W.T.F. WHY GOD WHY?
...am I sitting here, with Jefferson fucking Starship blaring in my headset and getting goddamn GOOSEBUMPS thinking about Dean and Castiel?
JEFFERSON FUCKING STARSHIP
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
okay, so maybe it's the only tolerable song they ever did, if you don't listen to the gawdawful lyrics and wonder how big Grace Slick's mortgage/horse habit had to be for her to consent to singing a friggin' bar of it, and okay, so maybe I had sex as this song played on the mix tape and maybe it was pretty damn awesome because how many years ago was that and my stupid, stupid, stupid ryhmes-with-Dolores is still as suggestible as Pavlov's first beagle and maybe I'm trying to convince myself that it's just because Misha Collins turns me on to a ridiculous degree and iTunes could be playing Happy Birthday (TM) Patty and Mildred S. Hill and the result would be the same and maybe wondering if sweptawaybayou realizes that we've never seen Misha and Jason Behr in the same room at the same time and maybe I need to hit replay....
BUT I DON'T HAVE TO LIKE IT.
I'm an adult and I can stop anytime I want. Right? Right?
ETA: Never mind the Dean/Castiel.
There's a little purple house with a teal door on a side street near a park in Monterey. The steps leading to the entrance are paved with broken pieces of FiestaWare. If you stop on the sidewalk out front, you'll hear this awful song threading from the half-open windows, but you won't stop because it's Jefferson fucking Starship, and it's a good thing, too, because you won't want to hear the noises the man and woman inside are making.
Dean who? Hells yeah, baby, it's me and Misha in there and I AM NOT SORRY.
JEFFERSON FUCKING STARSHIP
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
okay, so maybe it's the only tolerable song they ever did, if you don't listen to the gawdawful lyrics and wonder how big Grace Slick's mortgage/horse habit had to be for her to consent to singing a friggin' bar of it, and okay, so maybe I had sex as this song played on the mix tape and maybe it was pretty damn awesome because how many years ago was that and my stupid, stupid, stupid ryhmes-with-Dolores is still as suggestible as Pavlov's first beagle and maybe I'm trying to convince myself that it's just because Misha Collins turns me on to a ridiculous degree and iTunes could be playing Happy Birthday (TM) Patty and Mildred S. Hill and the result would be the same and maybe wondering if sweptawaybayou realizes that we've never seen Misha and Jason Behr in the same room at the same time and maybe I need to hit replay....
BUT I DON'T HAVE TO LIKE IT.
I'm an adult and I can stop anytime I want. Right? Right?
ETA: Never mind the Dean/Castiel.
There's a little purple house with a teal door on a side street near a park in Monterey. The steps leading to the entrance are paved with broken pieces of FiestaWare. If you stop on the sidewalk out front, you'll hear this awful song threading from the half-open windows, but you won't stop because it's Jefferson fucking Starship, and it's a good thing, too, because you won't want to hear the noises the man and woman inside are making.
Dean who? Hells yeah, baby, it's me and Misha in there and I AM NOT SORRY.