It only took nearly twelve episodes, but something dope finally happened on Dexter. As the door swung shut on the season the writers decided to throw us starving wolves a grizzled piece of meat to gnash our teeth on for ten months or so. It only took nearly twelve episodes, but the writers have delivered a trajectory for the final two seasons. Incestuous complications and abject horrifying revelations await those of us who will return from this season – an exercise in apathy – and hope for greener pastures as the Bay Harbor Butcher and his brother-lusting sister complete their journey through the wilds of Miami Metro.

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Quite often the efficacy of the sidekick is downplayed. They are relegated to pure ancillary uses. You know, serving to wipe down your bloodstains, do the laborious bone sawing. The grunt word of the serial killer underworld. Let us make no mistakes about it, every serial killer aspires to one day have their own lackey. It’s understandable. They’re clutch though, and if you’re going to take a sidekick into your underworld of Blood and Gloom the best advice I can give you is this. Choose carefully. Your enterprise rides on it.

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The coda to this week’s episode of Dexter should leave everyone with a resounding “No shit, really Morgan?” It only took the Little Sociopath That Could two and a half years of parenthood to figure out that he would have to don a mask to save his child from the truth? I don’t know why this took so long to register with the typically brilliant slicer, but when the episode ended I was stunned the writers tried to float that proclamation across the narrative like it was a revelation.

Dur-duh-doi! Yeah, that’s what I spit at the screen.

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