Goodbye.... Cylons
"We're the children of humanity. That makes them our parents, in a sense."
"True, but parents have to die. It's the only way children can come into their own."
- Six and Doral, "Bastille Day"
They made excellent foes, those scary motherfrakking Cylons. Each and every one of them.
So here, we salute them!
To Number One, Cavil, we salute your devotion to being the biggest bastard in the known universe. (Dude. Let it go.)
To Number Two, Leoben, we salute your shirts and crazy religious mumbo jumbo. (We totes understand why you were into Starbuck. She is indeed awesome to quite awesome)
To Number Three, D'Anna, we salute your tenaciousness in your quest for forbidden knowledge. (Sorry you had to "get off the merry-go-round" so soon, but we understand)
To Number Four, Simon, we salute how committed you are to being the baddie-scientist-who-dissects-people-and-makes-Kara-cry.
To Number Five, Doral, we salute your excellent taste in suits.
To Number Six, we salute your quest to becoming a real girl, beloved by God.
To Number Seven, Daniel, we salute your... We don't really know you well enough to salute you. Sorry!
To Number Eight, Boomer/Sharon, we salute you sticking to your side.
To Sam Anders, we salute your hotness and your ability to be lovably "just Sam."
To Tory Foster, we salute your election stealing and political acumen. (Baltar? Really? For shame.)
To Galen Tyrol, we salute your mechanical skills and your lovable chiefy-ness.
To Ellen Tigh, we salute your boozy whorey-ness and your role as grand architect mommy.
To Saul Tigh, we salute your grumpy booze-soaked ass. You were a true revelation for the series. We tip our hats to you, sir.
And to all the chrome toasters, raiders, baseships, and hybrids, we salute you too. Rock on to your metal God, you fantastic baddies.
Goodbye, Cylons.