Let's just get some things out of the way here: Yes, I cry when other people's pets die. Even when I haven't met the pet, or even the owner, I cry. I couldn't possibly be anywhere near the RSPCA.

Why am I bringing this up? Because, ignorant peoples, a great dog has passed away. Ada, who played Colin in the sweetly brilliant comedy "Spaced", passed away at the age of 13. And yes, I cried a bit. A small bit. Not much. A bit more than when I cried for Miss Banshee's beloved Stewie, but that's not the point.

Emotions don't come by that often. I'm a blank slate, and sometimes people will right something small on me, sometimes a kid will run up and colour me in with all the coloured chalk in the world (if it sounds dirty, we're still using the blank slate metaphor. Mind outta the gutter). It's weird, that my grandad could pass away and I feel nothing, but I cry over a dog from the greatest sitcom in history. Admittedly, my grandad did look a bit like Hitler, but again I avert from the topic.

Wait, this thing has a topic? Holy bejeesus, I'm still writing? This overload into 80's day has taken me to a new level of weird. Who knew that seeing Ghostbusters for the first time, listening to Spandau Ballet and Motley Crue and wearing legwarmers could be so dangerous for the mind?

But the point, upon reflection of my haphazard scrawlings, is this: it should be okay to feel sad about other people's beloved pets passing away. I don't think it's a bad thing. Is it a bad thing? I don't really care. I share in other people's pain, when it comes to all pets. But not any other pain, I don't work well there.

Oh, and The Blues Brothers is far better than Ghostbusters. Ghostbusters is great, just not as awesome as Blues Brothers. No trolling here.