The problem comes from the fact, that as soon as you acknowledge that insanity is the only viable survival option, you’ve kind of laid the path you’re going to have to walk. Once you’re walking towards crazy, it’s hard to pick another route, and that road can potentially lead to fleeing to the antarctic disguising yourself as a leopard and attacking random explorers and scientists.
Frankly, I’m not even sure if that qualifies as surviving.
Anyway. The point is, we knew this was potentially coming, and instead of challenging his frankly erratic approach to survivalism, we bought his records. Now he’s living a double life, hiding in the icy southern desert, waiting for victims, whilst occasionally visiting his wife Heidi.
I actually just looked something up. Apparently on the anniversary of their wedding, every year, they have a party, and then nip off for an hour to a private bit of beach with their kids, where they make further vows to each other and the family as the sunsets.
(Actually, I got a little soppy when I read it, but I’ve got to find someway to keep up this ridiculous charade for another three hundred words, and frankly, I’m not an intuitive liar, I’m finding it difficult).
But what does romance mean to his frozen victims, really?
Is a kiss from a rose (for the record, roses don’t kiss you, you kiss roses, and if you kiss roses, don’t spend the rest of your life comparing things to it, it’s a bit weird) ever going to bring them back to life?
(Doing more research I find myself increasingly upset. ‘Snorkeling biologist’ Kirsty Brown really was killed, and I don’t think that’s funny. And bloody Gareth Woods got attacked but then his companions ‘managed to save him by repeatedly kicking the animal in the head with the spiked crampons on their boots’. That is not a sentence I ever wanted to read. My sympathy ends up going to the Killer Seal, singer or mammal, I don’t care, I don’t want anyone kicked in the head. I think I’m not really cut out for ‘satire’.)
So why hasn’t the self confessed killer been bought to justice? Is it the immunity of the rich and famous? Has he always been clever enough to drag the bodies to international waters? Who is legally responsible for murders in the Anatarctic anyway? And can Columbo’s rain mac deal with such a cold environment?
(Look, if we’re living in a fantasy world, as far as I’m concerned, Columbo is the only policeman. That’s just how my fantasies, roll. Sorry.)
I’m guessing his disguises are just too convincing. And the cicrumstantial evidence surrounding his name and his publicly youtubable streams of confession just don’t cut it with civilised systems of jurisprudence.
Maybe we should launch some kind of campaign to ensure music videos become admissable in court.
And while we’re at it, Free Tom Waits!
Illustration by Emma