It might feel like it has to many of the people who are out on Friday
night for the annual 'mad' Friday celebrations – the curious (British?) tradition of going
out drinking on the last Friday before Christmas and consuming so much alcohol
that you can’t even taste your kebab on the way home – but surely their
world-ending epoch won’t really begin until Saturday morning when they’re
hunched over the toilet bowl throwing the same minced offal up again?
This
whole ‘end of the world’ shite is literally just that – something that somebody
got wind of and was then twisted out of all proportion by the media and adopted
as truth by other equally dense people. As far as I can see, the only evidence
for any of this crap is that the Mayans' calendar sort of ends around about now
(after much shoe-horning and contriving of data so that it sort of looks comprehensible...at
a push). See, the peoples of ancient antiquity didn’t really have days of the
week, or years or months as we know them, so the very notion of ‘Friday the 21st
of December 2012’ would have been complete gobbledygook to your average Mayan
bloke. So where has this magical date come from? I don’t really know or care to
be honest. What I do know is that all these fool s buying candles and salt are
gonna have some ‘splaining to do come Tuesday morning when their kids are
unwrapping cylindrical, waxy gifts.
It kinda makes me a little bit sad for the
human race reading all these news reports about large communities in supposedly
developed and enlightened countries panic buying essentials ‘just in case.’
Just in case what? A wave of fire and brimstone comes sploshing down the street?
The dead rise from their graves and shuffle about a bit? An asteroid smashes the world to tiny fragments like a drunk tramp punching a goldfish bowl? A
despot* presses a button and starts a nuclear war? In the event that any of
those improbable things happen (they won’t), again I ask – what fucking use
will candles and Spam be?! See you on Saturday morning, dickheads.**
Speaking of despots, and taking into consideration the new Hobbit movie is out (mildly tenuous segue, I know), have you ever wondered what Sauron might use to write his Christmas list? Wonder no more, filthy Hobbitses:
It uses children's tears instead of ink |
Forged in the fires of Mount Doom, this delightful writing utensil is available here for the meagre sum of £10,000. I'll have two, then.
*My money would be on that triple-chinned North Korean bloke if I was a betting man. But I'm not.
**And if I'm wrong, then fuck it - I've got some Spam in the cupboard somewhere. And a colour-changing lamp. Yeah bitches.
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