Carrie Fisher: 1956-2016

Goddamnit, this one hurts on a profoundly shitty level.

After cutting down Alan Rickman all the way back in January, this ugly ass year once again robbed me and countless others of an actor integral to a franchise I love. 2016 can get fucked forever. Carrie Fisher’s passing has made it clear to me more than ever the appeal of the “fuck 2016” meme: every time we think we’re getting tired of this schtick, another death or some intolerable bullshit (*cough* Trump) will come along and put us in need of some serious coping.

As a guy who has been in love with all things Star Wars since at least the age of seven, any member of the trio passing away was obviously going to hurt like hell. The youngest of them, Fisher was just 60. Even taking her health problems into account, I thought we had more time with her. Fisher was, of course monumentally awesome as Princess Leia. She was the strong female character I never knew I needed; the one I took for granted for far too long.

There was way more to this gal than just Star Wars. She was a highly prolific and sought after script doctor throughout the ’90s, authored eight books, survived drug addiction and became an advocate for mental health after going public with her struggles with bipolar disorder. Fisher was a remarkable woman; I’m currently trying to comfort myself with the notion that she was simply too good for this world.

Rest in power, princess.

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