Winter turns to summertime
We stand on the brink of a momentous era in American history, a time of revival, of renewal, of regeneration, a time fated to be remembered as one that made America great again.
But not just yet—first we have to get through the Fumptruck administration. A heavy slog, that.
Seriously, though, since when was it written anywhere that time could stand still? It's been a truism so trite as to become relevant again and again that Stuff Happens. Human history is one long river of spilt milk and tears, shigata ga nai, Anjin-san. Wipe your eyes and zip your flies and reinvent the wheel. This too shall pass, and return.
I'm here to testify on this one.
It's long been my personal sport to wrangle together a yearly calender for a cheap bulk Yule gift, themed with quotes or jokes or bogus headlines. I'm suing Facebook for plagiarism next month. Sometimes, when things get dire enough, I'll even attempt to be relevant. Such was the case in 2006, the bloody depths of the Georgie Porgie era (remember him? amazing how time turns pillowheads into statesmen, just by comparison). Battered by half a decade of political idiocy and war, my spirits had achieved an ebb far too subterranean to call "low," crawling through uncanny stygian delvings unknown to those happy souls requited to walk the sunlit world. But it was just in that nader of exogenous depression that I decided to explore the Lighter Side Of Revolution, as it were, making a stab at reinventing resistance in ways that didn't involve, as I so eloquently and subtly put it, "blowing shit up." Oopsie, ended a sentence with a preposition there. My bad.
The result was a calendar entitled "Fighting Fire With Marshmallows," a joke I excised cleanly and with minimal blood loss from Robin Williams in Toys, much in the same manner as the studio did. In spite of my best efforts, it came out pretty well. All my friends liked it, anyway. What the heck, it was free.
That fall, the midterms performed a concise, surgical ass-strike on the Ruling Junta and an unknown senator named Barack Obama started coming out of the woodwork in a major way. It was a Big Change Moment and everyone could feel it, especially the power boys with that cold cold breeze blowing up their skirts. It was the dawn of hope.
Yeah, well, enough of that happy horseshit, we're back in the pits again. If ever there was a need to fight the power without losing your mind, this is it. And with that thought, I dug deep deep into the entrails of Spae and resurrected The Marshmallow One from dusty archivitude.
And guess what?
As you undoubtedly know if you tweeze out on such matters, there are only 14 possible calendars for our yearly system, 7 for each day of the week that January 1st falls on and 7 more for leap years. No more, no less. Some perniciously frugal people find it amusing to recycle old calendars.
So imagine my surprise (go ahead, I'll wait) when I dragged forth the 2006 calendar and discovered that it and 2017 were ------
--------------- (isn't this exciting?) -------
EXACTLY THE SAME!!!!!