Fiona will not go quietly into that good night.
She’s gonna claw and smoke and fuck and strut her way back into the light, bitches.
She will bury us all. Probably in heels.
I hate to say it, but the shine is wearing off this season of American Horror Story for me.
Too much talking, not enough crazy, fucked up, witchy shit.
Plenty of sex, though.
Did you really think Fiona wouldn’t be able to wriggle her way out of a little murder accusation?
That was Myrtle’s mistake.
You commit Lange as a patient, reveal a character is pregnant, have said character perform a coat hanger abortion, and stab Kit the fuck in the chest with a huge-ass needle. All while revealing the identity of present day Bloodyface.
Because that’s how American Horror Story do.
Christmas is my favourite holiday.
It’s the most acceptable time of the year to get shit-faced. Next to New Year’s. And St Patrick’s Day. And my birthday. And Wednesdays. And-
Actually, Christmas wins because you get alcohol AND presents. There.