I’d like to take a timeout from my books (read: naps) to issue this statement of elucidation.
It worries me to see how many people were not only anticipating, but actually excited about the world’s end. After careful contemplation conducted during a hot shower, I have jumped to the conclusion that everyone’s excitement about the world’s end was directly proportional to the amount of misery in their lives. Either that or boredom.
This, of course, includes me. I was actually counting on it. The end may not be nigh but my exams are awfully nigh and no one likes academics unless you’re one of those fuckers. In which case, I take this space to instruct you to do something which is anatomically impossible: fornicate with yourself. Stop studying! You’re making us normal people look bad.
I am not as disappointed by the world continuing forth as I am about being wrong. I have many acquaintances and young, impressionable cousins whom I may have awed with my unlimited knowledge of galactic alignments and geologically rapid polar shifts as predicted by Einstein himself. Then I proved them with magic videos from youtube (before it was banned in Pakistan) which are never wrong and the absolute authority on everything. The aforementioned people will be blowing up my celly (ebonics for a wireless device) either asking me why the world didn’t end or mocking me for being wrong.
In my defense, I’m not the guy responsible for the world’s end-type affairs. Seriously.
Here’s a potato to help you grieve. This potato is an asshole. You can tell just by looking at it.