Last week I allowed myself to be inundated by the "I Love the 90s - Part Deux" series on VH1. Turns out, I didn't love the 90s all that wholeheartedly.
One show featured the movie "Natural Born Killers," the existence of which I had heretofore successfully blocked from my memory. It was one of those movies that taught me not to believe the hype. Everyone we knew kept saying, "It's awesome, you've gotta see it," but I had serious reservations about the gore and violence.
We went to see it anyway and it was everything I hate in a movie. I was appalled by the violence and left with a pounding headache. My husband and I both agreed that we should have gotten up and left long before the end.
To top off the experience, we returned home to the condo where we lived then and discovered that our outdoor cat had slaughtered a nest of baby bunnies on our back deck, right outside our bedroom door. Still suffering from the heebie-jeebies that the film had produced, I found myself scooping grisly body parts into a trash bag. Even Oliver Stone would have appreciated the irony.