Thursday, December 20, 2012

The Final Countdown

No, not really, Readers in Latvia. I don't even know where your country is (but don't feel bad, because I don't know where Arkansas is either, and it's in my own country)(plus, they make us memorize it as kids, but I blame our abysmal public school system. Not really. I just don't give a fig about geography, so it's really my own damned fault. Me and Jimmy Buffet. Only his fault got him stuck living in Margaritaville, so there are worse ways to fuck up, am I right?) but I'm super excited you're here. Break out...whatever you drink in Latvia...because we're going to celebrate like 1999!

Which, coincidentally, is when a lot of retarded douchebags thought the world was ending last time. Your Favorite Writer was too busy pounding some weak-ass, overpriced long islands to worry about the world ending. I mean, had the earth gone out in a Bon Jovi Blaze of Glory, I would have been too semi-drunk and covered in glitter to notice. I was also probably dancing madly to some Prince. Which really? If you're going to be immolated by some mystery meteorite or zombie apocalypse, dancing to Prince while covered in glitter isn't the worst way to go. (The worst way to go would be listening to some shitty boy band and covered in glitter.)

I've heard about the Mayan prophecy for approximately 56 years. That's right. I was tired of hearing about it before I was even born. Very time warp, no? Yes. Well, when you grow up in a town that is known for its bad-ass college (I mean, I'm an alumn, soooo...deal with it), retirement villages and mad population of hippies, you grow up hearing about the bleeding Mayan. Usually when someone is high.

So this whole, "oh the world is ending on the 21st!" Old fucking hat, Charles.

Oh, and given that I'd rather do some reseearch in order to A. pay homage to one of my favorite literary quotes by Alexander Pope ("A little learning is a dangerous thing/drink deep or taste not the Pierian spring.") and B. show the retarded douchebags that they will still have creditors calling come the 22nd, I read a little somethin' somethin' written by some actual scholars. You know, of the Mayan?

Basically, as with ANYTHING (read that again, it's in all caps bitch) ANYTHING written throughout history, there are numerous interpretations. The whole "world ending" is pretty much what we call in the business (what business? Nacho business) a bad translation. Or a mis-translation. It's far more likely that it was really the then-ruler's way of bragging, like "my dynasty will last until 2012!" Sort of like if our president carved out a stone tablet and stored it somewhere and it said "My awesome legacy will stand for 500 years!" or whatever.

Essentially, it's very likely that it was some serious posturing from the ancient world. My understanding is that the ruler was female and she was probably a righteous sister, to rule in her time. So she was all, "you can check my BALLS, because this shit is lasting until some far-off date when they have flying chariots because I'm fucking immortal! Get back to the salt mines!" or something. Note: that last part is not actually translated, but it's still more accurate than the end-of-days one.

I've never really understood why some people get all worked up about the end of the world. I mean, if you're around to see it, well, you won't be around long. And the prospect of your imminent and probably fiery demise jazzes you up...why?!

I also have heard people of certain religious persuasions say that they "can't wait" to meet Jesus. Well, I think that Jesus and I can chill like villains approximately 78 years from now and that shall be aces with Your Favorite Writer. This world is all I have right now, and I'm not in any hurry to leave it. Or to have it leave me. (I can also anticipate legions of the uber faithful leaning intently toward their computers and saying "but it isn't all you have, you have JESUS!" I know, I know. But I have satellite radio here and a bad ass popcorn popper. I'd like to enjoy it a few more years. Like 78.)

So for all of you building bunkers and stock piling water or what the hell you stock pile when you think that an extinction event is imminent, I will be (possibly)(although Your Favorite Writer has broken up with rum up to this point) be concocting various frozen beverages and lifting them in your honor. And trying to find cheap bedazzled Ugg boots on eBay. Catch you mothers on the 22nd! I know, what if you're right? Again, drinking rum and covered in bedazzlement ain't the worst way to go. Because I'll be listening to Stone Sour. Or LMFAO. Whichever feels right. But not R.E.M., because hand to God, the day you catch me listening to that overgrown fetus head is a frosty day in hell. I keep it Rock or Club over here, you know it! I leave you with a picture of me being rock. With T. Jo. As it should be.




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