Colic is a more targeted noun

Therefore, and shut the door upon them twain,
And prayed unto the Lord and he went up
And lay upon the corpse, dead on the couch,
And put his mouth upon his mouth, his eyes
Upon his eyes, his hands upon his hands-- Robert Browning

Andrew Lincoln has only so much he can do with culture shock and mortal anguish, just as the rest of the ensemble recurs are challenged, the only real hook for the audience being who is next to get beaten to death before the next oasis comes along, or the next community where appearances are deceptive. The local syndication of The Walking Dead reboots at season five, so alas, other than rescanning some episodes here or there (what happened to the veterinarian?) or next month streaming what I cannot afford, I am now one of these early floaters-- and no, though the 100 had an early, somewhat merciless, intrigue, I do not wish to catch up with it; in its own way, it is too chic, too much of the generation of my nephews. The Alexandria episodes of WD are interesting because they turn the tables. It is the Grimes group which inadvertently leads to such significant losses for Sam Waterston's stronger female foils, where Rick's earlier samaritan Morgan reemerges, but I no longer have the economic resources to keep myself abreast in a cavalier binge fashion, even as a 66 year old drunk with chest nodules which need a biopsy bums me a cigarette which I should not have taken, barely able to understand her, Mary Ellen. Whether in sneakers, slippers, she doesn't walk, but staggers, one of the silents from whom no one hears so much as a peep in terms of an online foot print. How the fuck am I supposed to be positive with this glaring waste of human sewage on which I had to make my career? It has very little to do with boom and bust cycles. I once lived something better, and my younger princess sister still does, whatever her debt, foreclosure status.

I still can't stop a nigger boy from playing his fun and games behind my back. How do you think you would like it? Or be able to rise above it? Would my libertarian associates give him a fucking contusion for my sake? They would probably kick me out of the group sooner than intervene, and I'm as penniless as some of my editors, speaking of which, I've taken a tentative dip into Montaigne in translation. He was an undergraduate gloss. One of those things.