'Buying a ticket to see Bruno is paying money to grieve God's heart'

So says Suzanna Logan, whose summer seems sincerely dedicated to repairing her own heart. As much as she joked about "Big Sexy," it was in that laugh-to-keep-from-crying way. Or maybe that laugh-to-keep-from-hunting-him-down-like-a-dog-in-need-of-"fixing" way.

Hard to tell sometimes, y'know? Anyway, it's all my fault. I played matchmaker between Clever S. and the Unwise Latino -- hey, who you callin' racist? -- and the unfortunate consequences have grieved my heart.

A smart reporter never burns his sources, so if Big Sexy had called me the other night and, after we had discussed business, we discussed other things . . . well, Your Honor, when a professional journalist speaks hypothetically, that one little word "if" is his Get Out Of Jail Free card.

Nevertheless, there are no accidents, and Miss Logan lost an hour of sleep because she felt compelled to write this:

I'm living what I'm talking. I have an intimate understanding of what pursing God and holiness with all you've got can do to a person's life: It can 180 your direction. I'm living proof. . . .
Of course, I'll never know who reads this or what they choose to do. But God will. And, in the end, that's all that really matters.

Just an accident that at 3:20 a.m. ET, somebody clicked through from her site to mine. Just an accident I was checking my SiteMeter before going to bed myself. All of it, you see, entirely accidental.

BTW, Logan: You threw away your gangster movies? Please tell me you didn't throw away any classic '40s/'50s noir. Classic noir is . . . it's like the Parable of the Double-Crossed Palooka, see?

14. And in the Land of the Angels was a dame,
15. Whom the magistrate did accuse of murder,
16. For she had been seen in an inn, taking strong drink with a certain official,
17. Whose wife she was not;
18. And, lo, it came to pass that this high-society character was ventilated with numerous slugs, .44 in caliber,
19. Which the coroner did retrieve after the mortal remains of the departed soul were found upon the shore of the sea called Pacific, nearby the town of Malibu;
20. Straightway the dame was taken to the hoosegow, where the law of that land said she must be allowed to make one phone call;
21. It was a Thursday, and behind a glass door marked with his name, a certain detective reclined in his chair;
22. Though he spake not, yet his voice was heard, as he told the tale in tones jaded, bitter, cynical;
23. Yet all the while asleep, and on his desk was a writing of the Tribune, which in large letters declared:
24. CONGRESSMAN FOUND DEAD; POLICE ARREST ACTRESS HIGHPOINT AFTER HOTEL TRYST; GRIEVING WIDOW MOURNS HEIR TO DAVENPORT OIL FORTUNE.
25. The phone rang and the detective's secretary, who was some dish herself, answered saying, Axelrod Detective Agency.
26. That's me, said the voice of the detective who spake while sleeping, and he saith:
27. It ain't much of a livin' but at least it's honest most of the time,
28. Instead of working downtown with those crummy double-crossers.
29. Cops, crooks, sometimes it's hard to tell the difference in this town.
30. So now I'm solo, a private detective.
31. Sounds exciting to some people, but it's mostly cheating husbands and deadbeat chislers.
32. Small-time stuff.
33. Then the secretary walked in and saith to Axelrod:
34. Hey, Mike. We got a live one on the line. Want me to tranfer it?
35. Sure, Betty, saith Mike, lighting a Chesterfield
36. Before picking up the phone, and
37. Lo, the screen did split, so that the dame was beheld also on the phone, downtown in the hoosegow.
38. Axelrod. What can I do for you? he saith.
39. Mister Axelrod, saith the dame, sorely distressed, I - I - I didn't do it. I'm innocent -- innocent, I tell ya! Jeff and me -- I mean, Congressman Davenport -- well, it wasn't what it looked like --
40. Whoa! said the detective. Hold on there a minute, lady!
41. Slow down a sec, sweetheart. I don't even know your name yet.
42. And the dame, who was a blonde, saith:
43. Oh. I'm -- I'm sorry, it's just that -- well, my name is Veronica Highpoint.
44. And a trumpet did sound, and again was heard the voice of the detective, though he did speak not, saying:
45. Veronica Highpoint, big star.
46. Or that's what they said a couple of years ago, until the gossip columns started in on her and the studio dropped her contract.
47. A dame like that, said the voice of the detective who spake not, but he stopped and saith aloud:
48. So how did you get my number?
49. Jeff -- I mean, Congressman Davenport gave it to me, saith the dame Veronica;

50. He said it was important, and if anything ever happened to him . . .

But nobody's paying me to write this stuff, see? I'm a professional and Logan hasn't hit my tip jar lately, so this little saga of the drop-dead blonde and the hard-luck gumshoe will have to wait for another day. Today, there's important business in D.C., and I've got to get some sleep. But there are no accidents.