And that's it, kids. After eighteen months of waiting and thirteen weeks of watching, it's all finally over. But before I go, I'd be remiss if I didn't at least thank you all for a wonderful experience this season. We've laughed together. We've cried together. We've mocked consumer-grade porcelain figurines. We've analyzed. We've speculated. We've had everyone from Adriana to Artie leading our dead pools. Some of you have sent gifts. Some of you have caused me to beat my head against the monitor in frustration. Many of you fell for the "I'm fired" joke for the second time in as many years. We've taunted the Wingnuts. We've gotten shout-outs in Birds of Prey recaps. We've bitched. We've pissed. We've moaned. We've praised. We've pontificated. We've quoted Milton and Mick Jagger, and been quoted ourselves in Slate and The New York Times. And now that it's over, we're finally forced to go our separate ways. Some will watch Oz, and some will watch Alias. Some will buy DVDs, and some will sleep in on Sundays (well, I'LL sleep in on Sundays, at least). But before you all go, just know that I've loved spending these weeks with you, and more importantly, know that deep down, no matter what she may say in public, Sars really does have a little bit of a thing for me.
Sars: Un. Fucking. Believable.
Aaron: That's gonna cost you three dollars, you know.
Sars: You honestly think I have a thing for you?
Aaron: Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm fired, right?
Sars: Nope. I've got something MUCH worse planned for you.
Aaron: It doesn't involve whale sperm, does it?
Sars: Actually, it's entirely possible that it could.
Aaron: Oh? Oh! No!
Sars: Oh, yes.
Sars: I said yes.
Aaron: You wouldn't!
Sars: I most certainly would. You, my friend, are going to Oz!
Aaron: But but
Sars: No buts about it. Well, okay, some butts, but nevertheless, it's a done deal.