I'm loving all the horror at the moment. Not the real stuff, like the depressing chickens roosting all over in Iraq, Syria and pretty much everywhere. That endless war of empires and terrorists is creating shades of grey that only dogs can see. (This two-minute BBC Newsnight clip does a good job of explaining some of the complexities at play.)
We dreamed of jet packs and got drones for our trouble, one even killed a Kiwi, though somehow he has yet to have his story told. Given the almost pathological need we have to attach ourselves to any disaster in the world, looking for Kiwi bodies in anything that looks like rubble, this is a glaring oversight, a perplexing mystery.
Throw in global warming, and John Key or Kim Dotcom - depending on your politics - and it's enough to make you cry. I am not however one of those who think that the world is getting worse to the point of imminent implosion. Many of us have never had it so good. The most common cause of death for men my age a hundred years ago was violence, now it's from sitting on the couch. I call that progress. Pass the chips.
Still, death and destruction call to me from the TV and I'm loving it. Game of Thrones ramped up the bloodshed this season with head-popping delight and even had me thinking of Obama's drones via those collateral burning dragons. "Sorry I burned your daughter bro!" Daenerys almost said. Clearly she is meant to be a Neo Con, hoping to free the slaves without any understanding of how they live. She's actually Donald Rumsfeld!