I’m not even being metaphorical here. We’re going to totally talk about burying a real life hypothetical dead body. Stay with me and maybe I’ll hand you a shovel and we can drive into the woods, dig a grave, and hold hands and skip afterwards.

I FINALLY finished listening to that fucking podcast that was all the rage once upon a time, like 4 months ago, Serial, that “This American Life” spinoff about a true story teenage murder that took place in 1999. Okay, I don’t care if I’m giving you a spoiler, whatevs, if you haven’t already listened to it, you won’t now, it’s a time consuming commitment that is basically a series of interviews, and journalist Sarah Koenig’s speculations of why the convicted killer, Adnad Syed, may or may not be innocent of the murder of his ex-girlfriend, Hae Min Lee. It all takes place in Baltimore where the girl’s body is found shittily buried in a place called Leakin Park, which sounds made up but isn’t. The very last episode comes a convenient theory of who else could have killed Hae which makes you mad that you bothered to listen to all 12 episodes when you could have just wikipedia’d that shit and be done with it.

It’s all so real that it seems fake. But it’s true and tragic, for the family of the murdered girl and especially if Adnad is actually innocent, what a waste of a life.

Koenig’s voice is the true star, I can listen to her yap doodle all the live long day and be in a zen state, she’s just like all mellow and I bet smokes pot before she maunders her spiel into the microphone. Her cadence is soothing and she goes off on tangents and even though I sometimes zone out, I’m more or less riveted. Every time she says “Best Buy” take a shot! It’s a drinking game!

No drinking for moi, though, I listened to it at the gym! Okay, I do not have one of those bicep strap-on-audio device holders, that would be far too practical, I could probably get one at the Best Buy, speaking of which, if I had the wherewithal but I don’t…Anyway so I need to hold my greasy iDick in one hand and stuff the testicl-ay headset in both ears because cramming it precariously into my bra, with all its moist hooter sweat, causes too much static and the wire to unplug. So! I developed an entire 45 minute work out routine, laying on a mat and rolling on a ball. It’s what I call the Starfish Workout, it works! I’ll post it below, trust me, you can actually bounce a quarter off my ass right now. By the way, I don’t believe in modern-day cardio machinery, especially those ellipticals, I think they actually make you spongey and complacent. And I love the idea of a workout you can do in a 4 by 8 prison cell cuz you never know, you could be as unlucky as Adnad Syed too.

Anyway, I’ve been listening to this podcast week by week…it’s hard to follow the plot because nothing happens and I have a low attention span and in the process, I developed a new gym crush, #fml. Yes, I know, all my ridiculous gym crushes, Sweaty Man, The Oaf, Kettlebell Jesus, Turban Dude (still makes mine heart flutter so), have been pathetic chimeric illusions that I have pined over ad nauseam so I hold no emotional attachment on this one. I have evolved somehow, having lived and finally learned BUT! He is TO DIE FOR! While I roll on my bouncy ball and try and absorb the Serial plot, new gym crush, let’s call him The Viking, does this crazy caveman circuit right before my very eyes. Uurgh, I am weak in the flesh fo sho, and brace yourself, Spring is coming. The Viking is a study in dichotomy: From far away, he looks stocky and short because he’s muscly and bunchy-butt and has that compact running back swagger but when you shimmy yourself near him at the water cooler, he is fucking TALL, holy shit, and you feel like you’re in a fairy tale, it’s amazing. His face though. It’s kind of rough and weathered and his teefs are all busted up like he chews on bones and nails and maybe I don’t want to kiss him with my delicate lips and tongue and stuff but I definitely want to sit on him, ladymeat to fugmug, and, oh my god, you know he’d be good. It’s just the way he flips the tires and pulls on ropes, heaving and hoeing, he is strapping and capable… of flipping and pulling big ol’ starfish me all around and upside down. SIGH. And it occurs to me, he’d be the perfect dude to help clean up a crime scene.

Anyway, what I take away from the podcast aside from how flawed the American justice system is, is that if you actually commit a murder, you better be careful who you ask to help bury the body with you. If Adnad actually did it, getting his stoner compulsive liar buddy, Jay, to be his partner in crime, then that was his big mistake.

Who would you ask to help bury a body if you murdered someone?

I asked this question to my son, Freddy, and he, without missing a beat, answered, “You, mommy.” And my heart swelled up with emotion. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing anyone could say?

Later on I asked the same question to my daughter, Evangeline, and she was at first all shocked and appalled,”What do you mean, I murdered somebody?” And I realized how telling it was that Freddy and I didn’t even bat an eyelash at the hypothetical prospect of having committed a murder. So I had to make up a scenario where she actually accidentally murdered a crazed doggie killer who broke into the house to kidnap Betty and make a catsuit out of her exquisite hide and secretly disposing the body herself would save the taxpayers’ money, blah blah blah, which let her wrap her head around the moral dilemma, but anyway, she chose me also! I am so proud!

I wouldn’t choose them, though, I wouldn’t want to burden them with a crime on their delicate consciences. My first thought would be I would run over to the next door neighbours, they are always my first stop when I have a sticky problemo that has turned into a conundrum that needs some slapstick…or I simply need to borrow a cup of wine, they are my touchstones. I know they’s be all like “YAAAASSS, Peterson! Let’s do this!” And then they’d make a day of it, and get a cooler full of Coronas, some chips and guacamole, and start Instagramming that shit. Then we’d all be in a fine mess on social media, no less.

Then I have a list of lady friends and sisters but they are small and petite and have bad backs and tiny cars and that leads me to the obvious choice of Bob and his junk trailer that he parks in my backyard. But he is sometimes so unreliable, he’d be like, “Okey doke, Starfish, I’ll swing by on my way to the dump,” and he’d really be eating chicken wings and forgetting all about me on his fourth pint on the other side of the Beach at the Filling Station while I’m waiting tapping my feet with blankie-wrapped stiff on my front porch.

I briefly considered the hot dudes at my butcher shop, they have knives and a power saw and they always take care of me when I am bordering on hysterics, the shop is my “safe place” so I wouldn’t want to tarnish it with a felony and risk them getting a bad Yelp review.

Then I thought of the perfect person! My ex-husband would totally groove to this…CHALLENGE ACCEPTED…and do it with the prowess of a ninja. He is a one hundred percent law abiding citizen, trust, but he has a clever criminal Heisenberg-type mind and not only would he surreptitiously dispose of the body, somewhere, somehow, he would do it without me so I wouldn’t fuck up. Phew, that’s a relief. Everybody needs a friend who can keep a secret.

Okay, here’s one ball exercise I’m sharing with you, I’m going to keep some secrets to myself, this is where you can attack that problematic lady part where ass meets leg…you’re welcome. By the way, I saw The Viking out on the street in his civilians, he really should have his own Tumblr blog of his outfits…he was wearing a pink cardigan and he managed to make it look all testosteronic (yes, it’s a word) because he paired it with classic cut Levi’s, I wish all men knew this trick to showcasing a traffic stopping bubble butt…anyway, I nearly ran over his dumb wife with my car,but  at least I know what I’d do with the corpse.

Here you go, Bubbles, roll on this and daydream: