2012 will go down as the year we got our show back, y’all. I’ll be honest, I’d just about given up hope. Especially after the train wreck straight into a turd pile that was 2011.
The last 12 months may not have been completely perfect in Port Charles, but they were still pretty effing amazing. Let’s relive the wonder and the WTF together, shall we?
General Hospital 2012
CARLY: A new year, new beginnings!
SONNY: Nope, everyone in town is still yelling at you about keeping your hopes that Jax is alive a secret from me, the man who recently tried to murder him.
CARLY: Damn it.
JASON: Sorry, Michael. Didn’t see you standing there in the road due to my Franco-rage blackout.
MICHAEL: Jason, you’ve raised and protected me all my life, and even sent yourself to prison for me. But you didn’t immediately tell me that my mom thinks Jax is alive. Which means you’re the worst person ever and I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!
JASON: Wow. We really did raise you into an insufferable brat, didn’t we?
PATRICK: I don’t want to be overly dramatic… but if Jason gets so much as a hangnail, his brain will explode.
JASON: No stress. Gotcha. I just need to kill the guy who raped my wife first.
FRANCO: But if you kill me, then you’ll never know the HORRIBLE TRUTH about– *gurgles*
JASON: I’m okay with that. Now, no more stress forever!
SAM: Guess what? I’m pregnant!
MONICA: Elizabeth, in my official capacity as your boss, I think it’s only fair I tell you your performance review this year will state that you’re a baby-killing, husband-stealing trollop.
ROBIN: Wow, it’s a shame to see Monica lose her grip like that. Ah, well. Say, Elizabeth, small favor to ask: after I leave my husband and daughter without a word to go die alone, would you mind terribly stepping in as their new wife and mother?
ELIZABETH: Yeah, this is too bonkers even for me. I think I’ll just go lay on a gurney and stare at the ceiling with my not-therapist/maybe boyfriend for a while.
LADY IN WHITE: I don’t know my real name! But you can call me Cassandra. Because my therapist thought naming me after one of the most tragic figures in literature might help me with my tendencies toward Gothic melodrama.
ETHAN: How’s that working out for you?
CASSANDRA: Prithee, my lord? I could not hear you over the sound of my white gown billowing mournfully as I looked out over the parapet onto the misty moor.
ETHAN: We’re… on an island.
CASSANDRA: Silence! I must away into the tunnels!
ETHAN: Oh, yeah. She’s into me. Continue reading