Canton Cover-Up Part 292: Dear Jill Daniels – No I Can’t Be Your Valentine

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Dear Jill,

Today is Valentine’s Day and although I’m in jail and a little bit lonely, I’m writing to let you know that I’m declining your request to be my valentine. Don’t get me wrong, I’m strangely flattered, but at the end of the day, you’re just not my type, and there are a lot of red flags that would prevent us from taking our relationship to the next level.

Let me start by saying that it’s not because of your looks. I’m not superficial, and I don’t care if you look like you spent the last decade chopping wood in the Siberian Forest. I don’t mind that your face oddly resembles a black diamond mogul in the Alps. And it’s not a deal killer that sitting on your face looks like it would feel like taking a nap on my leather dorm room couch after being left out in the rain.



It’s really more of a Montague – Capulet thing. A McAlbert and a Turtle simply cannot be together. The families won’t allow it. Thanksgiving would be far too awkward. How would you introduce me to your godson, Colin? “This is the guy who gave you all the sads for doing an impression of your hardo Tik Toks?” How could I pretend to enjoy your brother-in-law’s chicken parm when I’ve repeatedly called it mediocre at best? And what about your poor sister Julie? I was once charged with witness intimidation against her because I left her a voicemail asking how did it feel to lose best looking to Jen McCabe in high school? I can only imagine the emotional harm it causes to bring up losing a beauty contest to someone nicknamed Horseface.

Poor Julie must be so jealous of you and Jen. While she got stuck with the only Albert brother who makes less money than Tim and had to move out of her house on account of being married to a deadbeat, you and Jen hitched your wagons to successful men. Sure, Matt McCabe may have bigger Gerber servers than you do, but he makes enough money to raise four kids in a nice house, while his wife sits around covering up murders all day.

Meanwhile, look at the catch you reeled in! Granted, the first time Nick Marathas was introduced to your family, they thought he mistook your house for the bingo hall. But the second he called one of them a “fucking homo” he was officially part of the Albert family. They knew at that moment if one of them ever needed to get rid of some bloody carpets quietly, Marathas Carpeting would be their first call.



Your role in this whole saga is kind of underrated. A lot of people assume you’re just a crazy, drunken aunt who wants to hate-fuck the shit out of me. But you’re actually the most important player in the coverup. You are the connection between the McAlberts and the Proctors. Without your close friendship with Michael Proctor’s sister, Courtney, her mother never would have called the Alberts her second family. Without you, Colin never would have been the ring bearer in Courtney’s wedding. Without you, Michael Proctor never would have sat with Chris and Julie Albert at the wedding. Without you, Chris never would have been able to call up Proctor and make sure he was the lead detective after finding out his son and brother were there for John O’Keefe’s murder. Without you, Proctor, Tully, and Bukhenik might have done some real police work and figured out why Colin’s Ford Edge was parked outside Brian Albert’s house at 3 am. Without you, your whole family would have been fucked and Karen Read never would have been framed for murder.

That’s why we could never work. It doesn’t matter how much you yearn for the extra emoji, or how flattered and starstruck you were when you picked up your phone that night, heard my voice, and yelled, “It’s Turtleboy!” as you self-moisturized your panties. The bottom line is that I worked hard to expose the coverup you were indirectly responsible for, so we could never be together. My reporting is likely to culminate with several of your family members in jail. It would just be too awkward.

At first, I thought you didn’t like me like that, but now I can see you were just playing hard to get. It was all part of the classic McAlbert courtship process.

  1. Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy.
  2. Boy exposes girl’s family for murder coverup. Girl calls boy “Turtledouche.”
  3. Boy calls girl on live show. Girl accuses boy of being a turtle…..a turtle.
  4. Boy asks girl question about nephew’s involvement in murder. Girl almost accidentally admits nephew was inside house during murder.
  5. Boy continues to press girl. Girl accidentally reveals that her family suspects Brian Higgins is cooperating with FBI.
  6. Boy calls girl Pussycat. Girl asks boy where all his awards are.
  7. Boy assumes girl no longer wants to speak to him after getting hung up on. Girl calls back to call boy a “fucking looosssaahhh” and tells him to “Shut the fuck up!”

I really thought you hated me after that if I’m being completely honest. But it’s only because I’ve never been seduced by a McAlbert. Weeks later I was holding a peaceful protest outside your brother-in-law’s pizza place, which totally is NOT a drug front, and coincidentally you drove right by. I wouldn’t have seen you if you didn’t make sure you got my attention by giving me the Canton Salute. Little did I realize that this was your way of saying you wanted to bone. Had I known this was your way of flirting, I wouldn’t have brought up that you look like a piece of aluminum foil after it was used to pack a bologna sandwich for lunch.



Anyway, I hope you have a Happy Valentine’s Day regardless. It just won’t be with me. I give you permission to think about me while Nick overdoses on Viagra and passes out at 8:30, but we both know you’re going to do that anyway. Maybe things could have worked out differently if your whole family didn’t coverup a murder, or if you invested in moisturizer. But they did, and you didn’t, so I cannot be your Valentine.

Love – Turtledouche

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