Dick had on a show the other night called “Breaking Bad”. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. I know he loves this show because he told me about the storyline three times over the course of three days. While I had no interest in watching it myself, I decided there was no harm in having it on in the background while I wrote. Big mistake. There I was on the couch, winding down on a hard day, minding my own little business when my spidey-sense starts going off, which tells me something bad is going to happen on the screen (doesn’t work in real life, I’m awful-accident-prone). It’s a leading indicator to the suspenseful music.
About me. I don’t like violence. When I think of fun things to do, watching another human get torn to shreds is not the first thing that comes to mind. In fact, it really disturbs me. I don’t care if it’s your thing, but it’s not mine.
So my spidey-sense is going haywire and I turn to Dick and say, “I don’t like where this is going”. He looks at me as if I had just taken the remote out of his hand and slammed it into the tv and says, “relax, it’ll be fine, nothing’s happening”. Dick turns his head back to the tv and continues watching. Minor interruption; no harm done. After all, he was just trying to unwind on a hard day with a beer and his show. Nothing like a good storyline and some bad-asses kicking-ass to help you do that.
Well, no sooner had he said those words, when the dark, slow, suspenseful, ominous vibe turns into an all-out bloody mayhem/ gurgling for breath/ flesh bits flying everywhere scene. You get the picture. Imagine my response.
Needless to say, it ruined my night. Needless to say, it ruined Dick’s. Not only did he miss the best part of the episode but now he also had to tend to his wife, who was hyperventilating and screaming bloody murder herself.
The moral of this story is: watch breaking bad downstairs.