And yet the world continues on...

The cheese admits that even though he has not read everything written by Kurt Vonnegut, the man still held a special place in the cheese' heart for being simultaneously funny, serious, fantastical, and utterly cynical in everything he did.

So, it would figure that, after a day in which the cheese was forced into a psuedo-confrontation with his stubborn ass of a father in law, he would then come home and in an attempt to wind down before bed spend a few minutes on the internet only to find that Kurt Vonnegut has died.

Honestly, there really aren't words.

This isn't nearly as shocking as when Douglas Adams (a notorious fitness freak who died of a heart attack at the age 49) passed. After all, Vonnegut did make it to the age of 84, and he even (half-heartedly) attempted suicide once.

But it's still one of those things that hits hard. Mostly because Vonnegut was one of the few writers the cheese ever felt a real kinship with. That's not the same as merely admiring or respecting someone. No, the cheese felt that he and Vonnegut were, basically (and this isn't an ego thing, really) of the same lineage, writing wise; skeptical comic fantasy (or sci-fi in Vonnegut's case) with just a hint of optimism. It's not like everyone writes that kind of thing, or, more importantly, are drawn to write that kind of thing.

So, here's to you Mr. Vonnegut (and Kilgore Trout, Billy Pilgrim, and all the rest). Hopefully you'll end up somewhere that doesn't let you down as often as this place did.