In my very first post I spoke disparagingly about Twitter. For the sake of this post, I must recant. I take it back. I was wrong. Twitter is actually pretty cool and I am now into it.
That said, let’s talk about Breaking Bad, which is down to its last two episodes. Last night’s episode was, to say the least, bananas. They warned us it was going to get dark and intense and they did not lie. I almost pooped my pants.
This is a show you watch with your bowels clenched, your heart in your throat and your hands in front of your eyes, fearful of the horrible thing you know is coming and stunned by the horrible thing you did not see coming.
It’s the sort of show that generates tweets like these:
Quite frankly, this isn’t OK anymore. People are suffering. Just like the crazy addictive blue meth made by the show’s brilliant, baffling, appalling anti-hero Walter White, this show has victims.
My wife is one of them. Mrs. Pal was a mess last night. She couldn’t sleep so she wrote a letter to Breaking Bad creator Vince Gilligan. For the remainder of this post, I turn things over to her. (For her avatar, she has stuck with our Bloom County theme and opted for wide-eyed and observant Ronald-Ann; an excellent choice, I think.) Oh, by the way, SPOILER ALERT. Do not read this letter if you plan to watch the show:
I am so angry at you right now, I don’t even know where to begin. Only one week ago I was begging you to save Jesse Pinkman, and tonight I don’t even know what I want to ask of you. I am at a complete loss. I am so sad, my heart is aching. I am so stressed, I am physically nauseous. I am so blown away by the emotional roller coaster that I have just been on, I feel used, manipulated and played upon.
I knew that you were going to kill off Hank – you set it up so well in last week’s episode. That phone call to Marie – aaahhhh! Yet you let him be dragged across the desert floor and tossed into a hole with his trusting partner so callously, as if his life didn’t matter.
The manipulation of the opening scene with Walt and Jesse, remembering the good ole days. Then having Walt call him out from under the car, I think my heart actually stopped in that scene. Watching him maliciously telling Jesse about his part in Jane’s death? Really??????? Come on. Like it all wasn’t bad enough. You had to do that as well?
Then…… having to watch Jesse’s bloated, bloody face, his fear of being killed (I need to stop and throw up now), then being chained to the bar, ordered to cook….oh yeah and let’s see the picture of Andrea and Brock just to remind you what might happen if you choose not to listen.
Telling Walt Jr., the scene in the house where I thought for sure you were going to have him stab Skyler or even his son……..never ending stress!!!!
I felt as if someone kicked me in the stomach and then punched me in the head. I needed the commercial breaks to simply breathe. It was AWFUL!!!! It was relentless.
Am I supposed to feel bad for Walt because he cried into the phone while calling Skyler a bitch? Was I supposed to take pity on him for shedding a tear for “family”? He screams at his child and wife who are cowering under the knife in his hand — “We are a family!!!!” — WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME????????
Now I have to try to sleep, go to work and continue on my week, waiting for the next fix. I think that you are a sick, sick man, Mr. Gilligan.
Yours in despair,
Well there you have it. Two episodes left, followed by years of therapy. I recommend Mr. Gilligan put a helpline number on screen at the end of the finale. It’s the least he can do for the broken-down junkies he has created.