The question you had before, I think it is possible: 1968!

Sigh, I still miss Lopez.

Hans Gruber is sitting on a cloud earning twenty percent.

I'll always remember him fondly as the real Nikola Tesla.

You went full kingpin, man. Never go full kingpin.

Holy moly the twists! What the fucking fuck?!

Theoretically, I should love this show, but it's such a fucking bore. I had to keep rewinding because I kept spacing out halfway through any given episode. It has all of the byzantine plotting of a Ghost in the Shell series with none of the character-driven charm.

Hank was trying to invent a universal language, but he ended up creating alienese, a language so complex it's actually strong encryption.

Wally's short for Wallace.

Eh, All New People was aiight. Anything that brings Krysten Ritter and Anna Camp together works for me.

Questlove really wasn't in the house.

Don't freak out.
This season is on fire.
Don't freak out.

I'll admit during the offseason I've become obsessed with Max Richter and his music for this show.

It's really too bad Lance Reddick isn't in this.

Can't really process this right now. I still haven't finished laughing from last week.

"[T]his is apricot-colored. And you know who wears that? White bitches."

Got a little bit Wes Anderson there for a minute at the dog pound.

Any article that thematically unifies the antics of Hannibal the Cannibal and Hannibal Buress is aiight by me.

Man, I am really gonna miss this fever dream of a show. If you'd told me at the start of this strange, erotic journey that NBC would commit to Hannibal for three whole seasons I'd have probably taken you into my arms and dived off a cliff. This was beautiful.

Trust me, it's every father's dream to die young and, like, psychologically mindfuck his son.