Look, the damned world is not going to end today. You still have to get up and go to work. “No, no!” you say. “The Mayan calendar is ending! That means the universe will EXPLODE!” Ok. Go in the kitchen and look at that crummy calendar that your insurance agent sends you every year. See Tuesday? That’s Christmas. Merry Christmas! Now find the next Tuesday. What happens? OMG THE CALENDAR ENDS! CALENDARPOCALYPSE! The calendar WE use ends at the end of every damn December, and it doesn’t mean doomsday. It means you go to the crappy bookstore at the mall and buy a new one. Continue reading
