The End of the World and Other Trivial Issues

Might be my last post.

I see that per the Mayans the world ends December 21. Time to load up that credit card, and eat all those high cholesterol snacks in the fridge. If I am heading into the apocalypse, might as well do it with a bowl of pork rinds, a sizzling rib eye, and a baked potato with all the trimmings.

It goes without saying, of course, that we should heed the Mayans because they have such a successful, thriving culture that has contributed so much to our modern world. They wrote the Magna Carta and the Bill of Rights; were the first on the moon; wrote magnificent symphonies; cured rabies and polio; discovered penicillin; invented the printing press, the airplane, the helicopter, the telephone, the camera, the computer, the Popeil pocket fisherman, and, of course, the internet, and . . . oh, wait, maybe I have them confused with somebody else. But that doesn't matter, aren't all cultures equal? Isn't that what our dopey students get taught by their dopey professors? Can people with COLLEGE DEGREES be wrong about the worth of Mayan culture? Cannot be, cannot be . . ..

Let's give this to the Mayans. They might not have nailed the exact date for the end of the world, but weren't too far off on the date for the end of our world, you know, that quaint old world in which individual freedom, responsibility, and initiative were prized and exalted. I'd say that date was, more or less, November 6. A Tuesday, I believe. That was the date that the greatest country that has ever existed made it official: it no longer wanted to be great. It preferred to live in a world of illusion, governed by crooks, liars, mountebanks, and hustlers. In other words, the spirit of Chicago City Hall defeated that of Faneuil Hall.

It is about to start raining, but, so what? My gas grill will still fire up those steaks . . . might light a cigar, too. I am even thinking of driving around the neighborhood without wearing my seatbelt, and my shoe laces undone, while playing with a pair of scissors, and texting. A certain freedom comes with the end.