Cue Marlon Brando, hissing in the shadows: The horror! The horror!
Not.
I don't know about you, but the whole Rapture non-event was more like the Napture. Think the Universe's lackey hit the snooze button. And I was really hoping to see fireworks of epic proportions because, as you know, my life is in serious need of roman candles, whistling snakes, and bottle rockets; and damn if the most exciting thing I did all weekend was shave my legs.
Oh wait, no, I did not shave my legs. Not really a need...
My friend George thinks we need t-shirts that say, "I survived the Nopocalypse of 2011" so I'm having some made up.
Who knows. Maybe we'll have really bad better luck in December, 2012. I'm totally not even buying Christmas presents next year, just in case some nut job is actually right about the Earth losing its shorts because of the big fat cookie jar of sins we've accumulated as a society for the last several thousand years. (And you thought it was just because of those modern hedonistic liberals.) I'd venture that a full century of random fornicating in the back seats of parked cars has been the most blatantly egregious of sins, along with the second coming of gladiator porn and Twilight worship, and likely the entire cause of the planetary F.U. to all us beings with so-called advanced brains.
Oh well. I'm giving this year's Napture a thumbs down for apocalyptic failure. In case you were wondering.
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8 hours ago
