The truce does last for the next 100 miles. And the hundred after that. And the hundred after that. But the hundred after that, not so much.
It starts with short sheeting your bed. An oldie but a goodie, Dean says. You just roll your eyes. And plot.
It escalates with food dye in Dean's toothpaste. Nice work, if you do say so yourself.
A squirt of eye drops in your "mocha choca ya ya latte". (Not being able to go near the motel bathroom was totally worth it, dude, just to see you run. Jerk, how do even know a Lady Marmalade song? Shut up, bitch.)
Permanent marker moustache on Dean's face while sleeping? Worth every minute of sleeping with your eyes open for the next week.
Changing your homepage to really raunchy porn EVERY time you left the laptop alone for a nanosecond – you've got to hand it to him - took dedication, concentration. Still not funny when the librarian in Podunck throws you out in front of that 3rd grade class.
Chilipeppers in ALL of Dean's food for three days until he was afraid to take a bite of anything? Awesome.
Pictures of you sleeping with 15 different stuffed animals. Don't ask me where I got them, just check out your website, dude. Website?
Warning every woman Dean hit on that he had an oozing and debilitating (if you know what I mean) social disease and Yeah, I learned the hard way. The embarrassment of the set up sooo paled compared to the pay off.
Putting holes in all of your socks. A bit pitiful, but Dean's got a cold.
Changing Dean's ringtones to the greatest hits of Cher? I totally win, Dean. Ready to let give up the title?
In your dreams, bitch. He shrinks all of your boxers, Tshirts and track pants.
Goddamn it, your ass still itches from that powder, but this - both of your rolling on the floor laughing until you cry thinking about the fish in the back of their car and do you think they figured it out yet? I hope so, I gave them a fake address - this fills in so much of that giant hole that's been there for 8 months now.