Let me tell you a story instead:
Well, you see dear, about ten years ago, or that’s how the story goes, there were two young actors named Jensen and Jared.
A man by the name of Eric Kripke wanted these two boys to play brothers in the television show he had written. They didn’t look much like brothers, but when the television executives saw their chemistry in the audition, they looked at each other and said, “By jove, I think we’ve got it!”
Now even though Jensen and Jared, Jay and Jar, J and J, J squared, J two, or whatever you want to call them, had amazing chemistry in the audition, in real life, they hated each other. They couldn’t stand each others guts.
In fact, if you were to slit them open, take out their guts, and dip them in an egg and flour batter, deep fry them to a nice golden brown, they would refuse to eat them. Even if you served them with ketchup.
They’d pull pranks on each other hoping to trash Kripke’s show so that he would send them all home and they’d never have to see each other again. They tried delaying production by teasing and screwing with each other (Not the sexy kind of screwing. Ew.) They tried putting stink bombs in each others trailers, giving each other swirlies, putting rat poison in each others drinking water. They were absolute terrors to work with.
It got so bad, they were getting into fist fights in bars. One incident, they were so drunk they couldn’t tell who they were hitting and ended up sending several drunken bystanders to the hospital. By the time the television executives heard about the incident, it had already been twisted by the media to sound as if Jay and Jar had been defending each other.
“We love it!” The bald one named Bob Singer said. “The fans are eating it up! We need more of you two kissing up to each other!”
“Yeah, literally kissing,” Eric, the other bald one, added.
By this point, Jay and Jar were making so much money from the show, they thought, “What the hell? Why tank a good thing?” So they shook hands and decided to play nice for the camera.
“I wish he were a critic and not my brother!” Jensen told one reporter at a red carpet event after Jared had pretended to try to kiss him.
"Are you wearing my shirt, Jensen?!”
Jared grabbed at the shirt, “It IS my shirt, you asshole!”
"I’m doing it for the fans, get offa me!"
"You’re in my trailer! There are no fans within fifty miles of us, you chicken molar!"
One day Jensen got kicked out of his apartment.
“You’re smelly, you throw your clothes around and you play your saxophone at all hours of the night!” His now ex-roommate (and now ex best friend) gave as an excuse for why Jensen’s clothes were sitting in a pile on the stoop of his front porch. “Take your shit and don’t forget your saxophone!”
So Jensen did. But not without first sending a stink bomb through his ex roommate, ex best friend’s front window.
“Live with me!” Jared suggested.
“We hate each other!”
“The fans will love it! Viewership in the key demographics will go through the roof!”
“Well, I play the saxophone at all hours of the night and I don’t intend to stop.”
“That’s fine,” Jared said, “I’ve got a fedora and I can play jazz piano while you play your sax.”
Jensen wrinkled his nose, “That sounds too much like friendship.”
“Well I didn’t say I’d play the jazz piano well.”
“Okay,” Jensen gave in. “But if you actually start to like me, I’m calling this whole thing off.”
Jared snorted, “As if!”
They shared a good laugh.