Now I've heard everything. Are we really supposed to believe that the guy who managed to get kazillions of people to fork over boatloads of money so he could take them for everything they were worth couldn't figure out how to commit suicide?
Ruth Madoff is telling all, and apparently she is not above making shit up. She claims that on Christmas Eve a few years ago she and Bernie were so depressed they decided to try suicide. Now why on earth would a couple of Jews be depressed on Christmas Eve, when they can pretty much waltz into any restaurant without a reservation (and, to top it off, look forward to a Chinese feast the next day)? And Ambien and klonopin? Really? People I know pop Ambien like Skittles, and klonopin is the current popular alternative to Xanax, touted for its miraculous effectiveness and low level of toxicity. Anxiety Skittles. (Yes, I have my own emergency stash; just knowing it's there makes me calm.) A suicide cocktail? I think not. Those two wanted a solid eight hours with happy dreams, just like the rest of us.
Shockingly, they woke up the next morning -- no doubt feeling quite rested. No paramedics, no stomach pumps, no reports of heads bent over the gilded toilets; just bright eyes and bushy tails, as far as I can tell. And no stepped up efforts to finish off the job. Sorry, but I give those two more credit than they give themselves. I'm fairly certain that if they wanted to kill themselves, they'd have figured it out. (Didn't they live in a penthouse?)
Anyway, suicide is for cowards, and the Madoffs don't seem like the cowardly types. I might have given Ruth the benefit of the doubt, might have, that is, until she came up with the incredible suicide story. Look up chutzpah in the dictionary; guess whose pictures you'll find.
Oh well, like I've said before, we are all capable of spinning our own narrative, our own version of the truth. The one that makes us feel a little better, and keeps us from stuffing ourselves with too much sleep candy.
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