Quick: imagine what vampire porn looks like. Now try to imagine that porn set to a slightly cheesy string quartet and acted out entirely on a flat-bed truck being driven repeatedly around a cemetery. Oh and written and directed by the man who created this show. The result? True Blood - either the most guilty pleasure since that episode of Gossip Girl where Chuck tooootally nailed Blair to that Virgins song or just a really fucked up dream I had one night after eating that jar of Nutella.
In short: the entire reason TV exists.