If you’re like me, you no doubt have severe issues with your coiffure when the humidity levels hit anything beyond “arid.” You also, also Gwen Stefanilessly, root your eschatological ethics in the good-time hieroglyphs of everyone’s favorite Mesoamericans, the Mayans. The Mayan Long Count calendar stretches along a 5,125-year cycle (the Short Count occurs every third Thursday from 6:00 a.m. until Flo runs out of pancake batter), and the most recent cycle ended on December 21, 2012. At which time John Cusack boarded a computer-generated 747 and flew to Greendale in the state of Northern California where he airlifted out the paperboy who wanted his two dollars and chucked him into the gaping maw of Booger, thereby satisfying Moe B. Us, the Mayan God of Tangents, and ending the end of the world that everyone was nattering about way back on December 20.
So if you’re reading this, congrats. John was either much more successful than his Edgar Allan Poe film and the end of the world didn’t actually happen, the entire thing was as valid as rumors of Wang Chung breaking up, or you’re a sentient cockroach with impeccable literary tastes. I’ve been holed up in my Prepper Shelter 9000 ($14,995 installed from Bass Pro) since August, so I have no idea what’s going on. Which should surprise no one.
In the void of the space-time continuum that is as close to reality as I dare brush, I must confess to finding this end-of-the-world hysteria much less entertaining than Def Leppard’s seminal 1987 album “Hysteria.” Granted, it would be hard for even the Antichrist himself (a re-animated Charles Nelson Reilly, sorry to spill the beans) to compete with “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” even if the Mayans were known to make their own chocolate. It just seems, to quote my three-year-old son Simon, so silly. But I suppose it’s indicative of a world that has rejected the true meaning of life while claiming to search for that very thing.
Consider the idea that people, including some that aren’t Hollywood producers, believe the world might end because a calendar created over a millennium ago is coming to an end. Did anyone ever consider that the ancient Mayans didn’t continue their calendar because, wait for it, they figured 1,500 years worth of dates was good enough to fill their progeny’s Franklin Planners? (They couldn’t see into the future well enough to predict iCal. Go figure.) To use similar logic, the world should have ended at midnight, December 31, 1995, when my The Far Side Page-a-Day calendar exhausted its bovine-based hilarity. Obviously, some people really do attend the Midvale School for the Gifted.
As the Bible clearly states somewhere (you can Google it along with the 27 other bizarre references I’ve made), no one knows the time or place of Christ’s return. And if Christ hasn’t returned, the world isn’t going to end. (At least not in general. Your particular world may end when Jenni finds out what you did with Ronnie, but only if you happen to go by the name Snooki.) The Bible does, of course, list numerous signs and events that must be fulfilled before Jesus returns with the shout of the Archangel – I’m hoping he’ll yell “Word up!” – to lay the smack down upon the heathens. I mean, rapture the redeemed.
So until you start hearing a lot about wars or even rumors of Wang Chung splitting up; see millions of Jews return to the Promised Land; witness the reunification of the Roman Empire into some sort of “European community;” continuously give to charity to help the victims of earthquakes, famines and other natural disasters; or wonder if your dog’s microchip would also work on the kids, don’t worry. Jesus won’t be coming like a thief in the night anytime soon.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a Midvale School Board meeting to attend.
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Jason wishes to remind any sentient cockroaches that he never once purchased or used D-CON despite the pleadings of Muhammad Ali.