God damn it.
I wanted so badly for Sam Merlotte to kiss himself. Those desires aren’t coming from a slashy place; rather, it would be appropriate because Sam is on his own trajectory these days, his story barely crossing over with the others. The only thread connecting his storyline to the rest is the hate group.
However, if Sheriff Andy were to create a Supernatural Investigations desk in Renard Parrish and deputized Sam, that would change things for him. For everyone. It’s a perfect solution. I’m so glad I thought of it.
Someone should pay me for that.
Laffy has that same idea, which I’m totally on board with. Got supernatural powers? People want your help? Charge ‘em like with any other service.
Other True Blood Thoughts:
- Someone could totally make a killing with Vampire Mouth Wipes. They never EVER wipe their mouths after eating. I still put a napkin on my lap, even if it’s just a paper tower or strip of toilet paper. Cuz, you know, I’m civilized and stuff. And an effing lady.
- Am I supposed to care about this werewolf woman Alcide is banging? His fiance died like a week ago. He was all up in Sookie’s pants the day before yesterday.
- Of course, I enjoyed the butt shots, but that whole sequence seemed gratuitous. And knowing it was meaningless filler, my enjoyment was diminished by my annoyance.
- Yes, I want my man ass to be meaningful and to serve the story.
- Can I just say that I really hate the new Mac OS habit of correcting my spelling? If I’m typing “effing,” I don’t mean “offing.” I type what I mean because I’m not an effing idiot. WTF, Apple? I spent my entire life trying to get away from Windows and now you bring that Windows drama to me. Christ.
- That whole thing with Luna’s skinwalking and Doublemint Sam was bloody stupid.
- I want a geisha corset like right now.
- “I live in a four bedroom house with a BMW in the garage.” OH, REALLY? Then wwwwhhhhyyyyy are you hanging out at a vampire bar, you <insert your selected pejorative here – I like “racist real-housewife poser” or “self-satisfied cow butt pimple”, but I like to encourage creativity).
- “My happy face and my mad face are the same.” Kinda like living with Chronic Bitch Face. I have the same problem, Awesome Pam. Please be my friend.
- “Lilith wants me to eat a baby!” There’s so much to say about this. It’s a totally open invitation to skewer religion, the things people do for it, and the horrific acts that are a) the assumed will of a deity, and b) assumed to be forgiven by said deity. But, I don’t feel like going there.
- If vampires can’t control themselves at the scent of certain kinds of blood, are they actually sentient enough to have a god?
- I have this theory that food and the preparation of it is what defines humanity. I love bacon. I love cheese. But, with a little will power and self-shaming, I can totes bypass those for as long as I want. I choose the food – the food doesn’t choose me. I don’t walk through a butcher’s stall at Reading Terminal, trying to break through the glass cases to get at the raw meat on the other side. I discriminate and select what I want. Then I decide how I want to prepare it and with what. Vampires don’t do that. They can’t have salmon with asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes. Or Pad Thai. Or sticky toffee pudding. Vampires are like koalas – they evolved to eat only one kind of food.
- Vampires having religion is like sharks having religion.
- Wait. What? Are we introducing a new vampire this close to the end of the season? Seriously? Since Sookie was able to bond with it or whatever, I wonder if it’s someone who she’s already drank from, or has drank from her? Is Warlo actually Bill? Or Eric? Or Russell?
- Hoyt’s gotta learn how to take a break up.
- Because his way of taking a break up so far is WHACK. Dude, Jessica may be the first girl to break your heart, but knowing you, she won’t be the last. Jessica Hamby is only the first of many, many, many women who will disappoint Hoyt because he’s unable to pick the sort of woman he really wants.
Lastly, Laffy still hasn’t learned to keep his mouth closed.
I had an incident in 1st grade that forever changed the way I carry my mouth. Sounds silly, but stay with me.
Mom had taken me to the neighborhood playground. I went down the big slide for the first time, arms out, mouth wide open and tongue out in a scream of childish joy, eyes smashed shut because it seemed so high and fast. I went off the end of the slide and landed on my butt and……………..this is so gross……………my teeth clamped down on my tongue.
My teeth went a little more than halfway through and I had to get stitches.
Stitches. In my tongue. I could barely speak and couldn’t eat solid foods for like forever. I clearly remember the doctor saying I was lucky this had happened with my baby teeth. With my grown-up teeth, my tongue would’ve been clean off.
That happened 30 years ago. To this day, whether I’m on a carnival ride or playing Manhunt with the Wee Cousins, even if I’m just breaking suddenly while driving, I think, “Keep your effing tongue in your mouth.”
Having your body taken over by a ghost seems way more traumatic than all of that and Laffy still hasn’t learned to keep his mouth closed around pissed off ghosts? Really?