I can't erase the image of this girl from my mind. A lanky fake and bake white-haired bimbo with a messy pony tail atop her air-filled head, bouncing around like she was Brittney Freakin' Spears, taking every opportunity to hurl insults my way just to make herself and her miserable life seem all that better. One day she was trying to pour out the contents of her stone-cold heart to me, bemoaning her unfortunate fate with her then boyfriend's (now husband's) fist leaving a colorful black and blue splatter mark on her oompa-loompa face, the next minute she's calling me a clown, cackling like a hyena. Rumor had it that this behavior was oft induced by several illicit substances, probably all used in some fashion to dull the physical and emotional pain bestowed upon her by her "lover." 

Though it seems like it was yesterday, that degenerate space-cadet was but a mere high school classmate. Ah, those were the days. The days in a single-sex Catholic high school with many so-called peers who were much more akin to rabid dogs than equals, let alone friends. These dogs would growl, hiss, spit, heck they'd probably lift a leg and pee on you if they could. I'm sure it's like that in every high school. Raging hormones, teen angst, boyfriend love/hate relationships and endless, insufferable rivalry. All to what end? In my case, all I ever really wanted to do was shove that over-tanned Barbie-wannabe's face straight into the toilet. Though I'm morally opposed to water-boarding, it may not have seemed like such a bad idea with that one. 

I have a sneaking suspicion that Casey Anthony wasn't too different from my aforementioned high school nemesis. She's just the same type of girl who probably wasn't the brightest crayon in the box and certainly wasn't winning any miss congeniality contests, let alone collecting any college scholarships. Phoenix online was probably an ambitious goal for her.  Nothing would give me greater pleasure than ripping that self-righteous, narcissistic smile off of Casey Anthony's smug tartlet face and beating some sense into her--at least until she realized the gravity of her offenses. As she sat there on her sentencing day, Casey actually had the audacity to reach deep into her pocket and whip out a tube of lipstick to apply to her dry, useless lips--those same lips that were able to spew countless heinous lies and malign the very essence of her daughter's spirit, but that somehow weren't able to muster enough of anything to pick up a phone and report her child's disappearance for 31 days. Who in creation does Casey Anthony think will be looking at her sociopathic, nasty face? Who did she dress up for with her ratty, faded hair teased up into a future truck-stop stripper with a "bumpitz" look, replete with an ever so dainty lilac hued fitted sweater, one that she'd probably pull off for the right price? Hot bod contest, anyone? I secretly hoped Casey would somehow choke on that lipstick tube or someone from the prosecution would at least throw a glass of water. No such luck. 

How much of a monster can someone really be? While her little girl lay decomposing in a swamp, probably because she just threw her there, Casey was gyrating her loose hips on the dance floor, locking lips with whoever was blinded by beer-goggles and without an ounce of common sense at the time. Just like that high school bimbo, Casey really must have thought she was something else. And she'll continue thinking and acting that way, probably and hopefully getting entangled in some more legal troubles, as she trudges her way through this life, ignorantly oblivious to anyone or anything around her other than herself.