Dear Show,

*bleeds menstrually at you*

Love,
Charlie.

PS. You forgot her badass forhead tattoo.

PPS. Interestingly, Wikipedia (the noted scholar) mentions the theory that the Whore of Babylon is an allegory for the Roman Catholic Church. Considering that in this particular narrative she functioned as an element that manipulated free will and led the townsfolk down the path of good intentions, I like the idea that she was paralleled* to the way the (Roman-Catholic based) angels and demons have manipulated the Winchesters into their current potential roles as hosts.

*Yes, I doubt show is this clever or nearly so tangential, but whatever.

-

Dear Michael Shanks,

Thank you for existing. That is all. I was wondering what SG1 would get up to during a Christian-religion-driven apocalypse. It seems the answer is ... SHEEPIFY.

Stay cute now,
Charlie.

-

Abomination Sam,

I love your College-educated democratic, fight-for-your-right, politically activist, sensitive-to-rights-abuse ass. I also love your windswept hair in the aftermath of Dean's Holy Smiting. Most of all, somehow you've become the brother whose left behind, the brother desperate for love and the handhold it gives him, the brother who will fight to protect people even in the face of a bigger picture.

You're gonna burn the world down looking for Dean. You were born to shine, baby, so shine.

Sobbing,
Charlie.

-

Dear Lisa,

Goddamnit. When you have a piece of Dean-ass being all heroically male on your doorstep, you physically tackle that wannabe martyr inside for a beer.

Your house looks like a Barbie out-doors lakehouse,
Charlie.

-

Castiel,

You are slowly sauntering downward. I like. Next time you find a liquor store, try not to go totally Constantine on it. In fact, come to think of it, it's time to call in the big guns. Go hang out at a bar with the Hellblazer. He'll teach you how to party like it's 1999.

I greatly enjoy your casual, cruel, nonchalant dismissal of Sam as abominable to the very essence of your being, and to your eardrums. I have come to suspect that it is this, more than anything, that is fuelling Sam's puppy-crush on you. Oh, come on, you just know Jess got his attention by snarking at him like Julia Stiles at Heath Ledger**.

Stay Enochian now,
Charlie.

-

Hamlet Jesus Dean.

You're just wheeling all over the place like a big ol' hot mess of daddy issues, nihilistic self-righteousness and saintlike self-loathing, aren't you? Just a human with too much divinity and iniquity pooling in the recesses of your gut driving you up the wall of irrationality.

So say yes. Burn your insides clean. Watch Sam go crazy while you're screaming from the cage of your own skin.

You're the tail end of a tragedy,
Charlie.

PS. Ben's been worrying you for a while now, huh? All those people getting married before the End, the spectre of being a deadbeat dad yourself, your constant distrust of everyone you ever let in, it's all adding up.
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Dearest Metallicar,

This shit is bananas. Messy divorces are the worst. Just remember, it's not your fault, and they both still love you very much.

Stay cool now,
Charlie.

-

Dear John,

I love you. But I hate you.

I ain't trippin'.

Just missing you,
Charlie.

-

Dear God,

Yes, I know you're busy crushing on Lee Pace with the rest of us, but deep down, no matter how much you protest, you know that there are more important things than the video montage set to My Heart Will Go On that you've been holed up piecing together in iMovie for the last ten years.

...

No wonder you're so angry at the world.

Blasphemously yours,
Charlie.

-

**