Flames on the side of my face...

because they sure weren't on Marissa's.

All I wanted was a little death. Is that so much to ask? You say, "you got death." Oh no, I did not get death.

I got the amazing technicolor graduation complete with the ugliest purple gowns ever and leis. Frickin' leis.

I got goodbyes. There are no goodbyes with death. You do not get to get to conveniently say goodbye to everyone because you're going away and then die. This is sudden teenage death, no goodbyes. Seriously.

I got last words. Mumbly, sputtery, poorly acted last words. Okay, maybe there are last words with death. But not when you are in a car wreck that doesn't break a single bone in the driver's body, leaving him with the strength to pick you up and carry you around and then you suddenly wake up at the last minute to utter you mumbly, sputtery, poorly acted last words. You were dead from your massive head injury. You do not get to come back for last words.

I came back for death, and death I did not receive. I did not ask for quality, even when I watched this show consistently, I never expected quality. I simply asked for a show that markets itself as a primetime, teenage soap with all the requisite implausibilites to serve up a glorious, wonderful soap-opera-style death.

But there is one hope for redemption: If Sandy and Kirstin conceive a child from after the steamy makeout session we saw and this child turns out to be the reincarnated soul of Marissa and simultaneously the spawn of Satan, I will watch again to see her get the fiery ending she deserves.

Now THAT would be a good show.

Dear Fox

Here are the several options I was willing to accept for Marissa Cooper's death:

(1) Marissa spontaneously combusts in the middle of graduation.

(2) Marissa is crushed as the model home dramatically and suddenly collapses on top of her (and catches on fire).

(3) Marissa starts boozing it up again, her flask catches on fire, and she explodes in a vodka-soaked flame of glory.

(4) Marissa starts boozing it up again, her flask is lit on fire by her sister, and she explodes in a vodka-soaked flame of glory.

I also would have accepted anything else involving Marissa actually catching on fire or having her life stolen by her mini-me little sister.

But no...

First you take away Arrested Development and then you take away the fiery explosive death that I was clearly entitled to after an hour of watching your craptacular nighttime soap.

I hate you.