They could have given us something

So Cate got back from Washington at about 9:00 PM on Friday night and it was not so cold but we sat in the lounge room with the fire on - and a cat in front of it - and we had a glass or two of  Pouilly Fuisse  and Cate read her book on her Kindle and I sat and thought about life and its mysteries - and particularly those bastards who wrote the last two episodes of the final series of Dexter - which I watched that very evening.

Who TF would butcher an entire genre - eight seasons - with an asshole sock cutting finish like that?

You would think that if you had laboured through eight seasons of Dexter attending murders with blood and viscera and brain matter scattered from asshole to breakfast time - including missing heads and other important body parts - let alone the enormous number of mainly bad people of whom he has disposed in fairly gruesome detail - you would be entitled to a fairly  benign ending where the main players at least achieve a modicum of satisfaction and sail off into the sunset leaving us all requited - even though Dexter is of course a murderer of Olympic proportions - but as I said - mainly of bad people.

But Oh No - the nihilistic sadistic curmudgeons who write this stuff decided to turn the end of the series into a gigantic goat fuck where no one - NO ONE - including the long suffering viewers - gets a shred of comfort or closure.

Jesus Christ they could have given us something!

But no - nothing. Not a shred.

Spoiler Alert! Read no further if you have not watched - and intend to watch the piece of shit last season.

So the hotty sister Deb dies. But not quickly - she has to be brain dead so Dexter has to kill his own sister. The two lovers - having met their true - and only possible soul mates - lose each other. Harrison loses his father. Quinn loses his only love. Dexter ends up alone without his love and his son.

Brilliant!

Fortunately these writing  bastards who have ruined my entire life are listed in the credits. I have been to Lowes and to Gander Mountain and have everything I need. These toe rags will soon be strapped to tables and wrapped in plastic.

Let's see how they feel about a tragic ending to their own snivelling chicken shit lives.

I am off to watch the Sound of Music again.