We're finished. Screwed. A friend from my wife's workplace brought over the first season of The Wire Saturday night. We're now 8 shows in. I've moved The Pman's potty into the living room so we don't have to leave the tv and at 2pm in the afternoon in my house you can hear conversations between myself and the kids like, "Well sweetie, they had to kill him because he was a fucking rat. You gotta kill a fucking rat." I think the kids are handling it well. The Pman keeps telling us his name is Omar and the Peanut has us all using beepers.
We've been watching The Wire, and we're fans of Walking Dead. And, after one and a quarter seasons of the latter and 8 episodes of the former, I can safely say I'd much rather face a Zombie apocalypse than live in the projects of Baltimore. You know the difference between a junky and a zombie? Junkies don't crave brains.
Speaking of The Walking Dead, if anyone out there watches it, please explain to me how the farm girl who rode into the forest on a horse and exploded a zombie's melon with a baseball bat could suddenly get all squeamish while watching one get bashed in the face with a crowbar? Does not make sense. Show shit the bed on that one.
Too much tv around here right now, I guess.