Sookie, with hope fading that Bill somehow missed getting napalmed by Royce and his gang, returns home to -- of course -- mop the floor. When loved ones die, that's what she does. Of course, it also serves as a rude reminder of her dead Gran, from which the last week has been kind enough to distract her due to the running around having sex with Bill and getting her blood sucked. This turns her into a total bitch.
Which is ironic, because Tara is the more advanced Pokemon level of Raging Bitch on a regular day, but spends the morning regressing to a six-year-old now that her mom is undemonated, and then turns the bitchery up to 11 through the afternoon for reasons unknown. She wigs out on Sam, Sookie and even kinda Lafayette and eventually notices that she's acting like a total freak, so she heads out into the forest to see old Miss Jeanette.
Sookie goes to the graveyard to put flowers on Bill's original grave, and he randomly crawls up naked out of the ground and bones her in the graveyard, and it's sort of fucked up, but mostly she just doesn't want him to bite her on the neck. Which would be pretty smooth if she'd just manage to avoid overdramatically taking her B-12 in the office of who else but Sam Merlotte, who knows damn well what it means.
Sam behaves horribly in this episode, first playing off Terry Bellefleur's instability and PTSD shame to cover up his secret, then telling Tara she is a sex grunter, and then lying to Andy Bellefleur that his parents were nudists, rather than Border Collies. Oh, and he openly bitches and moans about Bill not dying, and bonds with Bud Dearborn over being total racists. Somebody needs to smack him with a newspaper.
Next day, Sookie's back to Crazy Manicland, recycling her Arlene compliments and offering to babysit and tossing a bunch of stones in the glass house of how pathetic fangbangers are. Sookie, please. While Bill (adorable) and Sookie (decompensating quickly into total freakout) babysit Arlene's kids, Rene pops her the question, making her a four-time bride. That's our girl.
Jason and Amy have awesome V experiences and she becomes the new waitress at Merlotte's. Sookie is a complete bitch to her, for no good reason except that she's about to go completely nuts. Then, once the V's left their systems, it turns out Amy is a psycho junkie who makes Jason go with her to brutally kidnap Lafayette's V supplier/john, played by Jimmy James aka Red Swingline Stapler aka Dwight Dixon, Stephen Root. Who is so abjectly abject that he kind of makes you want to hug the nearest vampire just in case they're having a bad day. Like, as the guy is making Lafayette swear that he really does find him attractive and this isn't merely prostitution, he's put on "Eternal Flame" in the background. Doesn't that make you need a hug?
Finally, Bill comes home to find all six feet four inches of Eric Northman taking a relaxing bath in that insane tub of his, and we learn that Eric is the "Sherriff of Area Five," which means he's the boss or something. What he bosses Bill to do, in this case, is bring Sookie to Fangtasia! so that she can A) marvel at the pink cableknit truth about Pam and B) figure out who's been stealing cash money. But the second she does, the perp -- Long Shadow -- jumps in her face and starts eating her, or choking her, or showing her how to tie a four-in-hand using your teeth. You know how zoomy they are, it was kind of a blur. All I know is, the lead actress of this television show better survive this television cliffhanger, or we are fucked.
Wild cards: Hoyt is starting to be creeped out by Sookie; that dead preacher's son, now making the rounds as the latest hatemongerer is a vampire fetish object (extra points if he'd been wearing a bowtie!); and the titular fourth man in Malcolm's nest was young fangbanger Neil from KY, which causes Coroner Mike to blubber inconsolably; Andy and Bud seem to have forgotten about the Killer entirely. Four episodes left.
Sookie stares down at the four coffins, crispy, and Bud offers her some water. "Four? You're sure you found four bodies?" Andy nods, but remembers protocol and warns her they shouldn't be talking about an ongoing investigation; she pushes back. "Andy, not now. Not with me." He sighs and nods again. "There's four sets of remains inside four coffins." She shoves past him, toward them, and Andy grabs at her. "Andy, if you don't take your hands off me right now I swear to God I will kill you." She runs up the hill to where Mike the Coroner stands, alone with a cop, staring down. "Jiminy Christmas," says the man who's not Neil from Kentucky. "That's what happens to vampires?" Mike laughs, because this has nothing to do with him. They stare down into a coffin: it's a soup of blood. "Evidently. Plus, we got three more." The cop is totally grossed out, and Mike keeps laughing. "I hope you skipped breakfast!" He spots Sookie and doesn't really care. "Did Bud send you up here to make an ID? Because..." She barks, a rough and terrible sound, and runs away again. Andy calls after her, but nobody cares. Of everybody on this scene, only one of them had a man in the fire. Everyone else is safe.
Brothers and sisters, if you'll turn now to Hymn #203, "Fuck My Legless Grandmother," we'll see if we can't get to the bottom of all this. Because what appears at first to be a disjointed episode of Thirtysomething crossed with scenes from "Strange Love" is actually a pretty excellent meditation on what happens when you meet the Buddha, if you look at it right. Here's the text from the song:
You want me to complain?
All right then: Fuck this
Fuck you, fuck all of you
With your sniveling self-pity
And fuck all your lousy parents
Fuck my lousy parents while we're at it
Fuck my selfish bohemian sister
And her fucking bliss
Fuck my legless grandmother...
And fuck you for dragging me to this terrible place
And not letting me have a Snickers bar:
I'm going to get something to eat!
If you're not familiar with the poet, Ruth Fisher, the background to this melody is a pretty simple story: a woman loses her husband, not just once but many times, and tries to fill the aching hole in herself in lots and lots of ways. She tries, endlessly, to incorporate herself into her childrens' lives, and is rebuffed. She tries, endlessly, to reinvent herself. She dates souls more broken than her own, and even remarries. But the best thing she ever did was join a cult. And this cult, a self-help forum called The Plan, told her there was salvation from her pain. That emotions are rational and can be thought around, that God is a crutch, that exposition and explosion are the keys to repairing the cracks in our foundation. Not untrue, depending on the context and the history, but more importantly: the only person that hates salvation more than I do is Alan Ball, and this episode tells why almost as eloquently as Ruth just did. At some point you have to realize the story doesn't stop until we're dead. Assigning your pain or guilt or fear a number, like a diet plan, doesn't take them off the table. Everything's on the table, all the time. Giving in to the seductive idea that something, or somebody, can save you once and for all is the first step to getting really fucked up.