The end has come, but fear not readers — there are many ways to get your Gossip Girl fix post-January 9th. Here are some ways to dampen your GG withdrawal:

a) Watch reruns and play Guzzle Girl, a GG-themed drinking game for New Yorkers. Sling back a shot for every location mentioned that you’ve been to/drank at/fornicated in. Double-time if it’s in your ‘hood (Example: Dan: “The Sunshine Theater”; Me: Bam! Bam!).

b) Listen to Ed Westwick’s indie rock band, appropriately named The Filthy Youth. Egads! Send in a picture of yourself with the self-damning phrase “I’m a Filthy Youth”; admire your picture once it’s posted online with the string of other teenagers, strangely all female.

c) Go to the Palace Hotel’s Gilt Restaurant and order yourself a grilled cheese with truffle oil, inspired by the show, for only $50. Get escorted out after barging into the back kitchen mumbling something about a gooey, attempted rape scene.

None of these options are as good as the real thing, natch, as proved by yesterday’s episode — the last of the season and, with no word on a resolution to the writers’ strike, likely the year. Already known for its hyper-dramatization of teenage life, GG delivered interventions, helicopters, brawls, and emergency escape routines worthy of a David Blaine special. B.’s world came crumbling down, and she tried to pull a Serena van der Woodsen by running away to her father’s French chateau, chartering a helicopter to JFK airport. (Cue misty-eyed parting between B. and S. at the heliport.) This plot point might have legs if I were watching Survivor: Manhattan — The Live Finale, but is the only way a Waldorf can be dragged out of the island by air? More likely, it was a thinly veiled excuse to have Serena’s golden tresses flutter in the wind one last time. Yes! Thank you for that.

We began with the news of S.’s pregnancy scare spreading through the Upper East Side faster than an STD in the movie Kids; also, there were more extras on the show than I have ever seen in the entirety of the season. Who were thesepeople? Are those homeless people I see in Central Park smoking adoobie actually students at Constance Billard? Anyway, clad in awide-lapel cardigan, Rufus channeled his inner Masterpiece Theaterwhen he lectured from an armchair, “Since the time you could talk, yourmother and I knew you were very special.” “I love her!” Dan thenprofessed, which ostensibly grossed Humphrey the elder out since heabruptly stood up and walked away. What great parenting: Ignoring thematter, then letting out a “Yes… yes… yes… YES!” upon learning ofthe false alarm that enables you to continue with your ferocious datinglife. Priorities.

This being the last episode, they had to cram Everyone Who Mattersinto the show, like the oft-neglected Eric, Jenny, Minority Twins, anda rare glimpse of two of Rufus’ ladies. But how lame was his “I onlyhung out with groupies who chose me,” routine with Girl No. 2 atBedford Gallery, basically admitting to a bevy of one-night stands?Even more vexing was when Girl No. 2 administered the instructions, “Intwo days you’re going to call me and thank me for your dating faux pas;you’ll ask me out to dinner, someplace elegant but intimate, and we’llhave a fabulous time. Got all that?” But wait, Rufus had to kill anymagic by calling her immediately with a s***-eating grin, in aMeSoCleverLOL kind of way. Yuck. Jenny had it right when she asked Dan,”Why are you taking his advice? He’s old and alone.'”

I was shocked to find myself rooting for B. (pictured) when sheplanked from her inner circle, since the new crop of queen bees looked,well, sad. Like poor knockoff Louis Vuitton bags in Chinatown next tothe real, glistening thing. They possessed neither the charm, thebeauty, nor the wealth (in Jenny’s case) that would excuse B.’sacrimonious behavior (and her Prada mini turbans). Call me vicious, butI wanted to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off of lil’ Jenny’s face theentire time. But I suppose that’s the point — in order to recognize thecruel cycle of hypocrisy, we must be taken out of context.

Predictably, news of B.’s infidelity and subsequent possiblepregnancy resulted in the breakdown of a brotherhood — and chipped awayat poor B.’s mental health. (Cue lots of slow-motion reels and tenderpiano ballads here). She lashed out at everyone possible: “Have funplaying with yourself,” she screamed at Chuck; “Low-rent boyfriend” and”social-climbing sister who wears my hand-me-downs,” she saidabout the Humphreys — but saved the best for her gal pal: “I can’tbelieve you don’t get it. The rules are different for the Serena vander Woodsens of the world. People expect you to party, and be wild,sleep with whomever you want, run away, come back… You shot yourreputation a long time ago. It doesn’t matter what you do, but I’m aWALDORF!” Has B. been taking lessons from CeCe “I don’t like my icecubes to get lonely” van der Woodsen? Her tongue was quick as a whip.The only thing that could silence her? The increasingly reptilianChuck, of course, who probably waited years to pull out thisbone-rattling speech: “You held a certain fascination when you werebeautiful, delicate and untouched. But now you’re like one of theArabians my father used to own — rode hard and put away wet.”

What a fabulous run it’s been. I’ll finally finish with adeclaration of love: Like Dan’s confession to Serena and herless-than-enthusiastic reply, just when my love for the show swelled toan all-time high, GG takes a pre-emptive bow at the finish line, but I’ll be there waiting for it when it comes back. Who else is with me?