If you believe anything of extraordinary import is slated to go down in 2012, you’re a goddamn idiot.
Yeah. See, I can’t be nice about that.
2012 will have earthquakes, floods, typhoons and disasters. A whole lot of real unlucky people will die all at once in multiple places, for multiple reasons. A plane will crash. A ship will sink. We’ll look up from our soggy blue-green marble and notice the rest of the universe doing something interesting. Yes. That’ll happen. No argument here. But that won’t happen because it’s 2012. That’ll happen because that always happens and will always happen forever. And you’re basically a lower mammal and/or CW network star, so you ascribe cosmic importance to arbitrary, unassociated events when you’re told to by a movie directed by Hollywood’s most self-hating gay, Roland Emmerich.
I bet you think Marmaduke is a real dog, too.
The truth is, you don’t really care about what the Mesoamerican Long Count Calandar has to say about December 21st, 2012. I know you don’t. You never cared before. And I know you don’t understand it how it works, you can’t even read the friggin’ thing. You just think it’s something you should be scared of, which means you’re throwing up the same intellectual gang sign as the crowd that’s spent 2009 fondling their Bibles and giving the Large Hadron Collider the stinkeye.
Wrong from the first friggin’ line. Thanks, History Channel. I liked you better when you couldn’t shut up about Hitler.
The pre-Columbian Maya didn’t think the world was going to end in 2012, and they wrote the damn calendar. Carved it. Whatever. So if you do, you’re buying the whole Terence McKenna thing, whether you know it or not. And Terence McKenna is proof that, when everything that ever came out of your fat stupid mouth is quantifiably wrong, you enter a magical credibility wormhole that turns your concentrated duh inside-out and transforms it into something retards will throw money at.
A refresher for those who don’t habitually subject themselves to the frightened kitten noises of the delusional: Terence was the author of Novelty Theory, which he made up on drugs and states that sometimes the universe gets bored and likes to change up the game a little to keep us on our toes. In other words, “the universe is an engine (no) designed (NO) for the production and conservation of novelty (WHAT?).” McKenna crapped this out when he wasn’t busy working on his “stoned ape” theory, which states psychedelic shrooms were instrumental in human evolution.
Your prophet, 2012 doomsayers. And if he’s good enough for you, you’re welcome to him.
“5D Earth.” McKenna, but with more nonsense. If that’s even possible.
It’s rare that prophets like McKenna get the followers they deserve, but sometimes fate is kind and throws people like me a bone. Lil’ Wayne, for example, is a true believer, once citing Pluto’s demotion to dwarf planet, 9/11, West Nile virus and Barack Obama as the collective drumroll of the world’s demise. Also running for village idiot on the I’ll-believe-anything ticket are Shirley MacLaine, Jack Van Impe and Joe Rogan, who actually drives a car with a DEC 2012 license plate. The only good thing that may ever come from 2012 hysteria is the mental picture of that crowd huddling together in an armored root cellar like frightened dogs while the clock’s ticking down on December 20th.
Okay, now maybe I’m scared.
Lil’ Wayne, one should note, is taking quite a few liberties with his interpretation of the McKenna prophecies. Terence states he was expecting an “ultranovel event,” but didn’t go into details. That’s one of the best parts, really; He never actually SAID what he expected to happen, just that it would be big and scary. He definitely rules out Jesus, but other than that, Novelty Theory doesn’t have much to distinguish it from the hundreds and hundreds of vague endtime prophecies people have been spouting for hundreds and hundreds of years. Archeologists have literally dug up a 6,000 year-old Assyrian clay tablet predicting the soon-to-come end of civilization, because people were “corrupt” and “degenerate.” And you can laugh at that poor dead bastard if you want, but chances are you give a whole lotta other marginally-literate desert primitives predicting the apocalypse a lot more credit, Captain Hypocrite.
Terrence is dead, so we’ll never get the satisfaction of watching him squirm his way out of his prediction. Probably wouldn’t have been much of a show, anyway; no one ever takes bitches like him to task for getting everything wrong. So, when December 21st of 2012 eventually rolls around, I recommend the next best thing; sitting two feet from your neighborhood Ultranovel Event believer and waiting for the disappointment to smack them in their slack-jawed face. They probably aren’t taking the same drugs as Terrance was, so they won’t be able to groove off of the abject humiliation.
Surely you are not suggesting the Internet is lying to me, Mr. World-Renowned Astrophysicist.