I have suddenly had an inspiration on how to handle the Frost poem, "The Death of the Hired Man," that my wife and I are doing at the salon tonight. We've been working on it his afternoon, all Henry Fonda and Katherine Hepburn if you know what I mean. But I'm thinking when we are doing it tonight that I surprise her and I will go all Jack Nicholson instead and at the end where Warren goes out and comes back and tells his wife that the hired man has died in his sleep that I should come charging back with ketchup all over my hands and grab her by the throat.
Then after I have choked her to death I can stab myself in the gut. (More ketchup.)
Wow, they will say. There's more in Frost than people give him credit for. And you can't tell me Jack Nicholson killing Katherine Hepburn wouldn't have been sweet.
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