San Francisco - Oh happy day! Charles Manson is at long last maybe, just maybe, getting married.
Or, so claims one of the convicted murderers most loyally-driven delusional fans.
"Yep, it's true," said Star, the blank and distant fiancée in question, to reporters at Rolling Stone otherwise preoccupied with attempting to figure out what else other than their you know what's might fit snuggly inside the center hole of a recently discovered pile of, till now, unpenetrated Grand Funk 45's found inside a desk formally used by both Matt Tiabbi and Hunter S. Thompson.
"In other words," Star continued, somewhat breathlessly in between long sips of well aged recently expired buttermilk, "sorry girls, would-be open-minded males of all ethnic persuasions, and, one or more allegedly consenting adult critters - that I know of anyway - from a nearby national state park, he's taken. Or, will be shortly, once, of course, he gets a new pair of clown shoes that fit, the swastika branding that occurred in my forehead earlier this morning finally heals, and, oh yeah, this whole Obamacare thing blows over the way Ann Coulter promised it would, right before I saw her eat a puppy for lunch in the commissary at Fox News."
A well publicized notorious murderer - Hey it was in all the papers, remember them? No? Well, at this point, who really cares anymore anyway? - Manson, 79, when not filling out the bulk of his nearest available social calendar every weekend with catching up with any so far unseen episodes of "I'm Dickens, He's Fenster" on This TV Network, arm wrestling an assortment of contest winners from several classic rock stations in semi-nearby Bakersfield, California, and, attempting to sort out songs to be used in "Me, Myself & I and the Family" a (hopefully) Broadway bound musical he's been busy preparing for sometime now with crime news junkie James Ellroy and once proud legendary TV variety show producer George Schlatter, occupies himself never you mind-wise with the constant fawn along attentions of Star (or, Queen of all Airheads on any and all tax forms filed on her behalf by H&R Block), a bright eyed (especially while crossing the road when the high beams hit her) 25-year-old woman who, according to all reports recently presented to both the local justice of the peace and the Huffington Post, spent the first 18 years of her life inside a mobile home in Idaho, more or less, tied up while being relentlessly home schooled and periodically spoon fed a steady diet of crushed up crayons and overheated marshmallows by a supposedly well meaning couple of well respected rogue oriented survivalist enthusiasts who were common law married in a church not of their choice somewhere in Michigan's Upper Peninsula at the age of 4.
But that's another story.
In the meantime, in between time, the inside skinny as far as Star and her infamously incarcerated celebrity fellow are concerned, they began a pen pal relationship when she was 19.
Several year later, at the urging of a keenly observant Facebook friend from Harpers Ferry, West Virginia who thought Star and Charles were just right for one another - especially once it was apparent that neither of the ghosts of Adolf Hitler or Pol Pot had any intentions of taking her to the prom, and, worse yet, whoever claimed to be Joseph Stalin on Instagram wasn't about to either, Star packed up her dog collar, Hello Kitty pajamas, and favorite Joyce Carol Oates paperback (for the record, "them"), and lit out accordingly to Corcoran, Calif. to be a constant thorn in the side of everyone otherwise affiliated with Corcoran State Prison, where Manson is currently doing his life sentence time as the top celebrity criminal to be housed there ever since Leo Gorcey pulled a two week engagement (among other things) back in the early 50's for driving around recklessly all along Mullholland Drive without a license and (allegedly) either Gloria Grahame or Bettie Page otherwise fully installed on his lap.
Of course, Manson's side of this unfortunately live, decidedly local, and, until further notice, late-breaking story is so far straight from the nearest available beg to differ file.
"The kid's nuts! What more can I tell you?" said Manson to the same Rolling Stone reporters as they attempted valiantly to carefully remove at least three of the Grand Funk 45's from an otherwise strategic and/or highly interested portion of an Emerson College intern. "I mean, to tell you the truth, we - that is, me more than her, I suppose - just cooked this up in hopes of somehow getting a reality show gig on either Bravo, TLC or heck, even MTV if need be."
Yeah, well, it's early yet. And, on account of the all too obvious rapidly advancing trending activity recently occurring at Star's well observed website, "Release Charles Manson Now," who knows?
I mean, in this end of the way, way out west coast yard, anything can happen, as it usually sort of does, if only just because.
