What’s your fuck, marry, kill from buffy?? Tell ussss 😄😄

brat-grrl2:

ok i have every episode of buffy & angel on tape & this is v hard but KILL FAITH (guh uhhh 5/5 B), prob fuck xander/evil spike/nice angel (i know laaaaaame i always hated him when i was younger & he pants 2 much for somebody w/ no breath) & marry willow naturally i loved her since 4eva

I’d fuck Glory, marry Anya, and kill Xander ‘cause his penis got diseases from a Chumash tribe.

I Love Dick was —by a wide fucking mile— the best show on television in 2017. If they don’t win some kind of an Emmy or Golden Globe for episode 5, A Short History of Weird Girls, then there’s really no point in anything anymore.

I’m sure Jill Soloway and everyone involved would be horrified to know that someone like me thinks their work is genius, but here we are. That episode in particular is such a triumph that I’m torn between being inspired by it and despondent that I’ll never write anything that good.

Thoughts:

I’ve always disliked Griffin Dunne’s characters, but Sylvere is his crowning achievement in a lifetime of determined unlikability. Sylvere’s a near-perfect distillation of everything that’s quietly insufferable about ostensibly enlightened men; the dude seriously makes my skin crawl in a few scenes. He’s a weak, sniveling little shit who only starts acting like a man when he’s alone in a room with a woman half his age. He’s also the utterer of perhaps the most pathetically unsexy thing a man has ever said to a woman during a handjob: “Your hands are so strong.” Ugh, man. Ugh.

Has anyone ever had a more varied, apparently enjoyable career than Kevin Bacon? He shook his ass for fame in the ‘80s, pivoted into character acting for a couple decades, rented himself out for fun garbage like The Following, and now he’s been cast as the hipster-cowboy personification of Profound Manliness at 59 years old. What a trip.

Kathryn Hahn is great at a certain kind of brusque, fast-talking, pushy comedy, so I didn’t really foresee how she would look when stripped down, literally and figuratively. Turns out, her vulnerability is beautiful. She really digs in and plays with the erotic aspects of humiliation, expertly conveying the way Chris’s obsession with and awkward pursuit of Dick feeds on itself; every poorly delivered rejoinder, every ill-timed decision, and every embarrassing mishap simply makes his attention more of a necessity. Needless to say, the whole thing is right up my alley.

But my favorite part of Weird Girls comes via Lily Mojekwu, whose character spends the first four eps hanging around the edges of scenes, reacting to other people and serving as functional glue for the plot. It seems like a bit part, at best. And then out of nowhere, in episode 5, she’s revealed as a complex, funny, interesting black woman who’s navigating a web of personal frustrations that have been entirely invisible to the white people watching. Television doesn’t get more metaphorically rich than that, folks.

I found you four years ago and read every post you’d made on this blog. Two years ago I tried to stop watching porn and reading smut. Lasted three months. I want to be clean and find a husband, but I can’t get you – or any of the other things – out of my head. What if I’m too wrecked?

I started to give you a simple and compassionate response; something like “don’t underestimate your capacity to change” or whatever. But then I thought, “Why bother?” Let’s face it: you became wet the instant you realized I replied, and your hand tried to creep toward your panties before you read the first word of this paragraph. Like you, there’s only one way this conversation can go.

You’re a degenerate cunt, I’m afraid.

And while you most certainly can be something more, we both know you won’t; you’re content as you are, no matter how debased and defiled. And why not? All the things you’re supposed to want –satiety, safety, normality– are just talismanic words at this point, vague concepts disconnected from your lived reality. All the things you actually seek –humiliation, violation, the sour comfort of a man’s pointed disregard– are grounded in the world you see around you. They’re ugly and hurtful things, but they feel like the truth. And girls like you, well… once you see the truth, it’s hard to look away.

Not everyone gets to be a clean little wife leading a tidy little life, and y’know what? That’s for the best. The world needs its misbehaving misfits, with your scarred-up hearts and broken-down minds. You have a super-power of sorts; you can embrace the rot within a man, take his blight into you, and somehow make it flower into a barbed, dangerous sort of love. In your body, the obscene is made divine; you’re tainted magic, but magic all the same.

So you can never be “too wrecked”… even the corroded, discarded remnants of a wasted woman –like you!– can be a blessing upon society. You only need to find an awful man who wants to make a home out of your scrap, and then shelter the world from his worst intentions. Shield us with your body, and save the day with your indignity. Make an altar of your bed, and sacrifice yourself to the greater good, night after night.

Do it for all of us, darling. Be a hero and a whore.