#his early suits are so badly fitting #and too big #and he goes on about hating them #and then in the later seasons #they fit him /really/ well #and he has nice shoes and coats #and I like to imagine dean tearing his suit on a hunt at some point #and has to go shopping for a new one #and he meets a nice shop assistant #who stops him just grabbing the first thing that comes to hand #and convinces him to try on something a little nicer #and when he looks in the mirror #he thinks whoa #I look /good/ #and the shop assistant is giving him the thumbs up #(and quite a lot of admiring glances at the way the pants fit the curve of his ass) #and he realises it’s ok to look good #and have nice things #so he buys it for himself #even though it costs a little - okay maybe a lot - more than he should really be spending #and the assistant totally writes his number on dean’s receipt #and dean may or may not call him later #and go meet him for a drink #and end up making out with him in the parking lot #oops (via poorbeautifuldean)
"Cas, baby, you OK?"
Cas squinted, looking at Dean with surprised confusion. Dean felt a blush rising steadily up his neck, creeping up onto his cheeks. He heard Sam chuckle next to him. His gaze dropped, he shifted awkwardly, opened his mouth and closed it again, swallowing hard - and his face was burning hotter and hotter with every agonizing second.
"Did you just call him -" Sam began, voice dripping with uncontainable amusement.
"I MEANT TO SAY ‘BUDDY’, OK?!"
[sleep-over voice] are you awake
[sleep-over reply voice] yeah
[regrettable sleepover invitee voice] you guys SHH
[confused sleep-over voice] what is the meaning of life
[annoyed sleep-over voice] dude shut up
[sleep-over host voice] you guys be quiet my moms gonna hear us
[serial killer voice] got room for one more
that escalated quickly
So there I was, ready to take a shower. I mean, I was dirty, a little greasy, a shower was not such a horrible idea. People take showers, amiright? Of course!
I get naked.
I’m talking the exact opposite reason why you ever went to your grandmother’s house.
No cookies. Blatant nudity.
That’s how folks take showers these days, right? Well, I pull back the curtain…
And there it was.
This…thing…sitting on the little soap/shower/pube shelf. Not a care in the world, like it’s been there for years. “What the fuck is that?” I think to myself.
Now, what follows is the exact pattern of thought that took me from rational human being to Sloth in 3.4 seconds.
“Is that a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit? Holy fuck that’s a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit. OMG why would someone leave that unattended. Those things are so delicious. I’m gonna eat the fuck out of it. Man, I can’t wait to see whoever left it’s face when they come back to find that someone ate their cheesy biscuit’s fuck. Ohhh boy.”
Then my brain sent a message to my arm that said, “Reach for that cheesy biscuit, bitch. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?”
As you must already know, we are all contractually bound to make a dickload of mistakes throughout our lifetime. Some of those mistakes are so big that they forever hinder our world and warrant entire chapters in our children’s history books. However, most mistakes have the dubious providence of merely haunting one’s soul and festering amidst the subconscious for always and eternity.
This was, nearly, one of those.
If my adjacency to failure could be measured, the only possible unit of measurement to appropriate it would be “baby condoms”. And no, I do not mean those horrendous papoose-like titty-cribs that the slovenly carriage their spawn around in in Wal-Mart, I mean condoms that a baby would wear.
My adjacency to failure was roughly 1 and a half Kiddie Trojans.
I’m not sure what stopped me, be it cosmic or supernatural, but it gave my brain just enough time to ask itself some rather important questions regarding this little tub treasure. Questions like:
“WHO, THE FUCK, WOULD LEAVE A CHEESY BISCUIT IN MY SHOWER?!”
And inquiries such as:
“AND WHY WERE YOU GOING TO EAT IT, MORON?!”
Seriously, was I so hungry that I would wantonly disobey all the integral conditioning and survival imprinting my parents bestowed upon me like the ever important, “Um, don’t eat that biscuit, you don’t know where it’s been or whose it is and also you found it in the shower.” in order to satisfy something so benign as a munchie?
That, I’m sorry to say, was pretty much my reality.
An early morning introspective psychological evaluation of a sad, hungry, naked man who almost ate a bar of soap.
OMG ITS BACK
This shit needs to be published.
This is going in the monologue section and I’m not even sorry.