The End Is Extremely Effing Nigh Or, No. Not At All, Dudes. Not. At. All.

Two weeks ago at work, I got this odd little envelope in the mail – No point of contact and the return address was the same as the mailing address (despite the fact that the postmark indicated it had been mailed in a city over 40 miles away).

So, I open it up.

(If real life was anything like the movies, I’d be the moron who dies in the cold open thus launching the Jack Bauer-esque antics to follow).

Good news – it’s not anthrax.
Bad news – it’s even more annoying than a neurotoxin.

It’s a business card proclaiming the END IS NIGH from some batshit organization that’s batting about .0000 in the prophecy department. About fifteen years ago, they predicted the second coming of Christ and to the surprise of pretty much no-one, they were wrong.

However, if it turns out that these screwballs are right and the world really is ending on Saturday, I am going to be super pissed for the following reasons:

– Totally screws up my vacation plans. How’s a girl supposed to dip her toes in the Pacific if it doesn’t exist anymore?
– I won’t get to see Hermione finally kiss Ron. Come on, nerds. You know you’ve been waiting for it as well.
– Football won’t finally coming home to England in 2014 (shut up, McGillis. It could happen)
– I won’t get to spend quality time with my sister eating Primo Hoagies and Capogiro gelato, crafting and watching truly terrible reality television.
– And speaking of reality television, I won’t get to see Adam kicked off the new Real World/Road Rules Challenge. I’m calling it now. His antics might fly with Nany, but CT will straight up house the dude.
– I’m pretty sure Rob Sheffield has another book in him.
– I won’t get to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band in concert again. It’s the closest I’ve ever felt to spiritual, so I figure it’s important that I see them again. For the sake of my eternal soul.
– I haven’t eaten fried avocado tacos in Austin, Texas yet.
Cabin in Woods will never, ever be released. For really real this time.

So, fingers crossed the world doesn’t end on Saturday. But if it does – heathen afterparty at my house? You bring the chips, I’ll make the salsa?

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