OMFG
Richard Alpert: Who are you?
John Locke: My name is John Locke.
Alpert: Is that supposed to mean something to me?
Violins: *are signaling a big revelation*
Locke: Jacob sent me.
Audience: ...Duh.
Richard: *is still hot*
Alpert: (woahomghowdoyouknowjacob?) Put the gun down.
Punk British kid who thinks no one knows the island better than he does: What? Richard, you can’t seriously trust him.
Audience: You know, LOST really has started to get more predict...
Alpert: I said, put the gun down, Widmore.
…
THE WORLD: STILL EXPLODING.
LOST WRITERS: WHAT NOW, MOTHAFUCKAS!!
EPISODE DIRECTOR: IM GOING TO ALLOT GRAUITOUS TIME BETWEEN RICHARD’S LAST WORD AND THE NEXT SENTENCE TO ALLOW ENOUGH TIME FOR THE AUDIENCE TO APPROPRIATELY FREAK THE FUCK OUT.
THE AUDIENCE: APPROPRIATELY FREAKS THE FUCK OUT.
Locke: (omg, you cannot possibly be serious) Your name is Widmore?
THE AUDIENCE: APPROPRIATELY FREAKS THE FUCK OUT EVEN HARDER.
Punk British kid/OMGHECANNOTSERIOUSLYBECHARLESFUCKINGWIDMORE: why you lookin at me, fool?
Alpert: saywhaa???
Locke: (with an inexplicable grin on his face, as if he’s fully aware of the audience’s freaking the fuck out and of the impossibility of this situation) Charles Widmore?
OUR BRAINS: ARE LEAKING OUT OF OUR EARS.
Punk British kid/HOLYSHITITSNOTFUCKINGPOSSIBLE: What’s it to you?
Locke: Nothing. Nice to meet you.
OUR MINDS: ARE FUCKED.
LOST: WINS.
John Locke: My name is John Locke.
Alpert: Is that supposed to mean something to me?
Violins: *are signaling a big revelation*
Locke: Jacob sent me.
Audience: ...Duh.
Richard: *is still hot*
Alpert: (woahomghowdoyouknowjacob?) Put the gun down.
Punk British kid who thinks no one knows the island better than he does: What? Richard, you can’t seriously trust him.
Audience: You know, LOST really has started to get more predict...
Alpert: I said, put the gun down, Widmore.
…
THE WORLD: STILL EXPLODING.
LOST WRITERS: WHAT NOW, MOTHAFUCKAS!!
EPISODE DIRECTOR: IM GOING TO ALLOT GRAUITOUS TIME BETWEEN RICHARD’S LAST WORD AND THE NEXT SENTENCE TO ALLOW ENOUGH TIME FOR THE AUDIENCE TO APPROPRIATELY FREAK THE FUCK OUT.
THE AUDIENCE: APPROPRIATELY FREAKS THE FUCK OUT.
Locke: (omg, you cannot possibly be serious) Your name is Widmore?
THE AUDIENCE: APPROPRIATELY FREAKS THE FUCK OUT EVEN HARDER.
Punk British kid/OMGHECANNOTSERIOUSLYBECHARLESFUCKINGWIDMORE: why you lookin at me, fool?
Alpert: saywhaa???
Locke: (with an inexplicable grin on his face, as if he’s fully aware of the audience’s freaking the fuck out and of the impossibility of this situation) Charles Widmore?
OUR BRAINS: ARE LEAKING OUT OF OUR EARS.
Punk British kid/HOLYSHITITSNOTFUCKINGPOSSIBLE: What’s it to you?
Locke: Nothing. Nice to meet you.
OUR MINDS: ARE FUCKED.
LOST: WINS.