"Oh, no, Passions is stupid. They're all just a waste of time," Erica told me. "Except for Days of Our Lives. You get so into it, you really want to know what happens to these characters. I'm telling you, Jay, I'm gonna get you hooked." Seems unlikely, thank God. I always kind of assumed that these soap operas were a sort of serialized chick flick, the softest of softcore porn for repressed housewives. But I had no idea how little I'd care about the melodramatic town of Salem, it's botox addicted inhabitants, and the anti-duende permeating the whole damn show.

And I'd like to spoil something for the fans. I know why Marlena's killing off the entire cast: they're freaking irritating as hell. All of them — the senile gray-wigged woman talking to history's worst special-effect ghost; Celeste the whiny, timorous psychic; Shirtless Guy and Pregnant Woman With Flour In Her Hair; Hope the boxy-headed, mildly competent police detective who's always in a meeting wink, wink — have an amazing ability to drive normal people who aren't on ecstacy crazy with their histrionics and exposition. I'm sure it comes with being rich and self-absorbed.

"I think you're the murderer, Marlena."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, and I'm gonna prove it." Next time on Days of Our Lives