Teresa Wiltz, author of today’s essay on The Wire, you are on notice. You are my least favorite person in the entire world right now. Is it impolite to wish upon you parking tickets, an IRS audit, a coming-home full of dog shit in your living room? Would it be unprofessional of me to want you to get stuck in an elevator, after which you get on Metro and sit in a big, fresh pile of gum? If so, fine.
Two sentences in and you fucking tell me the big news of the show’s final finale? You suck.