Apocalypse Meh

Created -

If you're reading this blog post then the Mayans were wrong. If you aren't reading this...whoops.

Pending any sudden worldwide crises (plague of frogs? leper invasion? cyclops?) I think it's safe to say that we have survived another apocalypse. This will make the 53rd apocalypse (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_dates_predicted_for_apocalyptic_events) that I have survived, and the second that I have pregamed (the Rapture doesn't have shit on J├Ąger bombs, Guiness, and Keystone Light).

It's safe to say at this point in time that the end of the world is no match for me. It's been trying pretty actively to off me (and the other people who share the planet with me), and I've hardly even noticed.

Is this a sign of things to come? Is the world going to step up its game? Maybe it's just playing the long battle with global warming, taking its time and trying to smoke me out. I don't know, but it's going to have to do better than that. I scoff at this amateur-hour mass extermination.

My theory on why the Mayan's calendar ended is the same as why my calendar of cute cats ends on December 31st: they just ran out of space to put pictures and numbers. Maybe if the lazy bastards found a bigger rock to chisel dates on, we'd have a longer window of time before people start freaking out and stocking up on AA batteries and Lunchables.

At least the Rapture had some scientific backing behind it (Jesus gets bored in May with no holidays to focus on, so he's gotta reap the souls of the wicked), the Mayans had nothing to justify this. The History Channel has been reporting on pure speculation for years now.

All that being said though, I do think that our biggest threat civilization-wise this time of year is Santa Claus. He's huge, he's omnipotent, he knows when you're sleeping, and he will fuck you up if you've been naughty.

Don't let your guard down. Be wary. Spike the cookies and milk you leave for him with LSD, DMT, and salvia to get the fucker tripping balls when he comes for you. When you have him in his own world, writhing on the floor and trying to lick your pets, kick him right in the jingle balls.

Game, set, match.
I win, Santa.

Love,
Kevin


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