SUPERMOON APOCALYPSE, AAAIIEIIEEEEE

It's a fact: full SUPERMOON APOCALYPSES encourage run-on sentences. And tantrums.

Sorry, couldn't resist. In yet another fear-mongering media attempt at mongering FEAR (you getting this?), the moon is apparently going to be soooo close to the earth -- something like 221,567 miles away (or 356,577 kilometers), which is about as far as Da-da goes for a taco, A REALLY GOOD TACO -- that we're all gonna die. AGAIN. Seems we're, "ALL GONNA DIE," about three times a quarter these days, he said, sardonically. Sure, it's the closest the moon's been in 18 years, and YES, it'll be full, such that on the March 19th APOCALYPSE MOONIE close-up, the entire earth will explode and all corporations will perish, boo hoo. (If all the corporations died, would you cry any big salty tears?) Anyway, that's what some people think. Then again, some people read, "PEOPLE."

For anyone not in the know, you should turn all this stuff off and go read, *Jane Eyre,* because:

1. It's really good, and
2. The fear mongers want you AFRAID and buying things 24/7 and not reading high quality books like, *Jane Eyre,* and using your head for something other than a hat rack while reading annoying run-on sentences all the time, what's wrong with you?

Not sure if fear and buying things and hat racks are related, but you're far less likely to think straight when you're afraid, and when you're not thinking straight... MAN, are you easy to control. (The last time Da-da didn't think straight due to fear -- BOOM -- he had two kids. Guess that was more like BOOM BOOM.) What was Da-da talking about? CONTROL. There's money to be made in control, and that's what life's all about, right? Right? Is this thing on? And stop starting sentences with AND, grammar-puss.

That said, it wouldn't hurt to ramp your earthquake preparedness a little, esp. as the earth and sun are more and more sympatico, electromagnetically speaking, and the mantle seems to be extra slippery in terms of the Pacific plate, but don't freak out about it -- don't freak out about anything, EVER. Even if zombies suddenly appeared, your life would be gravy. Think about it. Zombies mean all bets are off and there's no more taxes, no IRS, no 9-5, no mortgage to pay, lots of adventure and eating beany weenies before being bitten and infected and then leading all your zombie comrades on a ZOMBIE MARCH ON WASHINGTON DC... ah, allow Da-da his little fantasy a moment. Wherewasi? Right. The full moon at perigee does make earthquakes more probable, statistically, as tides are quite powerful, but nothing will happen right away. No, if Da-da were forced to hang his prophetic cheese in the wind, he'd mention that his spurious data points to a seismic event to occur early in the morning (Pacific time) on... April 14th -- 30 days from today (so you have some time to prepare), but nothing so serious that it can't be rectified by a few tactical moon pies and Da-da coffee. Put those two together and THERE'S your seismic event. Jeez, did you read all that? You NEED a moon pie and Da-da coffee after that post.

This is actually a quasi-moon-pie/vanilla ice cream thing, which is cheating, a little, but who's gonna complain?

[Postmortem: after the fact, the Supermoon Apocalypse turned out to be a micro rather than a macro, causing 3 and 5YO Bronko and Nagurski to become LOONEY, and chew on each other all freaking day. However, these types of moons tend to loosen things up for effects later. Da da da.]

3/8/11 to Live in Infamy? (or, ALL YOUR BASE ARE STILL BELONG TO US)

Alan Shepard wonders, Why do I suddenly feel like a Moon Pie?

That's right, citizens: tomorrow's the day -- AGAIN. Some other closet Nostradamus has hatched another alien-apppearance deadline, claiming tomorrow will see wall-to-wall motherships over major metros, yay. And won't your metro's real estate agents still WEEP like little girls when your skies aren't packed with flying mile-long Vogon fleets, like Da-da's? Wish they'd hurry up.

Hey! You can't park that there!

For the Love of the (SNOW) Game

Da-da (white coat) gets a moon pie from a friendly passerby.

Being a high-powered mutant hatched atop some Godforsaken roof-of-the-world desert where the wind howls 60 mph every day is kinda fun (in a painful way), and because of this soothing environment, Da-da of course LOVES rain, snow, fog, wind, hail, freezing cold, and really any weather that makes you hang onto something heavy so you don't vanish into the screaming void (which describes parenthood quite well, ahem). Anyway, much to his family's dismay, Da-da is consequently impervious to cold and really any weather except HEAT (heat being Da-da kryptonite).

What Da-da loves most of all are SNOW GAMES. Snowy football games. Football games played IN THE SNOW. Is this clear, yet? Football games (and tailgate parties) played in blizzards, the freezing muck, the ice, the fog, the driving rain, the lava, the toads, pyroclastic flows, etc. Love it.

Indeed, Da-da's not so much of fan of teams (which have fallen to mere BRAND status these days), but of open-air stadiums. If Da-da had endless moolah, he would regularly be seen at outdoor stadiums like Soldier Field, Lambeau Field, Heinz Field, Potter's Field, etc. Old fashioned, raw-knuckled, missing-teeth and -limbs kinda tombstone-y stadiums, where the chill-wind hakken kraks howl so fiercely that you can't feel your -- or anyone else's -- thighs, anymore. The kinda place where you start seriously thinking that it might actually be a good thing to wear a giant fake cheese on your head.

People stop Da-da on the street all the time (esp. the police) and inquire as to why he loves watching snow games so much. Is it simply the love of nasty weather? The festive, snuggly winter triumph of tenacious life over death? No, officer, it's quite simple:

Da-da LOVES to see millionaires suffer. 

 Watch as they slip and slide, fall down... boom. (Da-da likes to see billionaires suffer, too, but they seem to have the smarts to stay inside, buncha pansies.) Da-da would say his heart goes out to those poor schmoes playing in the elements who make the league minimum ($325k), but that's $325k more than Da-da makes, so they can shiver and bleed and eat snow like the rest. (Truth-be-told, Da-da loves everyone. Everyone is Da-da's brother. He's just a little grumpy. Children do this to you.)

Da-da's beyond old school. He's more stone age school, a snowy schadenfreude that demands all football and baseball and hockey games be played above the arctic circle, surrounded by hungry polar bears and fans on old Russian tanks, the game played endlessly until one team succumbs to either the elements, or the toothy fauna, whichever comes first. The survivors are then frozen till next season, which saves everyone time and money on off-season shenangians.

Da-da's gotta go. It's time for his two-hour soak in the Neva River.

What? You didn't know Da-da was hot?