Well, I’m not bummed out that we’re all still here.
I’m disappointed, however, that I no longer get to end my sentences with “…of the Apocalypse.” Last night, for example, as a storm rolled into Coshocton and high winds were threatening this little shanty we’re living in, I got to say “Here it is, the snowstorm of the apocalypse.”
In the weeks leading up to today, I had fun with things like “the new comet of the apocalypse,” “the chupacabra of the apocalypse,” “the North Korean pocket rocket of the apocalypse,” and “the trapped kittens of the apocalypse.”
I’m particularly proud of this last one, because I got to use it many times, like “Teddy, the trapped kitten of the apocalypse,” “the weird scratching trapped kitten of the apocalypse,” and of course, and especially, “Abe, the conveniently marketable kitten trapped in the Abe Lincoln statue…of the apocalypse.“
So when I woke this morning and realized I was still alive (unless I’m in some existential otherness right now, in which case Hello? HELLO? HelloooOOOOOOOO…… EchoEchoEchoEcho…) I thought “Dang it! I don’t know any other jokes!”
Then I realized, Hey, it’s still December 21st. Surely I can milk this one last time?
Thus I give you (isn’t it great to just pop out a “thus” once in awhile?)…the Squirrel Tracks of the Apocalypse.
Did anyone else just hear mewing…?
Love, Marla
P.S. “Kitten trapped in shoebox….of the apocalypse” (I smell manmade disaster here).
