I am sorry. Very, very sorry. You granted me the best show currently aired over any form of broadcast media, complete with role models and a methodology for turning women in to cars. You gave me something to hope for, something to dream about. And I doubted you becuase you brought a drug dealer in to the show.
You, who braved the subject of fluffers and STDs, of illegitimate pregnancy and plastic surgeon assisted suicide. Who made rational to me hitting a girl with a car, then having a crush on her and forsaking your religion with a ham and cheese sandwich. Titans among those of us who consider Penthouse Letters to be fiction, you made them believable and put them in a context which I could understand. And I assumed the drug dealer subplot would ruin the show.
You have proven me wrong. Dead wrong. When I thought Christian having a baby would ruin his ability to have sex with many, many women, you proved me wrong by having the baby belong to another man. When I thought Sean McNamara's marriage would fall apart, undermining the tension between Christian and Mrs. McNamara, you proved me wrong by having her just turn frigid and make all sorts of new tension - and then topped it off by having their son belong to Christian.
I apologize. I should have had faith, my brothers.
cranked out at 11:10 PM | |
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