Welcome to the end of season eight. Stuff a bunch of pillows into your shirt. Now fall down. Fall down repeatedly.
I watched the last four of these back to back, and it was the most destructive decision I’ve ever made in my life.
Because they SHOULD still be making out.
I’ve spent a lot of time on the floor since the season seven finale. I’m just working through some things.
IT’S ALL HAPPENING.
Sorry for the delay; I met Gillian Anderson this past weekend and retroactively blacked out last week.
Move over, Backstreet Boys; I have a new favorite Millennium.