This past Sunday marked the 4th season return of True Blood (hallelujah!), one of HBO’s most popular shows, and like everything that tons of people love, it gets a lot of hate. And like everything that I love, I gotta defend it to everyone, as I’m surrounded by haters. I’ve deduced that most people are divided into two groups: The obsessed freaks who eat up the books (Charlaine Harris’ Southern Vampire Mysteries series) and want to bang the shit out of Eric Northman (err, I mean, Alexander Skarsgard), and those who hate hate HATE the show with cobra venom.
I fall somewhere in between – I read a couple of the books, and found I liked the show more. I prefer Bill to Eric. But I also love love LOVE the show with a fiery passion. It’s got everything. Camp? Check. Cheese? Check. Goofy-looking special effects? Check. Sub-par vampire makeup? Check. But do I give a shit about vampires?? Not really. Do I like to ogle the ridiculous male eye candy? Check-erooni. Is every episode packed with endless storylines, action, assloads of characters, blood, gore, nudity, crazy-hot and just plain CrAzY sex? CHECKKKKKKK.
I don’t watch True Blood to be inspired into pondering life, love, family, our place in this world, blah blah deep shit. I watch True Blood to hang off the edge of my couch in anticipation, horniness, laughter, or squirmingoutofmyskin-ness. It’s ENTERTAINING. It’s full of super, super, SUPER, SUPER-studly, unbelievably hot men (there’s somebody to suit anyone’s taste, it’s truly amazing). It’s what Twilight would be, if stuff actually happened and it was pornographic. It’s trash, but it’s high-quality refuse. True Blood is a sparkly, shiny, ferocious, shameless, promiscuous way to spend the day of the lord. And I’m not going to apologize for loving the hell out of it.