Ding Dong, The Governor’s Dead!

Many tears have been shed in the last couple days over the death of The Walking Dead’s Hershel, and rightfully so. In many ways he took over Dale’s role as the group’s moral compass. He also provided some medical heroics, without which many more would have died.

I, however, am far too elated by the Governor’s death to mourn much of anything else.

Some people were lulled into an appreciation of the Governor by his recent portrayals. He might be a homicidal maniac, some said, but it was only because he cared so much for his family. He was willing to do anything, to anyone, to keep his people alive.

I never bought into any of those positive assessments. For one,they assume that life is nothing more than survival, that cooperation, kindness, and forbearance do not also play a crucial role in the human will to live. No group sustained and motivated purely by the desire for self preservation will last long. There is a reason that dictatorships always crumble from within. Eventually, the time comes when all people need a purpose to keep moving forward.

But, beyond the existential wasteland created by the Governor’s style of leadership, I just couldn’t stand the man. Halfway through the Woodbury story line I had become so fed up with the Governor that I found myself snarling at the television and ranting to friends in text messages about how tired I was of him. By the time he ripped out a zombie’s throat 70s Kung Fu movie style, a move which is utterly pointless considering that walkers can only be killed by taking out the brain, I was truly asking myself if I could continue watching the series if the Governor was going to play a major part.

I was so thrilled to see the Governor die that everything else in the episode is now colored by a bright halo of light in my memory. I was able to completely suspend disbelief even as I watched a hollowed out filing cabinet deflect bullets. When Darryl performed an impossible feat of strength in carrying a walker in front of him like a shield, when said walker shield inexplicably absorbed every round without a single shot passing through, I only cheered in joyous bloodlust.

Now I look forward to the latter half of this season, Governor-free, and full of enthusiastic anticipation. I am so excited, even, that I feel compelled to finish this meaningless post with a poem.

At last,

the Governor is dead,

and the final bullet in the head

ensures that not even as a biter

will never come back again.

Ding Dong.

It’s 4 in the morning. I should be sleeping.