We indulged our end-game scenarios with the Walking Dead and a vampire hunting Lincoln. The Mayans became a market sensation and every smart conman cashed in on doomsday prepping.
While we waited for the world to end, Call Me Maybe sang our summer serenity because, hey, I don’t even know you. This is crazy, but here is my number.
Gay marriage became more mainstream and President Obama openly supported the kindness we owe to one another. All the while, we uncovered the mysteries of the female anatomy and the superpowers that stop impregnation during rape. We also learned that the pink ribbon foundation flip-flopped on Planned Parenthood’s funding and we sigh with relief that no one is above mass hysteria and we are thankful the mob still rules ideologies—but whose ideologies will triumph will be determined in the next crusade. The superpowers performing miracles during rape will have to do better to condemn the next world religion.
Politicians are gearing up for the fight with marvels from God, but we know even God went to the voting booth to push over the landslide against the mighty Mitt. Higgs boson also had its five seconds of fame, but it was short lived since we are all too distracted to Google it trying to figure out what it is.
Speaking of idol worships, Peyton Manning continues his glories on his imposing steed in a much more delightful city; all the while Indy drew its own Luck on the comeback kid and gets by to enter the playoffs that are more important than our children’s education.
This is also the year that guns became public enemy number one, outshining racism in Florida’s Neighborhood Watch, Colorado’s death theater, and Connecticut’s elementary school massacre. We put our Second Amendment on the burning stake, we push the blame on mindless machines; and I assure you the inquisition will occupy the First in just a few years.
Welcome to the New World Order: ban rifles and quick tongs; this republic doesn’t need either because we have HOPE. We lay our futures in the hands of the few, the rich, the privileged who could care less about our well-being. We blame toasters for global warming. But hey, this is crazy, so call me maybe.
This year, we also saw the hopes of a violent hockey season melted away; the Hobbit returns to its throne in the first installment of a nine hour trilogy. We are happily distracted, entertained, and exiled while the nation teeter on a fiscal cliff; the national debt rise on the backs of the poor, the hungry, the less able bodies.
But hey, this is crazy; and all of the world’s problems come from a sinister Agenda 21 conspiracy—flatter world means flatter brains I guess.
While the tea-baggers save the world with anarchy and the occupiers squander aimlessly, all the other boys are looking at the Queen as she idoled opposite Daniel Craig in the box office and parachuted into the opening of the London Olympics.
So call me maybe. This is crazy, but at least we are entertained.
Love affairs flourished and American dynasties are strong with Beyoncé, Jessica Simpson, Reese Witherspoon, Drew Barrymore, Adele, Claire Danes and Snooki all giving birth to future princelings. Meanwhile, in China, the princelings took their rightful claim to a nation of sheeps.
Facebook’s IPO floundered and we “like” it. Weibo gained steam and the world watches.
Jerry Sandusky convicted of molesting young boys but whatever happened to the Catholic Priests? And let’s never speak of Elmo again, of having sex with underage boys.
Salvation, yes; because this is crazy. Schwarzenegger turn out not a cyborg; the Kennedy clan remains unconvinced. Lucas sold his franchise to Disney, let the Death Star be reborn and you can call me; maybe.
The Giants would, after making us sweat, go on to win the World Series. Frankenstorm Sandy would put out the lights on Broadway and wreak havoc on the East Coast. While nature takes its dump on the world at-large, Gangnam Style take its dump on Youtube with a billion (that’s “billion” with a B) hits.
Yes, this is crazy; but we believe in magic.
Let the number thirteen bring forth more aliens, zombies, killer toasters, and old men sleeping with underage boy bands.
The rest of us will be waiting for your call, in the land of disbelieve. But you don’t even know me. So call me maybe.