The dog beater

So mothergoddamnis currently at my house and has finally forced me into catching up with Dexter.

I can't reveal who is the cause of my broken heart in this programme, on threat of violence*, but I did spend last night berating her for promising me a much-loved character didn't come to a sticky end... only for them to indeed come to a sticky end. My heart is broken into tiny, tiny fragments of bitter shards and I am ashamed to say that I have randomly interjected conversations today with, '********* is dead!'

I don't know if I can carry on, though I guess I am as we've just downloaded the next episode.

Finally also watched Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang, which is handy as I now understand the macros I've seen floating around on drama communities for that film. Very funny and good to see Val Kilmer not being annoying.

*Srsly. She hit my dog. My twelve-year-old, disabled, dog. Who was crying a little from arthritic trouble. She. Hit. My. Dog. The icon in this post is Amy After the Event, looking perplexed and suitably beaten.

(Put down the pitchforks; it was more a flying TV remote accident, followed by profuse apologies to dog in question and accusing stare from dog.)

Other than that, a fine lazy TV-catch-up Sunday. With a roast dinner, oh yes.