Everyone loves a bad boy, especially if he’s a vampire. I mean, isn’t that why vampires are experiencing such a renaissance in pop culture? Isn’t that why an alarming number of my contemporaries—thirtysomething women, ahem—have a life size cutout of Edward Cullen in their possession?

Don’t get me wrong—nice guys have their place. In fact, it is my opinion that everyone should choose the nice guy when it comes to a life partner. The heady, dangerous guy isn’t going to pick you up on time, bring you flowers, or be the loving father you’ve always dreamed of; I get that. I married the good guy, and am extraordinarily happy about it. True story.

But that’s in reality, folks, and if there’s anything True Blood isn’t, it’s reality.

The vampire’s very nature—requiring human blood or a reasonable facsimile for sustenance—makes being a good guy a tenuous possibility at best. And isn’t that the point? True Blood is fraught with sex, nudity, and inherently dangerous characters, from shapeshifters to maenads to vampires. Whatever creature they serve up for us to fall for, one would hope that there would be an element of sexy, sexy danger involved. It’s fantasy, after all.

Sadly, at the end of season one, when it comes to our lead vampire, it seems hope is a futile thing indeed.

Let me be more direct: Can Alan Ball and Stephen Moyer stop making Bill into a perpetual, wet, limp noodle and turn him back into the al dente  …