Lately we’ve been mulling over the fact that, for the foolish, crime just does not pay. Everywhere you look, there’s some poor chump getting hauled off to the pokey. People leave evidence in plain sight, can’t seem to get their stories straight. From Makeshift Chambers of Horror to the obvious purloining of panties, we are awash in incompetence. Why, your lie is as plain as the nose on your face! Do you ever wonder “How’s a poor maroon like me supposed to make a dishonest living these days?”
We’re sick and tired of bungled dirty dealings, and we’ve enlisted a professional to help our readers: Enter Stella Nuance, the amoral Ann Landers, the deceitful Dear Abby, the Heloise of heinousness. Must we disturb the peace with our horrid proclivities? Stella says “No!”
An open letter to Heidi Erickson, Beacon Hill Cat Lady
Ok, doll, here’s the scoop. Your business, while admirably fiendish, is simply not sustainable. Did you really think you wouldn’t get banned from Boston with a strategy that includes animals that expire so quickly? Boston’s a small town, and people have big yaps. Nothing better to do than flap their gums about your putrid pussies. The key is to move around. Try Reno, it’s a dry heat.
You definitely went wrong with your choice of venue. Why pick a small apartment in a highly populated ritzy neighborhood? You could have rented a whole triple decker in Roxbury for that kind of scratch, installed bank vault doors, sound proofing, and spritzed the whole place up and down with Skin So Soft. No one would been the wiser, and the police don’t even GO to that neighborhood. Hell, you could have even had a little shed out back.
So your choice for a lair was iffy. But you could have still pulled it off if you didn’t get lazy and stack those frozen peas in front of Princess Patty Paw. The Charles River is mere blocks away. It works for disposing of the corpses of crack whores and show cats alike! Don’t forget, weight them down! Failing that, you should have scored some embalming equipment and those pull-out morgue drawers if you really needed to keep those things around. No posh chamber of horrors is without such niceties. Or what about taxidermy? “That’s not a criminal mishap, that’s just Fluffy!”
Finally, when cornered by the authorities, don’t ever represent yourself! If you can’t get Johnnie Cochran, so what, even a public defender knows when to sit down and stand up. For cryin’ out loud, go get a haircut, a smart suit, and shut your pie hole. Lose the pancake makeup, it makes you look like you have something to hide. No one likes a frumpy villainess. Didn’t you see Chicago? Christ. I can see I have my work cut out.
Mum’s the word,
-Stella
