Oh Alias how I will miss thee,
Let me count the ways.
What shall I do without Sydney and Big Daddy Jack?
What shall I do if Sloane doesnt get knocked off his ass flat onto his back?
Who will design the gadgets if Marshall is not around?
And what about that hottie Sark, will he find himself in the ground?
Though only in my dreams, a spy I will never be,
I’d do great at the street smarts and ass kickin but in science I am pretty suck-y.
Ben Affleck you ruined everything, you and your stupid on set romance,
Jen, what was wrong with Vaughn, for pete’s sake – he comes from FRANCE!??
The pregnancy, yes it slowed you down, but we want more, more, more,
There are five episodes left, and after next week (I sob) there will be four.
I dream of mulit colored wigs, Swedish and Russion accents too,
In my fantasy world Sydney Bristow, you ass-kicken queen, I AM YOU!
How can five different CSI shows keep ratings and they say that Alias can’t
Let’s just be real and tell the truth – it’s because she got pregnant.
I cried at the end of Melrose and Friend’s
But when Alias is over…can I go on…is this the end?
I’ll mourn that it’s done, I’ll cry and I’ll swear…
(and I am done with this poem crap)
I’ll pour a big ass glass of red wine and pop in Season One and start all over again, slipping into my fantasy world where I am a thin, bitchen, dropping from planes, crawling across ceilings, red haired, blond haired, french maid, russian rocket scientist, blue rubber dress wearin’, KGB ass-kicken spy, in love with my partner, protected by the best daddy in the world, beloved by Marshall and Dixon, spurned by my mother…
My code name is Phoenix, I am special opps agent Sydney Bristow. Kicken butt and taking names.