Greetings from the apocalypse! The end is here indeed. A cloud balloon has been bobbing over my head all day. Lionel Richie is taking tea in a kimono in my kitchen. My family appears to have left me with him. They’ve gone on vacation. Tiny Pixar men are coming out of the woodwork to burrow into our ornamental acorn squashes, screaming microscopic chants: “Bring back the Peach! Bring back the Peach!” My toy poodle has been humping a furry brown pillow like there’s no tomorrow because in fact there isn’t. Two Jahova’s witnesses just introduced themselves at our door as “Zin” and “Norlox” and left tubes of space food in their wake. Lionel won’t stop eating them! And last night, a haloed, jelly-slippered Ryan Seacrest appeared to me in a dream and whispered, “find the lack, take the lack, make the lack a lack.”
I think it was his Norewegian alter ego mispronouncing “lake.” But even then… what? I really don’t get it. What am I supposed to do? I’ve been hoarding airplane safety manuals, take out menus, and hotel fire escape plaques for over a year now. And for what?! It’s safe to say the Mayan alphabet can tell me nothing. It’s safe to say I think we’re all a little confused. The best we can come up with is this translation?
|tzuhtzjo:m uy-u:xlaju:n pik
chan ajaw u:x uni:w
ye’ni/ye:n bolon yokte’
ta chak joyaj
|It will be completed the 13th b’ak’tun.
It is 4 Ajaw 3 K’ank’in
and it will happen a ‘seeing'[?].
It is the display of B’olon-Yokte’
in a great “investiture”.
I’m not satisfied with that! What does “investiture” even mean?! That’s some King James shit right there, not Mayan. Bolon Yokte, their war God/ Armageddon/ doomsayer is scary looking, so, yes… if I see him on the street I’ll call 311 stat. Perhaps we could assuage his wrath by offering him the esteemed honor of a spot on the Today Show or as Ryan Seacrest’s Kiss FM co-host?! I know it’s not great, Bolon, but it’s the best we’ve got.
Ugh. Well… I’d take my news from Bolon. At least he’s got good credentials.