Color me surprised that the TV is not currently stuffed with doomsday shows right now. Or color me inattentive. Have they been shoving those theories on us lately? I wasn’t paying attention.
Perhaps the world is ending when I can be equally entertained by bearded duck call makers, and dancing girls with their crazed moms. But sadly, television may be the only real art left for us. Tonight, the pathetic crap formerly known as ‘music’ struck a nerve ending. The song spoke of how ‘bands make her dance.’ Oh god, really? That’s the chart topper at a time like this? When the world could possibly topple into the dark abyss of a riftey hole, the critics give me “Turn on the Lights”? PLEASE turn them on, so I don’t have to hear him asking 5.75 times an hour! And these are the last songs we will ever hear? Now THAT’S depressing.
Is this how we celebrate humanity and what we’ve accomplished in the last 5,125 years? With over-produced samples of Rhianna and auto-tune? With shows dedicated to the stockpiling nutjobs perpetrating this insane fear that everyone is afraid to admit they feel, and therefore lamely joke about?
If so, we are seriously at risk of becoming our own Atlantis. And you better damn well hope the only survivors aren’t the dipshits hiding out in bunkers…
Here we are at T-minus 14 days, and there was a time I thought for sure I’d be in sheer panic by now. But really, I am very unconcerned. Come on. The end of an old-ass calendar is no more ominous than the end of every single 12 month calendar we tear through. By the way, friends, that galactic alignment everyone is getting so nervous about? Yeah, been there, done that… in 1998. Look it up. Did the world end then?
No, but Gateway Computers managed to take me for a ride and screw up my credit. A word to the wise, on the cusp of an age of enlightenment, please be enlightened enough to read all the fine print before you sign any contract.
There! We are all suddenly that much wiser. Took me all of 10 seconds to type that sentence, too.
Welcome to the Golden Age! You can thank me later.
Memoirs of a Midnight Masochist 