You might think, given the title of the post and the Heroes tag, that I actually give a shit about the show’s villainous turn this season. I don’t. (Does anyone even pay attention to this show any more? Are we supposed to be invested in the virtue of a Peter “Strokemouth” Petrelli, or a Mohinder “The Bod” Suresh? I can’t even get it up for Claire any more — though, to be fair, Maya has proven to be an adequately fiery replacement.)
No, superfriends. I’m referring to three proud black brothas who have allowed themselves to be emasculated by network television. I’m referring to Lieutenant-Major-Colonel Cedric Daniels, to Marlo motherfucking Stanfield, and to Reginald “Bubbles” Cousins.
Daniels, I could have forgiven you for getting up on the Lost train: after a few close calls last season (“The constant?!”) Abrams has narrowly avoided fucking the show up beyond repair. And Abaddon does admittedly have some potential for badassery. But Fringe? Pacey fucking Witter?
Marlo, you used to terrorize the streets of West Baltimore, untouchable. Now look at you: your facial scar is suddenly no scarier than Tina Fey’s -and- you have the same haircut as Walt before he hit puberty.
And Bubs, you were the coolest, most articulate junkie philosopher ever, narrowly beating out Kurt Cobain FTW. At least you had the good grace to submit yourself to just a single episode (though I wouldn’t be surprised if, strapped for ideas, the writers of Heroes contrived to send Hiro McFly back in time to save you).
Christ, even Batimore PD’s perennial fuck-up Herc has landed a respectable gig on Entourage, replete with Asian baby-mama. Ziggy Sobotka managed to do OK, too — I’d even go so far as to say that he was *likeable* in Generation Kill, that last little temper tantrum aside. And Ziggy’s pops, ol’ Frank Sobotka, is doing alright for himself, too, supplying a little comedic relief alongside everyone’s favorite E.B. Farnum in the tepid but entertaining True blood, which is redeemed every single week by Rutina Wesley’s sexy, sexy arms. (Does Alan Ball think he’s the new Joss Whedon or something?)
Let’s all cross our fingers and hope that David Milch throws Stringer Bell or Avon Barksdale a bone with Last of the Ninth. I can’t really see either of them popping up in a new season of Big love.