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!
