Connie Anne, I think you seem to illustrate perfectly what I meant in my last post in this topic:
The fact that you are so strongly affected by the humourous, relatively harmless comics on the site linked (and not on the very comic that was originally posted, by the way), and the fact that so many others do not even see the beginning of a rules offense might be a sign not of this topic needing to have a warning on it, but of it representing a warning for you in particular. A warning that the pain is still vivid. A warning that you might need help to heal.
I really feel for you, and I understand your reaction. But even if it is understandable, I still think the issue is on your side, rather than the comic's.
If it helps you understand my point, I'll give you an example from my personal life. As a child and teenager, I didn't really have friends, and the few I had did not care about me all that much. But around the age of 12, we got a dog. A blond labrador. She became my friend; my only real close friend; my lover, almost. I would sleep (sleep, don't go thinking of anything dirty) with her whenever possible; comfort her when she was afraid of thunder; spend as much time as I could near her. I told her of all my problems, and ironically, I felt that only she understood me.
Then, about 7 years later, my mother and father-in-law split up. I went with my mother; he kept the dog. I refused to visit her; I missed her so much that I knew I would only be putting the knife back into the wound by doing so. I tried to forget. Then, a few months later, I learned she had died. My father-in-law had stupidly and cruelly murdered gotten euthanasia practiced on her, because her leg hurt (not so much, hey, she could still walk and run 95 % of the time) and he thought it just had to make her life unbearable, and he didn't want to spend on expensive surgery.
Since then, I am unable to see a dog suffer, especially if it's similar to the dog I lost. If there is a report on animal cruelty on TV, I'll be hiding my eyes with my hands and sobbing all the show long, if I can bear it at all. A dog getting kicked probably saddens me more than a child getting killed. Of all movies, the only one I wasn't able to finish was Marley and Me, despite my usual very strong urge to know the end of a story, no matter how scary, no matter how boring. My dog is the only dead person I have actually spoken to whilst crying myself to sleep, all that whilst my loving great-grandmother almost died in front of my eyes and that my favourite uncle died young.
But every time I am devastated by such images, I don't deem them unappropriate, unacceptable or suggest that a warning be put on Marley and Me. I take it as an indication that I have not yet healed; that I am going to need help to get over this.
(Oh, my, I almost cried just writing this.)
