With the final season of Fringe starting on Sept. 28 (that’s only almost two weeks away, squeeeee!), I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Well, not as much as I think about Walter and Peter, because one is a genius mad scientist and the other is the hot son of a genius mad scientist, and also not as much as I think about Olivia, because she looks so good in a suit , or as much as I think about Astrid because she’s just so pretty, but more than I think about, say, lichen.
Also, I know there’s more than one Observer and you’ve probably got a name, except you come from the future so maybe they don’t have names anymore? Maybe they just have ID numbers or something? Anyway, you probably have a name or an ID number or whatever, but to me, you’ll always be the Observer, because you were the first and also the nicest. I mean, you don’t seem to be dead set on enslaving humanity in the future, like the rest of your associates, which I think is pretty nice.
Not to mention you’re always hanging out with my good TV friends Walter and Peter and Olivia and Astrid. (I feel like I should stop saying “not to mention” and then mentioning the thing, but I’m afraid if I do stop, then all my paragraphs will start with “also.”) I think they’re great, what with the way they travel to alternate universes and have telekinetic powers and great hair (hi, Astrid! I love your hair!) and sometimes get to be badass (hi, Astrid! I loved the way you hurt all those bad guys last season, right before one shot you in the gut!).
And you obviously think they’re great too, which means we have that in common, so that could be something we could talk about while we’re dating.
Oh, did I forget to say we should be dating, Observer? I meant to say that.
We should be dating, Observer.
For one thing (and this is a thing that’s in addition to that thing I mentioned earlier, about how awesome the Fringe team is and how much I wish they were my real friends, except I’d’ve probably gotten disintegrated in some horrible parallel universe cross-dimensional murder by now, so I guess I’m OK with them being fictional), all the extra spices in my cupboard that I hardly ever use, I could totally use when cooking for you, because being from the future makes you have no sense of taste (for some reason). Seriously, there’s this thing of chipotle power in my cupboard right now that is just going to waste, and I wouldn’t mind dumping it on some mashed potatoes. For you, Observer.
Plus, you look good in a fedora. (Or is that a trilby?)
Anyway, when we get married, we should invite Walter and Peter and Olivia and Astrid to our wedding, and maybe even Agent Broyles and Nina. Ooooh, and also everybody’s alternate selves from the parallel universe, and also William Bell, because he’s secretly Leonard Nimoy.
In fact, I’ll get started on the invitations now.