The Last of Us Lost Me at ‘I’m Gonna Be a Dad!’ — Bad Tactics and Flashlight Fails

I wanted to love The Last of Us season 2, I really did.

Season one hit hard—gritty, emotional, and grounded in a world that felt believable despite its fungal freak-show.

But somewhere between dodging infected hoardes and milking the tears of identity politics, the HBO writers decided it was time to suck all the testosterone out of the room and drop us into a post infection Seattle full of participation trophies and over woke scripts.

Let’s talk about the episode that made me slam my Hibiki-filled whiskey glass down so hard I cracked the table: the “I’m going to be a dad!” moment. Really? In the middle of a post-apocalyptic death march through hell-on-Earth, you’re gonna stop the plot dead in its tracks to turn an episode into a Hallmark moment?

I was expecting blood, betrayal, and grit—not a baby shower in the middle of a war-torn fungal Armageddon.

And then there’s the casual Central Park-like strolls through zombie-and-war-torn Seattle.

These idiots are walking straight down the center of the street like it’s Sunday brunch in Portland, not ground zero for mushroom-headed maniacs and PTSD-riddled warring factions between the Wolves and that crazy religious Scar cult that would even give Scientologists nightmares.

No cover. No overwatch. Just a walk in the irradiated park, like a 2025 Gap ad sponsored by Diddy, how could it get any worse?!

But just when I thought the show had hit rock bottom, the writer’s room busted out the jackhammers and started in on the bedrock beneath.

Flashlight discipline? Hello? Man, I haven’t seen this much light leaking from so many sources since the last time I watched high school kids playing laser tag as Navy SEALs on TikTok. Your flashlight is supposed to help you see and stay alive, not signal every human within a mile radius that it’s time for chow.

Now, here’s the one that made me spit bourbon all over my tiny dog—the small boat scene. A massive wave tips her like a bath toy, but don’t worry! Our hero just yanks the starter cord once and—bam!—The outboard motor roars to life like it’s brand new off the lot.

I’ve spent hours cursing at those engines in calm water, sober, with tools. This is more like a Bass Pro commercial in the middle of a Florida hurricane.

It’s not all garbage, though. Jeffrey Wright (you called him “Walker,” but hey, maybe you were ticked when writing it) and Pedro Pascal are absolute beasts.

Those two could read a phone book soaked in gasoline, and I’d still watch. But even they can’t bail out a sinking ship when the hull’s been patched together with DEI checklists and BuzzFeed-level fantasy physics.

The truth is this: HBO had something legendary. The Last of Us season 2 could’ve been so good—brutal, honest, unforgettable. But instead, the creators decided to swap out grit for Barbie glitter, realism for rainbows, and strategy for sensitivity training. And that’s how they lost half their audience to the fungi below.

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