Signs of the Mayan Apocalypse

It saddens me to announce that this will most likely be my last post.

It saddens me further to know that my long-awaited GoogleAds check will never arrive. I’d love to blow all three-digits of that baby on one last CornNuts and malt liquor bender while the hellfire and brimstone rain down.

Those of you grappling with strangers at Target for the last Furby may have forgotten that come tomorrow, Friday, Dec. 21, all life ceases. This doom and gloom arrives courtesy of the Mayan civilization, which is legendary for its contributions to language, math and culture, specifically Southern Culture on the Skids' instrumental, "Make Mayan a Hawaiian."

I usually ignore Judgment Day predictions, but the signs of the Mayan Apocalypse have become increasingly apparent.

It started this summer. As foretold in ancient 3G texts, we witnessed the rise of an omnipresent prophet dressed in clothes of many colors, riding a mysterious unseen horse and hypnotically speaking in tongues. When someone finally perfected an app to translate this Psychotic Psychic (which the short-attention span media abbreviated at PSY), the evidence proved literally damning:

Ehhhhhhh, sexy Beelzebub!
Bub bub bub bub
Claim souls, Mayan Style!

Don’t take my word for it. Waste 10 minutes of your last precious hours on Earth listening to this nutjob explain how not only “Gangnam Style” but also Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe” are save-the-date notices from Satan:

OK, just skip ahead to the 2:30 mark.

But wait! There's more!

Hostess files for bankruptcy. The snack food giant closing its operations several weeks ago has critically depleted the world's supply of Twinkies, the delicious golden sponge cakes with the color and half-life of uranium. Without Twinkies, how will the cockroaches survive? Exactly!

Local park starts to look like a park. For years, people have been trying to spruce up dumpy Mill River Park in my hometown. The never-ending construction has generally resulted in the place looking like a open-air crack den. Yet in the last month you would pass by and see trees, grass and paths. Why is this a harbinger of doomsday? Because it means the park designer’s plan to install public restrooms shaped like ginormous frogs with eyes that glow like death rays is nigh.

That little girl running in fear had the color scared right out of her.

Biblical plague, folks -- look it up.

Apple releases the iPad Mini. With its devices now filling rectangular handheld holes of every size in your life, what's left for this company to do? I mean besides harass users to update their iTunes software every 17 minutes.

I attend a professional wrestling event. Excitable, a brilliant child who reads so voraciously he rarely has time to shower or change clothes, convinced me to take him last week to see WWE Presents SmackDown. This event consisted of hulking men in shiny tights (which I'm sure THEY change regularly, my son) pretending to beat the stuffing out of each other. It included explosions of fire, armed battle with folding chairs, and the occasional woman in an impossibly high heels and hemline. I found it so mind numbing I was compelled to plop down $25 on a T-shirt touting a gargantuan called Ryback whose catchphrase is "Feed Me More."

Those ladders are our only route to The Promised Land!

There you have it. Feel free to finally covet thy neighbor’s spouse and take up smoking. Just pray we will meet again on the other side.

Worse comes to worst, you’ll find me here. And still without CornNuts.

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BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!
Visit and like the Always Home and Uncool Facebook page. I post photos, status updates and links to other blogs I dig on there. At least until the Mayan Apocalypse.

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