Why is Downton Abbey the realest show on TV? Is it because the Crawleys own Yorkshire like fox terriers own the Westminster dog show? Is it because of Ms. O’Brien, a lady’s maid so cold she could make ice crumpets in hell? Is it because in season one Thomas wanted to be Lord Grantham’s valet so bad he fucking framed Bates for stealing the wine? Is it because basically everyone on that show is gangsta? You think Mary Crawley isn’t gangsta? When cousin Matthew was like, I’ll marry you, and she’s like, I don’t know, maybe, I’m not even sure you’re in line to inherit the estate? Damn, Mary! I mean that bitch won’t even wear a hat twice. You see her in a velveteen cloche in episode one? Don’t plan on seeing that thing again. And let’s not even discuss the fact that she fucked a Turkish man to death. And what about Maggie Smith, a.k.a. the female Dumbledore from Harry Potter, a.k.a. the Dowager Countess of Grantham? You know how she gets about flowers, and how she went all bawse in season one during the village rose competition? Well, let’s just say it’s not long into season two that she comes into contact with some bulrushes she does not think belong in a Downton arrangement.

Because if you thought season one was insane, wait until you see season two. I mean, cousin Matthew is engaged and it’s not to Mary—and he and Mary and his fiancée still end up at Downton on the same night. And sister Sybil sneaks down to the kitchen to learn how to boil water for the first time, even though she’s a lady. And Bates’s wife shows up and gets so real on Bates that she makes Ms. O’Brien look like Fredo Corleone. I’m not going to ruin the whole season, but I bet you’ll understand why people use the expression “I’m going Downton on your ass.” Say it next time someone gets up in your grill at a club or a winetasting. “Say ‘That’s way too tannin-y’ again and I will go straight Downton on you. Now let’s freak.” Or if you’re at a party and your friend cock-blocks you? Just be like: Do you know what time it is? It’s nine on Sunday night on PBS! Then drop your salad fork like it’s hot and walk off. It wouldn’t hurt to add: “And you’re not even in Burke’s Peerage.”