Wednesday, December 8, 2010

"Tom Brady With Out Legs"

Though football was a pretty big deal at my high school, I can only remember going to two games throughout my entire time as a student (and I only remember one of those times because a glow stick broke open INSIDE my mouth). In college, I never went to a single football game—in fact, I don’t think I’ve even watched one on television. I didn’t actually learn how a game of football was played until about three months ago when I marathon-watched seasons 1-4 of Friday Night Lights and I’m STILL fuzzy on the rules (is a snap when Taylor Kitsch runs? No? What’s it called when Taylor Kitsch runs? And they get points when he takes off his helmet? No? WHY IS NO ONE GIVING TAYLOR KITSCH POINTS?).

In sum, I'm no expert on football. I am however an expert on anger, so I was able to relate to this child's drawing of the New England Patriots' Tom Brady all the same:

Who among us hasn't imagined someone we hate "with out legs and in a stretcher"? Just the other day, for example, I saw an old woman feeding pigeons in the park. Watching her knobby knuckles poke through her thin skin as she gripped at stale bread crumbs, I couldn't help but think about the quick passage of time and how, to her, it probably feels like only yesterday that she was my age. Suddenly, I realized how bummed out this old lady was making me and became really angry. I then imagined her on a stretcher without legs and it made me feel a lot better. Touchdown!


Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Child Abuse Is Dead Forever

Congratulations, Facebookers! By changing your profile picture to an image from your favorite childhood cartoon, you have successfully ended child abuse! Really! That’s all it took! Those who have devoted endless hours to achieving a degree in social work with the hopes of entering into the public school system or Child Protective Services where they constantly have to fight against opposition and red tape all for the betterment of kids? TIME WASTERS. Get with the 21st century, grandmas. Social change isn’t spurred by philanthropy and volunteerism—it’s spurred by changing your avatar to a picture of Heffer from Rocko’s Modern Life.

Can I tell you what a relief it was to not wake up to the noise of the upstairs neighbor boy’s wails as he was beaten by his father for failing to make the varsity football team for the second year in a row? It was SUCH a relief! And it’s all because of us, friends! We truly are the Greatest Generation.

But why stop now? Since we’ve successfully ended child abuse through Facebook, isn’t it our duty to tackle all the world’s issues through means of social networking? Answer: It is! Below, I have compiled a list of five ways that we can fix the world, all from the comfort of the MacBook Pro our parents bought us as a graduation present. To borrow the immortal words of Montell Jordan, this is how we do it:

1. Change your profile picture to your favorite Sex In The City lady to fight female genital mutilation. Like women who are victims of FGM, Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda ALL have vulvas (if you don’t believe me, watch the show! They use them all of the time!).

2. For one week, devote your twitter feed solely to news about Carson Daly-era TRL. Remember when Crazy Town’s “Butterfly” alternated between the number 1 and 2 slots for a whole week?! Well, that occurred the same year as both the World Trade Center attacks and the beginning of the most serious economic downturn since the crash of the stock market in 1929. By participating in this trend, you’re solving both the economy AND terrorism.

3. Create a lip dub video to your favorite Ke$ha song. If enough people call attention to America’s favorite garbage monster, everyone will be more likely to recycle and global warming will be over.

4. Create a Tumblr dedicated to Long Duck Dong from Sixteen Candles because... Asia. Too many people forget about Asia. Remind them with everyone’s favorite racist caricature from an 80’s classic.

5. Temporarily replace Facebook’s popular “Poke” feature with the “AIDS Poke.” Next, AIDS Poke as many people as possible. Once we’ve all been AIDS Poked, everyone will be able to empathize with what it’s really like to suffer from AIDS. After that, AIDS will finally feel understood and will probably go away.

Of course, we can't fix all of the world's problems through social networking. Still, we ought to sleep well knowing that we've done everything we possibly could without exerting any effort whatsoever.

Goodnight, sweet heroes. Dream of the monuments they will erect in our honor.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

HPDH, y'all!

I'm so fucking pumped to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows tomorrow. Are you fucking pumped? Great. We'll be fucking pumped together.

The Union Square subway station is plastered with promotional posters that have been haunting me for weeks. Every time I look at them I feel like my heart is going to explode. Do I sound like a nerd? Fine. I'm a nerd. Avada kedavra me already. I had hoped to go to a midnight showing this evening, but I wasn't able to find tickets to any theater that DOESN'T have a reputation of having bedbugs (bedbugs are my Lord Voldemort. Neither of us can live while the other survives, which is why I'm writing this from the grave). But tomorrow? Hoo, boy! I'm gonna drink some wine, eat some barbecue, watch me some HP and it's gonna be totally awesome. Do they make special Gryffindor diapers? 'Cause, heads up, I'll probably poop myself.

Also, can we take a moment to appreciate what lovely adults Harry, Ron and Hermione have grown into?

Especially Emma Watson. How come no one will recognize how adorable Emma Watson is?

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

May the force of typography be with you

This one's for Molly. And everyone else! (But especially Molly.)

Via BuzzFeed.

Baby Baby Baby No

Stop whatever it is you're doing. Seriously. Just stop. This is important.

I'd like to introduce you to my new friend Jeremy, father of pop sensation Justin Bieber.

Now, I don't care so much about the Biebs because I am a 23 year-old lady with a life. Does that mean I judge the young girls who feel differently? Of course not. Tweens like shitty things. When I was that age, I loved Hanson and The Spice Girls (still do. Eat it, h8rz) and today's girls love Justin Bieber and yak baks (right?). I'm not judging. Except, in this case, I'm totally judging. But I'm judging something else:

This man is a father! Of a human being! A real human child who is a millionaire thanks to a pristine bowl cut and asexual singing voice!

Remember when Justin Bieber first hit the scene and there was all that press surrounding his swagger coach? (Feel free to barrow my Bieber scrapbook if you need your memories refreshed.) That swagger coach was totally unnecessary! Swagger is clearly in his genes! HIS GENES! When I look at the above photo all I can think is TOO MUCH SWAGGER. SWAGGER BOMB ACTIVATED. BANG BOOM BOW.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010


I've always been a little bewildered by ginger prejudice. The first time I heard about it was from a foreign exchange student in high school- a kid from New Zealand- and when I asked him what it was rooted in, he said something along the lines of "well, gingers are just dumb," then added, "Cool as, mate! Haka! Sheep! Haka!" (Admittedly, I wasn't really paying attention so the accuracy of this quote is debatable.) The next year, when I was a high school exchange student living in Italy, my host family echoed his sentiments, saying that redheads were pretty much the worst (counterpoint: AT BEING UGLY?). I returned to the States in 2005 amidst the South Park/"Kick a Ginger" Day debacle, so vitriol for redheads had clearly reached U.S. shores. I could go on with more examples, but I won't... mainly because I can't think of any. It's not like I'm head professor of the ginger studies department at St. Ginge University (though, clearly, I am head professor of the good jokes department HILARIOUS University).

Over the past few years, I've paid good money to be a ginger. THOUSANDS of dollars. Probably even millions. Living in New York has been a definite siphon on my wallet. I've had to give up a lot of the foods I like (I still allow myself Wagyu steak and eggs on Sundays) and activities I enjoy participating in (polo gear is so expensive), not to mention that most of my clothes have holes in them ("People are homeless. Shut your college-educated face." -You). Regardless, I'm still pretty unwilling to give up having my hair dyed. Have you ever seen my natural hair color? It's gross. The grossest. Really, I'm doing everyone else a favor by keeping it covered up. YOU'RE WELCOME, THE WORLD.

Anyways, red hair is awesome. I get complimented on it all of the time. I was once in a gay bar and a guy came up to me and said that I looked like a poster child for Ireland (I was drunk, too). He then said that I should feel extra complimented because he was gay and so it took a lot to get him to notice a lady and her hair. I'm not one to look a compliment horse in the mouth, so I said thank you and now you know that I'm not lying about getting compliments. I've provided anecdotal evidence. Another time, when trying to brainstorm halloween costumes, a coworker suggested that I dress up as Chuckie (which one?). Oh, well. You win some, you lose some.

I guess this is just my self-centered/roundabout/long-winded way of saying LOOK AT THIS CUTE PRINT, GUYS!

Cute, right? So cute? Okay, I'll shut up now.


Friday, November 12, 2010


November 18th is officially (or unofficially? I don't know what words mean) 'Have Sex With A Guy With A Mustache' Day.

I'm calling dibs on this:

JK. Mustaches are gross/no one touch me.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

A love letter to a November Saturday

A note from the author: This entry deviates a bit from the general tone of Madeleine Davies Aims to Please. Regardless, here it is. If you're displeased, rest assured that I will return Monday with the usual poop jokes and dinosaur references. XO, my dearests.

I am having one of those rare days where it seems the Universe and I are plugged into one another. Objectively, nothing spectacular has happened, though everything feels electric and welcoming. Too often do I feel in contention with the world around me, like I’m a malformed puzzle piece or a sixth finger on an otherwise functioning hand. Things like the way people treat one another can confuse me to the point where I’m barely functioning. My inability to accept the general lack of compassion that I see on the subway or at the corner store or waiting in line at the bank feels like a deficiency on my part, as though there’s something wrong with me for wanting people to be kind to one another.

Today is different, though. I am in sync. I smile at the people who serve me my coffee and don’t let it bother me when they don’t smile back. At the very least, they’ll register my contentment and, hopefully, catch some of their own. I don’t worry when I repeatedly spill coffee on my new sweater. I am clumsy and, for today, this is endearing. I walk down the trendiest street and don’t care whether or not anyone is judging my backpack or shoes because my backpack is full of apples from the farmers market and my shoes are doing a terrific job of taking me where I want to go. Everyone should be so lucky to have shoes and a backpack like mine. I cut through the back streets and notice amazing copper roofs, winding fire escapes and old churches that I’ve never seen before. Little kids zoom past me on their bikes, shouting in Spanish.

I feel so lucky to be alive in Brooklyn at this moment.

I realize that I’ve never walked more than a block East of my apartment before and decide that now is the perfect time to change that. It’s overcast and cool, but I’m comfortable in my coffee-stained sweater and threadbare jacket—comfortable enough for new discoveries and quiet adventure. Less than two blocks from home there’s a massive fenced-off building, a former hospital made of brick with arches and smokestacks. It’s stunning in its overgrown way. I circle the grounds then head back to my barely furnished apartment.

In my kitchen, putting away my market purchases, I have an epiphany: I’ve just had the perfect date with myself. I was (and am) funny and charming, a fantastic ball of chaos. I am good company for myself. I am fortunate to know me. This is the most perfect form of egoism.

It’s all too possible that tomorrow will be different. I could wake up grumpy and annoyed with myself for forgetting to send an e-mail or sleeping too late. This surprising bout of serenity could dissolve at any moment, but this afternoon by myself was too perfect to feel anything besides an overwhelming and immense love. It's a love for me, for all of you and for an earth that has so much to give just as long as I am open to it.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

The Banksy-directed Simpsons intro that will make you feel...



Well Covered

A lot of effort goes into picking reading material for the subway (in this instance, I’m referring to both public transit AND the popular American sandwich chain). You want something engrossing enough to pass the time, but not so engrossing that you miss your stop (or your opportunity to turn your boring turkey club into an amazing value meal!), you want a book that’s somewhat mindless (as to distract you from your fellow passenger’s rotisserie chicken that keeps bumping you in the face) and, lastly, you want a book whose cover suggests one of two things: A.) “People who read me are so smart and/or interesting!” or B.) “Don’t look at me.”

So, naturally, I’ve been reading a book thats cover (front and back) looks like this:

Very classy. Very subtle. The only thing that could make it MORE classy and MORE subtle is if it were boldly embossed with the words "GAME OF THRONES," right?

(Speaking of book covers, check out these amazing F. Scott Fitzgerald jackets featured by Maia on her beautiful inspiration blog Conundrum)

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Dear Reader,

This is a terrible misunderstanding. You see, I've been in the process of moving into a new apartment over the past couple of weeks and, as a result, have been without Internet. All those times you checked in to the site only to find nothing new? It wasn't because I was writing for some other blog (except those times I was definitely writing for some other blog)-- it's because I was busy at the Scandinavian Palace of Nightmares (more commonly known as Ikea), shoving my things into the trunk of a zip car, or spending exorbitant amounts of money at local grocery stores. Please believe that I would never do anything to intentionally reject or hurt or hurt you. I need you as much as you need me, if not more.

Come back and make me the luckiest blog in the world?



Dear Maddie,

I wanted to tell you how much I HAVEN'T missed your posts. With you not writing as often, I finally have the time and energy to go out and read other blogs and believe me! I've been reading tons of other blogs! Huge blogs that are way smarter, funnier, and leaner than you could ever hope to be. So keep doing whatever it is that's prevented you from writing-- not that I care what that is. I don't care what you do. Go write for another website and collect all sorts of skanky readers-- like I said, I DON'T CARE.

Goodbye forever.


Friday, October 1, 2010

One step closer to Joel McHale

Here's my third and final piece on The Social Network for E! Online.

Speaking of The Social Network, this is pretty great:

Real posts will recommence soon.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Monday, September 20, 2010

Things I think about on a daily basis:

• Rats and their probably-very active social lives
• Arch Supports
• Rats wearing arch supports (they'd have to be so tiny! And where would they get them? The "rodiatrist?" Hacha!)
• 3 bedroom apartments
• Falling or being pushed (but probably being pushed) onto subway tracks
• Dying on the subway tracks
• Escaping death on the subway tracks
• Who I would do on any given block, train car, or television/movie screen (the tall one/really, me?/ Jon Hamm or Tim Riggins, respectively)
• Bedbugs
• Why no one has asked me to star on Broadway simply because they like the cut of my jib
• Seriously, though. I have a great fucking jib.

Volcano tornados (is that you, 2012?)

Monday, September 13, 2010

True Blood 3.12: This coffin is closed

Waking up this morning on the sleeper sofa I’m using as a bed, I felt something. It was a quickening heartbeat, a jolt of electricity to my brain, a new sense of hope. I woke to the feeling that I had come out the other side of a struggle—I was battle scarred, but, still, I was alive, free. The world was brimming with possibility. This new joie de vivre was unrelated to my move across the country, my search for a job, or crossing from delayed adolescents into true adulthood. No, this freedom is related to something much different. Ladies. Gentlemen. Those who fall outside of the western gender dichotomy. Season three of True Blood has ended and tonight we drink. But first, brave soldiers, we shall recap.

"We be recappin'."

We begin at Fangtasia where Eric, Golden Viking of my loins, is dying in the parking lot, King Russell (also dying) chained to his wrist. For two vampires as old as they are, it’s taking them forever to fucking die already. Remember when Godric committed suicide by sun? It was so easy—the sun came up, he was dead, and that was only dawn! Now it’s the afternoon and these vampires, though both looking like the smoking corpse from the Beetlejuice waiting room, are still talking. That’s not how science works, Alan Ball! The sun gets stronger between sunrise and afternoon! Back on track, though—Ghosty Godric appears to Eric and tells him to spare Russell’s life and forgive him because this is True Blood and True Blood is constantly looking for ways to out-dumb itself. Sparing Russell, a vampire who is powerful and intent on killing Eric and Co., would be a bad idea, but it’s exactly what they do after Sookie drags Eric inside and heals him with her stupid magic fairy blood. Rather than kill Russell, Bill and Eric take him to a construction site and bury him in concrete. “This will hold you for at least a hundred years,” Eric says (see you next season, Russell).

Bill then acts like a huge asshole and tries to imprison Eric in concrete as well. “This will hold you for at least—” Wait. Never mind because Eric gets out right away and goes to tell Sookie that Bill tricked her into loving him as a way of helping the Vampire Queen of Louisiana. Sookie’s all “I’m mad” and Bill is all “I love you” and she’s all “Shut up” and Eric is just standing there covered in concrete dust (which is a very good look for him, BTDubs). The only thing for Sookie to do now is go to her grandma’s grave and cry about how alone she is even though she still has a brother and a best friend and it’s not like she moved to New York City by herself or anything, but we’re supposed to feel bad for her anyway. Fine, Sookie. I’ll feel bad for you but you better feel bad for me, too, since I am having salad for dinner for the seventh night in a row because it’s the only thing adult-me knows how to make and I miss my family and I miss cable, but no one is making a show about me (unless they want to. Winkity wink, HBO). ANYWAY, Sookie’s English fairy friend shows up and invites her to Fairy Land. Sookie goes and is never heard from again. Back at his mansion, Bill decides to fight the Vampire Queen because she knows about Sookie’s fairy-ness, which shouldn’t matter ‘cause Sookie is gone forever (I can dream). Then this happens:


Elsewhere, Sam convinces Tara to run away from her problems like he did. She starts by cutting off her hair, which is supposed to be really dramatic, but isn’t because was so clearly weave to begin with. What a sacrifice, Tara! Where will you scrounge up the twenty-five bucks it takes to pay for another? With one last look at Merlotte’s, Tara zooms away in her convertible and we may never have to see her on our televisions again (but we probably will).

While Tara is leaving the show forever, Sam goes to track down his brother Tommy and get back the money he stole from Merlotte’s. He finds him in the woods and Tommy confesses that he can’t get a job because he’s illiterate so Sam shoots him in the back or maybe the leg, but either way it was a major overreaction to finding out that your brother can’t read. Chillax, Sam. They have programs for this type of thing.

Did anything else happen in this dud of a finale? Ah, Jason becomes King of Hotshot after he warns the community about an oncoming drug bust and ruins his chance of ever becoming a cop. Oh, well—I guess being the custodian of a meth/Werepanther community of inbreds is just as good. All hail King Jason and his band of brother-cousins.

Lafayette discovers that his boyfriend Jesus is actually a witch and is now on his way to becoming one, too? Whatever- they seem happy together, so good for them. In other happy couple news, Hoyt and Jessica are moving in together. YAY. I love Hoyt and Jessica, though do people realize that despite being a vampire she’s still only seventeen? And Hoyt is twenty-nine? And they’ve only dated for two months? Shut up, me. Let’s enjoy this while it lasts because there was a creepy baby doll left on the floor of the vacant house that Hoyt is renting which foreshadows… something, I’m sure.

And that’s the end. Sookie and Tara are gone forever (please?), Eric is making a movie of the board game Battleship (with Tim Riggins and Rhianna), Bill is stupid, and the town of Bon Temps fades back into the American landscape. Perhaps something happened there once, something ugly, something violent, but, blessedly, we forget as we venture into the fall TV season.

A note: WE DID IT! HOORAY! Thanks for sticking with me, everybody! Despite my many claims otherwise, I really enjoyed writing these recaps and will probably do it again next summer. In the meantime, I need a new show to recap. If you have a suggestion, please leave it in the comments. Now I have to go eat some more fucking salad.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Empire State of Mind

Sorry for the recent lack of posts, dudes. While you were angrily slamming your fists on your keyboard, demanding more True Blood recaps and cute videos of animated shells (it’s never enough for you, hypothetical reader who seems to have anger issues), I was packing myself up and moving from Madison, WI to New York City. The transition has been chaotic, stressful, and exciting for everyone involved and settling in has proved equally frantic—my sleep has been spotty at best, I’ve been plagued with nightmares, allergies, and this morning I discovered that I have a STYE on my eyelid. A FUCKING STYE! After a little google research, I learned that styes are most common in babies, which makes sense seeing that I seem to be acting like a baby a lot these days.

Stress of moving aside, I’m excited, nay, THRILLED (does “thrilled” beat “excited”?) to be in New York again. So many places to go and people to meet! Look at all the friends I’ve made already:

Yeah! Look at me schmoozing with the New York elites!* What excitement!** What possibility!*** Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m meeting Don Draper and Yoko Ono for martinis in the East Village.**** As we say in New York, ciao ciao!*****

*“Schmoozing with the New York elites” probably means “fighting a sinus headache while I sit alone in my apartment watching season one of Friday Night Lights.”
**Friday Night Lights is really exciting.
***I need a job.
****This one is 100% true.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Bottled in Cork

True fact: I hate music. I also hate women, mexican food, and freedom. That said, I love music videos. TRL is probably my favorite show and I watch it everyday off of a collection of VHS tapes that I keep in my bedroom. I also really love Paul F. Tompkins, so the new Ted Leo and the Pharmacists' video for "Bottled in Cork" is pretty good.

Monday, August 23, 2010

True Blood 3.10: Blah Blah Vampire Emergency

Oh, True Blood! So full of twists and turns! How do the writers and actors keep all of these plotlines straight? Answer: they don’t! They just add and add until all that’s left is some mud-colored television show and we, the people, nod our heads yes and scream for more. More Sookie sad mouth, we say, and they give it to us! Less men with body hair! It’s ours! Less clothes! More blood! Nakey nakey stakey stakey! But we are not grateful. No. We will keep asking, keep begging, and True Blood will continue to provide.

Now let us recap.

Last night’s episode was all about discoveries. Lafayette discovers his witchy heritage, Tara discovers who really shot Eggs, Jason discovers werepanthers, Sam rediscovers his past as a murderer, Hoyt and Jessica discover they still love each other, and, in the biggest reveal of the night, we find out what Sookie really is. What she is, it turns out, is part fairy. LE GASP! Fairies exist, too, because this is Bon Temps and of course they do. Nothing can be simple and everyone has to be a special twinkling star. So Sookie is a fairy (barf), which finally explains why everyone is so darn interested in her. Vampires love fairies so much (it’s science) that they will forgive Sookie for being an awful self-centered person.

Having learned about her mystic origins (which have something to do with rape? Ugh, I don’t know), Sookie still decides to forgive Bill for almost killing her in the back of a moving truck (I have yet to forgive him for the “almost” part), though she’s starting to doubt his intentions. Her doubts grow greater when Eric decides to Inception her and enter her dreams for a little chat and tickle.

“Don’t trust Bill,” he says. “Why?” Sookie asks. “Just because,” he answers, but it is more than enough. Come dusk, Sookie scampers off to Fangtasia where she and Eric kiss for realz. Before things can get too heated, Awesome Pam barges in and suggests that Eric use Sookie as leverage with King Russell (who is harboring some major bloodlust, especially since the loss of his husband Talbot. Gay vampires be stakin’, I guess). Rather than putting it to Sookie, Eric seemingly complies with Pam’s plan and throws our little fairy bar maiden into his basement dungeon. My feeling is that he has plan of his own, one that doesn’t involve handing Sookie over to the enemy, but we’ll see. Maybe we’ll get lucky and everyone will forget she’s down there. Bye, Sookie! Sorry you had to starve to death!

Hey, remember Eggs? And how Jason shot him dead? Well, on Sookie’s stellar advice, Jason decides to tell Tara the truth and she gets predictably angry and sad. Welcome back, annoying Tara! She was getting way too proactive and reasonable for awhile there, so it’s good to see her back as her normal horrible self. Anyway, she runs off to somewhere and hopefully gets hit by a car. Meanwhile, Jason finds a panther in his bedroom; only it’s not really a panther. It’s actually his girlfriend Crystal, but she can turn into a panther when she wants to. Weres: they’re not just for wolves anymore.

Both Sam and Lafayette take separate journeys to the past. Lafayette does so when his boyfriend Nurse Jesus convinces him to go on a V trip and they discover that his great great grandmother was some sort of medicine/witch woman that used spells to keep her slave master from raping her (maybe she should have used a spell that would have kept him from enslaving her, but who likes to think of these kind of things?). So, Lafayette is special, too. Like I said, everyone’s a unique star. Sam’s trip to his past is slightly more personal. High from a fight and drunk on whiskey, he flashes back to his days as a slick jewel thief who bedded dames in motels (I swear I’m not making this up), that is until one of the dames gave him the run-around and he shot her and her boyfriend dead (still not making this up). Now, Sam’s shrouded past is both tragic and violent. Great.

It feels like only yesterday that I decided to recap this show with such expectations and enthusiasm. Ah, to be young again. Only two episodes left and this season is done FOREVER.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Marcel The Shell with Shoes On

Last fall, while I was interning in New York City, I would spend every Wednesday night in the back room of a bar called The Lovin' Cup in Williamsburg. In many ways, The Lovin’ Cup is a good representative of what many hate about the area—the beer is expensive, it’s directly across the street from an American Apparel, and I once saw a bartender wearing a top hat. That said, it is home to one of the best weekly comedy nights in all of New York and it’s totally FREE (music to an unpaid intern’s ears). The guests they get to perform are incredible—over the 3 months I was living in Brooklyn, I managed to see Aziz Ansari, Mike Birbiglia, Reggie Watts, Kumail Nanjiani, Natasha Leggero, and more—but few are as funny and likable as the show’s regular hosts Max Silvestri, Gabe Liedman, and Jenny Slate.

While I love Max and Gabe, it's Jenny who holds the special place in my comedy-loving heart, thanks somewhat to her love of fart noises and the fact that she was so damn nice to me when I finally worked up the courage to introduce myself after a show. Regardless of the reason, I really adore Jenny Slate and basically anything she's a part of. Like this newly released short, for example:

MARCEL THE SHELL WITH SHOES ON from Dean Fleischer-Camp on Vimeo.

Monday, August 9, 2010

True Blood 3.8: Where the clicker?

God help us for it is once again that time of the week when we must delve into the world of True Blood. I act as though the duty to recap this show every week was thrust upon me by some external force, but, alas, it wasn’t. Rather, it was a decision that I made because I thought that it would be a fun way to push my writing (how naïve I was!) and now I must live with the consequences. Oh, woe! Woe for now I must drag you with me into the pit of despair that Alan Ball has created for us! Though the path is littered with the bones of the poor lost souls that came and failed before us, we must, by Zounds, carry on.

Unfortunately, Sookie is carrying on as well. Newly awakened from her coma (boooooo), our lil’ bottle-blonde banjo strummer finds herself face to face with Bill Compton’s bangs. Sure, she loves Bill Compton’s bangs more than almost anything, but, considering that Bill Compton’s bangs are the reason that she was unconscious to begin with, she can no longer reason the two of them together. Plung plung plung, goes the guitar. Ruh ruh ruh, goes the fiddle. Yes, it is sad. Both parties are crying, while a third party (hint: the third party is me) is falling asleep on her parents’ sofa. Ruh ruh ruh, indeed.

So Sookie heads back to Bon Temps only to mope around and be passive aggressive to the people who care about her. She’s particularly rude to Tara even though Tara has saved her life at least three times in the past few days and is experiencing some hardcore PTS of her own. Sookie could care less because she’s too busy making half-passes at Werewolf Alcide and ignoring the advice of everyone she comes into contact with. One such piece of advice comes from Eric Northman, who, through a messenger, tells Sookie that King Russell is coming for her and she better run. Rather than listen to a thousand year old vampire with insider information, Sookie does the usual stomp'n' holler, shoutin’ “Come ‘n’ git me! I ain’t scared a’nothin’!” all while doing a rain dance in her backyard.

Speaking of Eric, our sweet Golden Prince of Scandinavia, what is he up to? Why, playing chess with Talbot, of course! The game of the sexes! A centuries old symbol of courtship and flirtation! How subtle. Anyway, Talbot gets bored and demands that Eric takes off his clothes and Eric is like, “okay” and does it. And then they start kissing, which is super racy and sexy actually pretty boring. Things progress and Eric asks Talbot, the clear bottom, to roll over and Talbot is like, “no probs,” which is wrong because it is in fact MAJOR PROBS. “Russell killed my family,” Eric growls, causing his corn silk mane to quiver ‘bout his head. Talbot’s eyes widen, but he is too slow. Eric stakes him in the back and is left standing naked, triumphant.

While one vampire has come out on top (HACHA!), another is left dejected. Bill, back in Bon Temps, is doing his same old “it sucks to be a vampire” routine (even though it clearly doesn’t). “I’m no good to anybody,” he opines and is, in many ways, right. He should probably kill himself, but he doesn’t. I suppose this is good for Jessica, his neglected baby progeny, who has been stuck at his mansion and negotiating the terms of vampirism all on her own. Still, she needs a father figure (don’t they all) and Bill is the best that she can do. To make up for his absence, Bill decides to give her some fighting lessons, which end up coming in handy once Russell and his werewolf gang show up at Sookie’s house. Once the fight is over, however, Bill again forgets about Jessica (who, last he saw, was badly injured) because Sookie tells him that she still loves him and suddenly it’s bone o’clock. This bone o’clock is different than the others, though, because Sookie puts him in a chokehold and he puts her in one and—zzzzzzzzzzzzz. I DON'T CARE.

What bugs me most about True Blood these days is not the amount or quality of graphic sex and violence, but how the writers are using that sex and violence to cover up weak plotlines and character development. Ultimately, Bill and Sookie could perform Bukaki and it still wouldn’t be edgy because they, as characters, are completely dull. The same can be said about Eric rolling around naked with Talbot. To me, the idea of two men having sex with each other is neither abnormal nor taboo, which allowed me to see what wasn’t there—emotional investment in either characters' storyline. Ultimately, I’ve come to the realization that I don’t care what happens to a single person on this show (except Lafayette…maybe), but, seeing how the current season of True Blood is getting the highest ratings of any show in HBO history, I don’t see them turning things around anytime soon.

Oh, well. I’ll still be tuning in next week.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Happy Holidays from the Davies family!

Back in the winter of '91, when my dad sat us 'round the dining room table to tell us his plan for our annual Christmas card, I was a little skeptical.

Like they say, hindsight is 20/20 and only now am I able to see my father's concept for what it truly is: a wholesome and not-at-all terrifying expression of my family's love for each other.

(Found via Boing Boing)

Monday, August 2, 2010

This clip is up here. We are down there.

On the extensive list of things that I hold dear, Stephen Colbert is #4 and the Real Housewives franchise is #7 (to give you some perspective, beer brats are #2 and my mother is #16). This clip of Stephen reenacting the infamous "this is you, this is me" fight from RHNY with Bravo's Andy Cohen has definitely pushed it's way into the top 5. Skip to 4:12 for the good stuff.

Speaking of Mad Men...

Did anyone else notice the helvetica poster hanging in the Sterling Cooper Draper Price work room? It's the orange one with the black and white lettering and I really really want to own it. Would the Mad Men set dresser who (no doy) reads this blog contact me immediately? THANKS.

On a related note, I'm thinking about doing Mad Men recaps for the rest of the season but I'm hesitant because a.) recaps are time consuming and b.) I don't know if I can handle writing about a show that's actually good. Sadly, my key (sole) talent as a writer is my inability to convey anything without a layer of contempt or sarcasm and I don't know how I'd function when facing something as streamlined and well-crafted as Mad Men.

Any thoughts either way, cyber friends?

Well, that was fast

Nice work, Twitterbot.

True Blood 3.7: I thought you came to flirt

Last night’s episode of True Blood opened with Sookie Stackhouse Christmas tree shopping with her mother, brother, and new step father. Amidst the Douglas Firs and Scotch Pines, our young heroine happens upon Vampire Bill, that kid for the neighborhood who, at one time, was hopelessly in love with Sookie’s hard-hearted mother. He hasn’t been around much in the past season (he’s been too busy making gimp lanyards) but now he’s back and has his heart set on Sookie. He’s eerie, our Bill, but he and Sookie have so much in common, especially now that Sookie’s father Sam Merlotte has relocated to the city where he’s quickly crumpling beneath the weight of booze, sex, and work. Bill’s vampire father is also gone, leaving Bill lonely and bitter. Strange as it seems, Sookie is touched by Bill’s forward and destructive attempts to relate to her. What an intriguing and not-at-all-boring relationship.

Meanwhile, in the thriving metropolis of Bon Temps, Merlotte’s Bar is kept busy by a new account with Pond’s cold cream and preparations for the staff Christmas party. Though he is the bar’s namesake, Sam is quickly losing his authority at the establishment and in his personal life. We see his self-destruction manifested as he drinks himself into a stupor and makes several drunken passes at various women. Eventually he lures his new hostess Vampire Jessica into his trailer for some not-so-sexy sex— all through the fly of his wrangler jeans. The next day, he gives her a big Christmas bonus, leaving the poor vampire girl to feel like a vampire prostitute. Also: Sam’s real name is Dick Whitman!

Sam and his protege Tara at the Merlotte's Bar Christmas party.

I’m so glad that this show is on the air and bringing such well-rounded human characters into our lives. And we mustn’t forget the style! And historical references! The sixties must have been such a gas! The Vampire Civil Rights movement? Clearly the best of all civil rights movements. The well-paced story telling keeps me so engrossed, I can hardly wait to tune into AMC for the next episode.

Upon editing, I’ve realized that I may have confused last night’s True Blood with last night’s Mad Men. Since last night’s True Blood was one of the worst hours of television I’ve ever seen (it was so bad that I can’t even work up the energy to mock it), I will let the mistake stand. In hindsight, I actually made True Blood sound like a pretty cool show. You’re welcome.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Congratulations, Lisa!

Forget about the Chelsea Clinton nuptials. America's REAL most iconic daughter is getting married today!

Monday, July 26, 2010

True Blood 3.6: My darling, you're a very weak character

Last night, I finally was able to see Inception (as long as you don’t mind knowing what I did yesterday, this is all SPOILER FREE) and, WOWZA, was it good. The movie is two and half hours long and I felt engaged through the whole thing. And when it was over? I wanted to see it again! And then I wanted to kiss Joseph Gordon Levitt with an open mouth! And run around with a pack of men in suits! Seriously, why don’t you guys wear suits anymore? They look so good on you. Anyway, after seeing such an amazing movie, it was kind of a bummer to come home and watch True Blood. It felt like going from eating an amazing entrée that is full of complex flavor profiles to eating a dessert of jarred maraschino cherries—a “food” that I recognize as completely disgusting and void of nutritional value and, yet, I can’t help but eat them when they’re sitting in front of me. That was how True Blood looked on my DVR listing last night—a dusty jar of maraschino cherries found in the pantry on that perfect day when it would appear that you (me) have finally lost all self-worth.

I’m being overly harsh. Last night’s episode of True Blood was actually one of season’s best as it managed to incorporate humor, action, and twisted romance—all of the things that make the show fun to begin with. Additionally, the episode was unusually well paced, with all of the storylines getting the right amount of time for a change. Maybe that’s because so many of the characters were in one place, helping to keep things focused. Let’s explore!

Having been ambushed at the end of last week’s episode, yawn-couple Bill and Sookie have since been brought by force to King Russell’s Mississippi plantation house, where Eric, Talbot, and Lorena are waiting. Once in the foyer, Bill attempts to kill Russell, but Russell is like, “can’t touch this” and throws him into a wall. Not only that, but he demands that Lorena take Bill out back and stake him. This sends lil’ Sookie into a real huff because she loves Bill and blah blah blah. She begs for Eric’s help—no, not “begs.” Asks politely? Not that either. Ah, yes. She rudely demands Eric’s help and he tells her to shut up. Literally. He says, “shut up, Sookie” and it’s awesome. He has bigger issues than her little Bill problem (like taking down Operation Werewolf and saving Pam)—issues that he’s planning to solve by pretending to be gay and cozying his way up to the king. How do we know Gay Eric from Not-Gay Eric? Well, when he’s gay, he smiles a lot. Not only that, but when he smiles, he shows all of his teeth because—duh—that’s what gay men do.

Sookie tells him that she hates him and will never forgive him, once again showing that she is one of the dimmest people on the planet. Does she even consider that Eric has a plan? Or that admitting his real feelings for her to Russell might make things more dangerous for everybody? Nope and nope. She just cries and tells him to fuck off. Then Russell comes in and Eric turns on his supposed gay face, but the king would rather have word or two with the lady than play a game of Hotdog Cart. After finding out some crucial information (mainly that Sookie is a telepath and maybe something more), Russell tells Sookie that Bill has been investigating her, which, for some reason, has little punch. The conversation ends with Sookie being dragged to a room by a guard (credit where credit’s due—the guard does NOT try to rape her. Yay!). Russell, already sick of vajay, decides to cleanse his palate by taking Eric on a road trip down to Louisiana. Rather than swinging by Fangtasia and saving Pam (what the heck is happening to her! Concerned parties must know!), they go to see Queen Sophie-Anne and force her into marrying Russell so that he can consolidate power. Unforch for her, they have her backed into a corner—she is quickly losing allegiances and is deeply in debt. Mission accomplished.

Back in Mississippi, Tara learns that Sookie is also imprisoned at the mansion. As awful as she is, she is able to work out a pretty good plan that involves convincing Franklin to give her his blood (making her stronger and faster), bashing his head while he sleeps (ew. Also: Bye, Franklin! We’ll miss you!), and breaking Sookie out of her room. It all goes swimmingly until Sookie muddles their escape by trying to save Bill who is being tortured in a shed:

Unfortunately, she’s caught by Lorena and once again finds her life (the life that Tara just risked her own neck to save) in danger. The good news (or the bad news, maybe? Yes, the bad news) is that, in her hunt for a get-away vehicle, Tara encounters a very naked Alcide who will probably end up saving the day (even though he’s demonstrated himself to be a COMPLETE pussy in the past).

Our boys back in Bon Temps were in for a rough ride this week. Jason discovers that his new love interest is actually engaged to one of the Hotshot meth heads (RUH-ROH!) Lafayette almost goes all the way with Jesus, but then Jesus finds out that Lafayette is a drug dealer and they part ways in a huff (BOO). Sam finally discovers the sinister goings-on of his newly found brother Tommy and creep-o dad Joe Lee. It’s dog fighting. Joe Lee makes Tommy shape shift and fight other dogs. SNORE. There’s a moment where Sam’s mom says that she can’t be in the ring anymore and, for a beautiful second, I thought that they acted as trained circus animals, which would have been so cool. But no. It’s just boring old dog fights, which something that holds no real risk since, push comes to shove, Tommy can shift into a lion or a grizzly bear or what ever the hell he wants and win the fight.

One important thing to recognize is that the men-folk were beat up pretty bad this episode. Bill got tortured, Franklin was bludgeoned, Tommy is sent to the ring, and both Lafayette and Jason had their hearts broken. Maybe it was a little unfair of me to call the show out on mistreating its female characters in a previous recap. Turns out that they mistreat everybody! They’re equal opportunity abusers! HATS OFF TO EQUALITY!

Thursday, July 22, 2010

People in glass stomachs...

I have been told that I'm not a particularly maternal person, which is not at all true. I like babies. Really, I do. They're funny, have soft skulls and tiny fingernails, and often look like aliens. When my friends have babies, I am genuinely excited for them. Sometimes, I'll even put a pillow under my shirt and pretend to be a pregnant WWII widow. "At least he'll grow up knowin' that his daddy died a hero at Guadalcanal," I say shakily, before removing the cushion and returning to a perfect world where I care only about myself.

I guess what I don't like is pandering to babies. No one seems to care if I'm tired or hungry or have to go to the bathroom, so why should I care about the similar needs of a baby? Because they are unable to articulate their needs and lack the necessary mobility to help themselves? I am so sick of being punished for having, like, three times the brain power of the average infant, but that's the world we live in, folks-- mediocrity is rewarded and I'm forced to spend the entire day in a soiled adult diaper. God bless the U.S. of fuckin' A.

Taking all of that (that=my mental disorder) into consideration, you can probably understand my discomfort when I found this on my facebook ad bar today:

Let's look closer:

Monday, July 19, 2010

True Blood 3.5: There's Nothing New Except Someone New

Did you hear it? Last night’s hour of blessed silence? That, my friends, was the sound of a sex-free episode of True Blood. Sure, there was a little finger-banging, but at this point in our True Blood history it seemed almost quaint, like something out of the Victorian era. “Dearest Gwendolyn, would you accompany me for high tea and a stroll around the square? Perhaps later we might partake in a little finger-banging!” “Certainly, Barnaby! But we will need a chaperone!” So charming. So cute. And, in keeping with a theme of courtship, last night’s episode was all about forming relationships.

Take Tara and Franklin for example. Currently held captive at the Mississippi vampire compound, Tara is fighting for her life—not with fists, but by cozying up to Franklin and trying to fool him into believing that she is in love with him. Unfortunately, this does not make him anymore sane, but, rather, it causes him to dress her up like an Antebellum doll and go through erratic mood swings faster than True Blood seasons are paced (do you realize that the events of season one only occurred about 2 months prior to the events of season 3? Yeesh). Lucky for us, it’s wildly entertaining. While Franklin is scary, he is also a great source of comic relief, providing some of the episode’s best quips, like saying that he killed a group of church ladies because they wouldn’t give him a turn on the slots. Poor Tara just trembles, smiles, and nods because there is nothing left for her to do—her pleas for Bill’s help (it’s a small mansion—you run into people there) seem to have gone unheard and her more proactive escape plan of chewing through her restraints are foiled by the werewolf body guards. Still, let’s give her props for demonstrating survival instincts, which, up until this point, I had assumed the citizens of Bon Temps were completely lacking. It may not help. For now it seems that Franklin will make her his vampire bride (unless someone intervenes in the next few episodes, which is definitely what will happen) and we will be stuck with a sad angry Tara for eternity.

Do you know what happens when someone is sad and angry for eternity? They become Bill Compton. Sack-a-Potatoes Bill—so boring that the other vampires call him square. I can just imagine them on the vampire playground, playing vampire tag and other vampire games. Maybe one day a vampire brings a vampire joint, which they’ll all smoke under the jungle gym, but no one will invite Bill because all he does is complain and fiddle with his vampire calculator. What an L7. Anyway… Bill has fallen out of favor with Vampire King Russell since he refuses to confess his reasons for pursuing Sookie. To make matters worse, Eric arrives at the compound with the hopes of delivering Bill to the Vampire Magistrate and freeing his progeny Pam. Talbot, Russell’s own progeny and boyfriend, takes an immediate shine to Eric because… growl. They agree to help him out, but all in good time. First, Talbot needs to take Eric on a house tour, which will probably end with a tour of his or Eric’s butt. Or both. I’m all for equal opportunity butt-exploration. But back to Bill. Bill discovers that despite his actions to protect her, Sookie is still in danger. He escapes the mansion with such ease that it, again, seems ridiculous that he was ever held there to begin with. He finds her at Alcide’s, they embrace, and a guitar goes plung plung plung in the stupid sappy way it always does when Bill and Sookie are together. “You’re in danger,” Bill says. “It’s done for me, but you can still escape if you go now” because everyone knows that the best way to get the person who loves you to escape calmly into the night is to tell her that you’re staying to die. “Okay,” she’ll say. “I’ll stop and get something to eat at a drive-thru on my way out of town. Bye!” Except that’s not what happens. Sookie cries and clutches, the bad guys come, Bill and Alcide fail to protect her (Alcide can’t land a single punch so you might say that his bark is bigger than his bite. WOLF HUMOR), but Sookie does discover an inexplicable power that protects her against supernatural creatures (she used it against Mary Ann in season 2, if you’re in to paying attention). From the looks of next week’s preview, she still ends up at Russell’s mansion, but it was cool to see her do something besides cry about Bill and get near-raped. Keep up the fighting, Sook!

Back in Louisiana, a lot of people are starting new jobs. Jason is on his way to becoming a Bon Temps police officer, but for now is regulated to pencil pushing. Poor Jason. It’s hard to work for the things you want, even when you are actually doing less work than anyone else would for the same thing. It’s not all doom and gloom, though. It looks as though he might have found a new lady. Sure, her name is Crystal and she lives in a meth lab, but she’s pretty, tortured, and interested in him. Good for Jason. Moving on. Tommy, Sam’s younger brother, has started bussing tables at Merlotte’s. Sure, he seems pretty normal when he’s smoking a cigarillo with Lafayette or flirting with Jessica at the host stand, but there is definitely some darkness lurking beneath his surface and it seems to be connected to Joe Lee, his and Sam’s redneck father (who, by the way, is GUH-ROSS). When Sam asks Tommy what the fuckin’ deal is, Tommy fails to answer, but it becomes clear that Joe Lee is using his son in some weird, vague, and inappropriate way (ABUSE! It’s not just for girls anymore!). I’ve never been terribly interested in Sam, but I’ve got to say that this is one of the more intriguing and disturbing storylines of the season.

Lastly, LAFAYETTE GOT HIMSELF A BOYFRIEND! Or at least he’s a step closer! Regardless, Nurse Jesus is coming ‘round the bar and making him all nervous and mumbly. They played pool and Jesus kept telling him how handsome he was. Good for you, Lafayette! I sincerely hope that Jesus is not evil and he ends up moving your black-velvet-painting of a house, marrying you, and producing several mini Lafayettes!

Friday, July 16, 2010

Louie C.K.'s Post-Vasectomy Interview

This past week, Joy Behar interviewed Louie C.K. 3-hours after he underwent a vasectomy. The result is hilarious.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

I Write Like...

There's a new website called I Write Like, where you can have your own text analyzed and matched with an iconic writer based on "word choice and writing style." I tried it using my most recent True Blood recap and was matched with James Joyce, which makes sense as A.) the recap makes the most sense when you read it backwards and B.) I was blackout drunk when I wrote it.

I'm a woman of letters

I discovered Letterheady late last night, thanks to a link shared by my friend Casey. The website is "an online homage to offline correspondence," displaying interesting letterhead from a wide range of sources. For what is a seemingly boring topic, the site is endlessly entertaining to browse through.

Some are from movie stars:





Body builders:



And some, simply put, are plain wild:

I've always loved receiving letters, but I've never been one to send them (I'm a natural taker). Maybe that would change if I had my own sweet-ass personalized stationary. There's something about having your own official letterhead that says, "I've made it," which, coincidentally, is the only thing I'd write you to say.

(All images are courtesy of Letterheady)

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Not to start rumors, but Paul Rudd is probably my boyfriend

One of my boyfriends is on the cover of this month's GQ.

A completely non-fabricated excerpt from the interview*:
Paul Rudd: Madeleine Davies is the real reason I do this work.
GQ: Aren't you married with children?
PR: Don't put your society's hang ups on me, man. We're super European. I summer with Madeleine at the French Riviera, then spend the rest of the year with my family. Everyone is okay with it.
GQ: You're too short for Madeleine Davies.
PR: (Staring sadly into his cappuccino) It's the Achilles heel of our relationship.


It's Kind of a Funny Story

I'm not a big fan of United States of Tara. I mean, I'm a fan to the extent that I've devoted countless hours to watching the series thus far, but it's always been more out of not having anything else to do than really wanting to watch it, y' dig? I guess my ambivalence has something to do with not being all that impressed by Toni Collette's alter egos (they're all pretty 1-D) or my extreme dislike for John Corbett. Regardless of my feelings on the show at large, I really love the character Marshall. He is subtle, interesting, and a great representative of teen gay culture in that he has never been completely defined by his sexuality (which, when explored, is done on his own terms). Since Marshall=the best, it's great to see the kid who plays him (Keir Gilchrist) getting film work, especially when said film work involves Zach Galifianakis.

It's Kind of a Funny Story trailer, y'all:

Monday, July 12, 2010

True Blood 3.4: A Woman is Only a Woman, But a Good Cigar is a Smoke

Not a lot happened plot wise in last night’s episode, but there was a lot of action in the sense that women, once again, got the shit kicked out of them. At first, this sat poorly with me—what is Alan Ball’s point with all of this? But then I went to bed, woke up this morning, finally recovered from yesterday’s 7-hour sinus headache, and read the news about Switzerland’s decision NOT to extradite Roman Polanski to the U.S. Maybe True Blood is actually some big metaphor for how the world works (it's not, but let's run with it). Men get to fly, watch pretty ladies dance, smoke cigars, and live free even if they are well-known child rapists. Women get punched in the face, tied to toilets, and poked with hot sticks. This is the world that we and the characters of Bon Temps are dealing with, so, brave sisters, let us explore.

We begin, as we have many times before, with poor little Sookie Stackhouse. Currently, she’s holed up with Supah Fine Werewolf Alcide Herveaux at his shit hole apartment in Jackson. Having defended Sookie when she was near-raped in the last episode, Alcide is wounded, but not in the have-your-neck-twisted-completely-the-wrong-way way. Oh, no. Alcide just has a little scratchy on his backy-wacky and it’s making him hurt. “DON’ CHU WORRY,” Sookie hollers. “MA AND PA LEARNED ME SOME HEALIN’ SKILLS,” and she goes to work smearing mud all over his wounds because that’s exactly what ma and pa learned her to do. While it doesn’t do a whole lot for his owie, it does do a whole lot for his wiener ‘cause suddenly Alcide’s all like “hey” with his eyes and Sookie’s like “hey” back. But then Bill calls and tells Sookie that he and Lorena just banged “like only two vampires could.” It’s kind of like how drugging and forcefully sodomizing a thirteen-year-old is the only way that Roman Polanski could, except that Roman Polanski is the worst person alive and this comparison was really just a way for me to point out that Roman Polanski rapes children and doesn't get held responsible for it. Anyway, Sookie is sad because Bill tells her that they are donezo—he is no longer under house arrest in the ski chalet of their love—and she cries and cries. Alcide nestles her into his overworked torso and she is momentarily distracted from her heartbreak by the heat that’s radiating off of his body. “Sorry,” he says. “We weres run hot,” because True Blood is a master of subtlety. After spending the night, Sookie decides that she still wants to find Bill so that he can break up with her face to face. To find him, she’ll have to return to Lou Pine’s for some more recon and for that she’ll need a disguise. Luckily, Alcide’s sister (who looks like Christina Aguilera circa “Dirrty”) happens to run a beauty and disguise parlor, so that all gets worked out rather quickly. Escorted by a reluctant Alcide, Sookie goes back to the Were bar, bewigged and leather-clad. She does a great job of blending in because she keeps yelling “fuck yeah” and drinking lots of shots. It’s a busy night at Lou Pine’s—Operation Werewolf is inducting a new member (Alcide’s ex Debbie) and who should show up to preside but Russell, mastermind behind Bill’s kidnapping and king of the Magnolia state. QUELLE SURPRISE! What a revela—zzzzzzzzz. Yes, Russell is the head of this Operation Were-nonsense, which I’m pretty sure we were all aware of. So much of this show seems to be about other characters discovering things that the audience already knew. Do the writers feel like their characters are empathetic enough that we’ll re-experience the surprise each time? If there is one thing that my Shakespeare professor taught me it's that dramatic irony only goes so far. But back to the plot. Debbie gets branded with the Operation Werewolf logo and all she gets to wear is an American Apparel bikini top and thong underwear even though the brand is on her neck. DUMB. Everyone starts to change into werewolves and Sookie is once again in danger. SNORE.

Causing some danger of his own is Bill Compton. After his neck-breaking sex with Lorena, he tells her that he hates her then punches her in the face. I suppose the saving grace to all of this is that, as his maker, Lorena is actually much stronger and could overpower him if she ever wanted to. Too bad that she’s a total nut job and really digs the violence that Bill has inflicted on her. Lucky for her, there is more to come—Bill, in making a deal with Russell, says that he wants her dead. Russell smiles, quotes Rudyard Kipling, and puffs away on a cigar. You see, he needs Bill to start demonstrating his loyalty before he does him any favors. To begin, Bill divulges that the Louisiana Vampire Queen is having Eric sell vampire blood to help pay off her debt. It’s a useful and powerful piece of information that, if passed along to the Vampire Magistrate, could allow Russell to legally usurp the Louisiana territory and solve the Gulf Coast oil crisis. Or not. Probably not. Bill’s work isn’t done for the night—he still needs procure dinner at the local strip club, which results in a super sad scene (4realz) in which a sad stripper sadly dances for him, tells him how sad she is, then is sadly murdered by three vampires (one of whom, Bill, is also really sad) in the back of a limo. Goodbye, stripper. We hardly knew ye.

Back at Sookie’s house, Franklin Mott is holding Tara captive. Now this, ladies and gentlemen, is what an evil vampire looks like. By day, he keeps her tied to the toilet (which my entire household agreed was a fairly considerate move for a kidnapper) with her cell phone just out of reach and, by night, he bites her and forces her into giving away secrets about Bill and Sookie. Equally freaky: his ears are about 4-inches long and I find it incredibly distracting. I know that I don’t like Tara very much, but I’m sick of how this show consistently uses her as a punching bag. My reasons for this are fairly selfish—her hardships only serve to make her more sad and angry and Sad-and-Angry Tara is already unbearable. She was abused her whole childhood and, now that she’s an adult, the abuse keeps coming. As of the end of last night’s episode, she had been forced in a car and driven to Mississippi where the threat of death (and encountering other characters) is even higher. I’m bored of her being a victim and I don’t see how the writer’s can feel differently. Let’s move on.

Someone (probably Russell) has tipped off the magistrate that V is being dealt out of Fangtasia. Eric is away when the raid occurs, helping out Lafayette in what was probably my favorite moment of the episode. Unlike Tara, Lafayette is moving on from the horrors of his past and is, once again, sharp and hilarious. Maybe we could have an entire episode in which he and Eric drive around in a sports car and argue over their prettiness—if things get slow, they can always cut to scene in which one of the female characters is being drawn and quartered, which, for the most part, is what they did last night. With Eric missing, Pam is bearing the brunt of the magistrate’s wrath. By the time Eric gets back, she has been tied up and repeatedly burned with silver. To the show’s credit, the scene did display that the love and loyalty between Eric and Pam goes two ways. To save her, Eric lies and blames Bill Compton for the blood dealing. The magistrate gives him two days to produce Bill or Pam will be staked. If, on the off chance that they do kill Pam, I might never watch this show again.

Did anything else happen this week? Sam gives his criminal brother a job at Merlotte's, Andy is promoted to sheriff, Jason begins to blackmail his way into being hired at the police department, and Roman Polanski is given a free hot tub and rohypnol prescription. The end.