I'm Finally Breaking Up with Nip/Tuck

DVR Dispatches

I know, I know. Everyone figured out two seasons ago that it had turned a corner into lameness, but I was a late adopter so I figured I deserved a few more episodes. And a few more. Okay, I just really liked watching Julian McMahon be a disgusting a-hole. Sue me.

But the last season in Miami was horrible. The trite plot tricks were dizzying — everyone was sleeping with everyone but hungering for someone else, then getting them and wanting to go back, then becoming addicted to drugs. And there was something about some very violent French-Japanese organ-traffickers. By the end of season four, I knew it was time to cut it loose.

Of course, I forgot to let the DVR know, and I came home one night in the fall to find the premiere of season five recorded and waiting. And I went for it. The boys were in L.A. now, and they were strutting along to Bobby Darin and I fell easily back in. And it's been nothing but trouble since. Christian falls into work as a Gigolo? Julia's suddenly a lesbian, who's being poisoned by her girlfriend's daughter, who's sleeping with Sean? Oh, and Julia's cheating with Christian, who was cheating on Julia with his nemesis Gina, miraculously arrived in L.A. but now dead, after falling off a rooftop mid-coitus on last night's episode?

Whatever. I'm out. Been meaning to see what this The Wire hype is all about, anyway.

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