God, I thought I took Zeke's death hard, but as usual the lives of the celebrities make me feel better about the way I'm conducting my own humble life in relative obscurity. That's right, Tatum O'Neal, I'm looking at you here. Apparently, O'Neal recently went through a similar situation as we did:
"I lost my Scottish terrier, Lena. [...] She got old. She got cancer. She was the fabric of our family. We had to let her go to heaven. My daughter and I had to put her down. It was too horrible for words."
I feel that, Tatum. Your dog died and you were devastated. I get that. I'm there with you. I went and bought some shoes. What did you do? Oh, that's right. You went and bought CRACK. And then you blamed your dog's death for it. Lena gave you nothing but snuffly love and kisses her whole life, and now you're blaming your bad crack deals on her? Lame, Tatum. Lame.
So I would just like to say, for the record, that Zeke can rest in peace knowing that I won't blame a single illegal drug purchase on him. It's not his fault that I'm standing on the corner trying to score an eightball. That rests entirely on the shoulders of the dead guinea pig.