Walking Dead: Quit While You’re Ahead


A few days ago, I marathoned the last three episodes and have come to a conclusion. It’s time for the show to end.

Relax. Don’t nerd out.

Every year since The Season of Arguing on the Porch, the show has gotten consistently better. Sometimes it’s downright amazing. Carol’s arc alone is reason enough to come back each season. I’ve enjoyed watching the Alexandria storyline play out. Who’s the bigger threat? A quarry full of zombies, or the town’s doctor/abusive alcoholic? What kind of philosophy is best? Morgan’s belief that every life is precious, or Rick’s kill or be killed? The answers are not black and white no matter how many times Mr. Man grumbles about Morgan being a pussy. I then have to remind him that pussies produce children, an event he has witnessed twice. Tell me again about this weak pussy?

Anyway, it’s time for the creators to plot their endgame. In Alexandria, our plucky band of survivors have found a home. They’ve defended the place from renegade humans and the horde from hell. They’re putting down roots. Making up, hooking up and breaking up, just like they did in the world before the Zs. We’ve witnessed both the good (trade) and the bad (murder) of a burgeoning society. The Zs have become background white noise to the larger story about humanity and that’s fine, but it also makes the show more generic. How many times can I watch man brutalizing man? It’s the evening local news with more attractive participants.

For better or worse the comics are ongoing, which Image can do until the ink runs out. TV needs an endgame and next season should be the Walking Dead’s last. Don’t let it drag on long after the sell by date to be hated like season nine of the X-files. Instead, take a note from Breaking Bad and go out on a high note with adoring fans and high ratings.

Creators, let the fans think of the Walking Dead like Mr. Man thinks of my booty. We’ll hate to see you go, but love watching you walk away.


About Akaria Gale

Akaria Gale lives in Brooklyn with her husband, children and a disgruntled cat. She is a native New Yorker, slow cooker enthusiast, hard cider advocate who occasionally finds time to write about the secret world right underneath our noses. One day she hopes to give winter the middle finger and become a beach bum.

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