Any quick sprint to round up news is getting tougher all the time -- the media insists on keeping us all tangled up in kudzu, stuffed full of manure, and kept in the dark. It's nearly enough to make one reach for the Roundup. (Here, we'll get sidetracked right away, to help give you an immediate flavor of the razor-sharp focus of the rest to come.)
So, um, why do the Scotts Miracle-Gro people have such a fixation on death? One look at their website is a cross between promises of horrific, hair-blazing nuclear Armageddon and folksy, trail-blazing, shucks-M'am, old-West wanted posters.
The copy might as well read, "Why, if you squint, you can almost see the cooling-tower shape in them thar souvenir spittoons, Sheriff," and then have it all signed like a love note, "Sincerely Yours, The Scotts Miracle-Death Cumpnee."
Or maybe, "Roses are red, and them violets bereft; please think of us when you think of death." I guess the old-West motiff is still every bit as romantic as us continuing to read books or watch movies and teevee shows all built up around the subject of grisly murders and gruesome deaths.
That's entertainment! You know, entertainment just like Rush Limbaugh's an entertainer. No difference there, really -- it's all the same goal: keep it red and raw and flowing freely in the streets, boys. Give 'em as much red meat as they'll take.
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