The show may be tailspinning into inanity but the good news on Chasing Shadows is that Ruth has identified the five categories that all I say ALL missing persons fall into: runaways, fall aways, push aways, take aways and P-L-A-Y , play aways. Tell you what though, you know who DOESN’T fall into any of those categories? Missing soliciturd Stephen Eli. It’s a mystery, oh it’s a mystery. They’re still searching for a clue.
Ruth and Sean talk to his dopey law student son Cole and a lot of fucking use he is. In an incredible turn up Sean is socially inappropriate and exasperating in a string of social situations! And he’s still doing that spazzy Rain Man walk, a nause célèbre for the ages.
Suspicion falls upon Leonard Vance, a self-confessed double murderer locked up in a secure psychiatric facility for three-post ments. If you’re expecting some Hannibal style gurney straps and ski masks then you’re sorely mistaken. The place is a holiday camp run by some dipshit liberal shrink Doctor Ellesmere (Susan Lynch) who lobbies tirelessly for her favourite baby rapists and serial killers to be let out into the community which of course will be a community several hundred miles away from her children.
To cap off a disappointing day for him he has a fucking seizure and dies like a little bitch
At first Leontard says he never done it but after Sean barking witlessly at him he confesses he DID. “Gave a proper killing to him alright, I did”. They all have a day trip up to the marshes to identify Eli’s resting place. Weird thing is that for a guy who killed and buried him Leontard doesn’t seem to have much clue where Eli was killed and buried. To cap off a disappointing day for him he has a fucking seizure and dies like a little bitch, a happening which leads Sean to the conclusion that he didn’t kill Eli nor the other two he confessed to.
Also sniffing around is Alex Wornley, author of the sensitive book on Leontard who will no doubt end up being the real killer after he puts his cock in Ruth.
There’s a Z-story with Sean’s housekeeper, the futility of which human language is incapable of expressing. Let’s just say that the day I give a rat’s ass about that I no understand Meeester Sean fuck is the day I invite Lames Cordung over for a few tins and few “jokes”.
Just one more of these to go before it is stuffed into car filled with flaming shit and driven over a cliff.
The verdict: Silence of the Clams.
Marks out of 10: 5