I sat gloating at his fat ugly body. I don't know why I ever married him, he looked so repulsive; but I would not have to put up with him much longer.
"Would you like a nice dish of ice-cream, darling?" I said smiling at his loathsome face.
He delightedly beamed and started drooling at the jowls. I got up and walked across the room into the kitchen. I pondered for a moment at the refrigerator door, on what flavour I should use. Coconut Surprise ... Perfect!
Then from the cupboard I got a dessert dish and a little blue bottle of powder glass. Mixing the ice-cream and glass was amusing, and when I covered it all up with caramel sauce with a cherry on top, I was quite proud of myself.
I brought it in to him and then sat down opposite him to watch him stuff his face. It would not take long and I would soon be free from him. Just as he was licking the spoon a puzzled look Came over his face and he suddenly went limp.
I then undertook the task of dragging his body into the kitchen. This hardly left me with enough strength to carry the electric saw up the basement stairs. Studiously, I then proceeded to saw his body up into small enough chunks so as to fit the garbage disposal unit.
My tedious task was finally complete and I felt very accomplished. With the kitchen cleaned up, I then went out to enjoy my new-found freedom.
But whoever said "Crime doesn't pay" was certainly right. It cost me $5.50 to have the plumber remove the gold-filling which had caught in the garbage disposal.
Family Life as it is depicted on Television disgusts me. Such homey episodes as "Father Knows Best", "My Three Sons", and the "Patty Duke Show" present domestic situations in a manner that would leave the intelligent individual nauseated. Either there are not many intelligent individuals or there must be an alarming increase in the number of stomach disorders.
To begin with, endings are, if not happy, at best never tragic or embarrassing to the characters. I would derive immense pleasure from seeing the family on "Leave It To Beaver" become financially destitute and have to move to a slum neighbourhood with Puerto Rican and Italian immigrant families surrounding them. The following episodes would "have" to be interesting; they might even be realistic.
Another bone of contention is that there is always some broad, instructive, hickory stick moral somewhere in the tale. The director and actors do their best to see that you get the message. If you do not, you are either extremely dumb, or your interest has diminished to the point where you no longer care if Bud gets caught in the petty lie which he told Miss Jones about his grandfather's being a Civil War hero. Why doesn't Bud crack up the family car? Then we could be entertained by watching Daddy crack open his wallet and Bud's skull.
The last major accusation which I propose to level at the suppliers of home entertainment concerns the living quarters of our television family. They invariably possess a modern home with a space-age kitchen and a forty foot frontage. This is supposed to be the Average North American Home belonging to the Average North American Family. How can Daddy who is an insurance salesman or an office worker afford such a place? Why not let us in on the scandal about Dad being a loan shark who forecloses on old pensioners' homes and seizes the washing machines of cripples and epileptics. Either that, or have Dad live in the kind of house an insurance salesman of average success would be likely to live in - a two-bedroom bungalow with a fifteen year mortgage.
I do not seriously suggest that networks start filming a series about the average Harlem dweller; nor do I advocate sending cameramen down to Skid Row to shoot a few wife-beatings and gang-wars. I only ask to see empty morals replaced by sane themes and realism substituted for farcical fancy. It is to be hoped that by now the tastes of the T.V. viewer will have begun to improve after being subjected to such slop for so many years.