Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

12 January 2012

Further Confessions of Little Miss Morbid

"I can't believe I'm dead and they're making me wear this silly hat.  I'm SOOO going to haunt those assholes!"

Warning:  This blog contains images that may be disturbing to some viewers.  Viewer discretion is advised.

According to my husband, Dan, I have "issues."  Lots and lots of dark and dirty "issues."  

He also claims that I'm "not right."

By "not right" he doesn't mean "wrong"... He means "loca en la cabeza."  

Basically, my husband is slightly afraid of me and thinks I'm somewhat insane.

That works for me.  

He bases these opinions on two things, and two things only:

Number One:  My vast and frightening knowledge of All Things Serial Killer, and

Number Two:  My obsession with pouring over Victorian Death Photos.

In a past life, I'm pretty sure I was either a mortician or a serial killer.  Maybe both.

But I digress.  In my defense...

First of all, what's wrong with being able to identify and discuss at length the habits, murders, and biographies of every serial killer known to man?  Is there a problem with that?  I mean, yes... I watch Criminal Minds and play "Name That Psychopath" as their story line plays out and 19 times out of 20 I can identify the killer they are basing each episode on.  (Except for the ones they invent... idiots.  Like that really awful episode where Reid gets into the mind of a boy with Autism whose parents were abducted and together they crack the case.  What a load of crap.  Someone did NOT do their homework on THAT episode.  I've watched it twice and both times it pissed me off.  Stick to reality, Network Gods.  Inventing a scenario where a psychologist can communicate with a non-verbal child with severe autism whose PARENTS can't even unlock his mind is extreme and utter bullshit.  Okay, I'm done now.  Moving on...)

Wait... what was I talking about?

Oh yes.  How my obsession with psychotic killers is perfectly normal.

Which is why, when I saw this photo of Vanessa Paradis (Johnny Depp's woman) my first thought was, "Oh my God... she looks so familiar..."

I showed the picture to Dan and said, "Who does she look like?  It's been bugging me all day."

Dan:  *wrinkling his nose*  "Ummm... I don't know, but she's not pretty."

Me:  "Yeah yeah yeah whatever... I'm not talking about her attractiveness.  Who does she look like?"




Me:  *lightbult moment*  "OH MY GOD... SHE LOOKS LIKE AILEEN WUORNOS!!!"

Dan:  "Who?"



Me:  "You know... Aileen Wuornos."

Dan:  "Dani, you can keep saying it, but I'm still not going to know who that is."

Me:  "How can you not know who Aileen Wuonos is?  She was that prostitute in Florida who killed the men who picked her up and robbed them.  She was put to death like 10 years ago or something.  She's one of this country's most notorious female serial killers!"


Me:  *googling frantically to find a photo to compare*

Dan:  "You're not right."

Me:  *finding an image*  "I know, right?  But look.  Dead ringer.  She should have played the part in Monster instead of Chalize Theron.  Dude, this is freaky."

Dan:  "No, Dani.  YOU'RE freaky."

Potato, potawto, am I right?

But seriously, look at this: 

Serial Killer



And then there are the Victorian Death Photos.

Okay, I acknowledge that this might be a little creepy.  But I challenge anyone (who isn't Dan... he won't even LOOK at the photos) to peruse the photos online and NOT get sucked in.

A little history:

In the Victorian era, photographs were expensive.  For many people, the first and only time they were photographed was after they had passed away, thus allowing their family a keepsake of them and how they looked.

Many of the photographs were posed, as if the dead person were still alive.  Family members posed with them, and if you look closely at many of the family portraits, you can play a rousing game of "Guess Who's Dead?"  

(Sidebar:  There were not a lot of pretty people back in Victorian times, which occasionally makes it a little difficult to tell the living from the corpse.  True story.)

You will never look at old timey family photos the same away again.  Trust me.

"I'm SOOOOO pissed that I'm dead!  Friggin' rigor  mortis!"

"WTF, Mom?  Why are you making me hug my sister?"

She's always been a little stiff... "Frigid Bitch" doesn't quite  cover it...

She's always been the pretty sister!  It's not fair!

 Okay, I'm done.  Maybe.  

Okay, I'm not.  

Let's play one final round of "Guess Who's Dead?"

Hmm?  Hmmm?  Any ideas?

Upon rereading this, I'm beginning to think I may need a new hobby.  Perhaps I'll take up knitting.

(See what happens when you complain about disgusting naked photos?  I'll bring on the dead.  Challenge... ACCEPTED.)