So it's official internets: I broke up with House. The epic bromance was epic, and after coming on way too strong and then flailing around for the rest of this season, the Cuddy dynamic was just starting to feel right, and both of these things made it a really hard decision. Greg and I are still on good terms, in fact.
But I'm better off without
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But anyway, my complete suspension of disbelief isn't based on the concept that the show has writers, but my acception of it as a piece of fiction. Basically, because it's fiction, I open up a window in my mind and allow the show to exist on a diffent plane, in a universe all of it's own, where it has it's own rules and can therefore be believable. My suspension of disbelief was broken only once during House... not after reading about the various medicine mistakes (once again, seperate universe), but actually after the suicide of you-know-who, when I had to look up the reason for why he left the show. Doing so was like an uncomfortable breaking of the fourth wall.
I'd rather not think about the writers, I mean... not that this point in particular belongs to House, but if I acknowledge a team of writers creating a given show, how am I suppose to imagine that all the characters who look hot together have secret gay relationships during the off-time? Oh wait nothing.
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