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 biggest problem with Dexter the past couple of years has been that nothing has fucking happened. Agreed, the lack of John Lithgow’s glorious bare butthole has also been a drag, but its the lack of progress that has submarined it for me. Perchance, we can worry no longer! The producers of Dexter are totally confirming its totally ending come season 8, and they know where the story is going.

Good.

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