Inspirational Lubricant Du Jour: Boulevard Brewing Saison-Brett

Litrally the best.

The above brew is arguably even more delicious than the two beers I prepared with last week. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to drink for the finale. Maybe I’ll just go back to Bourbon. Every bourbon. And tears.

So last week’s episode was every bit as harrowing as I anticipated. My Spider sense has still got it. But not in a weird way. Really all I got wrong was which beloved character was getting whacked. Paul was crestfallen when Hank got Old Yeller’d:

I for one didn’t really anticipate Hank making it the duration, especially not after his “I’m-obviously-going-off-to-die” phone call with Banshee Brandt.  I still think killing Jesse would be a much greater emotional gut punch, but Hank’s death did lead to a real-live dick punch – so I think I know which one Eric would mind more.

Tonight’s emotional suppuku is entitled “Granite State.” Presumably, that means we get all the back story on the other Alter-Walter-Ego that is New Hampshire dude. When last we left that version of Walt, he was celebrating his 52nd birthday and buying a gigantic firearm. Which is more or less how I expect frequent commenter Jason spends all of his birthdays. And how I hope an angry, possibly thrice-divorced Paul will be spending his 52nd birthday. You’re right: probably more like his 33rd birthday.

A Future Ex-Mrs. Mooney.

Meanwhile, in the realm of things Paul’s not trying to get into while traveling Australia, I sort of wonder if this isn’t another double-meaning Gilligan episode title. Before I realized Googled that “Granite State” was indeed the other name for the state named after that Die Hard movie, I was thinking of states of matter. You know: liquid, solid, gas and the red-headed step child that is “plasma.” I wonder if we’ll see a second, possibly ironic meaning of the term “Granite State” before the episode’s out. That’s about as much chemistry speculation I can handle, but I’m intrigued.

And by intrigued I mean utterly shitting my pants and terrified about what’s going to happen. Everything’s in play, including Walt going full-on Commando:

This Commando:

Not this commando:

 You perv.

Anyway: this show is 100% in the Tyson Zone now, meaning that just about anything is possible in these last two episodes. (copyright Bill Simmons and rage from my brother, who seems to be holding against this fine program that people who write on the internet really like it.)

And no, there’s no way I’m live-blogging this one or next week’s. 

Fuck that. Enjoy the horror, friends.