Since nobody will see this (okay, a couple people probably will), I’m just going to go with whatever strikes my fancy. Mind you, I don’t want to end up with a bruised fancy, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Anyway…here goes…
Prior to my retirement as an Environmental Services Associate (you know them as “custodians”), I pondered whether I should develop my own website. This would be a place where I could express my inner, deepest thoughts. Or fart jokes. Don’t judge.
This summer, I moved from the dumpster fire which is Pennsylvania to the insanity which is Virginia. As of this writing, Pennsylvania is still a dumpster fire and the jury’s out on Virginia. I relocated to Virginia Beach to help out my daughter and new son-in-law get on their feet. In a year, though, I plan on moving farther south. I’ll still be close to them (and my son and his future wife, who live in Richmond, but I’m tired of hearing sirens. I want to virtually disappear somewhere rural where, hopefully, my Yankee accent won’t get me into too much trouble.
What energized me into going with this website is the fact that Facebook, where I usually post my own brand of silly, suspended me for a month due to “violating community standards.” I have no idea what I could have done. When I tried to investigate, I could not actually see what got me tossed “into the can.” Moreover, the most recent troublesome post was January, 2019. That’s right, over a year and a half ago.
So, therefore, I decided to launch this website a little earlier than I had originally planned. I’m still finding my way around Word Press (i.e., not exactly sure how it is I post pictures…I do that sort of thing a lot). In a few weeks, I’ll reactivate my Facebook account (they suspended me…I suspended THEM. Screw those fascists). At that point, I’ll direct my friends there to find me on this site. It will contain most of the stuff I already post on Facebook and will be free. At least for the time being. It would be nice to have some money coming in. After all, I am a pensioner now. For now, though…enjoy?
Well, that’s all for now. Supper’s calling and “Jeopardy” will be coming on soon.
NOTE: I think I wrote this already, but if you’re using this to study for the History Advanced Placement Examination, the only college you’ll get into is Klown Kollege. Or you’ll be confused with Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. The below is meant for entertainment (hopefully) use only.
The Age of Cool Dinosaurs
Brought to you by theBiden Administration
Hand Over Your Wallet
Following the mass extinction of the Permian Period brought on by Thanos, the remaining Avengers gathered together in New Yo….oh. Wait. That’s not right. My bad.
Anyway, the life which was left poked their heads out of some burrow, turned to their neighbor and asked, “Hey, WTF just happened? Ooh, the smart-ass dimetrodons are gone. Cool.”
They really shouldn’t have been too cocky, though. Because, even though they didn’t know it (calendars hadn’t been invented yet, after all), they found themselves at the doorstep of the Mesozoic Era. It was during this multi-million year period when the really big (and, let’s face it, cool) dinosaurs were born (Hatched. Whatever. I don’t know. Do you know? I didn’t think so. Shut up).
And eat them.
The Brontosaurus (which nerds now call “Brachiosaurus”), Stegosaurus, Allosaurus, Pterosaurs, Coldsaurus, and Tyrannosaurus (among many others. I’m just sticking with the “saurus” theme. You’re welcome.) made their appearance on the world stage during the Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous periods.
NOTE: The Bidenosaurus was banished from the dinosaur world, despite offering free massages to juvenile T-Rex’s.
This included the Velociraptors which nobody really heard of until Jurassic World.
During this time frame, mammals begin to evolve themselves (not humans yet, despite that painting of cavemen fighting raptors with machine guns on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel). Since they were so small, they were certainly no match for their lizard (or whatever they were…they may have been proto-birds, Kryptonians, or ancestors of Al-Qaeda…who knows?) neighbors, though.
Lucky for the mammals that they were small and thus, mostly immune from the next mass extinction caused by an asteroid strike (or bad clams). The climate changed abruptly from a mostly humid, tropical, frankly uncomfortable, world (you know, a lot like Disney World in August). A lot (probably most. Too lazy to look it up) of the life was wiped out.
Yeah, of course, the neat dinosaurs were killed because they could not survive in this new environment. And they forgot to pack warm coats.
Frikkin’ asteroids, amirite?
This brought the world into the “Cenozoic Era.” It was here when newer and bigger models of mammals emerged onto the scene.
Sensing the coast was clear, apes slowly began to crawl down from the same trees they crawled up when some random punk dinosaur decided to pick on someone smaller than them to impress the lady dinosaurs. Deciding to stretch their legs, these proto-humans began grunting a common language, fashioned rocks into tools, became lawyers, and decided to stroll into that neat-looking garden with the neat-looking tree in the middle.
Where they were killed by Adam and Eve.
Believe it or not, we are still living in the Cenozoic Era. This means that, Betty White notwithstanding, we’re relative youngsters in what is by far the shortest geologic time period in world history. Geologists, archeologists, anthropologists, paleontologists, masochists, taxidermists, Scientologists, botanists, gynecologists, phlebotomists…whatever…
state that this era won’t come to an end until after another mass extinction.
Two of you may have noticed that I haven’t written much (i.e., not at all) here over the course of the past few weeks. I’ve been busy doing things like cle…none of your business. I also took a cross-country trip to Seattle to attend a family wedding and see if the Starbucks there are really better than the Starbucks here (HINT: they’re not). Anyway, I waited until today to write again. It seems appropriate given the deadly serious nature of the day. This is a reprint of something probably more than a few of you have read before. Even so, its impact carries through to this day. I’ll be back in a few days…
It was just before one o’clock in the afternoon on September 11th (a sad commentary: we don’t even need to identify the year anymore) when my maintenance supervisor stuck his head into my room to wake me.
“Sir, someone just flew a plane into the World Trade Center.”
Minutes later, I watched, horrified, as a second plane struck the South tower. And then, as both of the monstrously huge structures tumbled to the ground as if kicked by a petulant child.
My unit and I were participating in a multi-nation exercise at the Naval Air Station in Keflavik, Iceland (this explains why it was the afternoon). A round-the-clock operation, the Keflavik Tactical Exchange gave us a unique chance to evaluate each other’s capabilities should we ever needed to flex our respective militaries. Little did we know that we were preparing for a type of war which belonged to the past.
Because the 21st Century came roaring into each of our lives on that late summer day.
Naturally, the exercise was immediately cancelled. Foreign aircrews (funny that I call them “foreign’” since we were actually foreigners, too) beat hasty returns to their home bases. We were told that American airspace was closed indefinitely.
Station security forces went into their highest readiness posture. Watch teams at the main gate beefed up, rings of barbed wire cordoned off perceived sensitive areas, and armed patrols roamed the perimeter.
My watch teams and I, on the other hand, remained at our billeting. Only in Iceland for the exercise, we were considered non-essential personnel who’d only get in the way.
And so we spent the next few days.
I received a worried phone call from my wife during this time. She fretted over my safety. I assured her that I was fine but omitted the fact that I was more concerned for her and the kids.
You see, my family lived only a couple hours from New York and only a few from Washington.
The ensuing few days was a frantic search for whatever updates we could glean from the news and how in the world we’d get ourselves and thousands of pounds of equipment back home.
Most importantly, we desperately wanted to know how we could get into the fight. Whatever the fight was.
Four days later, U.S. airspace was opened to military traffic. As I glanced through the window of the Navy patrol plane which took us home, I was struck at how empty the sky was-with the exception of the one plane which approached us as we crossed into the United States. It came no closer than a few miles before it disappeared.
I think it was a fighter aircraft.
What’s more, the radio circuits, normally full of the cacophony of countless air traffic controllers, were eerily silent. The only ones “on the air” were the handful which guided us home. All else were hushed into silence.
Our route of flight took us just south of Manhattan, well out of sight of land. At that distance, even at the altitude at which we were flying, it was impossible to see any of the city skyline.
But, we did see a huge pall of gray-brown smoke lingering in the air like the death shroud that it was.
As we touched ground at the Willow Grove naval air station, there was nobody to greet us. There really wasn’t much of anything by way of an acknowledgment that we were back. Somehow, it seemed fitting.
After all, we all had something much more important to do.
Go home to our families.
In memory of:
Commander Bill Donovan, USN
AW2 (NAC/AW) Joseph Pycior, USN
and the thousands whose only crime was going to work that day.
Oh, forget it, you know what they’re like. What’s more, everyone has them. And they stink.
I leave in the morning on a cross-country trip which will end in Seattle by the end of next week. I’ve been wanting to drive across the country for quite some time and am looking forward to finally getting a chance to do so. Not only will I get a chance to see Mount Rushmore, the Mars Cheese Castle, and possibly the world’s biggest ball of yarn, but I’m also eager to see what the non-crazy parts of the nation (with the exception of Seattle, of course) look like .
What this all means is that I will be virtually off-line for the next week. So, for the two of you who count on Nit Nats to get you through a difficult day, I regret to inform you this will be the last such burst of inspired greatness until September. I also paused work on my book, as well-do either of you know I’m writing a book?
Never fear, though. I’ll keep a running tally of my doings and whereabouts of where I’m…uh…about on platforms such as Instagram. So, if that kinda stuff matters to you, you need to get a life you have that going for you.
Which is nice.
Since I still need to finish packing for my adventure, I won’t have the time to cobble together a coherent essay on the multitude of issues which afflict our world. Goodness knows I have a seemingly limitless choice of topics upon which to pontificate, though.
A joke I read recently puts it perfectly: A friend asked me if I had any plans for the fall. It took me a minute before I realized he meant autumn.
Anyway, the following are quick hits of my opinions about that which plague us. I figured I’d get them in while I had the chance. And a country. They could very easily herald the apocalypse, you know.
So, in no certain order…
Apparently, sheep will be allowed to queue up for a Chinese Flu booster shot starting next month. Hey, fool me once, shame on you. Try to fool me twice, you can sit on that needle and spin.
Weak minds thoroughly incapable of logic are running about in a panic due to the resurgence of COVID under the guise of the Delta Variant. This all while the southern border is wide open and thousands of illegals flood into the country, more than a few of whom are infected with the virus.
This tells me the administration isn’t serious about dealing with the pandemic. Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal. Treat American citizens like you treat illegal immigrants (or vice-versa). Then we’ll talk. Until then, eat your masks.
The Idiot-in-Chief begs OPEC to pump more oil. I’m old enough to remember when the United States was energy independent. Last year.
Voter ID is racist. Vaccine mandates are not.
In a similar vein, “My body, my choice” only applies to murdering babies, I guess. Not when it comes to being forced to inject a yet-to-be-approved vaccine into your body.
Speaking of vaccine mandates….New York City is requiring them before you can go to a restaurant, gym, or theater. But, a large percentage of black New Yorkers have not received the jab. So, Mayor De Blasio is denying these folks access to these establishments. Will the real Jim Crow stand up?
Panicked monkey see, panicked monkey do. Spurred on by unreasonable hysteria, school districts throughout the nation are throwing face diapers on schoolchildren. Never mind the Johns Hopkins study of 48,000 children which saw ZERO deaths due to the Chinese Flu for those without comorbidities.
Or that private schools nationwide, which didn’t force kids to put on masks, didn’t experience a significant number of COVID cases.
Private school kids must be made of sterner stuff. I blame the nuns.
In response to the Delta Variant, the Mask Police, listening to that insufferable gnome Fauci, are once more beating the drum to swathe ourselves in masks. Apparently, THAT will teach mean old COVID.
Excuse me, weren’t large parts of the country wearing these ridiculous things for most of last year? Didn’t the virus continue to escalate during that whole time?
What’s more, aren’t lunatic asylums like Hawaii and Oregon experiencing crazy COVID case numbers? Haven’t states like these lead the charge for face coverings ever since this nonsense started?
I categorically do not deny the existence of the Wuhan Flu. I categorically deny the idiotic efficacy of cloth masks and lockdowns.
The unemployment rate dropped again last month. Huzzah! That must mean the Administration’s jobs policy is right on the money!!
Or more people aren’t filing for unemployment since they’re sitting on their fat asses while collecting government checks.
Everything costs more. That wouldn’t have anything to do with the feds printing money like it was going out of style, would it? To those eschewing actual work while feeding at the trough, congratulations. I hope you’ll enjoy hundred-dollar loaves of bread.
I have a real problem with organizations such as Tunnels To Towers holding their hands out to help American heroes while Uncle Sam funnels millions of dollars to Pakistan for gender studies.
As stated here before, I was all for pulling our troops out of Afghanistan. I saw nothing there worth a single American life or billions of our treasure. We’ve got our own shitholes to worry about (I’m talking to you, New York City). In this, Donald Trump and I are of the same mind.
That said, the demented muppet in the White House could not have botched this withdrawal any more badly. First, he stated when the United States would be saying sayonara to the graveyard of empires. Seriously, what kind of abject moron sends that kind of signal to our enemies? Oh, I forgot, the moron who lives on Pennsylvania Avenue.
Second, call me crazy, but isn’t it…crazy…to leave millions of dollars of military equipment behind? Or, at least not destroy it?
Third, since when is it standard military doctrine to pull the military out before civilians, be they contractors or Afghan nationals who helped the Americans? Or have any kind of plan to help these people out besides, “Yeah, good luck with that?” Seriously, what kind of moron…oh, yeah. Got it.
Joe Biden’s complete cocking up of a withdrawal which needed to happen may very well be the lasting legacy of a senile doofus who not only deserves to be impeached but deserves to be thrown out of office. People will die because of this doddering old fossil.
Of the presidents who have been impeached throughout American history, he is the only one who merits this fate. It’s a crime that past impeachments have been partisan kabuki theater shams.
NOTE: While Richard Nixon was not impeached, I’m confident he would have justly been had he not resigned. The others? Mere political hand jobs.
Well, that’s it for for now. Like I said, I still have a little packing to do. And my skivvies aren’t going to jump in the suitcase themselves, you know.
I’ll see you both again when I return. I just hope there’s something left to return to.
In our last installment, life (well, animal life. Please forgive my raging Floraphobia), began to emerge from the sea onto the primordial ooze (I love that phrase. Reminds me of a girl I knew in high school) in the Cambrian Epoch (Era…whatever). Or was that from the primordial ooze onto the land? Whatever. I’m not sure.
Anyway, the first critter to sally forth upon terra firma (which probably wasn’t very firma) was a charming little rascal called Perdepes Finneyae (FULL DISCLOSURE: If you think I actually knew that name and didn’t have to look it up, you give me much more credit than I deserve. I’m mostly winging this, but occasionally I’ll need to look something up. I think its modern cousin is the “Lungfish.” Or Whoopi Goldberg). Anyway, it could breathe air, as well as live and breath underwater. I think we call them amphibians. Or Aquaman.
Life went on evolving for millions and millions of years (or roughly the lifespan of Keith Richards). The Pre-Cambrian gave way to the Cambrian Epoch which eventually gave way to the Paleozoic when its lease ran out. The Pre-Cambrian was noted for swamp muck and not much of anything else except for some life in the oceans, like starfish, algae, and the boring trilobites.
Next up was the Paleozoic Era (fewer letters to type than ‘epoch’ so I’m going with ‘era.’).
It didn’t last all that long. Relatively. But, it was marked by a rush of life moving from the oceans onto the land. Starting with the aforementioned goofy lungfish milling about the ferns, we begin to see (well, not ‘we,’ exactly. Maybe Betty White, though. She’s pretty old) more advanced forms of life culminating in a dinosaur looking thing with one hell of a back grill.
It was during this time that the major land masses of the Earth, moving around on their tectonic plates, collided together to form a Super-Continent known as “Pangea.” Many people in the past doubted this actually happened, but archeologists digging in what would eventually become Mara Lago, discovered fossils wearing MPGA ballcaps.
Anyway, it was all for naught (or is that ‘nought’?)
when the Earth suffered its first mass extinction at the end-naturally-of the Permian Period (which was actually kind of fortunate, because the dimetrodons could then avoid going to Math during Third Period).
No one knows what caused this extinction (a comet, plastic straws, gender dysphoria, or volcanic instability), but what became known as the “Permian Extinction” wiped out over half the life on the land and nearly everything in the oceans.
They probably should have worn masks.
Bet it sucked, though.
Especially, for the tough-guy dinosaurs who never got a chance to rumble with the Tyrannosaurus and Velociraptor.
Next time…the Mesozoic and Cenozoic. Starring cool dinosaurs.
In two days, I will have moved. Thanks for asking.
As such, I’m surrounded by dozens of boxes. That which was neat and orderly only a few days ago is now a manic disarray of things tossed into that box, things tossed into that other box, and “Eff, where do I put these things?” FULL DISCLOSURE: “Neat and orderly?” HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Even though I’m only moving to the other side of the city, effectively it’s not much different than moving to the other side of the country. Stuff gotta be put in boxes, yo.
Anyway, one of the last things to be broken down and packed away is the “Nit Nat Nerve Center.” I had determined that you, my two faithful readers, deserve the very latest in hard-hitting journalism and quality writing that would cause Ernest Hemingway to weep.
Or whatever this is.
I’m not sure when the “lights” will come back on. Perhaps only a matter of days. Perhaps a little bit longer. You see, my son asked me to watch his dog next weekend. Since he lives a hundred miles away, that may cause some difficulty for me to get another Nit Nat post out. Maybe I’ll take my computer with me. After all, it’s a laptop so…
What does all this mean, you may be asking? Well, what this all means is that today’s post may be a little shorter than normal (much like me). Also, I don’t plan on doing a lot of in-depth thinking or make cogent arguments in favor of my position. Come to think of it, you’re probably wondering if I ever have.
Whatever, let’s get on with it, shall we?
During the days when I had brown hair and didn’t need Pepsi to burp, I was a bit of a wise aleck. Yeah, I know. Not a lot has changed. Except the hair. And I now consider nine o’clock the new midnight.
Plus, not everything works like it use…THAT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!
Most of the youngsters today wouldn’t recognize the 1970s.
The fashion (dear Lord), music (I’m talking to you, disco), and pop culture (e.g., “Pet Rocks.”) are proof positive that drug use spilled over from the 60s. Millennials today would scoff at how primitive we seemed back then with our pay phones, rabbit ear antennas, stick shift transmissions, gas shortages, and incompetent boob in the White House.
Hmm, come to think of it, kids today may have an inkling of what it was like fifty years ago.
If the Bee Gees put out a soundtrack for Saturday Night Fever 2, though, I’m outta here.
Wait, I just checked the interwebs. There apparently was a sequel to SNF. The unforgettable Staying Alive had John Travolta and maybe, probably, some disco in it. Who cares? The joke stands.
Yes, yes, I know. Maurice Gibb is no longer with us, so a new soundtrack is very unlikely. I also know there will never be a Beatles reunion tour. I just didn’t want to bring that up. You heartless bastard.
One of the countless differences between then and now is that most of us own EZ Passes. While tolls on the highway still (and always will) exist, most of them require the little transponder on our windshield to use the road. This makes things easy for us as we laugh at the poor schmucks stuck in the pay line, even though (at least for me), the state could raise tolls and I probably wouldn’t even know it.
Kids today will never know the panic of digging for change in the (unused. hopefully) ashtray so they could continue on to the Jersey Shore. Or getting off an exit before the toll so they could drive twenty miles out of our way to avoid tossing a quarter at the booth.
I’m sure many of us “of an age” remember the little exact change baskets at each toll. Much like today’s EZ Pass, these little gizmos gave us a chance to laugh at the poor schmucks who had to wait in line to break $50 so they could hand over a quarter.
Now that I write it…they had a fifty dollar bill? Rich pukes.
Anyway, I remember one such group of tolls at the exits/entrances for the Virginia Beach Expressway. The main toll was a quarter, but if you didn’t go through there, these gave the state a chance to at least grab a dime from you.
Obviously wanting you to toss a dime into the basket, each was labeled “NO PENNIES PLEASE.” I’m sure I could have tossed a quarter into the thing and I’d get the green light allowing me on my way. No way was I going to give the Old Dominion twenty-five cents, though.
But, I wondered…would pennies even work? After all, the warning said “please.” It didn’t say ‘NO PENNIES DAMMIT!!!” So, one late night, after visiting an Oceanfront bar church, I scooped up ten copper discs from my Monza’s ashtray.
I patiently waited. Luckily, since it was late, no one was behind me. I heard the machine go “CHUNK A CHUNK A CHUNK A CHUNK.” It took a few seconds, but I was eventually rewarded with a green light. Off I went, warmed by the thought that I wasn’t a compliant sheep. When confronted by bureaucracy, I just said “NO.” Virginia got ten cents from me, sure, but they sure didn’t get no dime.
Incidentally, the main toll also had a similar warning. But, while I successfully used twenty-five pennies in that one once, I wasn’t willing to wait that long again for the “CHUNK A CHUNK” to finish. Nor were the line of cars behind me.
Sure, I’m a rebel. But, I’m not an asshole.
What’s my point?
Well, I’m going to put this quick and simple. Like I said, I am moving and don’t have a lot of time. Bad enough I wrote much more than I planned.
Fear Porn and sweat pumps are starting up again because now there’s a Delta Variant for the Chinese Virus. Fretful ninnies are dashing about in a panicked sweat that “OH MY GOD, WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!” unless we once more return to throwing face diapers on our faces again. Even those who received the vaccination. Of course, this causes me to wonder…what was the point of getting the shot then?
As far as whether I have been vaccinated or not, that’s nunya. The two of you who are regular readers may recall that as standing for “None Ya Business.” Actually, it’s short for “I Don’t Believe That’s None Ya Damn Bidness.”
While it may be more contagious that the regular garden variety Wuhan Flu, hospitalizations and deaths haven’t spiked. Also, didn’t cases skyrocket when everyone was required to wear a mask? Little logic and critical thought here.
At this point (and that may change any day), mask use is recommended (unless you are a federal worker and, thus, work for the Idiot-in-Chief), so I take that as “WEAR A MASK PLEASE.” But, even if it becomes mandatory, I’m willing to suffer any repercussions for a stance I took back in the 1970s.
I will just say “NO.”
Wow, come to think of it, this post is just as long as any other post I’ve written for Nit Nats. I do tend to run my mouth, don’t I? Oh well, sue me. I gotta move.
UPDATE: Interestingly, there are no tolls on the Virginia Beach expressway anymore. In fact, it’s not even called the Virginia Beach Expressway. Although, since I have EZ Pass, I have no idea how much it costs in tolls to visit family in New England. Thank goodness, because my car doesn’t have an ashtray anymore.
Preface. Or “Prologue.” Or “Introduction.” Or “Forward.” Who TF knows? Just read, already.
I have always wanted to write a history of the world. Yes, yes…sigh…I know. It’s been done plenty of times. Even by Mel Brooks. As cool as that movie was.
No, I wanted to write my version of the history of the world. Trust me, while I may change some small elements of the past millions of years (e.g., I’ll bet “Xerxes the Great” didn’t have a kid brother named “Herschel the So-So”), it will be done solely in the pursuit of comedy or whatever this is.
I’ll leave the major bits intact, though. For instance, Rome was sacked (hee hee hee…sacked) by the Goths, who were an actual “barbarian” tribe, not a group of angst-ridden teenagers who painted their faces black, sported multiple piercings, and dressed head to toe like Morticia Adams.
Hmm, come to think of it, that’s pretty good. I may use that.
I’ll pretty much rely on that which I’ve gleaned from my education by the good sisters of Saint Stanislaus Elementary School and the Stratford, Connecticut, public school system.
NOTE: Now you know where to forward your strongly worded letters of protest.
Since I’ll be relying on what I’ve already learned, there will be a minimum of scholarly research. Mostly because scholarly research requires scholarly work and, well, screw that. My point is, I am positive I’ll get some things wrong along the way. Meaning, sue me. If you’re using what you read here to ace the History Advanced Placement to get you into an Ivy League school or a good table at Red Robin, I can’t help you.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll turn this into an actual book someday. That would be a lot of fun and will give you the two of you who read this a chance to tell the two who buy an actual book that you were here on the ground floor of a Nit Nat History of the World.
Just don’t hold your breath. You’ll die.
Oh, one more thing. I’ll no doubt insult pretty much all elements of society here. So, don’t get your knickers all in a twist. If I haven’t mentioned your favorite target of scorn and derision, be patient. I’ll get to them eventually. Except those who behead people. Because behead people.
Just kidding. I’ll get to them, too.
“Go ahead. Jump, infidel frog, jump.”
So, check your brain at the door and prepare to be educatedentertained whatever this is.
A long time ago, defined as 14 billion years (give or take a billion or, for evangelicals, last weekend), there was a cataclysmic explosion the likes of which wouldn’t be seen until Chris Christie fell while chasing that ice cream truck in front of a Trenton Dunkin’ Donuts (talk about your basic conundrum).
The result of this massive explosion was that the cosmos began racing outward at breathtaking speeds (once again, think Chris Christie and the ice cream truck) towards the outer edge of the universe where it will no doubt meet Arya Stark.
NOTE: If you don’t get that line, watch the last episode of Game of Thrones. Hey, I can’t do everything here.
For some reason, some things decided to remain. No, I don’t get it. Why would anything hang around after such an explosion? Sounds like a crappy neighborhood, if you ask me. Stephen Hawking would probably know, I suppose but, well, you know.
No one really knows what happened, mostly because no one was alive back then, with the possible exceptions of Keith Richard and Betty White.
So, with that in mind, let’s just chalk it up to…
Anyway, the bits of cosmic jetsam left over by the kaboom coalesced into the planets, moons, and suns of which we are familiar (even Pluto, that Mickey Mouse planet). Some would be hot, some would be cold, some would be in the pot nine days old. Some would be gassy (those planets never get invited to Planetary Barbecues) and some would be punchlines for junior high school kids (e.g., Uranus).
One such planet we named “Earth,” because, seriously, who else would do it? This didn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense because most of the planet which was third in line from Hot Bright Thingie (an accurate, if clumsy, moniker) was water.
The infant Earth went through billions of years or an afternoon (once again, evangelicals) cooling down, solidifying what little ground it had, and putting up curtains until something in the water (which was maybe hit by lightning or fertilized by aliens) decided to get jiggy with themselves and reproduce.
Reproducing was probably pretty difficult, though, because Barry White music hadn’t been invented yet. Anyway, reproduce and multiply they did until we see the oceans teeming with life: fish, seaweed, Aquaman, primeval mob hits, you name it.
Eventually, one of these fish, growing weary of being munched on by prehistoric sharks (which would go to evolve as lawyers) or wanting to escape Mrs. Fish, decided to give what looked like legs a try. So, with great effort, he (okay, I’m assuming gender. Shut up) heaved himself on the shore and became our great-great-great-great (insert a shitload of “greats” here) grandfather.
He actually would have preferred identifying as a great (and so on) grandmother, but his neighbor, Caitlynopitheticus, already cornered that market.
Not only would this set the stage for the future of the planet, it goes a long way toward explaining why Great-Aunt Edna looks like a fish.