Oh, I just hate the way True Blood ended. The entire last season was like one long drawn-out bloody fart that you’d have to go to the hospital after. It was like a minor medical incident involving a butt. Let’s explore this destroyed ass, shall we?
So first thing, like literally in the first couple of minutes, Tara gets her vampire ass blasted to pieces all over her mom’s lap, and the whole world goes “Woooo!” I don’t pay any attention at all to True Blood blogs or rumors or recaps or anything like that (I tried to use the True Blood hashtag to tweet reactions at Retta during the Season 6 premiere and IMMEDIATELY some bitch retweeted me to correct me: Apparently Ryan Kwanten is Australian so you’re not allowed to say he has a sexy British accent). But I still somehow managed to read all over the place that someone was going to die “in the first few moments!” of the season 7 premiere. The entire world held its breath, hoping it would be Tara, whom no one likes, even when they had her turn into a Sexy Lezzy Vampire and whore-out with Pam and a lot of MAC cosmetics and corset tops. But I thought oh god, they must really be hurting for a plot this season if they need to slap a death in there first thing. And I was so very sadly right.
After Tara dies, they spend all of the rest of the episodes coming up with reasons for all of the characters to all be together at once. It was like a goddamn endless parade of dinner parties “Because life!” and dinner parties “Because death!” And everyone was drinking and catching each other fucking everyone else and then Alcide got shot in the head while chasing Sookie through the woods naked.
That was no surprise. There was a little side-action building for about three episodes in which Anna Paquin would gaze into the distance and wonder aloud in her best Sookie voice if she reeeeally loved him enough and then BANG we don’t have to worry about that anymore, do we? Anyway, next thing you know, she’s driving his truck over to Bill’s house for some vampire dong. A most disappointing end for Alcide the wolf-boner.
Bill has some kind of vampire AIDS, so does Eric, which is the ACTUALLY SAD PART because Bill can go die but I kind of wanted Eric to give Sookie a bunch of money and be her servant-man until she was old and/or bored with him. Eric gets cured but Bill is on some kind of “time for me to go” mission because he is VERY concerned about Sookie’s chances of procreation if he stays alive (which is retarded because adoption and artificial insemination exist). So blah blah blah there’s about a hundred more episode-long dinner parties wherein every character has a moment to make a big meaningful speech (mouth farts) with some kind of alcohol in hand (partyyy! LIFE!) and everything ends with Bill having Sookie straddle him in his grave while he stabs himself and explodes into bloodmeat strings all over her funeral dress.
Well, that’s ALMOST where it ends. All of the above was the kind of bullshittery I could deal with. Whatever, you dumb show, so you lost your edge and got dumber. I couldn’t give a shit. Just wrap it up and move on. But no, they had to wrap it up with a bow made out of misogynistic turds and rub it in our stupid faces.
Of COURSE the final scene was a motherfucking dinner party in Sookie’s front yard with all of the characters (and the fruits of their procreative efforts together) four years later. She’s in her kitchen about fifteen months pregnant and I don’t think it showed her feet but I think barefoot was the idea, folks. So then she’s carrying stuff out to the 1,000th dinner party of the season and sits down next to some dude, who sits at the head of HER table in HER yard of HER house, after she’s SET the fucking table and MADE THE FOOD. She exchanges a knowing glance with this mystery motherfucker and that’s it! Series over. Go home.
I guess with so much of the series centered around who Sookie was giving that faerie poon to, it was only natural for everyone and anyone to be wondering who she was going to end up with. I figured after a while we were going to get some kind of half-assed finale that would at least strongly hint toward the dude she’d settle down with. Whatever. But to drop the curtain immediately after answering that question was so stuuuupid, made even more stupid by the other crap they tried to stir in to give Sookie more meaning. First of all, there was this whole “give up your faerie light” business which was dumb and I didn’t give a shit about it anyway, but before she stake-fucks Bill she goes on this whole diatribe about how it’s what defiiines her, which if you ask me was totally dumb because she didn’t even know she had it until like two years earlier. Also, it seemed like it was so volatile, she could sneeze and it would blast out of her and be done with, just like that. Then there’s the fact that she was so low on the faerie ancestry chart that she had so little of the magic faerie blasting solution that it could be worn out anyway. It’s like saying you’re “one twentieth Cherokee” and you only have so many clay pots from flea markets left and if you give them all away you won’t be able to say you’re Cherokee anymore and that means you’re not much of anything! Wahhhh!
There was also this weird scene where baby Sookie and baby Tara run in the rain to Gran’s house and are sucking down hot chocolate when Sookie says something about never wanting a boyfriend because they’re all nasty. I thought that was kind of funny, even though I was annoyed that we were so far down in the bottom of the final season trash can that we were having to supplement with flashbacks from God knows when. But I guess Gran didn’t think it was funny because she rushed in from her hiding place where she’d been eavesdropping to scold Sookie: “Don’t ever say that! Our only limitations are the ones we place on ourselves!” So, chill the fuck out, Gran. It’s stupid to yell at two little girls who think boys suck. Also, it’s kind of gross to insist that a little girl saying she didn’t like boys was placing a limitation. Because fuck you. What if Sookie was starting the process of coming out of the closet? Tara sure as shit was. So thank you, Writers, for that tasty little morsel of misogyny. Don’t limit yourself to a life without men! KEEP TRYING UNTIL YOU’RE HAPPY WITH ONE.
Anyway. I came away from that scene thinking that Sookie would sell her house and fly around the world, meet up with Eric in random places around the globe for a good bang every now and then, go to college, start a business. I thought she’d zap into action after that flashback faded and be like “Holy fuck, I still have a life, I can DO shit!” But what happens? She gets knocked up and has a dinner party. So apparently setting yourself no limitations = marriage & family. And probably a subscription to Martha Stewart Living which recommends the best outdoor lighting schemes for dinner parties.
Oh, right, and: meanwhile, Hoyt fucktardedly remembers that he used to bone Jessica and Bill says “I want y’all to get married before I die so I know you’re SPOKEN FOR” and even though Jessica is a killing machine who comes out at night to eat people, she needs a man to be safe, and despite protesting that this dude doesn’t remember fuck all about her, she marries him and Bill’s like “Cool. Got to die now just because.”
Well, also, another really misogynistic storyline was the girl Hoyt brought back to town with him, whom he unceremoniously dumps (after she hassles him about another woman THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS MOTHER’S FUNERAL which was weird). He rescues Jessica from getting tied up and fucked by Jason’s ex-girlfriend with a hot poker in the shape of a dong (I am so serious, this happened, or rather, almost happened) and they realize they are still in love. He dumps ol’ Outtatown Twatsy who has no other choice but to stay at Jason’s house in his t-shirt and boxers. And he’s like “don’t fuck her, don’t fuck her, hommina hommina” because fucking ruins everythiiiiing. So ol’ girl is like “I’m gonna teach you how to share a bed with someone without fuckin’ em” and holy hell if the Madonna/whore complex didn’t rear its ugly Madonna/whore head. Oh, this is a good girl, the audience breathed in collective relief. She’s perfect for fucknasty Jason. She’ll fix him!
Oh fucking hell.
The whole season, but especially the last episode, was like several pages from horny teen boy fan fiction, the worst kind: the kind that doesn’t recognize women as anything but either fuckable or loudmouthed (read: unfuckable). The whole torture-panty-dungeon scene would have been laughable if it wasn’t meant to be titillating that one sexy vampire was about to rape and murder another sexy vampire (they’re vampires, not women! Who CARES? This is for fun!). But really the entire ending was based on the idea that in order to tie up a loose end, a woman has to get married and be “spoken for.” What else is there, ladies? Really though, what else? Thanks for watching!
leggings of The cursed protector
For every comment this blog receives that is from a real person, not a robot, this blog receives 1,000 spam comments. For every comment this blog receives from someone who has tried one of my recipes and wants to let me know that I’m stupid and fat, this blog receives 2,000 spam comments. For every comment this blog receives from someone who just wants to tell me I’m stupid, this blog receives 3 billion spam comments. What I’m saying is that I get a lot of spam comments.
I’ve started looking and them closely and actually reading through them because 1. they’re hilarious, and 2. I don’t have any idea how they work or what they are supposed to be doing. Is there a computer out there with the sole purpose of creating fake email addresses (firstname.lastname@example.org, for example) and randomizing groups of phrases to mash together to form a paragraph that smacks of a compliment with a hint of sales pitch and ends up coming out like it’s being typed by a Ukrainian with a minimal grasp on the English language? Is that how it works? Ok, so, what is it trying to get me to do, exactly? What does the computer want?!
Recently I got the very best spam comment I’ve ever gotten ever:
WHO THE HELL IS “LEGGINGS OF THE CURSED PROTECTOR” AND WHEN CAN I BE FRIENDS WITH THEM AND/OR BUY THEM TO WEAR??
There have been others that are just as confusing, here are some of the most recent:
I always spent my half an hour to read this web site’s content every day along with a mug of coffee.
Oh, how quaint! I hope this “web site’s content” has never made you spill that mug of coffee on yourself in horror. P.S. are you a stock photo of a woman at a computer? I thought you might be.
I do not even ƙnow how I ended up here, but I tҺoսght this post was great. I ɗo not know who you аre but definitely yߋu aгe going to
a famous blogger if you aren’t already 😉 Cheerѕ!
Ah, a famous blogger! Everywhere I go, people will know that I am there because I will put it on my blog that I am there and thousands of people will flock there and be like, what the fuck does our most famous of famous bloggers look like? And they will not know because how does a blogger even become famous? You did not think this through, pally, which is evident from the nonsensical character you have used in place of the “o” in “you.”
I get that you don’t know who I am (BUT I AM A FAMOUS BLOGGER, HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW ME?), but do you know who you are? Have you become sentient?
Thanks for sharing your thoughts on 60 day insanity.
Uh, anytime. But you may have me confused with someone else, I’m not sure insanity only lasts 60 days, in fact, I’m pretty fucking sure it doesn’t.
Most of the other ones say a mixture of the same phrases, which are “I’m going to bookmark this web site!” and “this web site has the best Information about this topic” and “I will tell my brother about this because he is researching this very thing.” What would happen if I responded? Would Ukrainian computer bots kick down my door and invade my house, screaming at me about MOST PREMIUM WEB SITES DOMAIN HOSTINGS and PLACE LINKING ON A PAGE IS THE MOST EASY and I MUST TELL MY BROTHER ABOUT THIS WEB SITE INFORMATION???? Probably. That’s probably what would happen. I will just keep deleting the spammies for now. FOR NOW.
Because if “leggings of The cursed protector” ever comes back, I’m following that shit to the ends of the Internets, you guys.