Atkins Die It!

In my last flogging, I dealt with a recent death I found personally heart-breaking: my darling Henry Gibson. Well this week Death has struck again, only this time he's done some good, and taken a tremendously evil creature to a long-deserved demise. Susan Atkins, aka Sadie Mae Glutz, has died. There's no way that's anything but good news. She died slowly of cancer. Hopefully it was excruciatingly painful. With any luck, she died in agony and despair.

Now why am I, normally the kindest, most compassionate, most utterly-selfless person on earth, doing a Fred Astaire tap dance special on the grave of Susan Atkins? Look at this picture.

That is gorgeous Sharon Tate Polanski. In 1969, she was a budding movie star. She'd made a splash in the slick trashy soap opera movie Valley of the Dolls with Patty Duke and Susan Hayward. While making The Fearless Vampire Killers, aka Dance of the Vampires, she and genius director Roman Polanski fell in love and got married. Roman went on to have his own sexual and legal troubles, but if it hadn't been for Susan Atkins, those aberrations in his life would probably never have happened.



One night, some 40 years ago last month, on August 9, 1969, pregnant with her and Roman's first child, she pleaded for her baby's life to Susan Atkins. And what did poor little "I had an unhappy childhood" Susan Atkins reply to Sharon?

"I have no pity for you, bitch!" And then she stabbed Sharon 16 times, many of the knife wounds stabbing into the fetus as well. Then Susan wrote "Pig" in Sharon's blood on the front door of the Polanski house. She also took time from her busy night to stab Voytek Frykowski to death as well. Busy knives are happy knives.

What terrible thing had Sharon and Voytek done to Susan to provoke such a terrible act from her?

Nothing at all. They'd never met before. She'd never heard of them, and they'd never heard of her. In fact, Susan and her companions in murder, Charles "Tex" Watson, Patricia Krenwinkle, and Linda Kasabian, thought other people lived there, but since they'd gone to all the trouble to drop in uninvited, why not also kill Steven Parent, Jay Sebring, and Abagail Folger? And the next night, along with Leslie Van Houten, they killed Leno & Rosemary LaBianca, two total strangers of whom they knew nothing at all. It was something to do. Apparently there was nothing good on television, although the newscasts had been pretty lurid that day, and the next day, even more so.

So fuck this evil bitch. She's died of a horrible cancer. Good. Thank you, Cancer. Munchkins: commence singing!

She was acting under the orders of Charles Manson. Charlie's hideous death is a pleasure that still awaits us. But Charlie's orders in no way expiate Susan even a quark-sized iota. Fuck her. Fuck him.

Let's be clear, though hardly guiltless, Linda Kasabian didn't kill anyone, and her testimony was crucial to sending Susan to prison until her parole into hell yesterday.

Sharon wasn't even Susan's first murder. She'd earlier killed a musician named Gary Hinman, as a favor for Charlie. She was thoughtful that way. Always willing to slaughter someone for a friend.

Here she is with Krenwinkle and Van Houton, three little maids from hell indeed, and now Susan has gone home again.

In prison. Susan embraced Christianity, often the last resort of the truly insane, evil, or frightened. They usually then try to claim they are now good people, having become Christians; never mind that Christians have committed many of the worst mass crimes in history. Adolf Hitler was a Christian, after all, as any Jew can tell you.


But the good thing about Susan's alleged conversion is that she'd then believe in Hell, and could be good and terrified of spending eternity roasting on a spit. I almost wish I could believe in it too. Oblivion is letting her off too easily. On the other hand, Poor Hell. Susan Atkins will lower the tone of the place.

She got married twice while in prison. Her first husband, Donald Laisure, had been previously married 35 times! Good lord, he makes me look like an old maid! He dumped her when wife number 37 sashayed into his life. Till lunch we do part.

Then she married her lawyer. I knew defense lawyers could be scuzzballs, but can you possibly sink any lower than marrying Susan Atkins?

She applied for parole again and again, but was always stymied by one simple question: Are Sharon Tate and her baby still dead? They are? Well then, Susan, fuck you. Her last time up for parole she asked for "compassionate release," since she was dying of cancer.

Compassionate release? Perhaps the parole board remembered her answer when Sharon Tate pleaded with her for mercy and compassion, because freely translated, the parole board's answer was "We have no pity for you, bitch."

And we can only look forward to the deaths of her accomplices as pleasures yet to come. It's kind of nice that they've had long lives, because I don't believe the dead suffer.

When I find out where the evil cow is buried I'll let you know, and we can hold a grand ball. We need a lot of people dancing on this evil creature's grave.


On a lighter note, I am flogging away at The Huffington Post, recapping Survivor: Samoa. Catch the latest one: Law & Order: Samoan Psycho Unit. Enjoy.

Cheers darlings.