making pictures with betsy - "daredevils!" & "murder/bueller" picspams
lizbee: "Your OTP is kind of charming."
Moi: "I know!"
lizbee: "Even when they're chatting up prostitutes."
Which brings us to a short but sweet recap of last week's episode of Psych.
So we had Lassiter, Tony Randall-ing it up.
We had Juliet, who now knows how hard it is to get black hair back to blonde.
We had Lassiter on a date with some woman with large teeth, and the rest? Well, the sound of me snoring kind of gives that away.
Still, they're freakin' adorable and me?
I'll be over here, grasping some straws and drinking myself into an OTP coma.
THE END.
You can kind of see why it didn't deserve it's own post, right? And not just because I had to wait a week to even mention it, as I was too busy washing out the taste of having Juliet/Shawn jammed down my throat again.
Er, that would be a "well, kinda maybe not?", then?
Let's be Serious for a moment. I am a pretty open person. I can accept a lot of things. My strange love for lanky, odd-looking character actors. Pop Tarts being banned in Australia. Hipsters taking Ray Bans Wayfarers as their own. Cucumbers.
But really, having an entire season of a television program basically setting up a pairing (Christmas, peaches, "is that a new tie, Carlton?"), then having it revert back to some strange brother/sister production number? That, dudes, I have a problem with. Especially when it's paired with a dollop of blatant red paint screaming "OMG JULIET/SHAWN" that even Jackson Pollock would have a problem with.
I know - and understand, completely - what they're doing this season. My only hope is that they don't do the whole let's-make-fun-of-Lassiter-by-putting-him-in-awkward-situations-lol-isn't-he-stupid? thing. Because the character - and Tim Omundson - is so much better than that. I hope they don't have him crush on Juliet and she runs away with Shawn. I hope, if they're going to do the friends thing, that it makes Lassiter a stronger character, and we get to see these two do what they do best - screwball, zany partner comedy that makes this Day/Hudson lover swoon.
That said - let's have a look at this week's episode, now with 100% more Lawnmower Man.
Hey, fella! We're all in the gutter lookin' at the stars, right?
His son looks like a young Garret.
How on earth can anyone make being a skinhead attractive? What the hell? It's like he woke up one morning and though, "hey! There will be some bird in Australia in a couple of years who will find me totally hot in a bizarre way! I'm gonna shave my noggin and rock this thing from day one!" Bastard. I'm gettin' my rake, yo. Getting MY RAKE.
Uh.
This may have gotten a little off track.
See, Juliet asks what the hell happened on his date because she's jealous. The date she seems to know everything about, bar the crab cakes.
I really wish caps would stop turning out looking like some sort of bad fanfiction come to life, where Juliet offers herself up in the middle of the station and "Close To You" by The Carpenters begins to play.
Of course, this would be ruined no doubt by Lassiter telling her The Dead Clown Story, but it seems like she knows it well enough to enjoy - nay, be turned on by - said story.
Sometimes, they make me cry with how wonderful they go together.
Still, I try to persevere and, despite Lassiter not seeming all that concerned with his Fail Date and thinking she's purdy, Juliet feels the overpowering urge to dig around in her partner's life.
Carlton Lassiter, ever the opportunist, uses the moment to touch her in a way that's two inches away from a feel being copped.
"Carlton," she whispered, "not here. Not in the hallway." His jaw tightened, and her lips parted at the sight, in anticipation, in lust. "Why do birds/Suddenly appear?/Everytime/You are near?" [/bad fanfic come to life]
Patented Lassiter Eyeroll™, represent!
Juliet is asked why Lassiter is so pissy recently, and she explains, like a good wife, that he needs to get laid.
I know how he could do that in like, five minutes time and in a janitor's closet, sweetheart.
So does Exceptionally Tall Buzz. He ain't that stupid.
You'll work it out, honey. Why don't you hang around and vet your partner's dates, in a completely passively obsessive manner?
Cool. We'll be over here, talking about you at the water cooler and how you're probably going to set your "partner" up with your "friend" who doesn't look anything like you, okay?
EYES UP, RODAY.
Yes, it would be kind of weird to kiss your real-life boyfriend onscreen, wouldn't it Mags? Wouldn't it?
Lawnmower Man agrees.
Later, if there was a plot or cohesion to this post, our Dynamic Duo go on a makeout stakeout. In some crappy car that I assume is supposed to be the Crown Vic, but, yo, where's Xzibit when you need him?
Inside, a young woman with her lovely declotage showing sizes up her companion (who, for the record, is tie-less, a little grubby and unshaven) like a piece of meat and she's a reluctant vegetarian in a butcher's shop for the first time in months.
He's looking fucking hot, and really, I'd give my left arm to see these two getting it on.
But, of course, Juliet's still running through the script entitled "I'm Not In Love With You - Here, Have a Date Set-Up and Controlled By Me Instead", and Lassiter gets the idea.
"I know you totally love me, O'Hara."
DENIAL
Don't get cranky with me, woman, you know it. Underneath that beautiful orangey sherbert top that your partner wants to see over the backseat, you know it.
That's better. And we see again how wonderfully amazing these two are together - from the chemistry to the plain aesthetics - and ugh.
It's actually painful, really. You just want to throw the television across the room it's so freakin' painful.
She's bringing him coffee. On a stakeout. Probably bought with a free coffee card. A free coffee card.
Lassiter chats up a prostitute, badges are shown and Juliet cares about her partner.
It's all you really need to know, isn't it?
Hyep. It's going to be a looonnnng season.
THE END.
A really, really long season. HA HA LASSITER CHATTED UP A PROSTITUTE HE'S SO FUNNY HA HA JULIET/SHAWN FOREVER. Jesus Christ, it's enough to make you write letters a la Abe Simpson, for sure.
I'm going to take up drinking, y'all. It may be the only way.
Moi: "I know!"
lizbee: "Even when they're chatting up prostitutes."
Which brings us to a short but sweet recap of last week's episode of Psych.
So we had Lassiter, Tony Randall-ing it up.
We had Juliet, who now knows how hard it is to get black hair back to blonde.
We had Lassiter on a date with some woman with large teeth, and the rest? Well, the sound of me snoring kind of gives that away.
Still, they're freakin' adorable and me?
I'll be over here, grasping some straws and drinking myself into an OTP coma.
THE END.
You can kind of see why it didn't deserve it's own post, right? And not just because I had to wait a week to even mention it, as I was too busy washing out the taste of having Juliet/Shawn jammed down my throat again.
Er, that would be a "well, kinda maybe not?", then?
Let's be Serious for a moment. I am a pretty open person. I can accept a lot of things. My strange love for lanky, odd-looking character actors. Pop Tarts being banned in Australia. Hipsters taking Ray Bans Wayfarers as their own. Cucumbers.
But really, having an entire season of a television program basically setting up a pairing (Christmas, peaches, "is that a new tie, Carlton?"), then having it revert back to some strange brother/sister production number? That, dudes, I have a problem with. Especially when it's paired with a dollop of blatant red paint screaming "OMG JULIET/SHAWN" that even Jackson Pollock would have a problem with.
I know - and understand, completely - what they're doing this season. My only hope is that they don't do the whole let's-make-fun-of-Lassiter-by-putting-him-in-awkward-situations-lol-isn't-he-stupid? thing. Because the character - and Tim Omundson - is so much better than that. I hope they don't have him crush on Juliet and she runs away with Shawn. I hope, if they're going to do the friends thing, that it makes Lassiter a stronger character, and we get to see these two do what they do best - screwball, zany partner comedy that makes this Day/Hudson lover swoon.
That said - let's have a look at this week's episode, now with 100% more Lawnmower Man.
Hey, fella! We're all in the gutter lookin' at the stars, right?
His son looks like a young Garret.
How on earth can anyone make being a skinhead attractive? What the hell? It's like he woke up one morning and though, "hey! There will be some bird in Australia in a couple of years who will find me totally hot in a bizarre way! I'm gonna shave my noggin and rock this thing from day one!" Bastard. I'm gettin' my rake, yo. Getting MY RAKE.
Uh.
This may have gotten a little off track.
See, Juliet asks what the hell happened on his date because she's jealous. The date she seems to know everything about, bar the crab cakes.
I really wish caps would stop turning out looking like some sort of bad fanfiction come to life, where Juliet offers herself up in the middle of the station and "Close To You" by The Carpenters begins to play.
Of course, this would be ruined no doubt by Lassiter telling her The Dead Clown Story, but it seems like she knows it well enough to enjoy - nay, be turned on by - said story.
Sometimes, they make me cry with how wonderful they go together.
Still, I try to persevere and, despite Lassiter not seeming all that concerned with his Fail Date and thinking she's purdy, Juliet feels the overpowering urge to dig around in her partner's life.
Carlton Lassiter, ever the opportunist, uses the moment to touch her in a way that's two inches away from a feel being copped.
"Carlton," she whispered, "not here. Not in the hallway." His jaw tightened, and her lips parted at the sight, in anticipation, in lust. "Why do birds/Suddenly appear?/Everytime/You are near?" [/bad fanfic come to life]
Patented Lassiter Eyeroll™, represent!
Juliet is asked why Lassiter is so pissy recently, and she explains, like a good wife, that he needs to get laid.
I know how he could do that in like, five minutes time and in a janitor's closet, sweetheart.
So does Exceptionally Tall Buzz. He ain't that stupid.
You'll work it out, honey. Why don't you hang around and vet your partner's dates, in a completely passively obsessive manner?
Cool. We'll be over here, talking about you at the water cooler and how you're probably going to set your "partner" up with your "friend" who doesn't look anything like you, okay?
EYES UP, RODAY.
Yes, it would be kind of weird to kiss your real-life boyfriend onscreen, wouldn't it Mags? Wouldn't it?
Lawnmower Man agrees.
Later, if there was a plot or cohesion to this post, our Dynamic Duo go on a makeout stakeout. In some crappy car that I assume is supposed to be the Crown Vic, but, yo, where's Xzibit when you need him?
Inside, a young woman with her lovely declotage showing sizes up her companion (who, for the record, is tie-less, a little grubby and unshaven) like a piece of meat and she's a reluctant vegetarian in a butcher's shop for the first time in months.
He's looking fucking hot, and really, I'd give my left arm to see these two getting it on.
But, of course, Juliet's still running through the script entitled "I'm Not In Love With You - Here, Have a Date Set-Up and Controlled By Me Instead", and Lassiter gets the idea.
"I know you totally love me, O'Hara."
DENIAL
Don't get cranky with me, woman, you know it. Underneath that beautiful orangey sherbert top that your partner wants to see over the backseat, you know it.
That's better. And we see again how wonderfully amazing these two are together - from the chemistry to the plain aesthetics - and ugh.
It's actually painful, really. You just want to throw the television across the room it's so freakin' painful.
She's bringing him coffee. On a stakeout. Probably bought with a free coffee card. A free coffee card.
Lassiter chats up a prostitute, badges are shown and Juliet cares about her partner.
It's all you really need to know, isn't it?
Hyep. It's going to be a looonnnng season.
THE END.
A really, really long season. HA HA LASSITER CHATTED UP A PROSTITUTE HE'S SO FUNNY HA HA JULIET/SHAWN FOREVER. Jesus Christ, it's enough to make you write letters a la Abe Simpson, for sure.
I'm going to take up drinking, y'all. It may be the only way.