 World-class sleigh rider | vs |  World class world ender |
Now that we are just a few days away from the most boring Apocalypse of all time, it occurs to me that it actually happening would be the only victory we anti-Yuletide warriors could ever hope for over Christmas.
Not that I am in favor of either the Mayan end times or Christmas. It shows a total lack of cajones on the ancient Mayans part, them predicting the world to end a thousand years after all of them would be safely dead. If you're going to predict Armageddon, at least stick around to be engulfed by it is the feeling here. Still, I was at Trader Joe's this morning and Joe was playing "Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart" on the store soundtrack and I thought that if there ever was a good time to be hit by the phantom planet Nibiru, it would be before that song was over.
For those of you who have never heard of the phantom planet Nibiru, some of the Mayan world enders theorize that it is going to clean our clocks on December 21st. Regular astronomers point out that if some planet was going to plow into Earth on the 21st, we would be able to see it in the sky right now. With a telescope you could probably read some hostile graffiti painted on it, like the kind airmen scribble on bombs they plan to drop. "Terra Firma You're Gonna Squirma," for example, or "In Your Face, Human Race."
For those of you who have never heard "Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart," it is a song that was mined from the vast treacle mines that lie beneath the North Pole.[1] Lyrically sappy and musically deficient, like all Christmas music, or at least all Christmas music written since the Middle Ages, it is an auditory offense of the first order. And it is far from the worst Christmas song. That honor belongs to Alvin and the Chipmunks "Christmas Don't Be Late." The feeling of paralytic despair that can overcome a person after listening to just one chorus of this song can only be cured by going out to a forest and blowing actual live chipmunks into bits with a shotgun. As many as you can, until you run out of ammo. Only then will the ringing in your ears drown out the awful otoscopic memory. I've tried this, and it works.
Even the Mayan Apocalypsos can't make up their minds whether the Earth is going to be crushed under the cosmic wheel on the 21st or whether the day is going to usher in a new era of human awareness like the Age of Aquarius was supposed to do back in the day, as if there was barely a difference between the obliteration of the planet and all the Syrians suddenly dropping their guns and hugging each other.
Both seem equally unlikely, but on the off chance that the Mayans are /were right, and the Earth dissolves like a taco shop napkin in a hot sauce spill on the solstice, you'll never have to deal with your credit card balances, take down your Christmas lights or pay a guy with a pickup truck to take your tree to the dump again.
Of course, you will miss Christmas Day itself, the only day in the last six weeks that nobody tries to sell you anything, your kids are at least momentarily grateful to you for spending your life wallowing in debt on their behalf, you've got a refrigerator full of beer and a cabinet full of grog and there are seventy-eight or so football games on.
So the end of the world would be worse. If you don't believe that, I've got some real estate I'd like to sell you. It's on Nibiru.
[1] Actually, the Arctic Ocean lies beneath the North Pole, but if any of you Christmas crazies want to go up there and try to dig in the treacle mines, be my guest.
Not that I am in favor of either the Mayan end times or Christmas. It shows a total lack of cajones on the ancient Mayans part, them predicting the world to end a thousand years after all of them would be safely dead. If you're going to predict Armageddon, at least stick around to be engulfed by it is the feeling here. Still, I was at Trader Joe's this morning and Joe was playing "Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart" on the store soundtrack and I thought that if there ever was a good time to be hit by the phantom planet Nibiru, it would be before that song was over.
For those of you who have never heard of the phantom planet Nibiru, some of the Mayan world enders theorize that it is going to clean our clocks on December 21st. Regular astronomers point out that if some planet was going to plow into Earth on the 21st, we would be able to see it in the sky right now. With a telescope you could probably read some hostile graffiti painted on it, like the kind airmen scribble on bombs they plan to drop. "Terra Firma You're Gonna Squirma," for example, or "In Your Face, Human Race."
For those of you who have never heard "Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart," it is a song that was mined from the vast treacle mines that lie beneath the North Pole.[1] Lyrically sappy and musically deficient, like all Christmas music, or at least all Christmas music written since the Middle Ages, it is an auditory offense of the first order. And it is far from the worst Christmas song. That honor belongs to Alvin and the Chipmunks "Christmas Don't Be Late." The feeling of paralytic despair that can overcome a person after listening to just one chorus of this song can only be cured by going out to a forest and blowing actual live chipmunks into bits with a shotgun. As many as you can, until you run out of ammo. Only then will the ringing in your ears drown out the awful otoscopic memory. I've tried this, and it works.
Even the Mayan Apocalypsos can't make up their minds whether the Earth is going to be crushed under the cosmic wheel on the 21st or whether the day is going to usher in a new era of human awareness like the Age of Aquarius was supposed to do back in the day, as if there was barely a difference between the obliteration of the planet and all the Syrians suddenly dropping their guns and hugging each other.
Both seem equally unlikely, but on the off chance that the Mayans are /were right, and the Earth dissolves like a taco shop napkin in a hot sauce spill on the solstice, you'll never have to deal with your credit card balances, take down your Christmas lights or pay a guy with a pickup truck to take your tree to the dump again.
Of course, you will miss Christmas Day itself, the only day in the last six weeks that nobody tries to sell you anything, your kids are at least momentarily grateful to you for spending your life wallowing in debt on their behalf, you've got a refrigerator full of beer and a cabinet full of grog and there are seventy-eight or so football games on.
So the end of the world would be worse. If you don't believe that, I've got some real estate I'd like to sell you. It's on Nibiru.
[1] Actually, the Arctic Ocean lies beneath the North Pole, but if any of you Christmas crazies want to go up there and try to dig in the treacle mines, be my guest.
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