The Further Fantasy Adventures of a Desperate(ly Bored) Housewife

Jeez, so much has happened, where do I start?


Well, you know about my kidnapping Dr. Phil and all that, from my last post, yeah? I have to confess it was more than just a tad stressy seeing all that paparazzi and helicopters whizzing about outside, I mean, talk about intrusive, or what? Sheesh!


And, oh my God, did you just see that bloomin' Dishthedirt nutter on the telly? Where does she get off telling everyone and their uncle that she and me are bosom buddies? Pul-eese! And it's hardly surprising, of course she thinks I'm a recluse - you would hide too, if yours was the drive she kept trundling down to camp out at 24/7. I'm telling you, with her IQ barely at room temperature, it's a bare faced cheek she had the audacity to dis' me like that, and right out there on live telly, n'all.

Hmph. 

Anyways, just as I'd always suspected, turns out that Dr. Phil bloke is one hell of a decent chap, nothing short of a pure diamond, so he is. See, after a couple of days he was sporting enough to drop the charges, claimed it had all been a big mis-understanding, that he had actually been voluntarily staying with me all along - can you believe it? Before we knew it, all the squad cars, T.V. vans, and the hoop-la simply upped-sticks and quit. What a sweetie, eh? Course, he'd had the benefit of the blog by then, finally understood where I'm coming from. (Plus, I did hand over the bullets)




Long story short, turns out we really hit it off, him and me. In fact, he was even good enough to offer me my own T.V. Chat Show - seriously, he did! Well, I'm not a one to look a gift horse in the mouth, am I? And 'sides, it seemed kind of churlish to turn him down.


So, "O.k. Phil, fair enough," I said, "Let's go for it."


And that's just exactly what we went and did, big-time. I jest you not, I've been a very, very busy bunny since the last time we spoke. Actually, as it turns out, I'm pretty sure most of this is old news to you by now, seeing as how it all ended up the way it did.

Sigh.


I guess you've been following it in the tabloids, huh? Let me tell you, it was as much of a surprise to me than it was to anyone else.




I mean, who the hell expects a guest of theirs to commit murder in front of a live T.V. audience? Where was security, for heavens sake? Sure is the last time I hire again through that agency.


Besides, in light of his previous violent history, you'd have thought any silly bint with even half a semblance of any self-preservation would have known far, far better than to tell her boyfriend in front of the whole wide world that, oopsie, here she was, pregnant, not by him after all, but by his twenty-one-year-old step-grandad, the very same one whose sister she is now leaving him (the boyfriend that is, not the step-grandad) for. 

Is it that surprising he lost it?

Ironic really, considering it was all one big fat lie anyway (as the autopsy later proved).


Sheesh, what a mess.


It's ridiculous, listening to the media, you'd be forgiven for thinking it was me who had snapped her sorry neck.

Suddenly, my show has become a prime example of our morally bankrupt society, and I'm being castigated for shamelessly exploiting the weak-minded, in bringing what is now perceived as the most puerile, basest form of tasteless entertainment to ever grace our screens.


If you believe the polls, seems ten million of my ex-loyal viewers appear to agree.

I can tell you, between the Network dumping me from a great height, the tabloid's trashing me for all they're worth, and these endless sacks of hate-mail flooding through my door, I'm beginning to worry moral society won't be the only thing to end up bankrupt by the time this thing is through..


Did you witness that funeral?? Ye Gods, half the streets of Manchester were lined up in mourning. Sharon's sister made it plain whom she blames for her sister's death, and it certainly isn't the one currently locked up and awaiting trial in Wandsworth Scrubs. Oh dear me, no, he, it appears, is simply another vulnerable victim, shamelessly exploited and manipulated by a calculating and greedy predator, one who knew precisely what she was doing.


I'm scared to put my head outside the door.


Sharon's mother can't comment, on account she is still under contract to the Daily Star. I'm told ratings soared on the Six o' Clock news that night. Sharon Banks, heroin addict and ex-shop lifter, martyr status now fully achieved, is seemingly fast approaching Sainthood.

I hear there's talk of a record pay-out from my ex-network.


So yes, as I say, it's been quite a hectic few weeks, all things considered.

Ah well, c'est la vie, n'est pas? So much for the cruel, fickle Mistress of fame and fortune, eh?

Oops, sorry, gotta' go, something smelly and unmentionable has just dropped through my letterbox..