Yesterday, I jumped in a cab and said, “Follow that car! I’m a Federal Agent!” It was a pleasant night in jail, and I can cross it off my bucket list.
1. Wear a green cumberbun
2. Survive a cobra bite
3. Drive a car into the ocean
4. See Letterman spray Richard Simmons with a fire extinguisher again.
5. Not see Kim Kardashian – anywhere
6. Sing with Hootie & the Blowfish
7. See the Miami Dolphins win a game
8. Meet an honest politician
9. Wear clogs & a kilt
10. Make a ceramic dragonfly
That’s about it. I’m not sure I’ll be able to do them all today, but I strongly feel the need to do my best.
Warren Jeffs is an idiot. I’m sure he blamed the lack of faith of his followers because the world didn’t end on the day he predicted. He’s not the only one. Every year some knucklehead predicts the world will end. When I was a kid, someone predicted a monster earthquake which would cause California to be swallowed by the sea. They even specified the time of day.
I was riding my bike just ahead of the predicted time and I saw the neighborhood moron sitting in an inflatable boat. He had another one right next to him with a “For Rent” sign on it. I couldn’t help it. The absurdity overtook me and I had to ask him a few things.
I first commended him for being wise enough to not only being prepared, but to have the intelligence of renting the other boat. Now for the questions. I asked him how long he believed the prediction. He said a couple of weeks. I then asked him if he knew what a tsunami was. He didn’t of course, so I explained that not only would we all die whether or not we had inflatable boats or not but how did he expect to collect his rent at sea.
Then I asked him if he really did believe the ridiculous prediction, why he didn’t fly to Florida or any other safe destination. That was it. He felt like a moron and should have. Aside from the stupid things I’ve done in my life, that stands as the most idiotic thing I’ve ever seen.
If I really thought the world were ending today, I would be writing this blog in Bali. I would max out my credit, and do whatever I want, only to find myself in my shrink’s office tomorrow, like I did back in the 90’s, when another whacko predicted the end, based on math. I’m not a math wiz so and the formula rivaled an equation cooked up in Sheldon Cooper’s living room. I couldn’t disprove him. I soon discovered where the math wizards reside. In collection agencies.
I’ll really see you tomorrow.
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