Photo: Courtesy of FX
Satan has blessed us with another set of back-to-back American Horror Story episodes this week, and I’m kind of loving the “history’s most prolific serial killers meet their end” vibe. Below, find (quite literally) every thought I had while watching Season 13, Episode 7 of American Horror Story, enticingly titled “The Baddest Witch of Them All”:
- “We’re under attack, witches.”
- !!!
- I will do whatever Madison Montgomery says.
- I remain so confused about everyone’s mortality/immortality powers.
- Like…they can just kill Cordelia?
- I feel like Evan Peters is having a lot of fun this season.
- Should I get a little canopy for my bed?
- Actually, I think I’d constantly be terrified that someone was about to kill me through it, thanks to this show.
- Not this meta Dahmer discourse!
- “Diet-cannibal cum sock”! Scream!
- “Am I your first girl?” Double-scream!
- Deeply cathartic to see Madison light a cigarette off Jeffrey Dahmer’s charred corpse.
- I need to summon Madison barking at me to “Try harder!” next time I’m having difficulty with chest presses at the gym.
- Hey, it’s the Zodiac Killer!
- Wait, was that Richard Ramirez?
- I’m mixing up my serial killers.
- Okay, love this flashback to Ramirez’s Boyle Heights neighbors beating the shit out of him.
- “Mother’s home,” indeed!
- Oh no, poor Fiona.
- Obsessed with her fresh blowout, though.
- “I perspire for no weakling” is a great new first-date motto.
- Smoking is back, baby.
- Hey, it’s Cordelia!
- Again!
- Somehow!
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Emma Specter is the Culture Writer at Vogue, where she covers film, TV, books, politics, news, and (almost) anything queer. She has previously worked at Garage and LAist and has freelanced for outlets including The Hairpin, Bon Appetit, them, The Hollywood Reporter, and more. Her first book, More Please: On … Read More
