Four days a week, I work for free, because I want people to read and laugh
and find community. The fifth post keeps food in the fridge and the AC running, two things I’ll admit I’ve grown selfishly attached to.
I love what I do and put my whole heart and soul into it. I hate having to beg for support, but that’s the nature of this model. Whaddyagonnado?
FWIW, an annual subscription works out to about 30 cents a post and comes with a free signed book. If you can’t swing it or you aren’t sure if you like me that much, free content will resume tomorrow. :)
Up until [*checks calendar*] literally today, I had zero interest in writing about the Lindsay Clancy trial, probably for the same reason Dave Barry never wrote about Ted Bundy in the 1980s. When your calling is to find the funny, a mom murdering her three young kids isn’t exactly where you go hunting for punchlines.
But somewhere along the way, this particular killer found a fandom—a sprawling, shockingly cultish one—and that’s a level of cultural insanity I can work with.

The quick, absent-of-gore recap for avoiders like me: In 2023, Clancy strangled her children before jumping out a second-story window in an apparent suicide attempt. She survived but was left paralyzed. She has admitted to the murders. This was never a whodunit. The question jurors are being asked to decide is whether she understood the horror of what she was doing as she was doing it.
Her massive-and-growing fan club has already reached a unanimous verdict: Lindsay Clancy is the actual victim here.
It’s an extraordinarily compassionate position—and one with some pretty disastrous implications for women.

