If you've never seen The L Word, or if you haven't watched the series as a whole, first off, congratulations. You've successfully managed to avoid five seasons' worth of a show that has no idea what it wants to be and even little idea how it should go about being those things. Having no real knowledge of the show, no doubt you probably assume that it's a drama about lesbians. While that description is technically correct, it doesn't take into account the full, terrible, garish bloom of The L Word's ridiculousness. Over the seasons, the show has shifted from earnest lesbian soap opera, to high-camp melodrama, to whatever Season 4 was supposed to be, to completely self-aware farce. It's the kind of show where continuity is a rarity, where diorama construction can take the place of character development, and where plots and subplots were probably pieced together by dumping a magnetic poetry kit on the ground and then vacuuming up three words at random ("Incest Carnival Memory," "Silent Yoga Kidnapping," "Betty Jacuzzi Cruise," etc.).