I am the world's biggest fan of The Killing, so it pisses me off that haters are talking smack about the season finale. Let's just say people thought we'd find out who killed Rosie, and it's not clear that we do. "Look, dudes," I want to say to them, "it's not about the destination. It's the journey. It's the journey that counts."

Sure, some of them say, "Well then, Roman, why do you drive ninety miles an hour on the way to Vegas?" but they're talking to the hand by then.

I got hooked from the first minute of the show's debut. We get to see lots of killing on TV, but this is the first show that really dwells on the question, "Hey, how do parents act when one of their kids is dead?" See, there are lots of questions I want to see answered. "What does Scott Caan look like naked?" is one. "Do blond guys' pubes look like Nilla wafers?" is another. But somehow The Killing's omniscient producers knew, "How hard do people cry when they're picking out their kids' coffins?" would be Number One on my list.

I watched breathlessly as the story unfolded in a dramatic arc. Check out the sheer artistry in TV Guide's summaries of the first five episodes:

WEEK ONE: Rosie Larsen is murdered.

WEEK TWO: Detectives learn that before she was murdered Rosie went to the prom.

WEEK THREE: Detectives learn that before she went to the prom Rosie met with friends.

WEEK FOUR: Detectives learn that before she met with friends Rosie got a McFlurry at McDonalds.

WEEK FIVE: Detectives learn that before she had her McFlurry Rosie suspected she had oily hair.

Is that incredible? I hear the show has so transfixed the nation that there's going to be a spinoff called Six Things A Seattle Teen Did Yesterday. Thank God TV crime shows don't actually give you clues any more, like they did when our parents were young. On something called Ellery Queen, according to my grandpa, the dude playing Ellery actually stopped the show and said, "Hey, kids, now we've given you all the clues. Can you solve the mystery?"

"Are you kidding?" I wonder. "Who's got the attention span?" Hell, I can barely pay attention through the latest spate of detective shows where folks look at stuff through microscopes until somebody confesses. It's why I loved the show Lost: those producers knew nobody gave a fuck about a story as long as, like, invisible toucans tore fat guys apart.

Anyway, we still don't know who killed Rosie, and I for one don't give a damn. I don't care that this carrot is on a half-mile-long stick: I know we're in for a long, fun ride, and fingers crossed our path will circle by another couple interesting questions:

Was Rosie any good at Sudoku?
and
How upset do parents get when they're forced to partner with their deceased offspring in a three-legged race?