Good morning! I sat in bed with my laptop to one side and Rebecca to the other. It turned out she did indeed have a penis, but it was fun so whatever.
I’d spent the last hour enjoying the reviews of my impromptu interview. If the reviews were any indication, it had been a success: while ugly women wanted me locked up, hot girls loved me ‘cause I seemed like a jerk, and a number of them had Facebooked me already.
The doorbell rang, and I got up and opened the door.
“Don’t you ever—ever—do something like that again!” said Tanner. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Hate to break it to you, Tanner, but hot girls seem to have loved it.”
“Juries are not made up of hot girls!” said Tanner. “Nick, here’s a rule for dealing with the press when you’re being investigated for murder: don’t tell them you plotted the murder.”
“Well technically, the murder I plotted wasn’t the same murder as the one that happened,” I said.
“Look, giving that interview was idiotic,” Tanner said. “But I’m actually glad you did it, because it gave me an idea. We need to do an interview with Dr. Rupta and go public with everything. All of it.”
“Everything?” I said.
“Nick, you are such an asshole that when people know the whole of it, they won’t believe any of it. They’ll think it’s impossible someone could be that much of an asshole. It’s a genius strategy: make yourself so hateful that people no longer hate you.”
“Isn’t this risky?” I asked.
“You just did a video where you confessed to plotting to kill your wife!”
Just then Rebecca walked in. Without her pants on. “Who was at the door?” she asked.
Tanner and I stared at each other awkwardly.
“I need a Clamato,” he said, and left.
