No, Nessie. I am your father.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
My dad couldn’t have done it. He wasn’t born until about fifteen years later. But then again, you never know… :eek:
I don’t think my dad could’ve done it… right? :eek:
No, the dingo ate Black Dahlia.
And then ran helter-skelter all the way to Benedict Canyon.
Got you all beat. By grandfather is the Zodiac killer.
He’s an archetect, an outdoorsman, likes The Mikado, and once during the 60s, my mother says they found crossed circle symbol spraypainted at the edge of their driveway. (Sure, maybe it was the water company marking where a pipe was, or somerhing…but do we really want to take that chance?)
Couldn’t Knowlton and Hodel both have done it - which would account for the body being torn neatly in two?
In fact, Knowlton was holding a bar of chocolate at the time, and Hodel an open jar of peanut butter, and during the violent wrenching of the body, actually invented the Reeces Peanut Butter Cup.
My dad killed a black russian.
Actually, that’s not true. My dad doesn’t even drink.
Well, my dad was born in 1934, but he’s never been to California – closest he’s come was a few days in Las Vegas. Or so he says…
However, my late Great-Aunt Helen (Dad’s father’s brother’s wife) always claimed (with no documentary evidence, though she did resemble the actor) that she was a cousin of George Raft. From what I know of that guy’s shady connections, I wouldn’t put the Black Dahlia’s murder past him. Thus, if Aunt Helen was right about her “long-lost relative”, I could be distantly and indirectly related to the real killer!
My dad killed a man in Reno just to watch him die.
Right after he named me Sue.
Even though I’m a girl.
Bastard.