A couple of days ago when that Georgia chick went missing, after hearing her boyfriend interviewed on CNN or one of those stations, I turned to M. and said, “She’s not missing, she ran the fuck away from that loser.” Or something to that affect.

(I don’t know if he’s a loser, but all of the talk about love and prayer and Jesus and how close they were and talking with their minister, I thought, “Man, this guy doesn’t have a clue.”)

Then last night, as we were going to bed and she had called home to say she was “abducted,” I said something like, “Yeah, right, ‘abducted,’ which means she ran away and had a last fling of partying before marrying.” (Did you ever notice that almost all talk of “strangers” and “abductions” and that kind of thing turns out to be a lie? Didn’t Charles Stewart’s 911 call educate us?)

I dunno, but, if I were having a wedding in which the whole fucking town was involved, 600 guests were expected and the wedding party was 28-folks strung, I’d fucking run away. Throw in a groom who keeps invoking prayer and Jesus and the minister and looks like a bit of a pussy, and I would have run away well before this week.