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Tuesday, June 29, 2010


Cooter?  Seriously?  For those of you fortunate people who aren't personally acquainted with me, then I reckon you don't understand why this just had me more tickled than a fat man trying to pick toe jam.  See, in my neck of the woods, we refer to the Big Kahuna, the Big Ram-her Jam-her, the Monster Truck Pit, the Slip That Berthed  A Thousand Ships, as a cooter.  Now I realize that a cooter is also some sort of turtle looking critter,  but not at my house.  Cooter stew, cooter soup and cooter pie might be served here on a regular basis, but not on a plate.  Now that we've got that little bit of vital information out of the way and you've managed to slap yourself awake, shall we continue?

Well good Lord!  Take it personally, will ya Bill?  Looks like our boy just didn't take well to being jacked on by a bunch of werewolves.  And he's not fuckin' around about letting them know just who the boss is as he tears it up by ripping off furry ears and other random body parts.  That man is AWESOME when he gets pissed!  Really reminded me of Eric last season, tearing up the ass  (and not in a good way if you know what I mean and I think that you do) of Royce Alan Williams down in the danky stanky basement of Fangtasia.  You just don't need to fuck with a vampire, and that's just all there is to it.  Just as Bill is staring down the biggest, badest wolf of the whole pussweasely bunch, up on a lovely white steed comes riding the King of Mississippi.  Who immediately orders the snarling wolf to "heel".  Which he does with a pitiful yelp as Bill, totally recognizing royalty when he sees it, cowtows to the King.  Which seems utterly riduclous to us regular-ass humans.  Except I've been watching The Tudors and it seems perfectly normal to me.  I AM THE KING OF MISSISSIPPI!!   Anyhow, it appears that this pathetically stupid pack of weres were sent by King Russell Edgington on a special mission to abduct Bill Compton, but certainly not to take his blood.  Which is pretty much what Bill wasted no time in informing the king of.  "And...and....and they abducted me....and....and.....they took silver to me....and....and..... they drank from my blood..."  He sounded just like my kids did when I came home from work, just couldn't wait to tattle about some kind of transgression.   Bill, are you  a tattletale?   I'm just wondering if he's ever going to hang his britches on a nail.  Please?  Pretty please, with a dead wolf on top?  Anyhow, this news of the wolfmen taking Bill's blood just pisses off the King and his face sorta morphs into Bad News For Somebody.  So, he does what any king worth his salt would do.  He shoots someone.  He shoots that mentally challenged dipshit who not only lost an ear when Bill was ripping and roaring, but he was also  riding on the top of Bill's car when it went careening down the embankment. Which further proves that he's an idiot.  Another one bites the dust.  Anyhow, to prove how sorry he is and what a top-notch hostess he is, the King holds out an arm for Bill to hop aboard his hoss.  Bill momentarily tries to decline, but that "get 'yo tight little narrow ass up here on this hoss" look from the King pretty much squelched that shit.  So off they ride into the midnight.  And might I add here that I just love that hokey harpsichord music that plays whenever the king shows up?  Like Vincent Price might be lurking behind a bush or something.

Now here's Tara, who's locked herself into Layfayette's bathroom, scarfing down handfulls of pills, all kinds of pills.  Honestly, she looked just like me when I finally go nuts when I'm dieting and can't stand it any longer.  A large bag of M & M's and there ya go.  It's me.  Yes, I admit it.  I have the willpower of a gnat condom.  Anyhow, Layfayette comes bustin' through the door and grabs Tara up, while Lettie Mae is still babbling some crazy-ass shit about Jesus as she realizes that she's completely screwed the pooch as far as looking after her daughter.    Honestly, between you and me, I think God just needs to put those awesome smackdown smoting skills that He's been honing for, oh say, since the beginning of time, to good use and send her flying into oblivion.  Nothing beats a good smoting.  At least not where Lettie Mae Thornton is concerned.  You do know the world will thank you for it.

And of course here we have Sookie running over to Fangtasia, looking for Eric to help her solve the riddle of what the mysterious werewolf mark is.  Riddle me this Eric.  What is it with her?  She runs around pretending to hate your dead guts, yet she can't seem to stay away?  But Eric doesn't mind that she's there, as he just sits there watching her and listening to her talk.  He just doesn't seem to have a lot to say when she's around.  I think it's because he can't speak.  My school of thought is that the massive Johnson's he's hiding under the table has drained all the blood from his head and he can't move his lips or else he's completely hypnotized by The Eyebrows That Ate Bon Temps.  What the fuck is up with those eyebrows?  I can't seem to take my eyes off them.  Did her make-up person have a huge chub for Joan Crawford?   But not to worry about a thing, cause Sookie has some sort of drawing of the Nazi Werewolf Tattoo emblem and she shows it to him.  He snarks out an order for Pam to take Jessica someplace, anyplace besides there, as he begins to try and find his voice.  She accuses him of blowing her off, but really Sookie, him blowing you off isn't the kind of blowing that he has in mind. I'm 'jes sayin'.   But anyhow, she leaves without many answers.   Once again he goes into another Godric flashback, this time from WWII.   Seems he and The Vapored One (Godric, Eric wishes he knew how to quit yew) pretended to be SS shitheels in order to find out who's fueling the werewolves with vamp blood, but unfortunately Godric has to snap the neck of whatever that thing was before they can learn anything.  I'm beginning to think that those two Crime Fighters haven't figured out that the object is to keep the suspect ALIVE if you want to find out shit.  While all this coyness, combined with secret trouser tenting is going on between Eric and Sookie, Pam and Jessica are spending some quality times together in the ladies room (I wonder what's on the door ?  I know at Merlottes they have Bucks and Does on the restroom doors, but what would it be at Fangtasia?  Vlads and Vladettes?  Femorals and Himorals?)  as Jessica tries to pick Pam's brain about what she should do about her dead fucker/trucker without Pam figuring out what's happened.   Well Jessica, I don't know what Pam told you when I wasn't in earshot, but I'm pretty sure she didn't tell you to cuddle up in your little hidey-hole with that stinking, rotting son of a bitch.  Yuck!  Bleech!

Anyhow, back to Bill.  As Bill is introduced to Talbot,  King Russell's partner in wanker love for the past, oh,  7 or 8 hundred years or so (now that's a commitment!), Bill begins to realize just how screwed he is.  Actually, he could probably shit out about a dozen or so Phillips heads.   Especially when he is escorted upstairs to his "room" which features  the highly prized bed of some Countess who had a thing for killing virgins and romping around in their blood.  Hmmm, that bitch must be an ancestor of Lorena's.  Anyhow, as the door firmly closes on solid silver doors, our boy Bill gets a look on his face that says it all.  It's "Fuck. Me."  Ok, if you insist............

I just have to say one thing:  ALFRE FUCKIN' WOODARD!"    Did she nail it, or what?  Layfayette, in an attempt to make Tara snatch her head from her self-pitying ass, decides to drive her to the Meadowglade Nuthouse so she can see just what real crazy is.  Just in case she decides to just give up and give in to the darkness that seems to be such a part of them.  And I gotta say that I was just as surprised as Tara.  I mean, I sure thought Layfayette's mama had gone on to the land of cloudless day some time ago.   But it seems that she's still alive, imprisoned deep in the living nightmare that is schiznophrenia.  But that doesn't matter, cause every sentence from her mouth was a holler-out-loud, fall from my chair funny.  I don't even want to know if there was a hole in her pocket either.  But if the way she kept digging around in there was any indication,  I do believe she found a little something down there that made the days pass a little faster.   I know it works for me.

If the sounds of Arlene hurling shrimp and taters into the shitcan at Merlottes is any indication, then it does appear like Bon Temps couple of the year will be getting a visit from a little ankle biter before long. God, I sure hope it doesn't have those fuckin' eyes that Jason is so fond of.   It does appear that Arlene doesn't seem to be real tickled about it either.  Terry?  He ain't got a fuckin' clue.  But he's never killed anyone by accident, so what else could a gal want in a father for her child?  And besides, anybody who keeps a handgun in an institutional sized empty can of green beans is alright by me.  That's a man you can count on.  Just look at how man times he's saved Sookie's bacon.

I dunno.....there's something about that family of Sam's that just makes me want to go take an ass-scalding bath whenever that daddy of his, Joe Lee, shows up wearing those  grimy, dingy "briefs".  I swear, the sight of his one-eyed jack straining against the front of that nasty-ass fly (I don't even want to get a visual about what the skid marks must look like) just about puts me off men.  *shudder*  Talk about low quality pokes!  If I were Sam's mama, I would pray to God that I get blessed with a limp-dicked muthafucker every single night of my life.

As Sookie makes her way home from Merlottes, she is startled to see Bachelor No. 2 waiting for her in the shadows of her front porch. I swear, I'm a Sookie/Bill shipper, but if the chemistry between those two gets any hotter, then they are both going to need some asbestos liners in their drawers.  Damn.  Eric, it might be about time for you to stop the gazin' and get to the grazin, if you know what I mean and I think that you do.  And I don't think you'll be needing to twist any arms.  I'm 'jes sayin'.    Where's Bill?  Bill?  Bill who?

But right now Bill is busy enjoying his lovely dinner, tux and all, with the King and Talbot.  He's been served some sort of tangerine flavored blood soup (I don't know about you, but my mouth is watering just thinking about it)  followed by a main course of bullshit as the King begins to unveil his agenda.    He wants to make Bill the sheriff of area 2 in Mississippi!  On goodie, goodie!  In return, there are secrets about  Queen Sophie that King Russell is just positive that Bill can reveal.  Which he can't, of course.  I wonder if the King would be hopping up on his nut about marrying up with her if he knew that she owed the biggest, baddest blood sucker of them all, the fuckin' IRS, a whalenut of money?  It does seem that Sophie, in addition to being a silly, annoying little twit,  has become broker than a fiddler's bitch. As Bill sits there, trying his damnest not to give the king his vilest, most no-nonsense ole stinkeye - don't even mention trying even harder to keep his fangs where they belong - in comes Lorena.  Bill is, shall we say, not especially proud to see her.  Actually, he would be happier to see a raging case of bleeding hemorrhoids hanging from his ass.  He completely loses it as that smug bitch purrs that she's just in time for desert.  Well, I don't think so.  Not unless dessert is Flaming Alaska as Bill flies into a rage and throws an oil lamp on her and watches as her sorry ass burst into flames.  Can I get a high-five Bill?

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