Too Much Information

You can’t make up stories this good. I’m referring, of course, to the one about the “astro-nut” who traveled cross country to confront her rival in a bizarre not-quite-love triangle. Personally, I’m all for any news item that distracts the media from a presidential election that’s still nearly two years away or the mysterious paternity of Anna Nicole Smith’s daughter.

Still.

Did investigators in this botched kidnapping case have to release the details about the diaper? You know, the undergarment the alleged perpetrator wore so as not to have to stop for potty breaks on her demented road trip. (Having once driven through Montana, where rest areas are inconveniently placed at 100-mile increments, I can sort of appreciate the logic here.)

Granted, it adds to the entertainment value of the story. Leno, Letterman and the gals over at “The View” have already played it for yuks.

Still.

We are talking about a seriously disturbed woman. While everyone else zeroes in on the diaper, I keep coming back to the garbage bags. In my CSI handbook, when you add up the evidence—a steel mallet + knife + garbage bags—you’re left with body parts. There’s nothing particularly amusing about that.

Or how about this: the astro-nut has three children, one of them a teenager. It’s bad enough to have your mother go all Fatal Attraction on the 10 o’clock news. But which would you rather have yelled at you on the school bus: “Your mom’s a murderer!” or “Your mom wears diapers.” I’m guessing 9 out of 10 kids would prefer to be associated with a killer.