Friday, May 26, 2006


Megan’s husband is a wealthy banker and arms dealer. He is worth 24 million dollars. She would never have dreamt of hiring a hit man, but she often fantasized what a beautiful widow she’d make; she’d cry at his funeral and then collect on the insurance. Two days ago, police found Megan’s body in the river with her arms, hair, and skirts fanning out, her body bloated and buoyant, her face shimmering like white diamond. It looked like she had drowned herself. “Suicide. But hard to tell if there wasn’t foul play involved.” The cops coughed and itched themselves when they delivered the news to the widower. “There was no play involved.” Megan’s husband said. “That was the problem. Megan drowned herself to preserve her vow of chastity.” Huh? The police officers didn’t get it. “I wanted to make love to my wife, for once. Can you believe it? Even for gifts and money, she wouldn’t give up her virginity.” One of the neighbors had witnessed Cupid, up in arms, running circles around Megan’s house the night she died. “I can’t explain it.” The neighbor said. “It’s like a scene the old French masters would have painted.”

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