Dear 30 Rock,
I understand it's your time to go. I mean, you don't want to hang around for three extra seasons like The Office or How I Met Your Mother. I just can't believe I'm now living in a world where I can't turn on the tv and find another clue that Kenneth is either an angel or vampire.
I regret that I didn't start watching you right at the beginning. We could have had so much more time together. It took a rainy trip to Miami where my sister and I watched the entire first season in three days to bring us together. All of the sudden I understood the glory of Dr. Spaceman, the importance of wearing a tux after six, and that you may need to rethink your relationship if you see your boyfriend on To Catch a Predator.
I grieve, but I know you're going to a better place, where "Werewolf Bar Mitzvah" is always playing, the moon always knows it's day, and you get to marry Astronaut Mike Dexter and live happily ever after.
I love you. I'll miss you. Shut it down.
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