Why I hate HBO

The last time we saw Al and Alma, there was the promise of something, ANYTHING, to liven up the sour turn this exquisite show had taken as of late. The fake husband had been picked off by one of the Pinkertons (in mid-sentence talking to a raggedy pooch); Trixie had stormed up to Hearst's room, breasts bared to shoot him; Bullock had come storming back, barely able to contain his ire and disgust. It was GOOD! It was what made Deadwood a thrill ride. They had one chance to satiate all of us for a couple of years and what did they do? Stirred in a mish-mash of barely comprehensible blither, sent Hearst smugly out of town, totally in control, with Al cleaning up his own bloody mess in his office. It was almost too much to bear. Then to top it all off, ending Entourage the following night. How are we supposed to get through the winter, anyway?