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The Walking Dead premieres tonight and the only way I could be more excited were if Andrew Lincoln (Rick) were to walk through my front door right now, kiss me on the mouth, request that I have his babies, and then tell me that he, too, always thought Lori was a stupid idiot. Hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?
Anyway, in light of the best television show in the history or histories making its return (pipe down, Breaking Bad fans. Your turn is over), I decided to do a little tribute. A little tribute to the people who need to die already. Call me sick, call me twisted, I don’t care. These people need to go.
*Disclaimer, I have not read the comic books by choice. If you have, please don’t ruin it for everyone by posting a spoiler in the comment section.
I don’t tolerate criers and I don’t tolerate people who can shoot their mom in the head and then walk away as if nothing happened. Is he bipolar? Is he schizophrenic? Is he just an emotionally disturbed 12-year-old thanks to his coming of age during a zombie apocalypse? Regardless, Carl is a ticking time bomb and he provides nothing but creepy eyes and bad omens to the group. His bitch fits and melodrama need to go back to the playground. Oh, all of the playgrounds are infested with rotting corpses and flesh eaters? Cry me a river, Carl. Go shoot your mom again.
I can’t figure out how old she is. She’s like a Skipper doll – not quite old enough to be Barbie, but not quite young enough to be Kelly. She’s the equivalent to the awkwardly sized toy that no little girl knew what to do with. Seriously, one time my mom got me a Skipper doll for my 6th birthday and I ripped her hair off and cried. Nobody likes Skipper. And nobody likes Beth. She’s mousy, she’s meek, and she provides nothing but teenage angst. Season three alluded to her having feelings for Rick and while I guess SVU doesn’t exist in a post apocalyptic world, I’d hate to see Rick ostracized for macking on a slutty seventeen year old. Plus, she won’t stop singing. Beth, what about your friends’ limbs being torn off by dead people makes you want to sing Emmylou Harris? Seriously, go away.
3. The Governor
His voice is smooth as butter and makes me want to dress up as Scarlett O’Hara and whisper Jefferson Davis quotes to him until he requests my hand in marriage and provides me with a life of Pinterest crafting random shit made out of Mason Jars. But his demeanor…well, I’m pretty sure that a pre-mortem Jim Jones would’ve enjoyed his company. The Governor is an all-American, sweet talking, good looking psychopath. And as anyone who has heard of Ted Bundy can tell you, that’s a bad combination. Need I remind you that he kept his dead daughter locked away in his apartment? Plus, he tortured Glenn. Who the hell doesn’t like Glenn? This guy needs to go.
He’s a great guy, he really is. But he’s missing a leg and at this point he’s really just slowing down the group. I understand that he’s a recovering alcoholic who had a tough life, raised two daughters, is a God fearing man, blah, blah, blah. The fact of the matter is, times are tough when you’re fighting for your life and simply, put, Hershel can’t put up much of a fight. I don’t particularly want to see him die; I just know that he needs to. He’ll be like a sacrificial lamb that the history books will regale. Just kidding. No one will remember him. People don’t tend to write things down when they’re living in a prison, fighting off both mentally unstable humans as well as flesh eating dead people. Goodbye, Hershel. You’ll soon be forgotten.
Her only real tie to the group was Andrea. And well…Andrea died. Thanks a lot, Phillip! Anyway, I know that Michonne somewhat proved herself to the others and she’s finally kind of acting like a team player, but she still has the attitude of a thirteen year old girl who listens to too much Panic! at the Disco, or whatever it is that thirteen year olds listen to these days. She’s self-involved and too independent for her own good. She’s hot tempered and impulsive to a fault. Need I remind you that she made human pets out of her ex-boyfriend and former best friend. Sort of makes you question the kind of person she is, huh? Plus, her body makes me feel bad about my own. Bye, Michonne. Don’t let the door hit your toned ass on your way out.
Disagree with my picks? Let’s hear it.