Tuesday, December 27, 2016

What is a memorable moment where you took pleasure in someone else’s misery?

Schadenfreude sounds like a German car. This sporty car would slow automatically at traffic accidents, and rev its engines when it got a parking space first. Oh, a Schadenfreude would have many possibilities.

I experienced schadenfreude tonight, and at a remove of forty-six years, or so.

My guy and I had just watched an old movie with David Niven and Deborah Kerr featuring ritual sacrifice and a satanic cult in the French countryside at a huge manor house on a winery, of all places. The movie was filmed in the 60s, and the story took place then.

Very weird stuff. Apparently, the villagers needed a member of the royal family, or whatever the manor house residents are in France, to be sacrificed every twenty years or so to keep the grapes and wine up to snuff.

David Hemmings was an archer with no dialogue. He just wanders around looking creepy, and does the sacrificin’.

It was Sharon Tate’s first movie, in 1966. Of course, anytime we see Sharon Tate, we think of Manson. Thinking of Manson reminded Don of the time he saw him in the flesh, after Manson’s arrest. This caused a minor argument when he insisted he’d told me about it, and I insisted he hadn’t.

I’d think I’d remember that, but who knows? Maybe I was put under a spell. If you don’t hear from me after this, tell my story.

Don told me he saw him when he, Don, was down at the county jail for some reason, either visiting or being booked in, I just don’t know, but Manson was being led down the hallway past him.

Manson was in manacles, on both ankles and wrists. He shuffled past Donny in the hall and looked at him. You know, that crazy eyes Manson look. I wonder if he practiced it back in the day?

Anyhow, Don said he was a squirt of a man, no bigger than a chicken bone picked clean. Don smiled. And felt great satisfaction in seeing him in manacles.



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