What the...

I saw a dead guy's picture in a magazine today. The casket was all open and people standing behind him all sad. He had a yellowish tinge, one that did not bode well with me. Odd as it may be, when it comes to real life and real death, I'm more squeamish than a 10-year-old witnessing their first birth photos. Give me all the blood and guts you can throw at me in a film, but the minute I know it's real, I go ghost pale, and my stomach becomes a gymnast. I thought seeing this picture was a rude way to start my day--it's not like there isn't enough to screw things up, but I get to start it off with a yellow dead guy and my boss talking about how he has to put his cat down after 18 years of life, which is what brought on this whole rant to begin with.

Some of you might be returning for a Lego Indiana Jones and World of Warcraft rant; instead, you get my death musings--about pets. Seriously, I can't imagine owning a pet for 18 years, having it be one of your best friends and then putting the thing down. It's hard enough for me to even imagine parting ways with either of my two cats of seven years, let alone after 18 years. (My six month old cat though, that's another story.) The whole thing made/makes me think about the degrees of sadness, the problems we face and deal with. How if something goes missing after a small amount of time, we can let the wounds heal faster, but the longer things are around, the harder they are to let go. I think I'm going to be screwed once I'm a crotchety old man. I'll have to make sure I die before my wife. I'm selfish like that.

I don't know where I'm going with this, and I honestly don't really want to keep thinking about it. So, sorry for putting a damper on your day--if I did. On the good side of things, I should be ranting about the video game world tomorrow. Plus, a new comic will be their for your enjoyment, and Kung Fu Panda should post here soon.