Alan Ball is the new Stephenie Meyer

15 Aug

Last night on True Blood, Sookie and Eric entered the shower, turned into Bella Swan and Edward Cullen, and entered the wintery wonderland of the Ice Queen’s Narnia, leaving me to ask “Where the fuck is Alsan?” I need him to break up this Twilightesque shitfest and restore Eric to some semblance of the viking warrior I know and love from Seasons 1-3 of this series and from Charlaine Harris’s novels and to shake Sookie out of her pedophilia.  Of course Alan Ball, inhabited by the spirit of Stephenie Meyer, wrote last night’s episode. Of course he did.  No one else knows how to take a concept that is steaming hot and dripping with sensuality and passion and turn it into cold, weepy, sacrin and juvenile escapism like Alan Ball/Stephenie Meyer. Sookie’s facial expression when she realized it was snowing was akin to Bella’s realization that Edward sparkled like diamonds in the sun. As she reached for Eric’s lovely ass, I reached for my sick bag.

It did not have to be so. Better, nay, more mature dialog could have saved that entire sequence and elevated it to true romance. Instead I was subjected to another installment of Sookie’s Adventures in Babysitting and Statutory Rape of a 6- foot 5-inch 12 year-old. Poor Little Ehwic just wants to stay foweva and foweva on the furry snow bed with his Sookie-bear. My shipping of Sookie and Eric shrunk like Eric’s … thingie … in the cold. Never thought I’d find a naked Alexander Skarsgard so unappealing.

So, I’m throwing down the gauntlet. I’m giving True Blood one last episode to make me give two shits about Eric and Sookie, or the rest of the cast for that matter. I still love you, Pam! I still love you, Jessica. Lafayette, get a haircut. The rest of y’all, besides (naked) Alcide, can kiss my ass! Oh, and Bill, fall on a stake already, your Highness.

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