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It’s A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood, As Long As The World Doesn’t End

Do you want to know why I’m in such a good mood this morning?

No, it’s not because of the triple shots of espresso I just drank. It’s not because it’s the first day I’m not wearing my ankle brace. It’s not even because Christ died for our sins.

Give up?

It’s because I pooped in my own bathroom today! What a feat, I know. Are you guys proud? It doesn’t seem like much of an accomplishment, but this is the first day in probably a week that Olympus has had toilet paper. I’m not sure how the four girls in our house have been surviving, but together…we made it…we made it, y’all…

And now I sit in my room, full of caffeine, brimming with excitement over the fact that my colon is empty (Was that too gross? Have I lost everyone?), listening to our lord and savior, Lauryn Hill, and blogging. On the topic of this blog… does anyone read this? Do I want people to read this? Do I really want anyone to read about my colon? Is this blog going anywhere? The answer is a resounding “no.”

But I want to keep this thing conversational. As though someone sat me in front of a camera and just told me, “Go.” What person would be stupid enough to give me those kinds of liberties? I think it would trigger the apocalypse (more on that later). All I can figure is, if I’m going to go through the trouble of keeping a blog, I’m gonna make sure I’m writing what’s really going on in my head (and colon). It’s my place to talk about all the things that are too inappropriate to discuss within the realms of what is considered socially acceptable. Or, at least, the things I can’t gracefully force into daily conversation without freaking people out. You hear that, friends? You all owe me for sparing you. In any case, I have to get it out of my system somehow

Do you know what scares the crap out of me (and my colon)? 

The end of the fucking world. What a concept, you know? The complete annihilation of a species? That’s some heavy shit. It’s all fun and games when we’re talking about how the extinction of dinosaurs and stuff. I mean, they’re dinosaurs, and they weren’t very friendly creatures (except for the Brontosauruses in JURASSIC PARK), so who cares about them all dying, you know? Was that too soon? I mean, it’s been millions of years. So get over it. Is anyone offended? Is anyone even still reading this? I don’t care, I’m going to keep talking. So: 2012. It scares me to NO END. I think about it at least once a day. I can’t fathom it, billions of people dying. Maybe the thing that bothers me the most is the fact that it’s linked to an EXACT date; December 21st. Four days before Christmas? That’s just heartless. Think of all the people who will have blown their last chunks of change on gifts that they can’t even GIVE. I hate that it’s linked to the 21st because it makes me wonder what I’m going to do ON that day. Where will I be? Who will I be with? What will I be thinking? How many times will I have to pee out of sheer terror? The answer to all of these questions is clear: I will be knocked out on Xanax. Hopefully in a concrete basement somewhere. With a Barbra Streisand playlist looping in the background. That’s actually the only way to do it. If the world is going to end, I am going to sleep through it. And please, God, if you kill MOST of us, can you just do me a favor and make sure I’m one of them? I really don’t want to be around to rebuild civilization. That sounds so tedious and lame and unnecessary. And if you don’t kill me, God, could you make sure you don’t destroy any Chipotles? And what about Urban Outfitters? If there’s nobody around to see, I want to start dressing like a hipster.

Where do YOU want to be if the world ends on December 21st? Those fucking Mayans know what’s up…

Have a happy Sunday everyone!