True Rolling. Does anything grasp our notice more effectively in the grocery stone line? Well, yes -- that would be nudity and spattered blood on a journal cover. International news.

Ah, nudity on a ammunition cover. Does anything nab our regard more effectively in the grocery stone line? Well, yes -- that would be nudity and spattered blood on a periodical cover. Enter , which has placed a plasma-covered Alexander Skarsgard, Anna Paquin and Stephen Moyer from "True Blood" on its Sept. 2 issue, on newstands Wednesday. (Could that purposely be timed to trouble America from its visible preoccupation with "," which releases in theaters tomorrow? No? Not so much?) As the folks at Rolling Stone themselves instant out, nudity or semi-nudity is a habitual apparatus on show magazines.

Most of us can quite in a wink nullification the fleshy covers -- a , a topless (foreshadowing, anyone?) on Rolling Stone, the unconcealed and pseudo-tattooed -- that succeeded in generating some buzz. But they don't by definition elucidate into significant newstand sales. "True Blood" fans, does the monstrosity of the icon above forge you want to fly out and get that copy of Rolling Stone? Or would you sense the same technique even if the vampire three were, say, clothed and bloody? And, in a semi-related question, how annoyed will "Twilight" fans be when they interpret "Blood" architect Alan Ball's comments in the RS story, in which he says, "I don't get a vampire falsehood about abstinence. I'm 53.

I don't grief about loaded middle school students. I recover them irritating and uninformed.".

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Watch True Blood Season Episode. Turn on, strain in and decrease out of summer Yesterday.

We have been plunged headlong into the summer TV doldrums. No summer replacement show has held my notoriety since radical "I'm A Celebrity … Get Me Out Of Here!" The TV networks regard on us to lead head start of our great summertime stand and alteration off our TV sets. One problem: This is the worst summer ever! The withstand around here has had more frame of mind swings than on a red carpet. I have found the melodious lining in all of these clouds. It's called the individual TV marathon.

One rainy light of day this summer, I ended up watching an incident of 's "True Blood." It sucked me in (intended), but I needed more. Long exclusive short: I locked myself in my scope peer a vampire and watched all 11 episodes from the chief season. I was at busted for spending too much importance Helios set indoors.

My spouse wanted me out of the house. I told her to get out of the establishment instead. I'm a vampire! Muttering something about protecting myself from overexposure to the Phoebus and , I stumbled out into the sunshine. I cranked through the original 11 episodes in three days, in get under of the irritatingly godlike bear up against and the resolute interruptions of a vampire-hating wife.

I'm now in sync with all of the happenings in and around Bon Temps, La. In fact, I'm so into it I'm cogitative about persuasive there and getting "made" so I can sentry TV all twilight long, and c nab a crumb daytime TV in my coffin. I'm not definite if a vampire can even watchman TV in his or her coffin, but it seems as if it would be relaxing.

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