Charges have been dropped in the sixth trial against Tammy Jean Warner of Texas City, Texas (where else, I ask you?) aka the Sherry Enema Poisoner aka Black Widow Amontillado in the case of the…uh…sherry enema poisoning death of her husband, Michael Warner, rumoured sherry enema (if not poisoning) enthusiast.
Despite the undisputed facts that he had a blood alcohol level of 0.47, that it was obtained through the use of a sherry enema (I want to know what brand…really, 0.47? Sounds like a party to me!) that he died thereof, that there was no-one in the home but the sherry enema abuser and his wife, and that the enema was not self-administered, the case was dropped for” lack of evidence.”
Perhaps OJ will put this on his list of “real killers” to look for.
First of all, given that sherry is about 14% alcohol, which I knew off the top of my head (hi Lydia!) and no, it’s not unusual…everybody knows that stuff… and that there are about 5 litres of blood in the average male…unless I’m drunk myself (never safe to bet against, as regular readers will know) that is about 0.1175 litres of pure alcohol, which could be obtained by absorbing 100% of the booze in 0.83928571428571428571428571428571 litres of your common-or-garden sherry, or about one and a quarter bottles. Which, at $18.99 for a 750 ml bottle of Tio Pepe, is nobody’s idea of a cheap way to get high/dead.
Second, sherry has been known as a deadly threat for years. YEARS. Why isn’t this a controlled subst- okay, why isn’t it a MORE controlled substance? Eh? I ask you that. Even Edgar Alan Poe wrote a cryptic warning, perhaps (from what I hear of his habits) himself all too familiar with the sinister beverage’s deadly effects, although there are no eyewitness reports that he was a particular enema buff, some slashfic notwithstanding.
Third, if he was deliberately trying to kill himself, why couldn’t he simply have done as thousands of sherry enthusiasts through the ages have done and wait for the next morning’s hangover? Believe me, motivation for self-annihilation is never stronger than in the throes of a truly epic sherry hangover.
PS: so there are black widow spiders here in Vancouver. You learn something new every day, eh?
Give me my footie pjs, put on my cat; I have
Immortal longings in me: now no more
The juice of the Okanagan‘s grape shall moist this lip:
Yare, yare, good CG; quick. Methinks I hear Viggo call; I see him rouse himself
To praise my noble act; I hear him mock
The luck of spammers, which the gods give men
To excuse their after wrath: baby, I come:
Now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am tentacles and marabou; my other elements
I give to baser life. So; have you done?
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewell, kind CG; blog readers, long farewell.
What, I’m still here? Damn, now what am I gonna do with this soliloquy? I h8 anticlimax!
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raincoaster 