid virus that is merciless and unrelenting no matter what the hell we do to try and stop it, the lonely young men and woman, teenagers, people in the prime of their lives killing themselves because the isolation becomes unbearable, the innocent people in shopping malls and places of worship slaughtered by hate-filled maniacs with weapons of war — and while all this rages to write an article about a Hollywood scandal is an insult to the suffering of so many people in towns and cities around the world.
A Christian blogger I connected with today speculated that during those three lost days between Jesus Christ’s crucifixion and his resurrection, he descended into hell and conquered the devil.
I beg to differ. The bastard ain’t dead.
