Wherein the news becomes some sort of torture device best left to Abu Ghraib
Whenever I hear Nancy's Grace's whiny, insistent drawl, I want to shoot the television. Seriously. It doesn't even matter what the topic is, because it's probably some murder or abduction story that she's going to milk until there is some sort of conclusion. Then she'll have a reminiscing, highlight reel.
The worst was "Little CAY-lee Anthony". From the first bars to the ending crescendo, it was just one constant day-after-day hammering and yammering of Nancy's self-importance. Her need for "justice for "Poor little CAY-lee" was enough to send me running from the room.
Then, as if Nancy weren't enough, we have more imitators. There is no topic too small to be blown up to huge proportions. It's like "Alice's Restaurant" in that the viewer is treated to
"And they was using up all kinds of cop equipment that they had hanging around the police officer's station. They was taking plaster tire tracks, foot prints, dog smelling prints, and they took twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against us. Took pictures of the approach, the getaway, the northwest corner the southwest corner and that's not to mention the aerial photography."
Then Nancy has her team of experts, to whom she won't listen and over whom she'll talk, give their opinions as people WHO WEREN'T there and don't have access to the evidence, to talk about what they think.
And so the talking goes, day-after-day, hour-after-hour, until, praise sweet Jesus, some other kid is murdered by his mother, or some other young girl goes off to have a sexual tryst and doesn't return. It's sick to admit, but at least it's NEW.
Sigh, Don Henley was right "we want dirty laundry", and Nancy Grace is our laundress.