And in the end, Sam heaves a weary, brokenhearted sigh all by his lonesome there in this week's motel room as we finally fade to black.
"Flagon?!" Abso-fucking-lutely. "Whee! [Slurp!]"
Next week? I don't even remember anymore, mainly because the promo was completely incoherent, but whatever. See you then! "Kisses! Flagon-flavored kisses to all of my pretties! [Hic!] Oh, my!"
Demian can't believe you're defending Little Lord Pissypants up there. Raoul, however, understands that everyone is perfectly capable of having an absolutely beastly day every now and then, and trusts that adorable little bow-legged gentleman will be back in fine form by this time next Thursday! You may reach the former at firstname.lastname@example.org. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon still under house arrest on the Internet.