The Walking Dead Mid-Season Finale Episode IV: No Hope

collected group shot2Review of AMC’s The Walking Dead  Season 4 Episode 8: The Mid-season Finale

**As always my reviews contain adult content, language, sexuality, fantasies of violence, and all kinds of other fun/naughty stuff. The images may be disturbing as well as my sense of humor. Reader discretion is advised. There will also be spoilers so if you decide to read a review about an episode of TV that you haven’t watched yet expect to be even more outraged than usual. Also, you’re dumb.**

Yes my lovely readers I have made my triumphant return to blogging and writing and the world of the living! Like a bad case of Herpes I just keep coming back to inflame, annoy, and make my presence impossible to ignore. I know you’ve missed me; please stop crying. Or maybe you’re just upset that there won’t be a new episode of Walking Dead until February? Honestly, how very much does that suck? The only show that’s actually worse is Game of Thrones and they have a cast of 50 billion and film in like, 12 countries plus outer space! Come on AMC- get your shit together!

Now I know I’ve been gone a while and should have a whole lot of catching up to do…but I’m not gunna. If I tried this article would become a “companion guide” that never gets finished so instead I’m just jumping in. If you’re reasonably intelligent and you’ve kept up with the show you’ll be just fine.

So where to start, where to start…

Ok, how’s this: Judith isn’t dead, Carol is coming back, and one of the children is the psycho responsible for butterflying that kitty Tyrese found.

Do I know all of this for sure because I have a secret inside source that hacked the network Exec’s email accounts and read them all with my jaw on the floor yelling “Oh my God!!” to my laptop screen, frightening all the other customers at Starbucks?

 No- I don’t go to Starbucks.

But I sound pretty sure don’t I? These are just my personal theories combined with wishful thinking because I would rather see Daryl hook up with almost anyone other than Carol. I know that I’m in the minority here but the idea makes me throw up in my mouth a little. Beth, Michonne, Sasha; anyone else is an improvement. Daryl luvs Ty

Actually I think it would be super-awesome if Daryl turned out to be gay. I mean, he’s always gotten along better with Glenn and Rick than any of the women, and think of all the stereotypes it would destroy to have the show’s red-neck superman playing for the other team! Plus all of the homophobes watching the show & buying crossbows on eBay would never recover. Dixon Vixens would be hurling themselves from rooftops left and right! It would be hilarious!

To be fair I don’t dislike Carol just because I think her little sexual innuendos with Daryl are creepy and gross; I have never liked her. Back at camp in season 1 while everyone else was looking for food or keeping watch, Carol was ironing clothes and nicking Rick’s grenade. Who even brings an iron or ironing board with them when fleeing during the end of the world?? All Carol ever did was cry and whine and blame everyone else for all of her problems while expecting them to take care of her and her kid. Remember in season 2 when she couldn’t protect or keep track of Sophia so she blamed Rick for not doing it for her? Did she even once go out and look for the kid after the 2nd day? You know, the day she went into that church and admitted she was aware that her sleazy husband was molesting her daughter yet did nothing about it? Yeah. Then when the herd came through Hershel’s farm and she waited around for Daryl to rescue her, she decided to go back on every positive/affirming thing she told him about himself in order to manipulate him into running off from Rick & the others. I mean, it was three fucking seasons before Carol even killed a walker!

Many people think that her transformation over seasons 3 and 4 has been impressive and admirable. I’m sorry but going from a useless bag of bones to a psychotic, murderous bag of bones is NOT an improvement. All the things she said to Rick when trying to justify killing two members of their group were pathetic and defensive. She wants to feel relevant S4A (16)and in control but she still needs someone else to bail her out. The only problem I had with Rick dropping her off and saying “hit the road” was that I knew it wouldn’t be the end of her. I would’ve given her the Otis and been just fine with it. This is why I’m sure that Carol will be coming back- not because I want that to happen, but because I’m just not that damn lucky.

I also do not believe that Judith is really dead. Yes there was a bloody car seat, yes no one saw her escape but we didn’t see a body, either. Admittedly I don’t think the network would be ok with showing a baby ripped apart by monsters and eaten like some giant jelly-doughnut, but  whenever we don’t see a person die and simply assume they’re gone they end up coming back with a knife-hand or deer parts or an effing tank. It also doesn’t seem likely that there would be this kind of buildup around a pregnancy and birth and a baby if she was just going to end up dying as collateral damage during an attack without any kind of fanfare. On the other hand, I’m sure it would make the show’s production a lot less complicated without worrying about an infant on set or trying to write to make surviving on the road with one a plausible situation. I don’t really care one way or the other since we hardly see her.Ep8Me (8)2

So speaking of children we hardly see, my theory about which sick bastard is responsible for killing small animals is that it’s one of the girls Carol took under her wing- probably Mika, the older one, who had no problem shooting a chick in the face. Side note: is it just me or does everyone in that camp seem to have magically accurate shooting skill? Each person is able to take down walkers from a distance with a head shot. Even kids who have never been to a shooting range can apparently nail you between the eyes with one round.

It’s almost…unbelievable.

Feeding the rats to the walkers seems to me like something a kid who names them and insists that they’re “just different” would do. You have to feed your pets don’t you? Though animal mutilations and cruelty are usually the bailiwick of males, I have to assume that in this kill-or-be-killed world little girls are just as likely to be all evil as little boys. Regardless I don’t think this will be something that just remains a mystery; someone’s going to be revealed as completely crazy-pants during one of the remaining 8 episodes.

Now that all that crap is out of the way I think I maybe should start talking about the episode I’m supposed to be reviewing.

Ep8Me (18)I never believed that the Governor had actually changed- not for a single minute. He’s a sadistic psychopath who enjoys killing and causing pain. He’s also a malignant narcissist who justifies the shit he does by presenting an altruistic front and telling himself that he’s doing it all for his family. I am so done with everyone who says that he’s a better leader than Rick or that he’s the better survivor or more fit to live in this world or any of that nonsense. He didn’t care about that chick or her kid- they were just surrogates for the family he lost. Remember how he said “I won’t lose you again”? That’s because he doesn’t care about who they are as much as he does whom they represent to him. He also didn’t kill that soldier guy and put him in the lake as a reminder to be vigilant or some bullshit like that. He did that for the same reason that he kept fish tanks full of heads: because serial killers take trophies. He kept that guy hidden enough to not be overt yet near enough to be discovered, just like he did with the heads at Woodbury, because he gets off on doing all of this right under everyone’s noses & feeling powerful, smart, and in control. Like I said: psychopath.

Meanwhile, back at the prison…

So um, if there’s barely enough gas to power people’s cars or possibly a generator or two, how the Hell is a moron like Mitch fueling up a freaking tank?? Considering it takes about one gallon of fuel to travel a single mile, either the Governor’s camp was practically on top of the prison or someone towed the thing up to the gate. Was no one keeping watch over there? I get that a bunch of people died from the bleeding-eyeball flu but after an army of walkers breached the fence shouldn’t it have become a priority to keep an eye on things (no pun intended)? How do a tank and a squadron of trucks sneak up on anything, let alone a prison surrounded by huge fields and fences? It didn’t even make sense to have this confrontation. If I was one of the people at that other camp there’s no fucking way I would risk my life to fight a bunch of strangers just because some guy with an eye patch said I should. If you ask me it was far too easy to get everyone behind that messed up plan. Oh yeah, and all nonchalantly saying “I kidnapped a couple of people to hold as hostages and force compliance” isn’t a glaringly huge indication that your new leader is a lunatic. Everyone over there is either stupid or insane and I’d be running over to warn Rick’s people about the imminent shit-storm before I’d ever march into battle against living people who’ve never done a damned thing to me or mine. Sorry about your daughter and your eye buddy but you’re on your own for this one.

While we’re on the subject of dead kids can I just take a moment to ask: what the Hell is wrong with all the parents in the post-zombie apocalypse world?? Lori was always running off and leaving Carl to roam around on his own and he ended up getting Dale killed, Carol lost track of Sophia & she ended up in the barn with all of Hershel’s relatives, then the kids at the prison were all over the place and Daryl had to run in and rescue them (when they Ep8Me (12)weren’t busy with Carol’s knife-fighting story time or teasing the walkers at the fence, that is.) Then we have the Governor’s wife 2.0 who’s chilling on top of an RV while her kid plays in the mud 20 yards away! Though to be fair it was only a matter of time for poor little Meghan. Hanging out with the Governor is the kiss of death; just ask Penny.

Or Andrea.

Or Milton.

Or Merle.

Or Martinez.

Or Pete…

You get the idea.

And I’m not saying that the kid had it coming but to be fair she did have a freaking metal sign in her hands when the flash-flood walker grabbed her. If she couldn’t bash its head in she at least could’ve put the thing between her shoulder and it’s snapping jaws until mom came over and shot it. Mika and Lizzie went and found guns then blew the brains of Tara’s girlfriend all over the prison yard and all this kid could do was scream and make mud PB&J sandwiches?!

Yet we’re supposed to believe that she plays chess in her spare time. Riiiight.

And of course, I already went off about Judith.

One would assume that a guy would make it a point to keep track of the kid his wife died Ep8Me (57)bringing into the world but at some point during the formation of the emergency plan people were too busy stashing guns right in front of the chain-link fence to designate a babysitter. No one was keeping track of Little Ass-kicker and because of that all of us had to see Rick’s ugly cry-face AGAIN. So not sexy.

I suppose I should talk about Hershel being executed O-Ren Ishii style. Then again I’m sure that’s what everyone and their mother is talking about so I really don’t think there’s much I can add. However I was sorry to see the Governor go, no matter how just and fitting his end was. He was truly terrifying at times, great at being a complex and devious flavor of evil, and Laurie Holden was right: he really is pretty damn sexy. I’d totally hit that. Preferably before he lost the eye, though. It’s a whole depth perception thing…never mind.

Ep8AMC (9)3Overall the episode was pretty sweet. There was a lot of gunfire and carnage, fire and explosions, child soldiers, grenade throwing, plus the tank. How often do you have a tank roll over some zombies? I thought Lauren Cohan and Emily Kinney both gave amazing performances: their reactions to their father’s murder felt very visceral and real and was very impressive. I also liked the juxtaposition of Maggie telling Glen at the beginning of the episode “I’ll be right back” when she went to get him some water, and then again when she leaves him on the bus in order to search for Beth. It was pretty cool seeing Clara the crazy “it’s just ahead” lady from the first episode as a walker amidst the hoard drawn to the prison, too.

But what I really, really, REALLY didn’t like was the super-cheesy and nonsensical attempt at being artsy and metaphorical shot of a walker stepping on the king from the Governor’s chess set that Meghan drew an eye-patch on.

We get it: the Governor’s reign of terror has ended, he has been de-throned, he got what was coming to him, karma’s a bitch, blah blah blah. The whole katana-through-the-chest-&-gunshot-to-the-head thing made all that pretty clear. Maybe that shot would’ve been more palatable if it wasn’t completely random and implausible. So the Governor decided to pocket a chess piece for good luck and bring it to his hostile takeover, then it went flying out of his pocket way over to a part of the yard he wasn’t anywhere near yet still Ep8Me (56)2miraculously remained intact? And showing him picking it up before he left his camp so that the audience would know how the Hell it got out there was just too much? Cut out because of time constraints?

Epic fail Walking Dead production people.

I’d also like to say once again and for the record that this whole “mid-season finale” bullshit is fucking retarded. No new episodes until February 9th? How am I supposed to spend my Sunday nights, watching reruns of Duck Dynasty?? Hell no! Just because I can’t get my Daryl fix doesn’t mean any old redneck will suffice! DiP (60)

Only a Dixon can satisfy my addiction.

And don’t think that putting on “Love Actually” helps at all, because it doesn’t.  Just because it has Andrew Lincoln in it doesn’t make it any less of a chick flick. I’m on to you AMC.

Well this wraps up my magnificent return to writing stuff and posting it online. I hope you enjoyed it as well as the obscenely huge collection of images I assembled for you. I’m sure I’ll find something to complain about in the meantime but on the off chance that I don’t I’ll have a spankin’ new post in February.Promo collage

Until then my fellow freaks and geeks,

  -Dianthrax

P.S: Am I the only person who noticed the sign at that gas station in episode 3 spelled out “Hell” with numbers, as in the price of gas per gallon? There’s a picture of it in case you don’t remember.

Pretty clever production designers! *wink, wink*

Also, be sure to check out my fabulously extensive image gallery. There are photos from episode 8 as well as behind the scenes shots, walkers galore, and images from the first half of the season. There’s also a lil something at the end that I do for my own enjoyment: I call it “Daryl Is Pretty”. You’re welcome ladies.

(All images property of The Walking Dead and AMC Networks)

In Memorium of My Beloved Sabrina: A Tribute Video

My cat Sabrina died on Sunday April 15th.

This was what I wrote about how I felt at the time (with some help making my point,)  It’s also a photo collage that I assembles, did some editing, played around with, dug up old photos for…you get it.

Then finally there’s a video tribute to her that I’ve been working hard on. It seemed important to get done for some reason…and it helped me not cry all the time by requiring me to focus on some internet work-like stuff.

But this is what’s been going on with me- why I’ve been such a slacker with my posts when I have so much I wanted to say. Now I just try and get through each day- one day at a time.

Anyway, I hope you like the tribute. Or at least the video. It was all made out of love.

My mom and I had been in Fresno and decided to come home Saturday night instead of Sunday night, otherwise I would’ve just found her dead. As it was I came home and she had been sick all over the living room. She came to the door to say hello to me as per usual, but when I fed her she couldn’t make it to her dish without limping. I brought the dish to her and figured it was a sore hip- arthritis, you know? She was, after all, about 15 years old.

She ate and once again I told me mom that I think someone thing’s wrong with her- that I thought she was sick and needs to go to the vet. My mom’s replay is that she’s “just old and sick and probably going to die soon.” This had basically been her reply every time I’d brought this up over the last few months regarding Sabrina’s deteriorating health. My mom wasn’t a big fan of pets- even though with my sister’s help, SHE was the one who picked out Sabrina because she had liked cats. She’d even made a few comments about her just “hurrying up and dying already” even though she knew it really upset me and pissed me off.

Somewhere along the line after my mom rescued her from the shelter, Sabrina became my cat. Everyone says they don’t know why, even though I’ve explained the reason why I think it happened that way.

Because I stayed up her first 5 or 6 nights in a row with the pathetic little kitten bed my mom made & expected her to sleep in, all alone, out in the cold living room up in my bed with me. I curled my arm and my comforter around her so that every time she woke up at 2 or 4am crying and freaked because she’s just a baby and suddenly in some unfamiliar place away from her siblings, I was right there to show her she wasn’t alone- that someone was protecting her and watching over her. I’d soothe her back to sleep no matter how long it took, even though I had to be up and go to school the next day. I explained this and still everyone complained about how I didn’t even pick her out- that I wouldn’t even go to the cat shelter to pick out the one we wanted (which they took to mean I didn’t care.) Part of that is true- I really didn’t care which cat they came home with; I knew I’d adore her and somehow I just knew that she was going to be mine.

Sabrina was an amazing cat- unlike any I’d known before. She wasn’t afraid of anything; she could sound as fierce as a tiger and she made sure no other cats dared to venture into the yard of our old house- it was her turf. I’d seen her make dogs 10 times her size turn and run.

You know those news stories about cats that save their owners by going all feral and crazily attacking a full-grown bear or some other large predator that wandered near the house and the attack is so swift and startling and frenzied that the bear ends up running away from the house-kitty? That’s the kind of cat Sabrina was; she had a wildness that never went away and I carry my scars with pride.

That doesn’t mean that she was in any way vicious or unfriendly or mean- quite the contrary. She was sweet and friendly and never once scratched or even put her ears back at my little nephew while he was running around, desperately trying to pet her. She loved being touched and cuddled and would scent-mark (rub her cheeks against) my face and neck and fall asleep right in your lap, purring up a storm.

Sabrina was so different, too. She loved rather than feared water and while I took baths she would push her way into the bathroom to walk around the edge of the tub and swipe at the water or sniff the bubbles or sometimes just sit there with me like she was reading over my shoulder. She loved to play and I bought and made toys of every type imaginable. We had these little mini-tennis balls- slightly smaller than a ping-pong ball and not terribly heavy but with a bit of heft to them. I’d roll or send them bounding out of the room and Sabrina would go tearing after them. Then a minute later she’d come trotting back with it in her tiny kitty mouth like it was no big deal, and drop it in my lap to throw again. I swear it was just like a dog playing fetch only without all the nasty slobber.

She was indoor/outdoor and needed to run and be free and patrol the surrounding area looking for fights (actually she mostly stayed in our front & back yards. Anyway…) but every night she always came inside. This is because inside is where the food dish lived, but even if it wasn’t time to come in or if she was already in the house and just hidden away in some nook somewhere, no matter where she was or what she was doing if I called her she always came to me. She only did this with me.

We had a language of purrs and chirps and meows and high-pitched tones that only she and I understood. I know it sounds stupid and you probably think I’m nuts for thinking I could speak cat. My family didn’t believe me and thought it was stupid too…until I stood in the driveway and showed them that at any time of day no matter what, if I called her she came to me every single time. That was why she never slept outside; I called her in to go to bed and she came up and got in with me. I could only demonstrate that part of it, but I knew by her meow if she was hungry or thirsty or hot or cold or bored and wanted to play, even when she wasn’t feeling well. I knew she had something wrong with her before we took her to the vet and she told us she had worms.

She knew how I felt too. When I was crying she came and wouldn’t leave me alone- kept jumping into my lap or on my stomach no matter how many times I pushed her off and told her to go away until I gave in and let her stay, and her cuddles and purrs always calmed me down and stopped my crying. When I was really depressed she’d do the same thing, and when I had surgery on my abdomen and was in a lot of pain she jumped up on the arm and walked along the back of the couch to get over to me and lay by me on my pillow. She went completely around my whole midsection; something she’d never done before, to get to my chest and neck for cuddles. It was awesome.

She was so special; my first cat.  She was there for me for so much that I don’t think people understand what losing her has done to me.

For one thing I’ve never experienced grief or loss like this before. It’s like every second feels like I want to throw up all of my insides while tearing my skin off and screaming! I’ve been numb for so long- I don’t even remember the last time I really truly felt something with all of me. The closest feelings of happiness or joy I have like that are the births of my nieces and nephews, starting to seriously date someone I really like, and going to Comic-Con (before it go all lame and insane.) Those are probably some of, if not the only, happy times I’ve had, yet parts of them still don’t feel the way I remember joy is supposed to feel. It’s not supposed to have a dark haze around the edges like some fog-covered unreality that’s going to turn dark like the contrast on a screen at any moment. Is it? I remember a time when it didn’t.

Then there are these feelings: grief and loss.

I am totally not prepared for this!

Treating my depression with something as radical as ECT scared the crap out of me and I lost so, so much because of it. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I’ve lost and what that’s done to change me and the plans I had for my whole life. How I’m still discovering side-effects or ways in which my original side-effects have distorted aspects of my personality and life and daily living. Unless you’ve been through it, no one will ever understand what that damage does to a person.

Yet I’m here. And believe it or not this is considered better. The Novocain has worn off- I’m not numb to all of my emotions and the beautiful gift we call “living life” anymore. I feel everything.

I FEEL EVERYTHING!!

It’s not like going from black and white to color- it’s like going to a world made of fluorescence and neon signs so bright it makes your eyes bleed! People’s cruelty or insults don’t hurt my feelings- they devastate me! Oh, and I discovered that I have one Hell of a temper!  I want to rip everyone to shreds who pisses me off! I want to ruin the lives of the assholes that hurt my friends, and I want to yell at my family for expecting me to do everything they want when they don’t know a Goddamn thing about me!! When they’ve poisoned me and could’ve killed me more than once because of their ignorance and laziness!

I want to yell and scream at my mom for sitting in her room watching The Lakers and doing nothing while I’m curled around the body of my dead cat on the living room floor, crying like I think I’ll never stop!

I was numb when my grandparents died and I loved them very, very much. But I was in the middle of my depression and I couldn’t feel anything like my sisters could. I had to create and read the Eulogy for my Gramie and I read it without so much as a tremble in my voice. At first they said they were impressed with my composure, but when I tried to explain how I wasn’t inconsolably upset because I couldn’t be- I just couldn’t feel it.- they called me a heartless freak. Because I never cried in front of them I didn’t love her as much as they did. Do they have any idea how very much I wanted to cry and hurt along with them?! How desperately I wanted to feel sadness for the loss of someone I loved so much?! I have a disease and that is a symptom- that’s what it is and I have no more control over it than a Diabetic does over his own damn insulin production!! Aren’t you supposed to have some fucking understanding for people who are sick and suffering?? I was so hopeless and sedated and miserable and being punished for it.

No one even knows how many times that cat had saved my life. She seemed to know when things were the worst with me and she’d jump in my lap and wouldn’t leave me alone until I lost my window of opportunity or changed my mind.

“Who would take care of me once you’re dead and gone?” She’d look at me with little angel face and seemed to say “Don’t leave me here with these people; I’m your cat dammit!”

Knowing my family she’s probably end up at a shelter or something, never getting adopted, eventually put to sleep- just like me. She didn’t sign on for that. How could I look in her big green eyes and condemn her to death? There were times when I came close, but I never could. She loved me and saved me and last Sunday I couldn’t do that for her when she needed me to.

I feel asleep on the couch and after a bit noticed her nosing at the edge of it, but she couldn’t jump up. By the time I reached for her she was under the table a few feet away where she likes to sleep. So I dosed off again and didn’t think much of it.

When I woke up an hour or so later to get some water I saw her lying on her side by the sliding glass door, mouth open, panting a bit, but her chest barely moving. I dropped my water and went over to her and started petting her and talking to her- and I saw she wasn’t panting, she was gagging. I lay flat with my face near hers and she tried to meow and roll when she saw me, but only the faintest of sounds came out and she couldn’t roll. I started crying. I yelled “help!” several times to my mom but she was watching basketball in her bedroom and either “didn’t hear me (fucking unlikely) or just didn’t care or want to be bothered by/deal with it.

I lay down with my cat and told her I loved her and petted all her favorite spots: her soft chest and ears and forehead down to the bridge of her nose and cried the whole time. I kissed her and stayed right next to her and saw her beautiful green eyes disappear behind huge black pupils. She made one last gasping sound and then she stopped moving. My beautiful Sabrina just lay there staring at nothing. I tried to close her eyes but I couldn’t do it.

I stayed right there, just like that and cried like I don’t remember crying in years. I don’t know how long we stayed with me holding her to me like that but it was long enough for her tiny body and its soft grey fur to get cold. I remember my mom looked at me from down the hall very briefly. She saw us like that and said “Oh no.” Then she walked away. She walked away and left me there, going from her bedroom into mine and a minute later her usual cheers and curses that accompany a Laker game on TV resumed.

She also stepped over both of us in order to get through the glass door to go outside. Bitch.

I can’t remember crying like this- hurting like this.

Oh God- I can’t fucking take this!! I take it all back- I want to be numb again!

Please make me be numb again- I can’t handle this neon-green grief that burns and burns and fills me up with bile until I want to cut my insides out and pull them onto the floor so I can stomp them until there’s no feeling left inside me!

My head aches constantly from all the crying and congestion and my eyes feel like they’re alternately going to burst out of my sockets with the pressure, or wither up and dry out like crusty, puss-covered raisins. It’s not right for one person to cry so much and to make these sounds! Keening and gasping, this choking broken sobbing sound can’t be coming from inside of me, or any human being for that matter! Why won’t it just stop!?

我想昧耳,昧心,變石頭・我想昧耳,昧心,变石头 !

 


I can hear my baby kitty’s least breath playing in my head over and over and over like some horrid broken record. It was a death-rattle; an actual, real-life death-rattle. I’d heard about them and read about them but never actually heard one, you know? It’s that last shuddering breath dying forces out of the lungs of someone you love while you watch the light just go out in her eyes. I’d read and heard about that too; seeing the light leave a person’s eyes as they die. Well now I know what it looks like; that exact moment when she goes from seeing you and looking up into your face right there- right fucking there in front of her– to suddenly seeing nothing. It’s just a silent, blank stare that will never see anything at all ever again.

She died right by the doorway- I have to see it every day. I can’t go to sleep at night without seeing it. I’m going to sleep alone forever and the night before she died I was too fucking lazy to pick her up and put her in my lap when I noticed she couldn’t jump up in it.

The last night I would have had with her and I was too tired and rejected her.

I’ll never get over that.

My lungs are on fire and I’m coughing, curled up in bed taking basically a Soma holiday and trying to forget the world. It’s not too hard- my mom isn’t really speaking to me. She didn’t even say goodnight the other night. My sisters each sent a text saying “sorry about your dead cat” the day it happened. Then a day after that I get a picture message from one of them of this Hello Kitty cake she baked with her new pan she just bought online and my other sister and all my cousin’s ooo-ing and aahh-ing over how cute it is. Hoo-fucking-ray for you Mel! A Hello Kitty cake is EXACTLY what I want to see right now! Maybe you could make it grey instead of white, put Sabrina’s name on it, and then all the kids can make like Chris Brown and smash it!

Be sure to take a picture of that and send it to me.

I literally have no one so I turned off my phone. Why bother when no one has anything decent to say? My closest friends are atheists and while I know they care about me what are they going to say that would make me feel better in even the slightest way? “Sorry your cat died and your whole making-a-headstone-for-her and having that little funeral service thing you’re planning is foolish because there’s no God and no afterlife and she isn’t chasing butterflies in some iconic cat heaven; she’s just ceased to exist”? They’d never say that but I know what they’re all thinking & what they believe and there’s no comfort to be found there. Sympathy, sensitivity and love- but no real solidarity or understanding. Which I don’t hold against them and I’m still unendingly grateful for each one of them that I have in my life. They are my real family.

I don’t know how to design this stupid headstone! Doesn’t a person ever freaking run out of tears? Christ…

You see, this is what happens whenever things start to go ok for me for a while; when the other shoe finally drops it lands on & kills my fucking cat!

 

Sabrina- you were a perfect example of the best kind of cat anyone could ever hope to have for a pet. I’ll miss you every day. This is for you:

R.I.P. Beana