Tonight I realized that we’re not even halfway through season three of “American Horror Story.” The thought filled me with a sense of dread – not because I hate to see the season end, but because no matter what these reviews would have you believe I am generally a very pleasant person that can only muster so much snark. I have a finite amount of snark that can be compiled into coherent sentences. So let’s try something different tonight.
Let the liveblogging… BEGIIIIINNNNNNNNNNN…
We’re on, and Frankenkyle is grunting and crying again. Reminds me of myself after too much tequila (true story). Oh hey, let’s start a drinking game. Look! Zoe aims to kill him! Drink. Where the shit did she get a gun?
Madison is all Plathed out, waxing philosophical about the narcissism of her generation. Is this supposed to be a me- OH ARE YOU SHITTING ME Zoe you are a terrible witch. You let him get the gun? Chrissake why don’t you just have sex with him. Is that a gaping plot hole or is it just me? Well, I suppose the PTSD might get in the way of him allowing that, so nevermind. And also dead people are probably immune to death vaginas.
This Queenie/Marie business leads me to believe that there might have actually been some forethought this season. It’s always been leading to her at the very least investigating the other side.
Derwood’s got a gun… Derwood’s got a gun… voodoo ain’t no fun… no blood sacrifice son…. Dum dum dum Derwood what have you done, dum dum dum it’s the sound of my mini arsenal of assault weapons that I’ma use on a coven…
Sarah Paulson is really good at quivery breaths.
Ummmmmm, huh. When did Danny Huston get sexy? There’s a man that gives good eyebrow. Also, who does he sound like? It’s driving me mildly batshit. And Jessica Lange’s legs make me want to punch myself in the face. I’m 4’11”. Her legs probably come up to my chin. Wait a goddamn minute, how did the sax man that’s been dead for nigh on 90 years get an apartment? Oh my god I hate this show. Ooh – sinister music as we’re reminded that Fiona has cancer! Drink. And he apparently killed a…. Human fly? What the hell was that?
Is there a better word than “obvious” to mean the opposite of “subtle?” Because that’s what this sax score is.
Madison and Frankenkyle have matching neck scars. Fun. Also from henceforth Madison shall be known as Bell Jar.
YAY Angela Bassett time! Is that kind of strut something you have to be born with, or can you learn it? If it’s reliant on genetics I am up shit creek with a turd for a paddle. Do you think that the average viewer is appreciating the very important race issues going on? I have to admit the show is doing something very right, and we should take note of Queenie’s struggles and conflicts. It’s a rare instance of something in this ludicrous show being relevant.
Hand held camera when Cordelia is the star of the scene! Drink. How much you wanna bet Zoe finds Frankenkyle and Bell Jar – oh, yeah, I was right. Just didn’t type fast enough. Wait, did I see his balls again?
WHOAH shit just got real creepy with Fee and the Sax Man. Whidjih… hamanah, you guys? I just saw boob. On TV. I was about to holler “SIDE BOOB” and then it went full nipple. That, my friends, is a chug.
Funny, I never would have figured Not Finch as a Gryffindor. Zoe what the shit!! Awww, no more Not Filch! The season is ruined. THE SEASON IS RUINED. I’m getting some pie.
I’m still not buying Delphine’s reform. At all.
Cancer music! Drink. Huh. Murphy apparently couldn’t afford a head shavin’.
I shall now spend the rest of the evening thinking of a pun for a witch threesome.
I know there is no new episode next week, so this might be the AHS version of a mid season finale. The cliffhanger leaves us wondering if Madame LaLaurie is dead or just being menaced while hogtied in an open upright torture coffin. But the previews will probably spoil all that, and I remind you I’m still looking for a better antonym for “subtle.” Maybe I’ll just go with “murphy.” Also I just realized that the witch threesome was nine kinds of necrophilia (OK, two kinds) so now that has to go into the pun. And yes, of course, the preview ruined it. Delphine is alive and being menaced while hogtied in an open upright torture coffin.
I realize the liveblogging might give the impression that the show was disjointed and not a lot happened, which is true. Fiona banged a ghost, Zoe banged two dead people and killed Not Finch, and Queenie sold out an immortal racist to a voodoo queen. The end. While last week’s episode crammed far too much into its 43 minutes, tonight’s seemed completely pointless. The only plot that felt pushed along was that of Delphine; guilt or not, she is going to pay for all the horror she created in her day. Cordelia has set a plan in to motion to terminate the reign of her mother the Supreme, but that was almost incidental. I considered complaining about not knowing the direction of the season after seven episodes – really all we know is that Fiona is probably the bad guy – but really with AHS it’s way more fun to shut the hell up and enjoy the ride, like that roller coaster at King’s Island that’s all dark. The twists are out of nowhere and it’s just all ups, downs, and belly laughs.
All right, I have to get up in like five hours, so I’m leaving the punnery to you for now.