The highly anticipated premier of True Blood's second season had me, like other good True Blood friends, virtually squeeing and heheing all over the place. Luckily, the cable didn't go on the fritz and the show started on time or else my chair would have gotten rather messy, what with me squeeing and heheing all over the place. And what a screaming start it was. Literally. I'm not real sure which of our two Bon Temps gals can scream the loudest, Sookie or Tara, but one thing I am sure of. Tara wins the twisted, let's-hope-it-don't-come-a-freeze face contest, hands down. She really knows how to throw her face into something.....else.... while laying down a blood curdler. I am speaking, of course, of Miz Voodoo Chile and her slight return. Or the heartless one. Yeah, I know. I'm not being very reverent of the dead. But damn, Miss Jeanette, you did Tara wrong by taking her money not once, but two times. That'll learn ya about them ill gotten gains.
Meanwhile, Sam uses this dead-body-in-my-parking-lot as another golden opportunity to hang out next to Sookie, looking all Sad Sack and pitiful, while trying his best to let Sookie know, yet again, just how much he's so not over her. And would someone PLEASE tie Andy Bellafluer to the bumper of a car? While it's moving? Please? About five minutes of watching a clearly distraught Tara being verbally abused by this lout while taking her turn sitting in the Jason Stackhouse hot seat down at the local hoosegow is about all I can take.
OMG! It's Lafayette! He's alive! Well, sorta. And he's in some sort of vampire version of Dante's Inferno, all chained up while some white folk take turns shitting in a big bucket, sorta like what drywall mud comes in. This made me put the hairy eyeball on my new white toilet with a whole new level of fan sized appreciation. Ya'll, some things is jes' wrong, and I do believe this is one of them. No....not the chained up white folk, but having to shit in a drywall bucket. And I did not see any Charmin for them to use. This is just soooo nasty and violates several major health codes for a public establishment. But somehow I don't think the lucky folks staying in Eric's Scenic Hideaway are going to complain very much. And poor Lafayette has been reduced to holding out his tongue, all pitiful like, desperately hoping for a drop of water from some nasty looking rusted overhead iron beam. Which turns out to taste as vile as I figured it would. I'll bet some of Eddie's Merlot would really hit the spot right about now, hey Mr. Entrepreneur? But Eric's not quite through, for he's got more good shit to lay down. For low and behold, what have we here! Why, it's Mr. Garlic Press himself! Being dragged down the stairs by some big bald headed goon wearing a dark suit, while making all kinds of noise and in general being a loud pain in the ass. And just when Layfayette thought his day (or night) just couldn't get any worse, well guess what? It's worse. But look on the bright side, Layfayette. You two can hold hands and take a trip down memory lane. At least until Eric comes off the spool and rips off an arm from Mr. Aids Burger.
Soon we are at the home of Bill and Sookie Plus One. Just in time to see PYT (pretty young thing) wrapped in a very thick, nice towel (the kind you would snag from the Waldorf Astoria) as she hangs over the balcony and announces to a" I'm in some deep shit now" looking Bill and a bumfuckled looking Sookie that she just "loves your showah". Sookie, remember back a few weeks ago, when you threw down on Bill and recinded his invite? He tried to tell you. But you just wouldn't have none of it. Maybe next time you will listen. But probably not. But it's just the way life is. When some bad shit happens and you think maybe you should tell that significant other, but you just never do get around to it ,then finally figure why rock the boat, that sometimes those things can come back to bite you in the ass. Bill, consider your ass bitten.
Of course, there's some boring ass shit going on with Jason and the FOTS. I can tell this storyline is going to annoy the pigpiss outta me. I'm already tired of Steve Newlin, his Stepford wife and his crap in general. Maybe because I run into him and his ilk on a daily basis. I actually felt pity as our Jethro Bodine looking Jason in his plaid buttoned to the neck shirt, tries desperately to look like he really knows 1.) what the fuck they are talking about. 2.) why the fuck they are talking about it in the first place 3.) what any of this has to do with the price of eggs. 4.) how soon he can find a hot chick to nail in the storage room of the chapel.
What's up with Carl? For some reason he makes me think of Goldfinger's OddJob. And I'll bet he throws a mean-ass bowler hat. Maybe, after that awesome smack down by Maryanne, the bowler will be thrown at her head. And Sam - all I can say is AWE! Just AWE! What a cute, adorable little beagle pup you were. And did no one ever tell you not to pick up other people's valuable shit? Take that strange looking statue at Maryanne's crib. I don't know exactly what it was, but one thing I know for sure. It's expensive. Very expensive. Haven't you ever seen that sign that use to hang in our local dime store? "It's pretty to look at, it's nice to hold. But if you break it, we mark it SOLD." Words to live by Sam. See, I am extremely qualified to chide you on this one. Cause I broke more than my share of trinkety shit at the local five and ten.
*Sniff, sniff*. I swear, just when I wanna slap some sense into Sookie, there she goes and makes me cry. When she went into Gran's room, I swear I was nuttin' but a mass of snot and tears. That is until she picked up that cardboard box and cut her finger. All I could think of was Arlene saying "Bet Vampire Bill would get a rise outta that". Then to top it off, outta the blue here comes an older version of Pee Wee Herman to see Sookie about Uncle Bartlett, the local pedophile, and his guilt money. When that strange looking little dude with the bowtie started talking, I stopped crying. Cause he really freaked me out. Oh well. Sookie doesn't want the child molesting uncle's money, so she does the next best thing with it. She gives it to Jason so he can attend the vampire killin' camp.
Oh yes, we're back at poolside. Great weather, great tropical fruit, even better weed, and a seasoned bullshitter in a lovely, black Grecian dress. What could be better? Maryanne is feeding Tara and Eggs so much shit that frankly I'm surprised they have any room at all for those kumquats. And the most important part? NOBODY NEEDED TOWELS. See Carl, you royally screwed up Maryanne's plans to have Eggs and Tara fuckin' poolside in five minutes or less.
Soon we are back at Merlottes as the waitress who's down to her last straw - or rather last nail - Arlene , convinces Sam to hire this new girl, Daphne. Who's mama is half Cajun. Which means either she can make some mean ass crawfish pie or can play the accordian like a muthafucker. Or maybe she's.....something else? Oh yes. Sam definately needs another crazy, strange, ain't-what-she-seems female in his life. Wonder if she vibrates ?
Meanwhile, back in Eric's Love Shack, our poor Layfayette is playing Dr. Phil to one Royce Alan Williams as he reminesces about having his wee little knob blown while at Camp Safety Patrol. You too, huh? Some things don't change, I reckon. It was a camp tradition around here. Royce, if getting blown by another boy was the worst thing you could think of to confess to Layfayette, then guess what? You're about to have something even more mind-blowing (or dick blowing) to put in your yesterday's diary. Cause guess what! Here come the big bad sheriff of area five! And he's a coming' for you! He's gonna be all over you like stink on shit. Or the shit bucket. Whichever. No? You say you've got something up your sleeve to take care of his nibs? And there's gonna be Big Trouble? You've got a silver cross? Why, you little rascal you. Yeah, that'll teach those cocky vampires to mess with the best. Oops! Guess it didn't work. KIDNEY anyone? Can I give YOU A HAND with that? How about a LEG up? Or maybe an ARM to go around your shoulder.
Just when we thought things couldn't get much funner, we are back at Daddy Compton's as he and the apple of his eye are having their own vampire version of a wine tasting party. And here, blowing through the door like another Louisiana hurricane, is our own purple-eyed Bitchinator. And she's pissed. Again. After kissing ass and smoozing Jessica into retiring for a spell into that hole in the floor, Sookie once again turns her wrathful purple eye upon our Nervous Nellie Bill. I just loved the way he was was acting all jovial , trying like a randy little shitmonkey to be all carefree and casual, hoping against hope that he wasn't knee keep in the do-do again. He shoulda known. Once again, Sookie's all up in Bill's shit about knocking off her perverted Uncle Bartlett. *yawn*. Get over it Sookie. Bill is a VAMPIRE. He's gonna have the occasional slip and send a human or three to deadsville. Don't take it so personal. After all, if Uncle Bartlett hadn't croaked, how would Jason have gotten the money to attent vampire killer camp? See, everything happens for a reason and no good deed ever goes unpunished. How many times must I tell you this? Anyhoo, back to Sookie's massive throw down on Bill. Except......Bill gets all sad and weepy. I just wanted to take him in my arms and take his beautiful head and maybe push it down onto my lap.........oops, getting a little off topic here.......but damn Sookie! He might not have said he was sorry, but he is. Get over it already. And anyhow Sookie, maybe you haven't noticed this one little thing about yourself. Whenever someone dies, for some reason it makes you hornier than a West Pac sailor on shore leave. See a dead body? Oh please Bill, please nail me. Gran dies? Oh please Bill, do it, I want you to. Uncle Bartlett is dead? Well hell, how fast can we get to your bedroom Bill? Sookie, I don't think you need to go work for Mike the coroner. You'll fuck yourself to death before Christmas. 'Jes sayin'.