This episode finally had a character on the show suffer the realization that I did dozens of episodes ago. Deb is all like, “Harry was probably a puke-filled toilet of a Dad.” Even if you take away the idea that Dexter is interpreting Harry’s code through a blood-soaked curtain, why the fuck would a Dad ever drub up such a thing? All I know is that if I ever have a sociopathic kid, I probably won’t default to teaching him the right people to kill. I’ll probably start with therapy. Throw in some mind-massaging medications. See where that goes. I don’t have to worry about that, though. Whatever sort of child rears up out of my scrotum isn’t going to be a serial killer. He’ll be a manic depressive and lord willing I’ll try the same methods I would if he were a sociopath. Worst comes to worse he’ll end up like me, masturbating and playing video games. It’s a solid existence, if not a valorous one.

Maybe Harry just didn’t want to accept that the crying little duder he dragged out of a blood-filled shipping container was broken. His raw love for Dexter overrode what was an obvious need to rock whatever sort of healthcare provider he had and get his son a serious set of cognitive behavior therapeutics.

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Holy taint, Dexter is back on its game. After seasons of circling the nipples, it has clamped back down with a vengeance. Teeth grinding while you arch your back in unexpected pleasure. Pain. Something-such. Draw in your breath and prepare for the terminal descent, as it looks like the writers are finally willing to play with an endgame. The season seven premiere had me diddling my taint with anxiety for a solid hour, before sucker punching me in the groin while I screamed yes.

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The finale to this week’s Dexter is going to be the raging chasm of debate that’ll spurn on the rest of the season. Either you’re digging the titty-twisting-tweak to the Doomsday Killer storyline or you’re throwing yellow flags and screaming foul on the play. Drunk with Turkey and Gravy and Commerce after this Thanksgiving weekend, you’re either giggling burping sloppy animal juice or you’re slathered in hate and carbohydrates condemning the writers as manipulative hacks.

Well, where do you land?

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Dexter rolled out this week with his bro 4 life, and afterlife. It was a switch I didn’t see coming. If this was an RPG, it would be a totally arduous but ultimately rewarding side-quest. It didn’t add to the main narrative, but it was an interesting sojourn. Plus!, the loot was fantastic. Dexter gained two talent points that he could place in Sanity, which is clutch.

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Oh shit!, the sixth season of Dexter is here and it kicked off with some ripping bad assery from our favorite Homicidal Batman. I called dream sequence, the show called my bluff and we finally got to see him kill off a couple of douchebags in a rather novel way. Listen man, my serial killer needs to go beyond the casual chest stab every once in a while.

The show’s jumped a year forward and while I usually bemoan this trope maybe the meds are working and I’m not feeling nearly as critical. In that time Pock Mocked McGee and Deb have been hanging out and chaining annoying vulgar turns of phrase together. He’s been banging her and observing his penis’ clear presence in her Skeletor vaginal canal. LaGuerta divorced Angel which caused him to get a sweet ass beard. Also his sister is hot. Masuka’s still Masuka which is fine by me.

And in my mind: Astor and Cody were eaten by a Kraken, after being dismembered by a saw that was powered by an intensified version of their own cacophonous bitchings.

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The second to last episode of a Dexter season seems to always be the most exciting. It’s when all the feces strike the fan accordingly, sending a flurry of corn-covered shit out into every facet of Dexter’s life. Last night’s episode was no different. And goddamn, did I love it. It set up the final episode, which could be titled every season: Dexter! How The Fuck Do You Fix This?

At one point last night I realized what should have been obvious: this season of Dexter is the best sociopathic rendition of a Shakespearean tragedy on television. Though to call a Shakespearean tragedy “sociopathic” may in fact be redundant.

All The World’s A Body bag!

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A thousand years ago, when this season was a bore, I couldn’t have imagined enjoying the season as much as I am. But none the less, episode upon episode continues to build upon the rocket doomship that Dexter and Lumen seem to be strapped onto. Unbeknown to them, the spilling of the Jordan Chase gang’s barrel loot has kicked off a cascading set of events that are building towards either the most plucky escape or their doom. I think it’s safe to bet on escape. But fucking how?

The unveil behind the creation of the Boyd Fowler posse popped off last night, and it was nothing short of satisfying. Nothing like some gang rape at summer camp to truly cement these dudes in the echelons of monsters. The creepiest part? Jordan not partaking in the ritual. Instead, the son of a bitch guides the rapes and murders, imploring his little lackeys to seize their primal desire. The dude probably goes home and burps his dong into a bucket. It is voluminous. Creeper creeping in the background, orchestrating everything.

What does this say about his drives, though? For someone who tells everyone else to go about taking what they believe is theirs, why doesn’t he actually partake in the ritual? Overlord of the Rape Gang?

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The Dexter season is officially rocking. I have to tip my cap to the late inning rally by the writers, salvaging countless episodes of build-up and turning it into a momentum-fueled final act of the season. Maybe last season did coalesce this slowly, but I never noticed it because of how taken I was with Trinity. Interjecting Jordan Chase into the season would have captivated me more quickly, but fuck, now that they’ve got me, I ain’t complaining. We’ve finally gotten the rocket-ship ass-clenching roller coaster we were clamoring for. We shouldn’t complain. We should take it! Take it!

I kick it crazy here over in the re-up section of Omega Level. I imagine that writing the weekly column is much like teaching a classroom . I can’t do the same shit every week. I’ll go fucking banana cakes. So I switch it up. This week we’re rocking the column in the form of the absolutely fucking pertinent questions about the remainder of the season that I’m going to pose. Your job is to ingest my nonsense, and then hit me with your thoughts. Let’s party.

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#1: Is Dexter the Coolest Feminist Ever?
I’m going to level with everyone. I’m really enjoying watching Dexter lay out dudes who put their hands on women. Watching him lay down the stink-fist on the abusive quasi-father of Astor’s friend last night had me fist pumping. Keep the fist pumping coming, yo! Tie that shit in with his pursuit of the Boyd Fowler Rape gang, and you have the coolest feminist ever. Sort of. I know I’m being ridiculous. But still, if there is anything that pisses me off more than a meathead demeaning of a chick, I can’t locate it at this moment.

Also, did you ever notice that Dexter’s continuously trying to fill the void left by his mother’s death? Ever since he was caked to the knees in her hemoglobin, he’s been searching for a proxy. He only gets close to women. Lila, Rita, now Lumen. And invariably, I’m noticing that they all die. He can’t seem to keep that maternal/sexual female figure on lock down. Much to do is made about Deb’s black widow status. But Dexter seems to get every chick near him killed as well.

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#2: Don’t You Want to Body Slam Petulant Teenagers?
Astor’s turn into a moody, bitchy teenage snot bag was groan-inducing and bothersome. Actually, she’s still a tweener or whatever, but still. I understand that losing your mother would fuck you up done good, but there’s something about whiny kids in television shows that makes me want to dragon uppercut their brains out of their skulls. Blah, blah, you don’t understand me. Blah, blah, oh my god how could you be porking Save the Last Dance so soon after Mom died?

She did serve the purpose of being Dexter’s means of reaffirming his humanity, but I’ll be damned if I could stand Astor in the majority of the episode. The little sap in me enjoyed their final conversation in the car, but for the most part I fantasized about someone throwing pies off her face.

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#3: How Does Dexter Escape Robocop?
Liddy is coming on strong, and something is going to go down between Quinn, Dexter, and Robocop. I love how his initial hiring at the hands of Quinn has been parlayed into his means of getting back at LaGuerta, and potential redemption. I’m never going to bet on Dexter getting caught, so every season it becomes “How the fuck does Dexter escape this?”

Any thoughts? Does Quinn go down in a blaze? Do Dexter and Lumen take him out? He hasn’t violated the code so what do they do with him?

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I have to hand it to the writers. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve found the past two episodes in a fucking row! to be engrossing like woah. Ignore the fact that the side stories continue to underwhelm aside from Robocop trying to bring down Dexter and Lumen. The Dexter/Lumen/Jordan chase story has grabbed me by my impressively miniscule genitalia and refused to let go. A certain sadness pangs around my empty gut as I realize that nothing gold can stay, especially a cute relationship between a serial killer vigilante and the woman he saved from a trip to a swamp.

Catharsis. Underpinning this entire episode, and perhaps the remainder of this season’s arc is Dexter’s chase of the impossible. Relief from the murder of his mother. Relief from the murder of his wife. The double-smash of the two female figures he’s cared for the most. As we’ve watched our boy throughout the seasons, he’s struggled with an inability to cope with what’s been done to him. His murder serves, at best, as a mitigation. He never feels completely fulfillment, or complete release from his demons. His dark passenger. His demonic b-boy. Whateevr.

If anything, the show has underlined his hobby’s his continuing fading effectiveness. As seasons have marched, each kill seemed to bring him less and less satisfaction. Cut to this season, and they’re empty loads being blown. No gratification. A rote behavior done with the hope for gratification, only to be filled with Jordan Chase’s accurately diagnosed hole. His killing relief has flat lined.

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It only took seven episodes, but I am almost certain this season of Dexter has wrapped its murderous tendrils around my intrigue. This week’s episode, Circle Us, seemingly kicked off the beginning of the season’s sprint to the finish line. White-knuckled, butt-clenching excitement. Totally awesome, dudes. I suppose there is some truth to the axiom that my fellow Morgan watchers hammered into me: it’s a slow boil, it’s been every season, et cetera. And while I disagree on the macro level, since last season was a runaway train cart, it may be paying off in season five.

Excelsior! You win. Don’t ever say I don’t keep an open mind.

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