The Day Carrie Fisher Died.
December 27th, 2016.
EXCERPT: I had finally managed to get a chance to go see the new Star Wars film: Rogue One. I was excited to see it as soon as it came out but 2016 was a rough year for me. A rough year for many of my peers too. I scarcely knew anyone who wasn’t adversely effected by whatever was happening in the world. The ones that had not yet been effected by this new “whatever it was” lived in fear they might be next on the chopping block or from exhaustion hoped for their walking papers and a decent severance package.
In addition to what seemed like a celebrity rampage by the grim reaper, #45 was elected president of the United States. I refuse to say his name without an expletive, or ever attach the term president to him. EVER. HE is an abomination to anything The United States was supposed to stand for. He IS the ugly face of all the rich opportunists of an unregulated free economy gone wild. The people who voted for him have a terrible wake up call coming. #45 was the rotted cherry pit on top of a dog shit sundae, complete with piss and phlem globber toppings. But I digress. I NEEDED to see this film.
Rogue One was a good distraction from the state of things and I was eager to sit in that dark room, soda and popcorn at hand and drift off into the world I wished I could be swept off into permanently.
As I stood in the concession line waiting to get that popcorn and soda, the woman in front of me turned, looked me in the face and said, with no prompting on my part, “Carrie Fisher just died!”
UM….. UM… UM… “What?”
“Carrie Fisher just died.” She again said.
I didn’t respond. Instead, as we do now, I pulled out my smart phone and began to type away to see for myself. Oh My God. Oh my God. Oh my God! This can’t be true. But source after source as I scrolled down my screen, one right after the other, confirmed it. ...
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