Martha Stewart Would Like for You to ‘Painlessly’ Die So She Can Move in on Your Husband

You know what they say: Keep your friends close, and your friends whose husbands you’d like to straddle even closer—so you can grab the knife you’ve stowed away under your pillow and stab those friends in their sleep without much effort. Or, at least, that’s what you say when you’re Martha Stewart, the magnate who commodified Wifey duties, who appears to be so endlessly horny that she’d end her friends for a chance to jump their hubbys’ bones.

On Thursday’s episode of Chelsea Handler’s Dear Chelsea podcast, the 80-year-old murderess-in-waiting said there’s “nothing” going on in her dating life at the moment, only to recant her statement to then say she “had two mad crushes in the last month which is really good for me, but turns out one of them is married to the mother of some friends of mine. He’s so attractive.” Who is this mother? Is she about to crack the century club? Is she a cradle robber, and might Martha be inclined to some cradle-robbing herself? I certainly wouldn’t put it past a convicted fraudster who’s been known to post thirst traps of herself in the pool, dripping in lust.

“You can’t be a homewrecker,” Handler chided Stewart.

“I’ve never been a homewrecker and I’ve tried really hard not to be. I’ve had the opportunity to be a home-wrecker and I have not taken anybody up on it,” Stewart responded. “But that’s where I meet men. They’re all married to friends of mine or something like that,” adding, “Or maybe they’ll die. I always think, ‘Oh gosh, couldn’t that person just die?’ Not painfully, just die.”

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We’re going to need some men to spice up @Martha Stewart’s love life. Check out a new episode of Dear Chelsea streaming now.

♬ original sound – Chelsea Handler

Martha’s been divorced since 1990, and if my yoni had been collecting cobwebs for over three decades I, too, would become a blood-curdling neighborhood strangler. But this casual admission of Martha’s intent to kill her friends so she can saddle up with their husbands is pop culture perfection. This is why we have celebrities: to assure ourselves that whatever delusional thoughts pop into our wasted little brains, a former tradwife-turned-mogul-turned-convict is bound to one-up our private perversions.

Selfishly, I’m also tickled by the idea that Martha’s friends are now scoping each other out, trying to figure out who has a cupcake-shaped target on their back, while Martha lurks in the corner giggling to herself and plotting “not painful” ways for them to die. A few “not painful” murder methods I imagine Martha might be daydreaming of include food poisoning (“It was an accident!”), a car crash (“It was over instantly!”), or a stabbing (“If you were tougher, this wouldn’t hurt! I’ve been to prison and back, bitch, tell me about it!”).

I hope a potential suitor decides to sweep Martha off her feet—“not painfully,” of course—or a nice couple invites her to be a third so she doesn’t have to partake in any homewrecking. And while the grandkids get her set up on Tinder, I’ll be here imagining that Martha’s entire knitting group perished painlessly into this pot of stew.