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by Brent Kellogg
October 19, 2009
As you read these words, as we speed through this
awful city with its anger and hate and adorable
artificial gods, we have gone over the edge of
complete and total madness, chaos, murder, anarchy
and raging insanity. And that's not a good thing.
Here's an example I would have written about last
Friday except I needed to calm down lest I take up
the call for an end to Lily Ashby's life. Were it
possible, I'd kill the little worm myself. Step on
her bald head, I would, until it went crunch much
like the sound stepping on a flying cockroach makes.
For Lily to say she was given cancer as a "gift"
made my blood boil. To say that having cancer
brought her and her criminal husband back together
was a slap in the face of cancer patients the world
over.
Not a single person with cancer at this very moment,
or those who have survived the deadly disease would
ever in their most Chemotherapy toxic drug stupor
say cancer is a gift. For thousands in this country
who are diagnosed with cancer every year, for the
thousands who love those diagnosed, it is a death
sentence. The pain and despair and bank
account-draining and home-losing and grief do not
bring people together in the moronic sense that only
dip shits like Lily and Cane Ashby could spew forth
from their ignorant lips.
Nobody in their right mind would, in a house of God,
say that the dead would like where they are buried.
Nobody wants to be dead and for damn sure don't care
where they're buried because - drum roll please -
they're dead! It doesn't matter where their body is
because the body is of no further use to anyone. It
is, or will soon be, a pile of bones. And for Cane
to say all he needs is Lily's love would make the
Beatles cringe. No, that's not all he should need.
If Cane knew what true love is he'd need Lily's body
back in its healthy state of being. That cancer has
invaded Lily's body means it's there for keeps.
Cancer doesn't just go away. It lingers. It waits to
strike again. All the praying and lighting of
candles did not save my Gail. She was taken away by
a laughing horror which returned in the form of
grief to take me too.
That's why when Jack Abbott said that Sharon
Collin's knows grief better than anyone else my skin
crawled. Sorry Jack, Sharon don't know shit about
grief. For all the death around her, including Jack
who said his goal in life is to seek revenge against
Victor Newman, Sharon has never grieved. Sure, she's
put on an act for a minute or two, but then she goes
back to her usual sorry-ass slutish self which will
soon become apparent when she screws Adam Wilson.
Who wants to bet this won't happen?
Who wants to bet the Lily will survive her deadly
disease and like Ashley Newman never know cancer
again even as it rots what's left of their pea
brains? Who among us, knowing the devastation cancer
causes, hasn't wondered how Lily and Cane are paying
the medical bills? Why are they not seen agonizing
over the stack, yes stack, of bills from doctors and
hospitals and labs and you name it? How does either
of these unemployed freaks pay for their health
insurance as right now we are cutting back on food
because the premium for our health insurance is
going up - again. Okay, so we're supposed to believe
Cane works as a bartender, but when's the last time
he was seen at Mac Browning's bar? When's the last
time Mac was seen at the bar?
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