There are few emotions like betrayal. Few things that can sour you so completely to a person, ideal or work of art than betrayal. Bleach is a betrayal of the grandest proportion. You see, the problem not that Bleach is a less interesting more style obsessed (and quite stylish if I do say so myself) Dragon Ball Z. Dragon Ball Z filtered through the lense of Rob Liefeld for sure, but still essentially Dragon Ball Z. It has the same screaming fanbase, it has the same infinite wasteland of plotless combat. It has the same obsession with 'power overwhelming' to the exclusion of all intelligence, and it has the same Deus Ex Machina of my powerup is more throbbingly erect than your powerup. This is what it is. There is no use in obsessing over the fact that it is a shallow waste of time. Especially since it wastes so little time. I still read the manga because it takes me less time each week than a prince valiant 6 panel on the Sunday Funnies, though Prince Valiant will certainly fit roughly the same amount of dialog and between 2 and 3 times the plot development. I have as the doctor recommended, learned to stop worrying and love the bleach. The problem comes in that it was not sold as such. The first 150 chapters hinted at the possibility of a grand story. Of meaning and double crosses. Of depth and complexity. The earlier works of Kubo Tite (see the sadly , though perhaps in retrospective, thankfully short lived zombie powder) showed that he has a darker mind and a tendancy to cthonian artistic choice when given his head. If bleach had devolved into an obtuse clusterfuck like D-Grayman, I would have been happy. That is not the end I would prefer but it is an end that would allow me to put down the manga and consign it to the memory hole. Instead it has become an ongoing catastrophe of morbid dimension. It is a thin gruel being impossibly stretched, and stretched, and stretched. Welcome to Bleach. Were there is lots and lots of baking soda but no cocaine. Where after four hundred chapters of an increasingly dry and lazy blowjob, the climax comes, and instead of a thunderous orgasm promised by its early excellence it squelches weakly and dribbles lopsidedly down the shaft in volume that wouldn't impress a pigeon. F*** you Bleach. Thank god Soul Eater is what bleach might have been.
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