Let’s just start with getting that one out of the way.
I – Am – Crazy.
Nuts. Weird. An oddball. There’s just something wrong with me.
I like pineapples on pizza.
I know. Horrible, isn’t it? It’s one of those things where I know that it’s wrong, but I just can’t help myself. I mean, some people like necrophilia. Other people fuck farm animals. And I… I like pineapples on pizza.
It’s just so delicious. The juiciness and the freshness of the pineapple that keeps the meat and white bread from becoming cloying. It’s the perfect condiment. I can just feel myself starting to drool as I write this post.
I suppose I could stop myself from eating it. Just because I can’t control my liking it, doesn’t mean I can’t control my actually eating it. There are countless of recovering alcoholics out there, and if they can do it, surely, I can as well.
I just don’t want to.
Perhaps I’m weak.
Perhaps I should be ashamed.
And perhaps… perhaps it’s just some freaking pineapple on a freaking pizza?
So… why care?
Let the people have their pineapples.
We’re not forcing you to eat it.
That’s step two.
A/N: Spoiler Alert
Let me start out by saying that I don’t get horror.
Why would you pay someone to scare you? Why spend your (more or less) hard-earned pay-check to be utterly disgusted by what’s in front of you?
If you’re like me, you might even close your eyes, and now you’re effectively paying money for looking at the inside of your own eyelid. Crazy, right? I don’t care for blood. I don’t care for gore. I don’t care for cannibalism, or being grossed out, or men and women being made into a human centipede. Ugh.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I know that a lot of people adore horror. Otherwise, the statement on Stephen King’s bank account would have looked a lot different. Horror just isn’t for me. At least not when it’s found on the screen.
And yet I love Santa Clarita Diet. Why? I mean it’s got blood, it’s got gore, it’s got cannibalism. Hell, it’s even got a severed, talking head.
So why do I love it?
Continue reading “Santa Clarita Diet – The Dark Comedy”
Blindness. And silence. But for your own beating heart.
The only sound you’ll ever hear, tearing your sanity apart.
“Let’s celebrate that we don’t burn women anymore.”
“Sure. How should we do that?”
“Let’s burn a woman.”
“What?! No! That’s a horrible way.”
“Oh. Okay. Then let’s burn a doll.”
A/N: Another odd, Danish tradition.
It’s time to cut the cake.
And so the children scream.
In lieu of the silent cake.
Scream, scream. Off with his head!
A/N: We have some weird traditions here in Denmark…
I tried a chapter,
And I quickly gave up.
So I went for a page
… still couldn’t back it up.
Perhaps a paragraph
Is the way to go?
I quickly discover
That the answer is no.
But a single sentence.
Success! (if but small).
And a little is far more
Than nothing at all.
Just such a lovely poem that I felt that I needed to share it 😀