So, Susan Atkins, a Manson "family" member convicted in 1969 of killing actress Sharon Tate and six others, is dying of cancer. And she wants to be released after spending 40 years in jail.
In interviews with Dianne Sawyer, she comes off as fully contrite. I'd let her baby sit my pet ferrets, Point and Click, if I didn't know any better.
But is it really that hard to change from a monster to a moonbeam, when you've got decades of down time?
And look where she's starting from. She didn't just kill a family, she killed Tate's unborn baby, after Tate pleaded with her not to. During the trial, Atkins laughed at her victim's families. I mean, you can't get worse than that. Only better.
Now she's changed, and I actually believe her. But, does it matter?
I mean, Sharon Tate's changed too. Forever. It's called death.
And to me, being alive, happily married (which Atkins is) and being interviewed by news anchors, trumps being dead. No matter the punishment, Atkins still has a life.
But now, with brain cancer, she's going to lose it and wants to live her final months in freedom.
I say rot.
But if she's let out, there should be one provision: she spends her remaining days not walking in forests and communing with nature, but working 24/7 for the Tate family. Let her mow the lawn, clean the toilets. Let her rake the lawn until she drops dead. It might make up for one-thousandth of one percent of what she did to that family. But at least it'll keep her from giggling.
And if you disagree with me, you probably use ear wax as a lip balm.