Letterkenny concludes with its series finale, Season 12 Episode 6, “Over and Out,” delivering a heartfelt and humorous farewell. The episode is filled with fun callbacks and a sense of contentment among the residents, embracing the notion that sometimes being where you are is exactly where you need to be. The finale reflects the series’ spirit of small-town life, with its quirky characters and unique humor.
The episode starts with a nostalgic cold open discussing local gossip and bird misconceptions, capturing the show’s typical banter. It then revisits the previous night’s events, where the gang successfully thwarts the Degens with a surprise attack, hinting at the never-ending battle between them. Amidst this, we see dream sequences, plans for reviving past endeavors like Fartbook and a rave, and an acknowledgment of the evolving relationships among the various groups in Letterkenny.
The Skids attempt to organize another rave, considering everyone’s music tastes, and eventually decide to cater to all. The rave at the Ag Hall becomes a significant event, bringing together the community in a joyous celebration, with everyone dancing and reminiscing. The episode subtly explores potential future relationships and closes with emotional tributes to treasured town locations and presumably to Keeso’s real-life dog, Gus.
The finale serves as a love letter to “Letterkenny,” its characters, and fans, promising that while the series ends, the spirit of Letterkenny and its inhabitants endures. The show leaves a legacy of laughter, witty dialogue, and the comfort of knowing the characters’ lives continue even as the audience says goodbye. The creator’s future projects, including “Shoresy,” offer some solace to fans eager for more of the Letterkenny universe.
Episode aired December 26, 2023
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♪
You and your pals were talkin’ about the newspaper the other day…
They’re cutting the Storks Reports from the Letterkennys Banners.
Good.
Pardon?
I said they’re cutting the…
I heard ya.
Oh.
Good.
Pardon?
I said, they’re cutting the…
I was talking to Dary.
Oh.
It’s inappropriate to have a quarter-page column on page two of the Banner always announcing which nut sacks had kids.
It’s no more than an eighth of a page.
That’s splittin’ hairs.
And it’s only just often on page two.
I’ds have it right up fronts if I coulds.
Fucking ‘eh.
Why do yous two like the Stork Report so much?
It’s fun to reads. I gets to go, “Oh, they hads a kids!”
No, it’s fun to read because I get to go…
Oh, they had a kid?
Should be all business on page two.
I open up the Banner to see important current events.
Like police briefs or a calf auction, or Commanchero’s Show’n Shine.
Letterkenny Legionnaires scores.
Banner Blitz with Dan McNee.
Not to see which nut sacks had kids, and ekspecially under the title of “Stork Report”.
Starks retorts.
Firstly, no Stork has carried a baby anywhere.
And secondly, Storks aren’t even native to this area.
What if they calls it the Blue Herrons Reports?
Neither of those birds have carried babies anywhere.
Stop being cute, just gimme the news.
What?
Hmm?
Why are you lookin’ at me so long for?
‘Cause I think… what you’ve just said… is absurd.
So a baby is about 10 pound.
If it’s a big fuckin’ fat one!
I was just ballparkin’ it.
Pretty big fat fuckin’ ballpark!
Okay so what if it’s an 8-pound baby?
Who’s gonna teach that stork to carry the baby, Wayne?
You?
I think it’s pretty obvious.
You think?
I do toos.
Alright. Have at ‘er.
A falconer.
A falconer?
Yeah.
One who practices falconing.
Practices what?
Falconry.
Falconing is the acts of calling over a birds, Darys.
So if you call over any bird it’s called falconing?
Mm-hmm.
What about if it’s a penguin?
You could still falcon it.
Waynes, is maybes yous confusing storks’s with pelicans?
What if it’s a turkey?
Well, turkeys get falconed all the time.
Really?
There’s probably someone out there falconing one right now.
Did yous knows there’s a birds called the Blue-Footed Boobys?
You’d need two dozen storks to get the baby airborne. Plus, you’d need some crazy contraption so you could harness the thrust of 24 storks.
You need science on your side.
You’d have to have a good relationship with science.
And getting 24 birds to cooperate towards a common goal?
In today’s social-political climate?
Huh.
Forget it.
Peregrine falcon. Or Pere-grin.
Fastest traveler of any bird of prey.
Top speed of about 240 mile ‘n hour.
Works out to about 390s kilometers per hours, gives or takes.
Wow. That’s fast.
Fastest hunters on planet earths.
So okay, Dary, Dary, okay…
Falconers falconing a Pere-grin.
Only elite falconers fucks with Peregrines.
The falconer puts his arm out, okay?
Goes… (whistles)
Means it’s time for the bird to come over.
Now that cock sucker’s dartin’ around thousands of feet in the air currentleh.
I’m thinking about 3500 feets.
That’s exactly what I was thinking, about 3500.
Now he’s got all sort of gopher, ground hog and mouses below he could bomb down on at any time, 240 mile ‘n hour.
Eats whats he wants whens he wants.
But despite all that choice below, Dary.
World’s his oysters.
Unlimited options.
For snacks.
Shootin’ fish in a barrels.
The Peregrine sees the falconers arm out.
Hears… (whistles)
And rather than pillaging the land, his land, the world’s fastest hunter says, “Mm-mm… I’m going to land on that nut sacks’ arm instead.”
For what? A peanit.
Have to at least bes a cashews.
He’d have all sorta nut.
Wow. Falconers are powerful.
A falconer could get the Peregrine to pull its dick out of his sweetie mid slide.
But you don’t think it could get a Stork to carry a baby?
He’s got you there, Darys.
How’s yer beer?
Well, I’m not saying this changes anythings, ’cause like full credit to falconers and all that, but like…
I was confusing storks with pelicans.
(upbeat music)
(rock music)
There’s gonna be more degens than there is us.
A distraction will be required to get the jump on them.
What do degens like?
Hanging bed sheets over windows?
Throwing gasoline on fires?
Driving with no shirt on?
I’ve got just the thing.
Watch this.
(rock music)
How many more times do you thinks we’re gonna have to do this, good buddys?
Do what?
Beats the shits out of some degens.
Well, I think it’d be naive to think this is the last time, good buddy.
It’s fair to say one in ten peoples is degens.
I’d say one in eight.
One in eight!
That would mean there’s a degen among us, boys.
McMurray.
Fine, two in sixteen.
Look, alls I’m saying is this. There’s always gonna be degens.
Just as along as there’s enough non-degens to balance them out.
Yeah, like, stand up people.
Well-meaning folks.
Classy individuals.
There’s always gonna be goods guys to beats the shits out of them when they needs its.
Yeah, there’s always gonna be good guys.
Always gonna be really good guys.
Always always gonna be great guys.
Friendly.
Neighbourly.
Decent.
Noble.
Altruistic.
Magnanimous.
But do you wanna know what…
It sure is a pretty good time rounding up your pals to take care of ’em.
(rock music)
(upbeat music)
(panting)
Oh. Thank you.
(birds chirping)
(music playing in the distance)
Boys.
Boys.
We’ve… been through a lot together.
We’ve done a pretty good job of staying out of each other’s ways over the years. That’s probably for the best, you know.
Hockey players and hicks haven’t traditionally gotten along well around here.
But after everything we’ve been through together, all the times you’ve been there for us…
And all the times we’ve been there for you.
We just wanna say that…
You have our respect.
We respect you.
You’ve earned it.
We…
We respect you!
I don’t fuckin’ care.
Who are ya again?
I don’t even know what your names are.
Dorito head and Fun-Dip face.
Wanna know what? I’ve had more respect for cats who take dog size shits.
Tostito twins.
Look at you, you got a bum chin and a fucked up nose.
Does that bum chin twerk when you jumpin’ rope?
You look like Stevie Wonder drew Johnny Bravo.
The Bubblicious boys.
I have a hard time believing your mom wasn’t drinking hard bar with you in the womb.
Your mom loves Jager Bombs.
Your alarm goes off one morning, you say,
“Well, I fucked it all up.”
Oopsie.
“I can hit snooze, my whole life’s a waste.”
Piss up a rope.
You’re a Jolly Rancher and a honey nut cheerio.
The Cheeto chums.
Do yous ever just take a look in the mirror and think like… this isn’t necessary.
Were you dropped as a child?
I’ll fuckin’ drop you as an adult.
The gummy bear boy and the Kit-Kat kid.
How’d you make outta childhood without sticking your tongue in a light socket?
The Peanut Butter brothers.
Hey, tip ’em over, let’s see if Fruity Pebbles come out.
A honey comb and a cookie crisp.
You’re a sour key and a sun chip.
You like Fruit by the Foot?
You can fruit by the fuck off.
Reilly! Jonesy! I cooked you breakfast.
(both): This isn’t over!
Jinx. You owe me a coke.
Cool. I’ll feed it to the dogs.
No!
Not the maple bacon!
That’s the best bacon!
We’re coming, Katy-Kat!
(upbeat music)
We are not doing it, Roald.
We’re doing it, Stewart.
We are not doing it, Roald.
We’re doing it, Stewart!
We’ve done it all! Over the years we’ve been small-town drug dealers, big city drug dealers…
Got jacked and conquered other big city drug dealers…
Entertained the hard right on the… (both): Dark web.
We’re The Hottest Sex Imaginable.
The Hottest Sex Imaginable.
We shall not forget about 2cock Shakur.
Just 2cock.
And most recently, we had the sexiest after hours club Letterkenny has ever seen.
But Roald… none of our endeavors have failed so epically as what you are suggesting.
Stewart.
None of our ventures have flopped so heroically as what you are proposing.
Stewart?
Which is precisely why we are not…
Stewart!
We are not rebooting Fartbook!
Or are we? (whimpering)
Or are we…
Stewart says we’re not.
Ugh. Fine. Fluff you then.
You took it from us, Glen.
Oh. And left it better than I found it. And what the truck is wrong with that?
You stole it!
Yous may think I stole Fartbook from you, but cheese and rice, that world was moving fast and it was leaving you behind.
I could match its pace.
Unfartunately, yous could not.
Come to think of it, I feel like something was holding you back the whole time, Stewart.
Stewart?
It used to take talent for someone to want to point a camera at you.
Perhaps the greatest social breakthrough of our time, or all time, is when the kids realized that it takes no talent whatsoever to point a camera at yourself.
I came into Fartbook with a bit of gas and a dream.
Champion of the Bronx cheer.
The over saturation of amateurs on the platform killed that dream.
They slipped in silently without us ever noticing.
Silent… but violent.
And like all Fartune 500 companies, corruption slowly crept in.
The most powerful lobby of them all: Big Fartma.
The site was no longer about the fartist.
Almost overnight, it had become just one more victim of the Gastro Industrial Complex.
But, Stewart, dareth you say it was all for not?
Yes, Glen.
I dareth.
(sighing)
Oh my gourd.
How sooneth we forget, Stewart.
Without Fartbook, there would be no OnlyFarts.
Fart work is work!
Fartbook walked so iToots could run.
Spotifart is the superior platform.
Cleared the chamber for iFartRadio.
Who after a successful GoFartMe campaign, acquired YouToot, Stinkedln and Break Wind Mobile.
You’re right, Glen.
I dareth not say.
So we’re rebooting Fartbook, Stewart?
No, Roald. If we’re going back to our roots, we’re going all the way back.
Further back than Fartbook?
To what?
A rave at the Ag Hall!
(birds chirping)
K.
You sure?
Sure.
Are you sure?
We are sure.
For sure, we’re sure. (chuckling)
Are you sure?
We’re sure.
You’re sure?
That we’re sure?
Yes, you’re sure you’re sure?
(all): We’re sure.
Why?
Well, it’s ’cause…
(mumbling)
Pardon? (mumbling)
What?
‘Cause agricultural halls are for agricultural music.
Oh yeah.
Oh yeah.
And we know how much you guys love country music.
No.
You don’t love country music?
No.
Not even a bit?
Not one bits.
Not one drill bit.
Not one bell pepper.
(both): Yahtzee.
Well…
Maybe one bell pepper.
Yeah, maybe one drill bit.
Sure, one bits.
You’re sure?
We’re sure.
Well, I think… Yeah, I like it a wee bit.
A little dab’ll do ya.
Everything in moderation.
Small doses are fine.
So… we can have a rave at the Ag Hall?
I just don’t suppose it makes a ton of sense to limit a choice venue like the Ag Hall to a genre of music we only like one bell pepper.
(laughing)
Wow!
In the spirit of family!
Take about 20% off ‘er, there, bud.
In the spirit of friendship!
More.
Fellowship?
More.
Camaraderie?
More.
In the spirit of community!
We…
The skids.
Would like to cordially invite you…
The hicks.
To our rave at the Ag Hall!
(all): No thank you.
What’s the point of having a rave at the Ag Hall if no one comes again?
I’m sorry, are you talking to us?
Was that not clear?
It wasn’t crystal.
Ditch the attitude, Aly-cat.
Bit muddy.
Fitting for a dirty girl, Bianca-donk!
Roald.
Stewart.
Can you help us or not?
Can you believe we had sex with this guy?
Mm-hmm.
Mm-hmm.
Mm-hmm. Bro. Figure it out.
Figure what out?
If they won’t come for rave music, figure out what music they will come for.
Post-Emo Core Step?
No.
Folktronic Glitch-A-Billy?
No.
Extempo Freakbeat?
No.
CanCon K-Pop?
No.
Blue Eyed Countrypolitan?
No.
Old School Nu-Metal?
No.
Hamburger Brit Hop?
No.
Nicaraguan Neo-Oldies?
No.
Lo-Fi Billboard Prog?
No.
Madrigal Speed Trap?
No.
Tin Pan 2-Step?
No.
Surf Trance Trip Twee?
No.
Baltimore Acid Baroque?
No!
Big Room Big Band Big Beat?
No!
Ugh!
Okay. Letterkenny consists of hicks, skids and hockey players.
And Christians.
(hissing)
I told you we were done here, Glen.
Oh are we?
Are we?
If you want people to come, just have a little something for everyone.
Brilliant. How are we gonna get the word out, Stewart?
We are going to put it on our fucking Facebook.
And you are going to put it on your fucking Facebook!
Fluff Facebook.
(rhythmic music)
(♪)
(needle slides off the record, music stops)
(crying)
(squealing)
(squealing)
(crying)
(banging)
Hey!
The fuckin’ door’s locked!
(breathing heavily)
Oh?
One of yous gonna let us in?
Yes! (clears throat)
Yes, of course!
Well, fucking pitter-patter!
(rock music)
Thank you, everyone.
Sincerely.
Thank you for coming to our hockey-themed hick rave.
Blessed by the Lord.
As a special treat, and as a token of our appreciation, we’ve decided to debut our electronic remix of a local favourite. (imitates record scratching)
(exclaiming)
Pitter-patter.
Dick skin?
Dickens.
Is my last name.
Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready…
Ready, ready…
Ready…
for “Sun Darts Reimagined?”
That’s a Texas size 10-4.
Over and out.
(rock music)
(nostalgic music)
♪ Sun Darts
Reimagined ♪
