May Showers Bring May Flowery Deaths

So, yeah.  You’re going to die soon.  Just so you know.  The people at We Can Know can even tell you when.  To the day.  Behold, the End Times:

So, I should hold off on that June Cruise deposit, yeah?

For the record, this is not a joke.  This group of 4 ministries has decided, through biblical prognostication, that the Rapture will, indeed, take place on May 21st, 2011, and that actual end of the world will occur on October 21st, 2011.  So, basically, if you’re a Christian, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for.  Finally, the Word will be proven true, and you will be ushered into Heaven, where you will live out your spiritual days in the warm embrace of a loving God.  Conversely, if you are not a Christian, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for.  All the Christians will be gone, taken from the world in a flash, leaving you with a world bereft of dogmatic Believers who like to shake bells, throw pamphlets at you, and clog up lines at Golden Corral on Sundays.  it’s the world you’ve always dreamed of.  For five months, anyway.  At which time, your little fantasy land gets gobbled up by a God who is perturbed at your sinful ways (but isn’t at all displeased with allowing Miley Cyrus to continue living, go figure).  There’s a silver lining, though.  You have the next 6 months, and 18 days to do whatever you want , and then you can repent on May 20th, find some Holy-type to dunk you in water, and smile a lot, be fine the next day, and take the G-train to Heaven.  Just a thought.

But, maybe you don’t like baths.  I don’t know.

If you’re in need of a tutorial, the folks who created the video program at Xtranormal can be thanked for letting our Christian friends make this tutorial:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8yDWXNKPtNw&feature=player_embedded]

It’s not as funny as the Geico commercial.

So, where does that leave us?  Well, I’ve done the whole bath thing, and been certified Jesusian, but have since reneged on the agreement, and gotten all dirty with sin, and written books that sort of, well, mock the whole process, so I’m guessing that I’m not on the G-train.  And since it may have been a one-shot deal–I’m guessing that you can’t have two baths with Jesus in a lifetime, and sell that you’re totally serious about it this time–I have to deal with the reality that I have, give or take being stabbed in the eye, about eleven months in which to enjoy my time on this rock.  So, rather than fret about the end of the world, I’ve decided that I’m going out with a bang.  I’m sure this list will need some editing, over the period of Doom-to-be that remains, but for now, it’s a start.

  1. Listen to every Justin Beiber song until I have them memorized.  Attend concert on December 23rd at Phillips, and squeal until my voice cuts off.  Buy t-shirt.  Why not, right?  I mean, it’s not the New Kids or anything absurd like that.
  2. Contact Warner Brothers, and plead with them to move up Deathly Hallows Pt 2 to May 20th (I can just hear it now: “Yeah, I was going to get baptized, but it was either that or watch Harry Potter.  Pretty easy choice, I think.”), or to implement a post-Rapture contingency plan to ensure the release of the movie.  I’m not dying before I see how it plays out on the big screen.
  3. Find a booth at Waffle House, and stay there for 24 hours.  Eat everything on the menu.  Enjoy the next 24 hours, alternating between the toilet and the tub.
  4. Host a Rapture Party on the rooftop of the tallest building that will accept money.  Watch the Christians float into the sky, and create a pool for “number of airplanes crashing into buildings as Christian pilots are taken”.  Rig pool so that you win.
  5. Move into the largest church I can find on May 22nd.  Host readings of Apocalypse South every Sunday, readings of Flutter and Anointed every Wednesday and Friday, and change the sign outside to read: “God is good, God is Great, WTF, did I just inherit a Chruch?”  Misspell ‘church’ intentionally because Russ Marshalek will want it that way.
  6. Get a job at Starbucks (because we all know they’ll still be around), and ask to be paid in coffee.  Drink only coffee until the world ends.  Never sleep again.
  7. Begin reading the Mark Twain bio.  Put it down three days later when it becomes apparent that there isn’t enough time to finish Volume 1.
  8. Walk part of the Appalachian Trail with an ATV.
  9. Acquire the most expensive computer available (depending on availability when the looting begins).  Strip it of every program, and create a screen saver that reads, “What are you doing, Dave?”  Leave it on until the world ends.
  10. Host a “naked party”.  Invite no one.
  11. Watch every Star Wars movie in succession, enjoy them immensely, then write a 400 page letter to George Lucas detailing how much better they could have been if he hadn’t directed any of them.  Reference Empire as the platform of awesomeness that it is.  Hand deliver to the first person you encounter, and thank them for buying Statewide Rapture Insurance.
  12. Create a Twitter account for a Christian who you know has been Raptured.  Tweet from Heaven.  Tell those remaining (I just deleted, “left behind” three times…I just can’t say it.) what they need to do in order to be Saved.  Hint: it involves cheese being delivered to my chruch.
  13. Make enough Kraft Mac N’ Cheese to fill the bathtub.  Bathe in it.  Bathe in it real good.  Like it like you want it, mmmhm.
  14. Find a replica Darth Vadar costume to wear from October 18th through October 21st.  Speak only in Vadar lines, and die with your helmet off.
  15. Call the ex-wife on May 22nd, and remind her that she didn’t get Raptured either.  It goes both ways, apparently.
  16. Find some D&D goons, and suggest your chruch as a fine place for a week-long campaign.  Play all week, so that you can die knowing that you’re a rogue Elf with…
  17. Learn D&D terminology so as to better define your character before you die.
  18. Make the trek to Chicago, and find a seat in the bleachers at a sure to be empty Wrigley Field and yell, “you suck!”  Do the same in NY at Citi Field and Yankee Stadium, before returning to Atlanta, and Turner Field.  Do the chop for six straight hours.
  19. Call all my friends (none of them will have taken the G-train, for sure), and let them know they don’t have to worry.  I’m still awesome.
  20. Call my Jewish friends, blame them for everything, and say, “I told you this would happen.”
  21. Find Seth MacFarlane, and thank him for being such a delightful bastard.  Let him know that you got yourself checked, and your not retarded.

This isn’t done, but I’m too impatient to save it and wait.  Who has ideas?

The White House is…covered in bees! Ahhhh!

 No introduction for you!

  • I’m not a Kellie Pickler fan.  Never have been.  But I have to admit it: she knows how to give hope to starving Idol hopefuls everywhere.
  • Ok Billy Bob.  We get it.  You’re Bad Santa.  Enough already.
  • One of my cats–Ray–has a problem.  He’s a klepto.  He’s one of the most skilled thiefs I have ever seen.  He will wander around the room, sneaking looks at your bowl of popcorn, and measuring (you can tell) the distance of the bowl to the floor, and perhaps, even, the ratio of popcorn kernals to humans and the time in between each handful.  He can, in one fluid motion, lift to the couch by two paws, snatch popcorn in his mouth, and roll forward and out of reach before you even know what hit you.  He’s good.  But he’s not this good.  This cat is a pro.
  • Note to the world.  Brittany does not like cigarette smoke.  If you want to see her shake her goods for you, for God’s sake, DON’T SMOKE!  Brittany mad!  Brittany smash! Brittany…walk away?  Well, alright then.
  • “I JUST WANT TO BE A DOPE PERSON WHICH STARTS WITH ME NOT ALWAYS TELLING PEOPLE HOW DOPE I THINK I AM.” ~Kayne West~ God Bless you Southpark, for taking on the biggest ego in the world and turning him into a gay fish.  Oh, and hey, do you like fishsticks?
  • So, I’m just curious.  How does one go about sending 20,000 text messages in a month anyway?  And how much would you have paid to bear witness to her father’s wrath.  Hell hath no fury like a father scorned by a $5,000 phone bill!
  • The PETA Shop Boys?  Seriously?  Did PETA really ask this?  What’s next?  Are the folks at the EPA going to ask Disney to change their park’s name to Epacenter?
  • Oh, no!  The White House!  It’s…covered in bees…ahhhhhhhhhhh!
  • 6 Million dollars?  Why no, Hillary, I don’t.  I’ve got .37 cents.  Will that earn me a chance to go to the American Idol finale?  ‘Cause, you know…that’s, like, totally awesome and stuff.
  • Everyday, I’m just a little more grateful that we have Hannah Montana.  I mean, gosh, what would Miley do without her?  She’d probably run amock and take mostly naked cell phone pictures of herself and “accidentally’ get them posted on the…oh, wait.  Yeah.
  • The Onion has once again given us guidance in raising our kids and teaching them about sex.  They’re so caring over there.
  • God bless the stupid.  They give us so much to talk about.

fail owned pwned pictures

I want to be on Survivor, but I won’t actually send anything in to try out.  I thought about it a number of times years ago, back in the single days when a good meal was pizza, mac n’ cheese and some type of soda.  It’s never been about the million dollars (yeah, right) though.  I’ve always wanted to see if I was up to the challenge (at least lying isn’t a problem, right?).  Granted, that’s what I am supposed to say.  Fact is, money aside, I am a great lover of social survival, and the lengths to which people will go to ensure that they are on top.  It amuses ME that people are genuinely shocked at the end of each season, when they find out that one of the finalist (if not all of them) got there by lying.  They are lambasted and belittled by finger waggling contestants who seem to be less upset at the survivors than they are that they didn’t lie enough to be one of them.  Now, I’m not going to profess that I would win, if I were on the show.  In fact, I probably wouldn’t.  Somewhere along the line, I feel quite certain that MY insistence on feeling guilt for any wrong I have committed would prevail and I would expose MYSELF as the liar I never am but would be for money hell yeah.  Still, I’m pretty sure I could hang in there long enough to be able to screw up some plans and make life a living hell for everyone who is left.  Then I could be voted off, placed on the jury, and spend a week or two planning how much waggling MY finger needed to be prepared for.  It would be dramatic, show-worthy, entertaining to the core.  Then I would go on the show circuit, be talked at by Regis and Kelly, and wind up hosting my own entertainment news program on some back water channel you never heard of.  Gosh, what a success I would be!

Here is MY Survivor mug shot:

scannedimage-4

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Little Sylar, I call it.  I will slice open your head, absorb your Power, and win a million dollars.  Or, at the very least, keep you from winning what is rightfully MINE.  Television like you’ve never seen it.  Except on Monday nights on NBC.  But, let’s face it, another season of Heroes as it is, and you’re not going to watch that anymore anyway.  Unless it gets past it’s Lost-like wandering plot that never goes anywhere but backward, and forward, and backward.  So, that leaves plenty of room for MY villanous Survivoring.  And, I’m certain, that you will be entertained.  It is ME, after all.  Matter of fact, that should be my letter to the Survivor team.

Dear Survivor,

You want ME on your show.  It is ME, after all.

kthanxbye.

One million dollars later, you are all better off for having seen ME manipulate and finger waggle MY way to stardom.  You will discuss it for years, and television will never be the same.  I WILL BE AWESOME!

See, this is what happens when you don’t have a Hannah Montana to balance out your life.  Where’s my cell phone?  I wanna take a picture of ME.

Letting Facebook Do the Work For ME

Quote of the day is from a CNN article about the growing concerns of the growth of Twitter: “I keep getting the fail whale.  Twitter got too popular too quickly.  I blame Shaq.”

The Fail Whale

The Fail Whale

A few bits today before moving on:

  • Terribly sad, sad news from Miley Cyrus.  I just don’t know if I’ll be able to go on. 
  • If you smoke, you should quit.  If you don’t care that I care, then at least think of your wallet.
  • I’m very disappointed that math was never quite like this.
  • What? Twilight isn’t real?  GTF out of here already!  I want vampires dammit!
  • The Pope has decided, for some reason, to offer his Holy insights on condoms.  Really?  Condoms don’t prevent disease, they make it easier to transmit them?  Is this a South Park episode?
  • A Republican hottie?  No way!  Thank you Mehan McCain!  There is hope for the future, and it has washboard abs!

Ok, enough for now.  I like links by the way.  You get many more.  Just not today.  Let’s talk about ME again.

In the ongoing effort to initiate you all into the finer nuances of ME, I have decided that further information is required into who, exactly, I am.  You should be thrilled now.  I’ll wait a sec for the effect to take root.  (Insert Jeopardy tune here)  There now?  Excellent.  Given that it would take some time to get together a list of oddities regarding ME, I decided to let Facebook do it on MY behalf.  So, from the meme of “25 Things About ME”, I offer you this look into MY life thus far.  Where necessary (by “necessary”, I mean to say, “Where I so chose to do as I wished”) I have made alterations or additions to the original.

1. If I could sit at a computer all day and simply communicate by the written word, I would do so, which would ensure that you all continue to find ME “funny and uplifting”. Or something like that. Talking…er…not always so much.

2. I have a dog, Curbie (or Poohsie Poo, as Alice calls him), 2 cats (Maggie the Hungry Bitch and Ray the Mildly Retarded), a rat (named One), and two bunnies (Nyven the Sweet and Cadbury “TARROC” the Bunny).  I am fond of them all, but find that having a 65 lb dog sleep on MY legs at night makes it difficult to move.  I deal with it.

3. Until very recently, I had no idea that women (generally speaking) actually found ME attractive.  I’m still not sold on this idea.  I avoid mirrors as if I were a vampire.  Which I might yet be.

4. I’m much better at being Timmy Christ than Billy Christ. Could be a function of self or of desire.  But Billy’s way more funnerer.

5. When I was, like, 8, I stole money from MY mom’s purse at home to go buy a big Chewbacca figure. No joke. Very sad. Unfortunately, MY mom happened to be in the store at that time and walked up behind ME while I was in line to pay for it. Um…not good.  Hearing, “So, whatcha got there son?” still haunts ME to this day.

6. I don’t believe that I am that good of a person. I don’t know why I feel that way. Maybe because I live in my head and know what’s there. You’d probably feel the same.

7. I don’t enjoy being poor. I refuse to be that way much longer.

8. I smoked for a week when I was 12. I got tired of rushing home to brush MY teeth before mom got home and quit. Way too much work.  I’m not that motivated.

9. After failing to cut the lawn (as ordered) at 15, I told my dad–from the lay sanctity of the sofa–“Do you ever notice how work gets in the way of having fun?” Genius.  I decided that day to be a writer.  Nothing could help ME realize MY dream more.

10. I went to a Debbie Gibson concert. Yes, I know. Just know that I am still not embarrassed by those 4th row seats.  And then I balanced that out later that year by going to see Motley Crue. Oddly, the canceling out effect did not take place. I somehow still remember the DG concert, depite MY best efforts. Total Recall? Memory wash?

11. Do not read MY work in my presence. I will hover. I’m terrified you won’t like it.  Additionally, do not read over MY shoulder while I type.  I don’t like the stalker feeling you leave ME with.

12. I miss MY cat Rocky. He was the best. I blame she-must-not-be-named to this day.

13. I came very close, in ’94 or so, to just getting in MY truck and driving off. Don’t know where I was going, but I just wanted to disappear. I had everything I needed packed, cash in MY pocket, and all the desire in the world. I stayed because of family.

14. I refrain from drinking to excess because I have seen firsthand what it can do to a person. I am sad when I see it happening to people I care about. And I won’t say anything to you because it’s your damn life you’re ruining.  I’ve got MY own problems you probably don’t have time to work on either.

15. I wonder at times if I am, in fact, Truman. I’d like to speak to the producer please.  Still one of MY favorite movies, in case you were wondering.

16. Cheese should not just be a food group, it should be a spiritual icon of hope.

17. If I had it to do all over again, I probably wouldn’t. MY littany of stupid decisions and faulty awareness have made ME who I am. I’m fine with that.  You should be too.

18. I am not hopelessly addicted to fantasy baseball as some may believe, though I will never cease to enjoy the banter between Billy Christ and Kim Jong Ilstein.  To the fray I feel I can now add the one we call, “Shank”.

19. I don’t make friends–REAL friends mind you–often at all. But if you are my friend, well, suck for you right? I mean, really, you want to be MY friend? Haven’t I scared you away yet?

20. I used to believe that writing a memoir would be pointless. But, over the years, as I continue to do stupid things that produce rediculously hard trials, I realize that even I am entertained. God, I’m an idiot.  Be prepared to laugh at MY expense.  I will leave you countless opportunities.

21. I am not atheist. I am not agnostic.  I am also not Mormon, thank you, 8lb 6 oz Baby Jesus.  I believe in God, and I believe in spirit.  And I believe that I will talk your ear off about it.  But I am not religious.  I don’t believe in organized “anything”.  I believe only an individual knows what is in their heart.  Don’t try to tell ME what’s in MINE.

22. I am a reality tv junkie. I totally dig watching people make asses of themselves.  I still dream of being on Survivor.  I would likely be the first contestant to vote others off Agatha Christie style.  DIE STUPID PERSON!  DIE!

23. When I was 12, I wanted to be a professional bowler. Kids laughed at me so I wrote horrible stories about them. I decided being a writer was way cooler. And therapuetic.  For the record, I did bowl in tournaments when I was 20 or so, averaged about 200, and topped out at a 299 for a high game.

24. As MY publisher can attest, I loathe the rules of grammar. I think they should destroyed as soon as possible. And, I, don’t, get, commas, or…elipses. 

25. I want you to succeed more than ME. Even more than that, I want to help you do it.  Just don’t let your pride get in the way.  You’ll regret it.

Funny thing is, I don’t do these memes often, but I like this one.  I’ll probably do it again at some point when I don’t feel it will bore ME to no end.  Feel free to opine.  I know I do.