See, her Sunshine Doreness has me spinning off on a whole crackaddled analysis of the season vis a vis Harold and Maude, and it just fits so freaking well, and cracks me up SO MUCH, that I'm kinda forgiving it now. Even though it annoyed me almost as much as it now amuses me.
Possibly, I'm easily entertained.
We may demand proof of this. IJS.
PS, I swear, I don't really think the show will end with Dean dying and Sam walking away from the Impala doing a cliffdive to the strains of a metal cover of Trouble.
But if it does, I may sprain something laughing.
We may demand proof of this. IJS.
Look at it! The floppy-haired mopey one! The big black car! The hanging around in cemeteries! The short(er) one with the limited lifespan, trying to live that year to the fullest and ready to go. The over-the-top dates forced upon the younger by his mother the suits!
I swear, it totally maps.
I. Hate. You.
Does this mean I should now tell you we should have angry sex?
Now I don't hate you. I hate the suits. That kinda maps too easily. Damn them!
We're going to follow another plotline though, right?
Oh, of course we are! Honest!
But dude, I totally need to BEG Henry to do a metal cover of Trouble with his band. Shit. I wonder if I could pay him to do it all unofficial and on the sly like...