You don't know me, but I definitely know you. You, your friends and all your collective shenanigans have been my guilty pleasure ever since your beautiful privileged faces first graced my television screen. And I know, I know - I have disparaged you in the past, likened you to an emotionally juvenile cocky ex-boyfriend of mine, mocked you for your clothing choices. But you do recognize, don't you, that I was not entirely off-base? I mean, Basstardly (ha!) shenanigans aside, let's just talk about those clothes of yours. In fact, let's not talk. Let's look...
...at your evening wear. Are those sequins? Your dinner jacket, it's BEJEWELED?
...at your casual wear, accessorized with a pair of alluring come-hither (by which I mean scary I'm-going-to-murder-you) eyes:
...at your - good lord, what is this? Summer wear? I just... don't know:
Do you see, now, what drove me to scold your image every time it appeared on my screen? Why I could not imagine how anyone could find you remotely attractive, not in a million years, especially when conversations with you would never have been face-to-face but instead, face-to-nostrils?
But Chuck, you've grown. You've quit being a Basstard. You've let Blair in and are the epitome of a devoted boyfriend. You've learned to carry the weight of your head by holding it more or less upright. You've stopped with the ridiculous clothes. You look like this:
... and this:
You are classy! Debonair! Still dark and broody... but in a good way!
Chuck, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I love you.