As I write this, it's Thursday afternoon. A busy day has left me little time to peck out my thoughts on So You Think You Can Dance — oh, if only I could be paid in the low six figures just to blog about shitty reality shows! For that, I dream.

I haven't decided if I'll write about the true conclusion of this season — since it'll be long over by the time an article gets written and posted, it'll be like offering a chocolate sundae to a guy who's just finished working his way through a buffet — so I will take this opportunity to bring this season's commentary on SYTYCD to a rousing finale.

I cannot believe I am expected to sit through four hours of this crap.

I kid, I kid.

Okay, I don't. I like this show — I'm sort of a fan. It's been less engaging to me this season than in the past, but still -- SYTYCD, I support you. You complete me. Et cetera. Even so, I am someone who likes the show who thinks your finale is WAY TOO DAMN LONG.

It is longer than The Godfather. It is longer than most productions of Hamlet. Mozart's Requiem, Lerner and Loewe's My Fair Lady, Citizen Kane — all timeless works of art that are completed in LESS TIME than it takes for you to decide which of four young dancers deserves some money and a job.

No reality show deserves a four-hour conclusion taking place over two nights, and even if ratings show that people are actually dumb enough to sit through all four hours, let me tell you what the sensible people without Nielsen boxes are doing. They're watching something else instead of the two-hour results show, and they're tuning in for the last ten minutes to see who wins.

At least on American Idol, there's such a rousing sense of faux drama that you can sorta kinda get all swept up in the pageantry and suspense. But as we've discussed, SYTYCD is like Idol's cooler burnout brother — they can't really summon the drama because they're so goofily sincere and endearing.