The seductive brunette slinked towards me from across the room, her sheer chiffon nightgown parting in a way that television censors wouldn't have allowed twenty-five years ago. "Darling," she whispered into my ear, "Of course we have J. R. Ewing getting shot to blame for cliffhangers on television. Everyone was talking about it, and the first episode of Dallas the next season got boffo ratings. Producers all want a piece of that action." Her hands, out of camera range, reminded me of how her career had begun with a guest shot on Different Strokes.
"But, Sweetheart, that doesn't mean that every show has to have a cliffhanger," I mumbled as my cufflinks fell to the floor. "Shows with continuing story lines, sure, it makes sense. It's like how daytime soaps had almost nothing happen during the week, and then on Friday something big was bound to happen. But if they start putting cliffhangers on shows like, say, Two and a Half Men, then I think they've gone too far."
She gently pushed me backwards, and I fell onto the bed. Like a tigeress, she had me pinned. "There's an easy way to know part of what's going to happen next, Pookiekins," she purred. "All you have to do is find out whose contracts have been signed for the next season. They're not going to knock off a character played by someone with a good contract, now are they? Speaking of which, I've heard your contract is running out."
She had me there. Wait, how did she get a gun in her hand?
*Click*
Freezeframe. Superimpose title: To Be Continued...