In this week’s Season 3 premiere of True Blood, we learn that serial killers need love too, Pam’s NOT a hooker, haircuts are for badasses, the water’s hard in Arkansas, and yes, vampires CAN grow beards…
Sink your teeth into some spoilery commentary after the jump…
I’d like to kick this off by taking a moment to thank Sookieverse Blog for giving me her vote of confidence and allowing me to take up precious blog space with my weekly brain farts. You are a lady and a scholar, SVB. I salute you.
So with those acknowledgments out of the way, let’s get down to business…
In perhaps the most yawn-worthy cliffhanger in television history, we learn that Bill “MARREH MEH, SOOKEH” Compton has actually been taken by a gnarly group of V-addicted werewolves, hilariously called the “Fuck You Crew”—a name that may elicit a chuckle, but which is actually fairly in line with the ridiculous (…ly awesome) monikers you will find among these outlaw biker ranks. So props to the writers for both their authenticity AND poetic use of profanity… suffice to say that these aren’t your average yuppies riding Harleys and doing charity work for Toys for Tots.
Anyway, these nasty bikers are beating on poor Bill like it’s some kind of bloody gang initiation—emphasis on the bloody, since it’s obvious they’re trying to make their very own undead V-fountain out of him, too. Needless to say, Mr. Compton is having a bad night.
Meanwhile, Sookie calls the cops, Jason throws shit, Tara cries over scrambled Eggs, and Jessica finds Hoyt’s flowers just a little too late.
Kenya questions Sookie about Bill’s disappearance but can’t make any fast moves—Bill probably just lost his temper when Sookie rejected him, don’t you know? They’ll look into it in 48 hours, because those are the rules. To which Sookie says merci beaucoup for NOTHING.
Back at Merlotte’s, Sheriff Dearborn is questioning Arlene while Andy’s foot bounces like… well, an epileptic on meth. Terry sits down to have a man to man with his cuz. “I know what you’re going through,” he says. “That first kill, it’s got a way of making you feel that’s all you are. But you’ve got to know that you are still a man that is capable of goodness, and of heartbreaking generosity of spirit, and if you can cling to that, it’ll be alright. I promise.”
Pay attention to that conversation, folks, because it’s important. Something tells me that our friend Bill Compton had a similar experience with his own “first kill.” He just sucks at clinging to anything but Sookie… and his Hugh Hefner robe… and his horribly outdated values. But I digress.
Anyway, Arlene carries on with a little 5-O ass kissing, which pisses off Tara, who says she just lost the only man she ever loved, and what the fuck is wrong with Arlene? Arlene knows the feeling, but isn’t about to join the pity party, delivering one of the evening’s funniest (and most truthful) lines: “I’m sorry you fell in love with a serial killer… but really, who here hasn’t?”
Tara is NOT amused. She doesn’t care what Eggs confessed to, because he ain’t responsible for SHIT. (Well, Eggs “THERE’S BLOOD ON MAH HANDS” Benedict might disagree with you, Tara—but that’s neither here nor there. Lafayette’s taking a bottle of tequila to-go, so it’s all good.)
Back at the Compton house, Jessica is freaking out over her “sick” date. He’d like to go to a hospital, please, but Jessica doesn’t much like that idea. He calls her a fucking whore, and she’s not about to argue with that.
Sookie, who gets the gold star for bad timing tonight, crashes the party in a frantic search for Bill. Jessica acts like she crapped her pants, but still manages to muster up some excitement over the proposal, only to have her hopes dashed by the news of Sookie’s refusal. Sookie says to call if she hears from Bill, even if he commands her not to. Jessica “can’t do that,” but Sookie says she doesn’t care—just help a human out.
Having dodged that bullet, Jessica resumes her freakout, and checks on her (very dead-looking) date in the closet. Out of options, she bites into her wrist to feed him her blood.
Back on the road, Jessica’s daddy isn’t doing much better. His captors are touching their titties and snowballing his blood, and the ringleader’s favorite gloves come off. Bill tells him that they’re really fucking stupid if they had orders to bring him in alive—because he’s, like, dying and stuff.
Finally, we have the much-awaited reprise of the Andy and Jason Variety Hour. A man of his word, Andy explains to Jason that he told Bud that HE killed Eggs—but there are holes in the story (BA-DUM-DUM), so if CSI: Bon Temps gets ahold of this, they’ll both be sailing on shit creek. Thus, Jason nobly insists that they tell the truth—but Andy says NO. Less conscience, more cojones. Bud’s getting old, and he doesn’t notice things like he used to. They just have to act normal—and for Jason, that means tagging lots of random ass. The NEW Jason is just going to have to go sip Shirley Temples on vacation for a while.
Conscience off, dick on. Everything’s gonna be alright. Hmmm… something tells me that Jason isn’t going to be the only one with that mantra this season.
Sookie storms into Fangtasia looking for her would-be husband Bill, and demands that Pam take her to Eric for a little chit-chat. Pam wonders out loud how Sookie knew that lavender is her favorite color, to which Sookie suggests that she STOP THE (lesbian) BULLSHIT.
Yes, Pam, as the patron saint of pastel twin-sets, you WOULD like the color of Sookie’s bridesmaid cocktail dress. Now stop—because you’re freaking me out. My conspiratorial mind is wondering if YOU picked it out, while everyone else was busy impaling Maryann and playing Yahtzee… and if maybe your daddy Eric gave Sookie the once-over in all his naked Viking glory because he was inspecting YOUR choice.
But alas, I shall not plumb those murky, foul-smelling depths, as such pontifications give my bloggy benefactor SVB a virtual rash. However, I will draw attention to the fact that this is the SECOND time the color of the dress has been mentioned. (First time: Tara, in Sookie’s minisode.) Take note, folks, if you haven’t already: Something’s most definitely up with that.
Or not. At this point, I’m convinced that Alan Ball is hiding these little Easter eggs just to fuck with me.
But because I can’t stop myself, indulge me for a moment. There have been many theories thrown out there as to the potential significance of the color of this dress: it’s magic, the Queen bought it, Bill’s actually an LSU Tigers—or Minnesota Vikings—fan. (Okay, I made that last one up… but anything’s possible.) Anyway, these are all very legitimate considerations… but I would like to offer my own theory, which I have not yet seen making the rounds.
Allow me to introduce the concept of the “lavender marriage” to this discussion. Now, you may or may not have heard this euphemism before… but in straightforward terms, it refers to a sham marriage in which a closeted gay individual marries a straight individual, in an effort to uphold their heterosexual image—either for career reasons, religious reasons, or simply out of straight-up denial. Think Liza Minnelli and David Gest, people.
So what does this mean with respect to the dress—which, of course, was chosen to be worn on the night of an ill-timed proposal? Well, in a nutshell, it means that Sookie is Bill’s “beard.”
Now before you pounce on me (or applaud me) let me say that this need not be taken literally. In a more figurative sense, Sookie is the wife that Bill has chosen to conceal his vampire nature from himself and/or others, in the same way that a closeted gay man or woman would enter into a heterosexual marriage as a form of self-denial.
But sorry, Bill… you’re a vampire. No getting around that, sister. Take two Elton John box sets and call me in the morning. Because butterflies are free to fly and all that.
I will conclude this (very relevant) tangent by saying that some could make the argument that the “lavender marriage” allusion can, in fact, be taken literally. (You know who you are!) But I’ll let you crazy kids jump on that runaway train in the comments.
Despite Pam’s desperate attempts to shield her from the sex bomb that exploded in Fangtasia’s basement, Sookie finds Eric nailing Yvetta like a turbo-speed jackhammer, while she stands tied up as his six-hour-long prisoner of love. Ever the gentleman, Eric proceeds with formal introductions, and Yvetta breathlessly greets Sookie in what I can only assume is her native tongue.
It seems she doesn’t much mind being watched by the hot angry blonde in the lavender bridesmaid cocktail dress… and frankly, she’s probably all too happy to take a time out.
We also find out that Yvetta is not Czech, but Estonian. I will point out that Estonia is a bordering country of Latvia—the home country of the Queen’s tasty pet, Ludis—and that between the 1500s and the 1700s, it was under Swedish rule. So there might be a subtle history joke happening here… if not much, much more.
Anyway, Sookie thinks Eric took Bill, which he casually denies. She raises the possibility of Lorena’s involvement, and he concedes that this is the more likely scenario, but don’t even think about hunting that bitch down like some Maury Povich guest armed with paternity test results. It’s unbecoming. And dangerous. Let Eric take care of it, because he’s the sheriff and whatnot.
In the midst of all this, we get a crack on Bill’s sex abilities and a quiet admission that ERIC WANT.
Sookie’s not hearing it and takes off pretending like she wasn’t just scandalized six ways to Sunday.
Meanwhile, Bill takes a page from Toonces the Driving Cat’s book, and sends his car plummeting into the closest ditch—having somehow managed to overpower his captors, gank a pair of gloves, and remove the silver from his neck. Kids take note: Car surfing, like texting, kills. And so does having a chained vampire in your backseat. Bill emerges from the wreckage and “calls” Jessica, who awakens in a panic… and glances at the leftovers decomposing by her side.
Lafayette’s throwing a Tequila and Klonopin party for two back at Sookie’s house, and Tara’s actually calming down—that is, until Sookie waltzes in wondering what the fuck happened. Lafayette explains that Eggs freaked out about his killing spree, and Tara chimes in wanting to know WHO let the cat out of the dirty little bag. Sookie tells her she helped him remember the murders he committed under Maryann’s influence, much to Tara’s indignant disbelief. Commence GIRLFIGHT, in the midst of which Tara charges Sookie with signing her boyfriend’s death warrant, and Sookie insists that they’re in the same boat, because Bill’s gone too. (Yeah… not quite the same thing, Sookie. But whatever.)
Tara doesn’t give a shit, and leaves, insisting that Eggs didn’t need to know ANYTHING and this is all Sookie’s fault for telling him that it WAS actually piss on his leg—NOT rain.
Cut to the Dojo of Doom where Sensei Northman appears to have had his karate practice interrupted by an unwelcome phone call.
Eric’s freaking out on a flunky named Mr. Reuben for not bringing Bill to Fangtasia for a spell as he was told. Not his fault, Reuben says, because Bill was already gone when he got to the restaurant. (Umm—how did he know where they were? Discuss.) Eric doesn’t want to hear it and tells him to fix that shit or die.
Pam tells Daddy that he’s “losing it” and urges him to call the Queen before someone else does because HER ass is on the line, too. Eric says thanks, but no thanks, for that unsolicited advice.
Oh, Eric. I cannot imagine WHAT plans you could have possibly had for Bill upon his delivery. But I will say that if it was to involve anything close to what you were doing with Yvetta, I will sport my finest fringed ladybangs, adopt my most authentic antebellum accent, and gladly stand in for Bill “SOOKEH IS MAHN” Compton.
The Queen may not be any happier with the situation… but I most certainly would be. Just keep screaming into that Bluetooth, please, because you’re really hot when you’re angry.
Alone in his hotel room, Sam answers the door for a shirtless and secksi Bill, who is giving some SERIOUS gay face. May ah use your showah? And if you could spare a shirt, ah’d be much oblahged. Ever the self-sacrificial shifter, Sam offers the shirt off his back—and Beel is taking WHATEVER he’s got to give. He compliments Sam’s hot swimmer’s body, and thanks him for the threads. He’ll go take that shower now… unless Sam would care to join him?
“Yeah,” Sam says, making the shamiest of all shame faces. “I think I would.” Oooooh, GOOD! Bill and Sam are gonna have LOADS of fun, because didn’t you know? THE WATER IN ARKANSAS IS VERY HARD. Bill makes his move and…
GOTCHA! It was a dream. Were you fooled? Because if I hadn’t spoiled myself to hell and back, I might have been.
Anyway, Sam claims to be HAPPY that the chatty lady on the phone woke him up—you just keep telling yourself that, Sammy—while she explains that the Mickens family hasn’t been seen since they were evicted from their last house three years ago. But their sheisty son works at a nearby garage, where he likes to sell bald tires to his customers, if you really want to know.
Sam’s on it… as soon as he takes a cold, hard shower, of course.
And that brings us to the second of this episode’s numerous prophetic conversations—this one starring Hoyt and Jason, who are back together again with the road crew.
“If I know my Momma,” Hoyt speculates, “she’s probably out there tellin’ all her friends that she did me a favor by lyin’ to me all those years. But I just feel betrayed.”
“I don’t know Bubba,” interjects Jason. “I think I’m with Big Maxine on this one. Weren’t you happier before? When your daddy was still shot by a robber instead of by hisself?”
“Not really,” says Hoyt, “because before, I belonged to her 24/7,365. But now, it’s like they say, the truth has set me free. “
In yet another moment of obvious irony, Jason says that sounds an awful lot like the religious bullshit Steve Newlin was trying to sell him on. But he’s got his doubts about it now. “People are always tryin’ to fuck up people’s lives by tellin’ lies about them,” he says. But, if “you want to really fuck up someone’s life, tell them the truth about them. They ain’t never gonna be the same.”
Did that hurt, guys? Because you just got beat with the FORESHADOWING bat.
This conversation does, however, beg the fundamental question: Does the truth REALLY set you free? Or, like Eggs discovered, does it simply imprison you FOREVER? A case could be made for both, I suppose—but one thing is certain. Once you’ve eaten from that tree, there’s NO GOING BACK. Paradise is as good as LOST.
Anyway, good to see that Jason “HONESTY” Stackhouse is preaching the transcendent value of LIES, seeing as how he’s got a little secret of his own now. Of course, he might have a point… but, you know, whatever makes you feel better, Jason.
Everyone’s favorite codependent Mommy returns, as Lettie-Mae shows up to relieve Lafayette of his Tara-sitting duties. Lafayette hasn’t the slightest idea why Tara still wants anything to do with her, as these two ladies are definitely out to destroy each other. Like a moth to a flame, he says—and he’s right. Lettie-Mae righteously proclaims that Tara knows “in times of trouble, a Momma’s the only person her baby can turn to.”
O RLY? Get ready Lorena… ‘cause your baby’s comin’ home soon!
Anyway, Lafayette tells Lettie-Mae to STFU and jump off the Jesus Train long enough to keep an eye on her daughter for a change. Then he drives off in his hot-ass car, which spoilers sadly suggest is not long for this world.
Back at the police station, Sookie harangues Sheriff Dearborn to get his ass in gear and start looking for her boyfriend—but Bud simply tells her it sucks to be you, because he actually has REAL dead people to take care of in this town. (OUCHIES.) Sookie tells him he should respect his elders—which seems ironic since her boyfriend has a little problem with authority himself—and gives Sheriff Dearborn a well-deserved guilt trip before leaving.
Back in Arkansas, we learn that Sam can read! Tommy hit the bricks six months ago, says TOMMY. But Sam is no fool… is he?
Meanwhile, back at Lafayette’s house, Tara’s getting preached on from the cold comfort of her mother’s lap. Reverend Daniels tells her that sure, this devil woman showed up, shacked you up with an ex-con underwear model, and tried to pull you down to the pits of hell. But it’s all good, because it was all part of God’s plan to bring you back you your Moms.
“And I’m so glad you’re back,” says Lettie-Mae. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna get to you again, baby girl. It’s just you and me now.”
SURE IT IS.
Bill climbs out of the ground, and sadly, there’s no one there to have sex with.
Jessica wakes up and the phone is ringing. It’s Hoyt! *shameface* Did she get his flowers? Oh, they miss eachother! When can Hoyt see you again, Jessica? Because he got a haircut he thinks you’re going to like… it looks kind of badass, if he says so himself. (Indeed, the haircut DOES look rather MILITARY, doesn’t it? Not too unlike ERIC’S new hair, which has NOT been explained… YET.) [Don't hold your breath - SVB]
Sorry, Hoyt, but Jessica’s got a fresh corpse to deal with KTHXBAI. She hugs the roses again, probably to get the smell of dead body out her nose.
I think we can assume, then, that she DIDN’T succeed in turning the trucker… which, I’ll admit, leaves me crying on the inside. Why?
Well, Jessica’s sheltered existence as Bill’s “daughter” is just an undead extension of her life with her human family, which was stapled down with Bible study and homeschool. Bill pressed the importance of “abstinence” on Jessica—insisting upon a True-Blood-only diet, instead of showing her the ropes of safe “feeding.”
Thus, Jessica is the vampire equivalent of the preacher’s daughter who blows the football team. Or random guys at truck stops. Whatevs—you know what I mean.
This metaphor has been obvious since we first met Jessica. And now, the writers have taken it to its most logical conclusion: TEEN PREGNANCY.
You can thank MR. MASpencer for this observation, as he’s the one who pointed it out to me. If Jessica came out of this mess with a “baby” on her hands, she’d be Bon Temps’ very own Bristol Palin with fangs. And I would raise my glass to the writers for their limitless genius. Alas, it appears dude is dead… but the metaphor still holds.
I will, however, submit the possibility that he DOES eventually rise… and that someone will be put to the task of killing him (again) FOR Jessica. Which would probably be for the best—and which also introduces a WHOLE ‘nother dimension to the metaphor.
But let’s not put the cart before the horse…
Back at Fangtasia, Yvetta is looking all hot on the pole, while Eric is perving out, and they’re giving each other sexy eyes.
But then, resident boner-killer Sophie-Anne walks in with the Magister—looking FABULOUS, may I say, in a retro satin jumpsuit and furs that look conspicuously like timber wolf. Eric rushes to greet them, telling the Magister “it’s been too long” with an ingratiating and nervous half-smile—which is disarming.
Sophie-Anne says they need to talk, so Eric should probably close up. That won’t be necessary, he says—we can just use my office. Umm, NO, says Sophie Anne. That shit is bugged, and I know because I’M the one who bugged it. It’s how I know I can trust you. (So what difference does it make if the office IS bugged by her, then, hmmm? Is Sophie-Anne telling the truth here, or is she just saying that for the Magister’s benefit? Discuss.)
Sophie-Anne tells everyone to GTFO. Except Yvetta… she can stay. NO HUMANS, says the Magister…I need full attention from you both. But the strange telenovela glances between these three make fairly clear that not only is Yvetta a SPY, but she’s NOT human, either.
Meanwhile, Eric is behind them literally AND figuratively, as he doesn’t seem to notice the big fat BOMB that was just planted right in front of him.
The Magister gets down to brass tacks. Mr. Northman, are you aware that your idyllic little home is becoming the V capitol of the world? Sophie-Anne is all OMG, can you believe it? I am SO embarrassed. Of course you’re the only vampire that could be trusted, isn’t that right, Eric?
The blood is sacred, continues the Magister. Wasting it on anything other than procreation is blasphemy. Oh… I suppose you don’t approve of recreational sex—I mean blood exchange—either. Eric hasn’t noticed an uptake in users—but since every OTHER sheriff has, we can only assume a vampire is responsible. (You mean a vampire from Dallas? Like, maybe, one who uses the alias Pussylover9???)
Sophie-Anne balks. A VAMPIRE selling VAMPIRE BLOOD???? Horror of horrors!
This is an act of self-loathing SO shameful that whoever is responsible should fall on his own stake, she elaborates, her gaze shifting noticeably in ERIC’S direction. Eric’s lost on the logic here—get with the program, Northman!—to which the Magister explains that if your average run-of-the-mill drainers were behind this, said drainers need vampires to drain. So are there missing vampires???
No missing vampires, says Eric with shifty eyes and an obvious shameface. But he’s on the case, and will deliver results. Unfortunately, the Magister totally knows something stinks.
Speaking of which, Arlene’s pregnant. SURPRISE!
Jason introduces Hoyt to two hot young veterinary students. Not surprisingly, these two crazy co-eds are getting their degrees in canine psychology. Their assessment: Hoyt’s a sad puppy and Jason is a lab. Jason uses his most reliable moves to bring these ladies home for the evening, while Andy looks on with approval from a few tables back. Hoyt, however, is not so enthusiastic, and questions his ability to handle the requisite pussy overflow that comes with being Jason’s wingman.
Back at Fangtasia, Eric and Sophie-Anne want to know exactly what will happen to the responsible vampire when they find him… or her. Obviously, the guilty party must be made an example of. Moral anarchy cannot be allowed, kids.
Aaaaand game faces OFF. Sophie-Anne says the Magister is dumb and playing by the rules is depressing. Eric knows the Magister is suspicious. So Sophie-Anne, like any good little mafia boss would do after a shakedown, suggests clearing out the product. The IRS pigs are breathing down her neck. Momma needs some money. Like NOW.
Eric questions her judgment—she once again manhandles his face. And his meatpole.
She tells him to RESPECT HER AUTHORITAH and MOVE THE FUCKING BLOOD. Because hell hath no fury like a vampire Queen broke.
What’s that? Bill Compton’s gone, you say? Who cares??? LET HIM ROT. Oh, Sophie-Anne, I never guessed that YOU would be the loudest voice of reason in this episode. Oh, and Eric’s FUCKED.
Pam pays Sookie a visit, and wastes no time in complimenting Maryann’s unique flair for interior design. She’s got a check for Sookie, which includes what I can only assume is a hefty bonus. Naturally, Sookie is ungrateful, and Pam calls her out for it. Eric “calls” so she splits.
Terry checks in about date night, but Arlene can’t be bothered. She’s got an embryo to think about.
Having once again snuck up on him in the kitchen at Merlotte’s, Pam orders Lafayette to put the V on clearance, while like any savvy marketer, Lafayette questions the profitability of that move. Pam doesn’t really care what Lafayette thinks, so long as the product is GONE by the time she wakes up. Oh, and Lafayette makes the grave mistake of calling her a hooker.
OOPSIES! Pam will rip a bitch’s throat out and don’t you forget it. Oh, and she’s NOT a hooker… that was a LONG time ago, thankyouverymuch.
Meanwhile, Sookie barges back into Bill’s house. Sookie explains to Jessica that yes, she HAS been called by her maker, and they take off to follow the trail of psychic breadcrumbs Bill has left behind.
Cut back to Bill, who finds a lit house in a clearing. A nice old lady answers the door, and thinks it’s her (dead? prodigal?) son Stanley. No, it’s just Bill Compton, who needs assistance… and food. Sorry, though, no phone. The nice old lady gave it up to pay for her oxygen tank… but no one calls her anyway.
ZOMG Bill EATS the nice old lady!
Back in Bon Temps, Lettie-Mae is busy molesting her Reverend. Tara needs a shower, and Lettie-Mae thinks that’s a great idea! Wash it all away, Tara! Time to start fresh with a DIY baptism! Oh, how I wish it were that easy…
And so does Tara, who runs the shower and sits there with some very bad ideas.
Meanwhile, Sam follows Tommy back to his family’s home in Arkansas, and it’s kinda scary. He rifles through their mail, because shifters laugh in the face of the law.
In a True Blood first, Jason Stackhouse can’t get it up. Hoyt’s being a stick in the mud, and Jason is seeing bullet holes in his playmates’ foreheads. Unfortunately, Jason just can’t keep this information to himself… and the girls decide to grab their clothes and take off. Wah-wah.
As it turns out, Bill—who is WAY better at keeping secrets than Jason is—is glamouring Olivia, who is alive. He was never there, don’t you know, and she will have no memory of what has just happened. Bill finds out that he’s in Mississippi, before he gives Olivia a wad of cash and tells her that her son Stanley came to see her. He did??? Yes, he wanted you to have this money to show you how much he appreciates everything you have ever done for him.
Bill Stanley is such a good vampire boy.
The way Bill touched Olivia’s face and thanked her betrayed more than a superficial amount of tenderness and gratitude. And my grinchy Eric-loving heart grew three sizes bigger at that moment. Bill, you just won me back… tortured self-righteousness and all. You could have killed Olivia, and it’s pretty obvious that no one would have missed her. But… you didn’t. For no other apparent reason than you simply didn’t want to.
Which is why it’s almost too bad (emphasis on ALMOST) that this will probably be the LAST time we see Bill showing anyone anything close to mercy—and that this encounter will almost certainly serve as the ironic opening act in what will be an ugly downward spiral for everyone’s favorite wet blanket.
But that’s not all…
This scene also demonstrates to the audience that Bill CAN restrain himself when he is tortured, drained, and starved. And that means that any future events that may or may not involve Bill, a trunk, and a certain telepathic blonde waitress will be completely and totally and 1,000% on HIM.
Now that I’ve let the air out of that beautiful balloon, let’s get back to Bon Temps, where Lafayette walks in to find Lettie-Mae all OH HAI and reading Men’s Health on the couch while her daughter is off scrubbing away her sins—I mean ATTEMPTING SUICIDE.
Double sigh. Tara, no man is ever worth that shit. Good thing Lafayette’s onto you… now do us all a favor and PULL IT TOGETHER, girl.
While Lafayette’s busy saving Tara from herself, Jessica and Sookie are getting close to the scene of the crime. They find Bill’s overturned car… AND a body… which also happens to bear a familiar looking brand. Using a smart phone that somehow appeared out of thin air—unless Jessica managed to trade in her stolen phone for a more useful model—the ladies discover this:
Operation WERWOLF? Time for an amateur history lesson, courtesy of Professor Wikipedia!
This symbol is called a Wolfsangel– German for “wolf’s hook”– which, when horizontal, also signifies “werewolf.”
It’s an ancient rune symbol appropriated by Nazis, much like the Hindu swastika was. It was, among other things, tied to a Nazi strategy called “Werwolf,” in which secret commando forces (known as “werewolves”) were trained for insurgency– a guerilla plan that was put in place as a last-ditch effort to gain a foothold after the Allies began their advance into Germany.
This is especially timely seeing as how U.S. officials have apparently compared the “Werwolf” operation to the insurgency that’s currently taking place in Iraq. (Something Terry Bellefleur probably knows a thing or two about.) And even more interesting is the fact that, aside from the Nazi and Neo-Nazi associations, this symbol also appears to have strong ties to the Vikings in Denmark and Norway.
Which, of course, establishes a direct link to Eric Northman—something that I know many of us have seen coming for a while now.
Anyway, if you’ve ever read Hunter S. Thompson’s book about the Hell’s Angels—I have not, but my husband has, which is just as good since we share a brain—then you may already be aware that many of the most notorious outlaw biker gangs were fond of flashing Nazi and White Supremacist insignia (most notably, the iron cross, the swastika, and the S.S. bolt) for shock value purposes, if not out of uncompromising hatred toward the non-white, non-American, non-straight population.
Which means Hellooooo werewolf biker NAZIS. Bring the epic battle ON.
To conclude, I’d say that Bill’s pretty fucking lucky he fed. But I guess we’ll find out just HOW lucky next week. In the meantime… what did you think of this long-awaited season 3 premiere?
Sound off below!
Screencaps thanks to Daydreaming