Celebrity Profile: Nancy Grace

In an effort at journalistic integrity I should disclose at the outset that Nancy Grace and I have a personal history. We lived together for several months in a small apartment on the outskirts of Atlanta. This was after her two run ins with the Supreme Court of Georgia and prior to the terrible business with CNN. Of this time I can only say she still owes me $645 in unpaid phone bills to various psychic hot lines, and that she once, after a night of box wine and miserable sex, tried to cut off my left ear with a butterfly knife.

In her more sober moments, Nancy often described her childhood as a whirlwind of Lil' Miss Beauty Pageants, Junior Klan bake sales, and awkward Girl Scout outings (many a night ended with her crying herself to sleep, unable to explain exactly what transpired in those lonely humid Quonset huts.) But it was bible camp that gave her the greatest joy. I can still see the little flecks of foam that would form at the sides of her mouth as she regaled me with tales of "outing" sinful classmates and protesting evolution.

"We almost got the entire high school Biology department shut down my junior year but some pinko freak made a stink and it didn't happen. I'll tell you, though, I made darn well sure I didn't learn a thing in that class."

Nancy grew up and went to college where she was going to study Shakespearean Literature, "or something like that", but her fiance was tragically murdered and she found herself compelled to study law. Her time at Mercer University was not filled with drunken revelry or sorority parties or late night pow-wows or quick lunches with her roomie or the occasional movie or friendships of any kind, but was instead devoted to the grim business of getting a degree.

After that it was a string of near successes that propelled Nancy into the American consciousness. She became a prosecuting attorney who won all of her cases. Some of these were later overturned on appeal for reasons as varied as lying on subpoenas, illegal searches, and a generic air of evil. Even the pointlessly conservative Supreme Court of Georgia has said of her: "...the conduct of the prosecuting attorney in this case demonstrated her disregard of the notions of due process and fairness, and was inexcusable."

After a brief stint on Court TV, she made her way to CNN and The Nancy Grace Program. It is one of those talking head programs where an articulate, gloomy moron spouts platitudes and shrieks at her guests. This is a job that attracts a certain type of humorless Troglodyte who has designs on getting back at the world; and Nancy's shrill, unknowing voice would be the perfect tool.

Yes, she had finally made it. Among her notable successes was her vilification of the Duke lacrosse team. Without bothering herself with the tedious work of investigating the actual case, Nancy proclaimed them guilty and had many shows devoted to her wisdom on the matter. The day after they were acquitted, Nancy, in a genuinely classy move, had a substitute reporter announce the removal of the charges. And she never brought it up again.

Of course there is more. Berating a distraught woman to the point of suicide. Assigning guilt, in the Elizabeth Smart kidnapping ordeal, to a man who was later found to be entirely innocent. Her well known passion for, and advocacy of, cock fighting. Her willful ignorance of the details of the FLDS raid; accusing them of child molestation even after they found out that the thirteen year old pregnant girl was really a twenty-two year old pregnant woman. If H.L. Mencken were alive today he would gouge her eye out with a fork.

You see, I know her. I know her type. Her eyes are small and hard. She is quick to judgment, inaccurate, and ultimately unrepentant. She is the journalistic equivalent of a psychic in that she makes all sorts of grand pronouncements and counts on the fact that the people will forget the misses and revel in the hits. She is, in all fairness, a loud mouthed hillbilly cunt who somehow found herself on TV and who will do anything to stay there. She reeks of malice and frigidity and countless generations of inbreeding. And I want my fucking money, bitch!

Still, when I reflect upon our time together, the cute way she used to blush when she talked about the purity of the race; her gritty determination to never make love with the lights on; the way she would hide ice cream cartons in the clothes hamper, carton after carton, just to keep me from worrying about her gargantuan ass; I have to say they weren't all bad times. She smelled weird but the woman could really cook a steak.