Lorelai: I thought, "I'll just sit down and write whatever comes -- no judgment, no inner critic." Was that a bad idea.
Rory: Really? Why?
Lorelai: Because my brain is a wild jungle full of scary gibberish. "I'm writing a letter. I can't write a letter. Why can't I write a letter? I'm wearing a green dress. I wish I was wearing my blue dress. My blue dress is at the cleaners. 'The Germans wore gray. You wore blue.' Casablanca is such a good movie. Casablanca. The White House. Bush. Why don't I drive a hybrid car? I should drive a hybrid car. I should really take my bicycle to work. Bicycle. Unicycle. Unitard. Hockey puck. Rattlesnake. Monkey, monkey, underpants."
Rory: "Hockey puck, rattlesnake, monkey, monkey, underpants"?
Lorelai: Exactly. That's what I'm saying. It's a big bag of weird in there. So, I think, well, I need inspiration. I need a muse. Perhaps I need The Muse. Maybe it would help if Sharon Stone would appear to me in an alarming caftan and coo inspirational words in my ear.