Closet-cleaning for the end of the world It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.
To all you skeptics out there who are poo-pooing the ancient Mayans and their calendar, which seems to indicate Friday will be the last day of our existence: Won’t you have egg on your face — along with bits of other matter that may have been blown to bits by some cataclysmic happening — if the wise tribe was right all along?
Truthfully, now, won’t you feel kind of foolish having rushed through all your weekly doings — buying supplies and groceries, paying bills, Christmas shopping, putting in an extra shift at work, working out at the gym, dieting — and find out you could have procrastinated one more day and you wouldn’t have had to worry about any of that stuff in the first place?
Personally, I hope the world doesn’t end Friday. I haven’t had a chance to read Michael Connelly’s new book yet, and I’m already getting psyched about a return trip to the Wanee Festival. Plus I’m only up to No. 262 listening (in order) to my top 500 songs of all time.
However, with a nagging feeling that the ancient Mayans may very well be right gnawing away at me (I’ve never known a Mayan to miss the boat on any other important prognostications, although full disclosure compels me to admit that I’ve never met a Mayan, ancient or otherwise), I’ve decided to get a few things off my chest before Doomsday.
n I have it on good authority (realburthurs.com) that Dougherty County Commission Chairman Bodine Sinyard was not really born in the county that he claims he loves so well. There are rumors, unsubstantiated, of course, but you have to jump on board when there’s a juicy rumor floating about, that Bodine was actually born in TyTy and forged a Phoebe birth certificate.
n I’ve learned from an unimpeachable source (a guy who knows a girl whose uncle cuts grass for the secretary of the third vice president of the NRA) that all that talk about Obama trying to end our God-given right (all praises for the hollow-point bullets, amen) to own guns is true. In fact, that same source’s third cousin’s uncle’s girlfriend’s babysitter said her dad had heard that the president plans to collect all our guns and give them away to Muslims everywhere. So arm yourselves, patriots; remember your “cold, dead hands.”
n I’ve always heard that the world would come to an end before the Atlanta Falcons won a Super Bowl, so maybe it’s no coincidence that the Birds are 12-2 and just got through opening up a can of whoop-booty on the defending Super Bowl champs mere days before apocalypse hits.
n I just got through talking with representatives of the Catfish and Alligators Local 248, and they said they’re pretty upset about some of the comments people have been making about their brethren imprisoned at the Flint RiverQuarium. Said union parliamentarian Harold Hushpuppies, “It’s bad enough that our kind are being held captive against their will, but some of the mean-spirited comments about how they’re not very interesting have raised their dander. In fact, twin brothers Albert and Wally Gatorski have suggested that anyone who finds them uninteresting is welcome to take a dip in their pool any time to see if they perhaps find the color red interesting.” (That proposal might, incidentally, generate even more interest in the attraction.)
n Former presidential candidate Mitt Romney and a few of his pals — Donald Trump, Charles and David Koch, Rupert Murdoch, Kid Rock and a few ladies popular in films they don’t show at the multiplex — have procured a rocket ship that will take off at 11:59 p.m. Thursday, just in case the Mayans were right. This deserving crew will circle Earth until it disintegrates or until it becomes Friday. If the world blows up, at least we’ve got our most deserving citizens carrying on our species. If Saturday rolls around and it’s business as usual, though, well, hell, the trip has to be a tax write-off.
Email Metro Editor Carlton Fletcher at firstname.lastname@example.org.