Mr. Robin finds the real reason for global warming...Nibiru is hurtling...Cousin Fred is afloat...Apocalypse Party planning...WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!

It’s Tuesday everybody! Better enjoy it, savor it, wrap it in your arms and lick it to death, because…WE”RE ALL GOING TO DIE!

Ever heard of David Meade? Probably not. Ever heard of a rogue planet named Nibiru? Probably not. Which is a shame, cuz…WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!

But, I digress…

So this dude, Meade, is a conspiracy theorist who thinks the upcoming total solar eclipse is the sign of impending doom previously predicted in obscure verses of the Old Testament book of Isiah. Regrettably, said obscure verses of Isiah won’t mean much to you unless you’re a conspiracy theorist.

All together now…WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!

Nibiru is a hypothesized planet, which means no one can prove it actually exists – OR THAT IT DOESN’T EXIST, that allegedly resides at the edge of our solar system.

Meade, who has written a book called, “Planet X – The 2017 Arrival” in which he claims that the binary twin of our sun is hurtling toward Earth in the direction of the South Pole. He and other conspiracy theorists believe that the binary twin is dragging seven other celestial bodies including Nibiru (sometimes referred to as Planet X). It’s Planet X that will smash into the Earth. Meade says that all of this is happening at such an “oblique angle” to the Earth that scientists using Hubble and other space stuff can’t see it.

Stupid scientists…viva la conspiracy theorists…WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!

Conspiracy theorists claim that we’ve been feeling the effects of the inbound Nibiru since 1996. These same conspiracy theorists blame natural disasters and weird, savage weather patterns on Nibiru’s inboundedness.

HA! So the science-denying Republicans are right! There is no global warming…it’s merely a rogue planet on a destructive flight path toward the Earth! That explains everything! WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!

Oh, Oh…this just in from Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin. HRH is announcing that her chief real science advisor Harold of Hamm has assured her that any uptick in earthquakes in this state are the result of our increasingly close encounter with Planet X/Nibiru/Whatever. WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!

Cousin Fred, who yesterday launched The Compound Navy (TCN) upon the newly formed (thanks to an artesian well predicted by hairdressing hydrologist Gigi) Lake Mountebank to defend the shores of The Compound from Somali Pirates, thinks we should hold an Apocalypse Party. After all, WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!, so why not go out partying like it’s 2017.

Oh, The Compound Navy (TCN) thing? It’s mostly comprised of Rear Admiral Gigi (the hairdressing hydrologist) at the helm of a small fishing boat. Admiral Fred (the formerly reasonable adult) up in the bow with an AK-47. They spend their days on the water patrolling back and forth, drinking themselves stupid and scanning the horizon for Somali Pirates. They come back in when they need to swap out the battery of the trolling motor and replenish their stocks of alcoholic beverages before shoving off again for more patrols.

I guess it’s harmless enough, though yesterday afternoon I heard several shots and ran out of the house to see what was going on. Cousin Fred was shooting at a jackrabbit that appeared on the shore. He claims that the jackrabbit is an advance scout for Somali Pirates. Fortunately, no innocent flea-and-tick-infested pest jackrabbits were harmed. He’s drunker than Cooter Brown and couldn’t hit crap with that rifle even if the sights were set properly, which they aren’t.

So, I guess I’ll start planning the Apocalypse Party here at The Compound. Let’s see, we’re already less than two weeks before the event. We’ll get started on the 19th I figure. That gives us two full days of partying before we get creamed. In case you’ve not heard…WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!

Even The Wife has gotten in on the act. She’s perched up on the roof in a rocker watching toward the south with binoculars since Meade says the collision will occur over the South Pole. I tried to explain that it doesn’t exactly work that way and wound up in an altogether odd explanation of space and time and physics theory. She merely flicked the butt of her Pall-Mall filterless cigarette onto my forehead and cackled before cracking another bottle of Old Crow.

Just another day at The Compound.

That is all!

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