局长花了几天的时间，看完了《君九龄》已播的剧集。

说实话，有点不知道要怎么评价。

局长花了几天的时间，看完了《君九龄》已播的剧集。

说实话，有点不知道要怎么评价。

【详细】

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“投其所好”，是香港电影黄金时代最明显的特征之一。美国学者大卫波德莱尔著书归纳其风格为“尽皆过火、尽是癫狂”。其书中，他“咬牙切齿”的提及了这样一个让他过目成灾的片段：“‘爸爸，我晒得这么黑，你还认不认得我？’，这段反胃场面，进一步演变成难以忍受的低级趣味。”

如此“大逆不道”的场面，也只有90年代，不顾一切渲染人性嗜好的

“投其所好”，是香港电影黄金时代最明显的特征之一。美国学者大卫波德莱尔著书归纳其风格为“尽皆过火、尽是癫狂”。其书中，他“咬牙切齿”的提及了这样一个让他过目成灾的片段：“‘爸爸，我晒得这么黑，你还认不认得我？’，这段反胃场面，进一步演变成难以忍受的低级趣味。”

如此“大逆不道”的场面，也只有90年代，不顾一切渲染人性嗜好的港片能够拍得出。而这一震惊观众，留名影史的限制级影片就是——《乌鼠机密档案》。该片被誉为港片限制级中的“三杰”，出自有“香港第一杀人导演”之称的邓衍成。胖哥喜爱的怪咖导演邱礼涛在他面前都要让三分！从任达华主演的《羔羊医生》开始，到后来登峰造极，由吴毅将饰演的《弱杀》、以及这部《乌鼠机密档案》，其每一部都在用极为夸张的残虐影像来挑战观众的承受极限，癫狂的暴力描述，极端的人性扭曲，是邓衍成惊悚犯罪片风格的集中体现。

但邓衍成绝对不是粗制烂俗的奇观堆砌者，和邱礼涛一样，他同样喜欢将现实题材作为故事蓝底，以新闻纪实作为影片故事和人物的基础。比如《羔羊医生》就取材香港著名的出租车司机连环凶杀案；《弱杀》在影片开头就黑底红字的提醒观众故事来自新闻，且没有对人物的歧视，希望唤起影迷对弱势群体的关注；《乌鼠机密档案》则取材于90年代初“大圈仔”与“越南杀手跨洋作案”事件，利用戏说和演绎方式杂糅而成。另外，影片带有很重的《省港旗兵》情结和港片导演特有的“97”主题隐喻，这种“情结”和“主题”结合这样耸人听闻的故事，越发重口味到了“令人发指”的地步。

【详细】

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比小说原作要好，这个要承认。虽然和花束一样充满了报菜名，但有两段男主和香织的回忆真的太美了，一段是在love hotel星夜一般的房间里，一段是两个人驾车??出去没有目的地的旅行。我们知道现实不可能这么美，是男主对香织的爱才美化了和她在一起的每一段回忆，因为是香织教会他什么是不普通，但这最终也成为他消不去的执念。男主被心头的我执所困，犯了痴念，也因此无法“成佛”，“无法成为大人”。ps.七濑

来这里跟回家一样，大家说话又搞笑，专业，专业是不可能的，这辈子不可能专业的。！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！来这里跟回家一样，大家说话又搞笑，专业，专业是不可能的，这辈子不可能专业的。！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！！

来这里跟回家一样，大家说话

标题党啊 但是真心而发的标题啊 ：）~~。。20120108看的。。徐老鬼的 混乱三部曲 至今终于也算看了其一了:一阵儿悚惧 但更多时是无限欢乐:)。。

徐老鬼在好多 活儿 上都为后辈们开了先河 遍布其中的武打场面 虽然有些粗糙 但风格基调奠定已初现。。等到后来完全掌控 自然青出于蓝一部 侠骨柔情 国之大义的 新龙门客栈!略过瘾~~。。

今天看了王童1984年的作品《策马入林》。没想到，编剧是蔡明亮，摄影李屏宾，录音杜笃之。

我同意：这是一部武士片，不是一部武侠片。从第一个镜头，到最后一个，通篇都是黑泽明的影子。美术做的真好。土匪之“土”，活灵活现。

在豆瓣上看了一些关于这

1.2集看完，几个个人的猜测

1.李锐不是杀小白鸽的凶手，杀秦菲的可能性有，用她的死翻出20年前的悬案把事情闹大，从而找出真凶。而且有帮手，不然这大街上的纸和家里整理一晚上一个人弄不好。神经老头（小白鸽他爸）是最明显的。

2.第二集渔夫和金鱼是个童话故事，大意是

文：杉姐

人气中生代演员蒋欣、李光洁、郭京飞、刘孜搭档刘佩琦、洪剑涛等老戏骨一起演了这出深刻、扎心的人间悲喜剧。

现实题材电视剧一直都是观众的心头好，从《都挺好》《小欢喜》到《遇见幸福》，此类电视剧的走红背后都有着深刻的社会性，因为它们无限接近了我们的真实生活，它们不是别人的故事，而是我们每个老百姓自己的故事。

《遇见幸福》讲述了甄开放（蒋欣

文：杉姐

人气中生代演员蒋欣、李光洁、郭京飞、刘孜搭档刘佩琦、洪剑涛等老戏骨一起演了这出深刻、扎心的人间悲喜剧。

现实题材电视剧一直都是观众的心头好，从《都挺好》《小欢喜》到《遇见幸福》，此类电视剧的走红背后都有着深刻的社会性，因为它们无限接近了我们的真实生活，它们不是别人的故事，而是我们每个老百姓自己的故事。

《遇见幸福》讲述了甄开放（蒋欣饰演）、欧阳严严（郭京飞饰演）、萧晴（刘孜饰演）三位发小的中年生活。

甄开放是电视台的编导，表面上她行事利落、对手下也要求严格，是个气场超级强大的职场丽人。但走出职场，她是一位妈妈，女儿还在上幼儿园，突发状况时有发生，无法顾及孩子又要忙于工作，生活中的弱势和工作时表现出的强大气场让整个人物充满了矛盾感和无助。

偏偏丈夫还不让人省心，甄开放接到警察局的电话，丈夫招妓，领完人回去，迅速和丈夫离了婚。

【详细】

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最让我觉得喜欢的部分是他们愿意陪着对方玩下去这个游戏，能够愿意做一个又一个的do u dare。其实你会觉得很多事情就很普通很平常，但是那些事情你可能平时真的不会去做，是什么契机让你因为有人在笔记本上写下就让你去做了呢?是很神奇的缘分吧。我觉得快乐的来源真的是有人愿意陪你玩，陪你做一些看起来可能有点蠢的事情。

最喜欢的是li

看完了两集，我说几个明显有问题的点。

开头接受叶文洁接受审问那一幕中，老太太竟然弹了一下舌头。是的，叶文洁弹了一下舌头。很轻佻，很变态。

一开始我也被这个安排震住了，我想，我草，突然弹舌头，好轻佻，好变态，在这乌漆嘛黑的审讯地点，有一点点酷……然后我仔细想了想，发现不对味，所以我想提个

So I stopped at a Jack in the Box on the way here, and the girl behind the counter said, “Hiya! Are you having an awesome day?” Not, “How are you doing today?” No. “Are you having an

So I stopped at a Jack in the Box on the way here, and the girl behind the counter said, “Hiya! Are you having an awesome day?” Not, “How are you doing today?” No. “Are you having an awesome day?” Which is pretty… shitty, because it puts the onus on me to disagree with her, like if I’m not having an “awesome day,” suddenly I’m the negative one.

Usually when people ask how I’m doing, the real answer is I’m doing shitty, but I can’t say I’m doing shitty because I don’t even have a good reason to be doing shitty. So if I say, “I’m doing shitty,” then they say, “Why? What’s wrong?” And I have to be like, “I don’t know, all of it?” So instead, when people ask how I’m doing, I usually say, “I am doing so great.”

But when this girl at the Jack in the Box asked me if I was having an awesome day, I thought, “Well, today I’m actually allowed to feel shitty.” Today I have a good reason, so I said to her, “Well, my mom died,” and she immediately burst into tears. So now I have to comfort her, which is annoying, and meanwhile, there’s a line of people forming behind me who are all giving me these real judgy looks because I made the Jack in the Box girl cry. And she’s bawling, and she’s saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and I’m like, “It’s fine. It’s fine.” I mean, it’s not fine but, you know, it’s… fine. And I would like to order a Double Jack Meal, and I’ve kinda got somewhere to be, so maybe less with the crying and more with the frying, huh? [inhales] And the girl apologizes again and she offers me a free churro with my meal. And as I’m leaving, I think, “I just got a free churro because my mom died.” No one ever tells you that when your mom dies, you get a free churro.

[people murmuring]

[clears throat]

Anyway, I’m sorry, that’s not part of the… [clears throat] All right. Okay, here we go. Let’s do this. Here I am, BoJack Horseman, doing a eulogy, let’s go. Hey, piano man, can I get a, like an organ flourish? [organ plays] Nicely done. You know, I was a little worried I wouldn’t have the right accompaniment today. I guess it’s a good thing my mom was an organ donor! [rimshot plays] What happened to the organ? [horn ‘oogahs’] Okay, why just leave the comedy to the professionals? Okay? This is a funeral, sir, for my mother. Can you show a little respect? [trumpet whines] I’ll take it.

Beatrice Horseman, who was she? What was her deal? Well, she was a horse. Uh, she was born in 1938. She died in 2018. One time, she went to a parade, and one time, she smoked an entire cigarette in one long inhale. I watched her do it. Truly a remarkable woman.

[rustling]

Lived a full life, that lady. Just, all the way to the end, which is, uh, now I guess. Really makes you think, though, huh? Life, right? Goes by, stuff happens. Then you die. Okay, well that’s my time, you’ve been great! Tip your waitress! No, I’m just kidding around, there’s no waitress. But seriously, that’s all I have to say about my mother. No point beating a dead horse, right? So…

[inhales] Now what? I don’t know. Mom, you got any ideas? Anything? Mom? No? Nothing to contribute? Knock once if you’re proud of me.

Can I just say how amazing it is to be in a room with my mother, and I can just talk and talk without her telling me to shut up and make her a drink? Hey, Mom, knock once if you think I should shut up. No? You sure? I mean, I don’t want to embarrass you by making this eulogy into a me-logy, so, seriously, if you wanted me to sit down and let someone else talk, just knock. I will not be offended. No? Your funeral.

Sorry about the closed casket, by the way. She wanted an open casket, but uh, you know, she’s dead now, so who cares what she wanted? No, that sounds bad. I’m sorry. I-I think that if she could’ve seen what she looked like dead, she’d agree it’s better this way. She looked like this.

[groaning]

[mourners gasping]

Kinda like a pissed-off toy dinosaur. The coroner couldn’t get her eyes closed, so now her face is forever frozen in a mask of tremendous horror and anguish. Or as my mom called it, Tuesday! Tuesday! My mom called it Tuesday.

[woman coughs]

Hey, Mom, what did you think of that joke? You like that? You never did care for my comedy.

[clears throat]

Here’s a story. When I was a teenager, I performed a comedy routine for my high school talent show. There was this, uh, cool jacket that I wanted to wear because I thought it would make me look like Albert Brooks. For months, I saved up for this jacket. But when I finally had enough, I went to the store and it was gone. They had just sold it to someone else. So, I went home and I told my mother, and she said, “Let that be a lesson. That’s the good that comes from wanting things.” She was really good at dispensing life lessons that always seemed to circle back to everything being my fault.

But then, on the day of the talent show, my mother had a surprise for me. She had bought me the jacket. Even though she didn’t know how to say it, I know this meant that she loved me.

Now that’s a good story about my mother. It’s not true, but it’s a good story, right? I stole it from an episode of Maude I saw when I was a kid, where she talks about her father. I remember when I saw it, thinking, “That’s the kind of story I want to tell about my parents when they die.” But I don’t have any stories like that. All I know about being good, I learned from TV. And in TV, flawed characters are constantly showing people they care with these surprising grand gestures. And I think that part of me still believes that’s what love is. But in real life, the big gesture isn’t enough. You need to be consistent, you need to be dependably good. You can’t just screw everything up and then take a boat out into the ocean to save your best friend, or solve a mystery, and fly to Kansas. You need to do it every day, which is so… hard.

When you’re a kid, you convince yourself that maybe the grand gesture could be enough, that even though your parents aren’t what you need them to be over and over and over again, at any moment, they might surprise you with something… wonderful. I kept waiting for that, the proof that even though my mother was a hard woman, deep down, she loved me and cared about me and wanted me to know that I made her life a little bit brighter. Even now, I find myself waiting.

Hey, Mom, knock once if you love me and care about me and want me to know I made your life a little bit brighter.

[owl chirping]

My mother did not go gentle into that good night. She went clawing and fighting and thrashing, hence the face.

[groaning]

[mourners gasping]

If you’d seen her, I swear to God the only thing you’d be thinking about right now is that I am nailing this impression.

[woman clears her throat]

[chairs squeak]

I was in the hospital with her those last moments, and they were truly horrifying, full of nonsencial screams and cries, but there was this moment, this one instant of strange calm, where she looked in my direction and said, “I see you.” That’s the last thing she said to me. “I see you.” Not a statement of judgment or disappointment, just acceptance and the simple recognition of another person in a room. “Hello there. You are a person. And I see you.”

Let me tell you, it’s a weird thing to feel at 54 years old, that for the first time in your life your mother sees you. It’s an odd realization that that’s the thing you’ve been missing, the only thing you wanted all along, to be seen. And it doesn’t feel like a relief, to finally be seen. It feels mean, like, “Oh, it turns out that you knew what I wanted, and you waited until the very last moment to give it to me.” I was prepared for more cruelty. I was sure that she would get in one final zinger about how I let her down, and about how I was fat and stupid and too tall to be an effective Lindy-hopper. How I was needy and a burden and an embarrassment—all that I was ready for. I was not ready for “I see you.” Only my mother would be lousy enough to swipe me with a moment of connection on her way out. But maybe I’m giving her too much credit. Maybe it wasn’t about connection. Maybe it was a… maybe it was an “I see you,” like, uh, “I see you.” Like, “You might have the rest of the world fooled, but I know exactly who you are.” That’s more my mom’s speed.

Or maybe she just literally meant “I see you. You are an object that has entered my field of vision.” She was pretty out of it at the end, so maybe it’s dumb to try to attribute it to anything.

[woman sighs]

Back in the 90s, I was in a very famous TV show called Horsin’ Around.

[man coughs]

Please hold your applause. And I remember one time, a fan asked me, “Hey, um, you know that episode where the horse has to give Ethan a pep talk after Ethan finds out his crush only asked him to the dance because her friends were having a dorkiest date contest? In all the shots of the horse, you can see a paper coffee cup on the kitchen counter, but in the shots of Ethan, the coffee cup’s missing. Was that because the show was making a statement about the fluctuant subjectivity of memory and how even two people can experience the same moment in entirely different ways?” And I didn’t have the heart to be, like, “No, man, some crew guy just left their coffee cup in the shot.” So instead, I was, like… “Yeah.”

And maybe this is like that coffee cup. Maybe we’re dumb to try to pin significance onto every little thing. Maybe when someone says, “I see you,” it just means, “I see you.” Then again, it’s possible she wasn’t even talking to me because, if I’m being honest, she wasn’t really looking at me. She was looking just past me. There was nobody else in the room, so I want to think she was talking to me, but, honestly, she was so far gone at that point, who knows what she was seeing? Who were you talking to, Mom? [sighs] Not saying, huh? Staying mum? No rimshot there? God, whatever I’m paying you, it’s too much.

Maybe she saw my dad. My dad died about ten years ago of injuries he sustained during a duel. When your father dies, you ask yourself a lot of questions. Questions like, “Wait, did you say he died in a duel?” and “Who dies in a duel?” The whole thing was so stupid. Dad spent his entire life writing this book, but he couldn’t get any stores to carry it or any newspapers to review it. Finally, I guess this one newspaper thought he was pretty hilarious, because they ran a review and tore him to shreds. So my father, ever the proud Mary, decided he would not stand for this besmirchment of his honor. He claimed the critic didn’t understand what it meant to be a man, so he demanded satisfaction in the form of pistols at dawn. He wrote the paper this letter, saying anyone who didn’t like his book, he would challenge to a duel, anyone in the world. He’d even pay for airfare to San Francisco and a night in a hotel. Well, eventually this found its way to some kook in Montana, who was as batshit as he was and took him up on the offer. They met at Golden Gate Park and agreed: ten paces, then shoot. But in the middle of the ten paces, Dad turned to ask the guy if he’d actually read the book and what he thought, but, not looking where he was going, tripped over an exposed root and bashed his head on a rock.

[murmur]

I wish I’d known to go to Jack in the Box then. Maybe I could have gotten a free churro. It would’ve been nice to have something to show for being the son of Butterscotch Horseman. My darling mother gave the eulogy. My entire life I never heard her say a kind word to or about my father, but at his funeral she said, “My husband is dead, and everything is worse now.”

“My husband is dead, and everything is worse now.” I don’t know why she said that. Maybe she felt like that’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to say at a funeral. Maybe she hoped one day someone would say that about her. “My mother is dead, and everything is worse now.” Or maybe she knew that he had frittered away all her inheritance, and replaced it with crippling debt, which is a pretty shitty thing to leave your widow with. “Bad news, you lost a husband, but don’t worry, you also lost the house!” Maybe Mom knew she’d have to sell all her fancy jewelry and move into a home. Maybe that’s what she meant by “everything is worse now.” Is that what you meant, Mom?

I gotta say, I’m really carrying this double act. At least with Penn and Teller, the quiet one does card tricks. Hey, piano man, when I say something funny to my mom, how about you give me one of those rimshots?

[rimshot plays]

Yeah, but not now. When I say something funny. Like, okay. What’s the difference between my mother and a disruptive expulsion of germs? One’s a coughin’ fit and the other fits a coffin! That’s an example of a funny thing.

[rimshot plays]

Thank you. Let’s try again. Hey, Mom. What’s the difference between my mother and a bunch of Easter eggs? One gets carried in a basket, the other gets buried in a casket!

[rimshot plays]

Ready for one more? Last one. What’s the difference between a first-year lit major and my mother, Beatrice Horseman? One is decently read, and the other’s a huge bitch!

[woman gasps]

[murmurs]

Yeah, might have gone a little too far with that one. That one might’ve been a little too “my mom’s a huge bitch” for the room. I’m sorry, Mother. You’re not a huge bitch. You were a huge bitch… and now you’re dead.

[woman sighs]

You know, the first time I ever performed in front of an audience, it actually was, uh, with my mom. She used to put on these shows with her supper club in the living room and she used to make… [inhales] She used to make me sing “The Lollipop Song.”

[organ playing tune]

Those parties, they were really something. There were skits and magic acts, and ethnically insensitive vaudeville routines, and the big finale was always a dance my mother did. She had this beautiful dress that she only brought out for these parties, and she did this incredible number. It was so beautiful and sad. Dad hated the parties. He’d lock himself in the study, and bang on the walls for us to keep it down, but he always came out to see Mom dance. He’d linger in the doorway, scotch in hand, and watch in awe, as this cynical, despicable woman he married… took flight. And as a child who was completely terrified of both my parents, I was always aware that this moment of grace, it meant something. We understood each other in a way. Me and my mom and my dad, as screwed up as we all were, we did understand each other. My mother, she knew what it’s like to feel your entire life like you’re drowning, with the exception of these moments, these very rare, brief instances, in which you suddenly remember… you can swim.

[flashback]

[partygoers laughing]

[classical music playing]

But then again, mostly not. Mostly you’re drowning. She understood that, too. And she recognized that I understood it. And Dad. All three of us were drowning, and we didn’t know how to save each other, but there was an understanding that we were all drowning together. And I would like to think that that’s what she meant when we were in the hospital and she said, “I see you.”

You know, the weird thing about both your parents being dead is it means that you’re next. I mean, you know, obviously it’s not like there’s a waitlist for dying. Any one of us could get run over by a Snapchatting teen at any moment. And you would think that knowing that would make us more adventurous, and kind, and forgiving. But it makes us small, and stupid, and petty.

I actually had a near-death experience recently. A stunt went bad and I fell off a building. I’m an actor, I do my own stunts. I’m on this new show Philbert. I’m Philbert. Star of the show. It hasn’t come out yet, but it’s already getting Emmy buzz. Oh, speaking of buzz… [inhales] I’m supposed to take two of these every morning, but my days are so screwed up ‘cause of the shooting schedule, I don’t even know what morning means anymore. There’s a joke in there somewhere, about a guy who’s been to so many funerals, he doesn’t even know what mourning means anymore. Let you guys figure that one out for yourselves. [gulps]

Anyway, you know what I thought, when I was falling off the building and I went into panic mode? The last thing that my stupid brain could come up with before I died? “Won’t they be sorry.” Cool thought, brain.

[rimshot plays]

No, that wasn’t… would you just… dial it back, all right?

I don’t even know what “they” I wanted to be sorry. My mom, even before she died, could barely remember who I was. And of course, my dad’s dead. The last conversation I ever had with him was about his novel. He was so certain this book was his legacy. Maybe he thought it would vindicate him for all the shitty things he ever did in his stupid worthless life. Maybe it did, I don’t know. I never read it, because why would I give him that?

I used to be on this TV show called Horsin’ Around. Seriously, though, hold your applause.

[man coughs]

Well held. It was written by my friend Herb Kazzaz, who’s also dead now, and it starred this little girl named Sarah Lynn. And it was about these orphans. And early on, the network had a note, “Maybe don’t mention they’re orphans so much, because audiences tend to find orphans sad and not relatable.” But I never thought that the orphans were sad. I-I always thought they were lucky, because they could imagine their parents to be anything they wanted. They had something to long for.

Anyway, we did this one season finale, where Olivia’s birth mother comes to town. And she was a junkie, but she’s gotten herself cleaned up, and she wants to be in Olivia’s life again. And of course, she’s like a perfect grown-up version of Olivia, and they go to the mall together and get her ears pierced like she’s always wanted and—sorry, spoiler alert for the season six finale of Horsin’ Around, if you’re still working your way through it. Anyway, the horse tries to warn her, “Be careful, moms have a way of letting you down.” But Olivia just thinks the horse is jealous, and when the mom says she’s moving to California, Olivia decides to go with her. And the network really juiced the cliffhanger: “Is Olivia gone for good?” But of course, because it’s a TV show, she was not gone for good. Of course, because it’s a TV show, Olivia’s mother had a relapse and had to go back to rehab, so Olivia had to hitchhike all the way home, getting rides from Mr. T, Alf, and the cast of Stomp. Of course, that’s what happened. Because, what are you gonna do, just not have Olivia on the show? You can’t have happy endings in sitcoms, not really, because, if everyone’s happy, the show would be over, and above all else, the show… has to keep going. There’s always more show. And you can call Horsin’ Around dumb, or bad, or unrealistic, but there is nothing more realistic than that. You never get a happy ending, ‘cause there’s always more show.

I guess until there isn’t.

[chuckles]

My mom would hate it if she knew that I spent so much time at her funeral talking about my old TV show. Or maybe she’d think it was funny that her idiot son couldn’t even do this right. Who knows? She left no instructions for what she wanted me to say. All I know is she wanted an open casket, and her idiot son couldn’t even do that right. I’m not gonna stand up here and pretend I ever understood how to please that woman, even though so much of my life has been wasted in vain attempts to figure it out. But I keep going back to that moment in the ICU when she looked at me, and… “I-C-U.”

“I… see… you.” Jesus Christ, we were in the intensive care unit. She was just reading a sign. My mom died and all I got was this free churro.

You know the shittiest thing about all of this? Is when that stranger behind the counter gave me that free churro, that small act of kindness showed more compassion than my mother gave me her entire goddamn life. Like, how hard is it to do something nice for a person? This woman at the Jack in the Box didn’t even know me. I’m your son! All I had was you! [inhales]

I have this friend. And right around when I first met her, her dad died, and I actually went with her to the funeral. And months later, she told me that she didn’t understand why she was still upset, because she never even liked her father. It made sense to me, because I went through the same thing when my dad died. And I’m going through the same thing now. You know what it’s like? It’s like that show Becker, you know, with Ted Danson? I watched the entire run of that show, hoping that it would get better, and it never did. It had all the right pieces, but it just—it couldn’t put them together. And when it got canceled, I was really bummed out, not because I liked the show, but because I knew it could be so much better, and now it never would be. And that’s what losing a parent is like. It’s like Becker.

Suddenly, you realize you’ll never have the good relationship you wanted, and as long as they were alive, even though you’d never admit it, part of you, the stupidest goddamn part of you, was still holding on to that chance. And you didn’t even realize it until that chance went away.

My mother is dead, and everything is worse now, because now I know I will never have a mother who looks at me from across a room and says, “BoJack Horseman, I see you.” But I guess it’s good to know. It’s good to know that there is nobody looking out for me, that there never was, and there never will be. No, it’s good to know that I am the only one that I can depend on. And I know that now and it’s good. It’s good that I know that. So… it’s good my mother is dead.

[gulps, sighs]

Well. No point beating a dead horse. Beatrice Horseman was born in 1938, and she died in 2018, and I have no idea… what she wanted. Unless she just wanted what we all want… to be seen.

Is this Funeral Parlor B?

—— from Reddit