Me: Hi, Caylee.
C: Hi, Adam. Thanks for having me on your blog.
Me: Anytime. So, you’re dead, huh?
C: Yup. It seems that way.
Me: I’m very sorry to hear that.
C: Oh, don’t be. Unless you’re my stupid whore of a mother, Casey Anthony, it’s not your fault.
Me: It seemed like there were a lot of people praying that you were actually at a friend’s house or
otherwise safe, regardless of all of the suspicious evidence.
C: Yeah, those people are fucking idiots. Maybe if everyone had been pragmatic from the very second my batshit crazy mom started telling her lies, this wouldn’t have ended up the media circus that it is.
Me: It’s a little weird, isn’t it? I mean, kids disappear all of the time, but your story is like Jon Benet Ramsey’s.
C: Well, she’s a little bit before my time, but I’ve met her here. She asked me to pass on that yes they fucking did do it and she can’t believe they got away with it. What amazes me is how simple the equation is for something to become a media circus.
Me: Care to enlighten me?
C: You need a crazy parent or parents, you need just enough evidence to make it obvious to everyone except the police, and you need a pretty white girl.
Me: You think the media’s racist?
C: When’s the last time someone had their very own Wikipedia entry and they were a missing black girl? Or Asian? Or Hispanic? Or even an ugly white girl?
Me: I guess you’re right. Do you think the media attention helped, though?
C: No! Without the media attention, my mom would have been interrogated, she would have broken down, plead guilty, and been getting forcibly raped by a couple of bull dykes down in prison. But now, she can get a decent defense attorney and my Nana and Papa can make money off of my death.
Me: You don’t want your grandparents to earn any money? This is a capitalist society, after all.
C: I wouldn’t mind if they were completely innocent, but they’re not. They knew what a dead behind the eyes, negligent, recklessly evil piece of shit my mother was, and they let this all happen. Even after they knew I was dead, they’re still supporting my mom instead of denouncing her for the sociopath that she is.
Me: Wow, you have a lot of resentment for a three-year old. Of course, now that I think about it, you’re awfully articulate for someone your age, too.
C: Well, since I’m dead, this entire conversation is just a figment of your imagination. And you stole the whole concept from Black Hockey Jesus, too.
Me: Yeah, well he manages to make his conversations interesting and funny. I’ve only managed to be disturbing and kind of weird.
C: That explains why you’re naked.
Me: Ahem. Well, to get back on target, is there anything you’d like me to pass on to the world at large?
C: First, apparently there is a hell for kids, and it’s filled with giant clowns and Mickey Mouses. Second, Elvis is indeed dead and he just asked me to be his child bride. Finally, heaven is filled with “Obama ’08” signs. Who’da thunk it?