There it is, the picture that started it all—Old Brown from Squirrel Nutkin. Look how little shit he’s willing to put up with right now! None. None of the shit.

I started this blog as an excuse to lie in bed hungover rather than stand outside hungover, and it’s only appropriate that it ends the same way. Yes, this is the 500th—and last—Hungover Owls post. I am reasonably satisfied that I have had my say on the subject, if not 499 more says than anybody should.

And that’s all on you. I cannot thank all of you enough for making this incredibly stupid dream possible. From the Audubon-qualtiy photo submissions, to hungover owls Halloween costumes, to just the folks commenting “Jake is that you???” enthusiastically under a vomiting screech owl, you’ve all been the very, very bestest. Thank you.

If any one of these guys helped you deal with the physical and emotional fallout from that last theme party in any way, please consider dropping five bucks into the owl charity of your choice. Mine would be the World Owl Trust. Just try to say no to a baby tawny in a bucket.

If any of y'all are in Boston, I heartily encourage you to check out DigBoston.com, the alt-weekly/counter-cultural nexus I’m at. Plenty of hangover jokes, but I can shoehorn in an owl or two if you ask nicely. Also, I’m going to link to that book one last time. Done.

Well folks, this is it. Fly safe.