Well, Joran van der Sloot's latest "confession" went as expected, although this time he managed to work up a few facial contortions intended, I suppose, to simulate grief and remorse, although he was apparently unable to squeeze out an authenticating tear.
Why is he doing this? If his conscience is bothering him--I sincerely doubt that--why doesn't he just unburden himself to the police and take the consequences?
The obvious answer is that he's doing it for the money, since he claims to have been paid for this latest interview as well as for the one he gave Greta van Susteren a few years ago, the one in which claimed to have sold Natalee to a tourist in the market for an attractive young blonde. As I said, confessing for cash seems to be his current vocation.
But what are his long-term career prospects in this regard? Won't the law of diminishing returns, or some variant of it, take effect--if it hasn't already? Who, in the future, is going to pay to hear whatever story he decides next to tell? Maybe he'll end up wandering the world--a latter-day Flying Dutchman--desperately seeking someone, anyone who might listen to him and toss a few coins his way. I can see him a few years hence, ragged, dirty, and emaciated, standing at an intersection holding up a cardboard sign that reads "WILL CONFESS FOR FOOD" while the traffic on either side whizzes past him. And not one car stops. Or even slows.
Not a pretty prospect. But it's still better than what he probably deserves.
Why is he doing this? If his conscience is bothering him--I sincerely doubt that--why doesn't he just unburden himself to the police and take the consequences?
The obvious answer is that he's doing it for the money, since he claims to have been paid for this latest interview as well as for the one he gave Greta van Susteren a few years ago, the one in which claimed to have sold Natalee to a tourist in the market for an attractive young blonde. As I said, confessing for cash seems to be his current vocation.
But what are his long-term career prospects in this regard? Won't the law of diminishing returns, or some variant of it, take effect--if it hasn't already? Who, in the future, is going to pay to hear whatever story he decides next to tell? Maybe he'll end up wandering the world--a latter-day Flying Dutchman--desperately seeking someone, anyone who might listen to him and toss a few coins his way. I can see him a few years hence, ragged, dirty, and emaciated, standing at an intersection holding up a cardboard sign that reads "WILL CONFESS FOR FOOD" while the traffic on either side whizzes past him. And not one car stops. Or even slows.
Not a pretty prospect. But it's still better than what he probably deserves.