Here’s a sample of the hilarity:
Extending my hand, I introduced myself, and thus our friendship was born. Her name was Gladys, and, like me, she’d been killing serially. (We tend to prefer this politically correct moniker to distinguish ourselves from those low-lifes who kill for money or passion or whatever.) She too looked on it as a noble calling and passion. Originally from Des Moines, she’d drifted across the country, leaving behind her a bloody trail of bodies and a gruesome collection of clues. She told me her professional name was ‘Jane the Ripper,’ but most of her close friends and family still called her Gladys. She was – to say the least – everything I wanted in a living woman.