Matters Of Interest: Yet Another Year

This is a post in the hopelessly redundant spirit of the tireless march of Time, which continues on despite the fact that I'm ever so bored with it. It is for those of you who correctly believed that I would never again lace frothy text across a puce and navy themed skunk hole in an abandoned corner of Her Majesty's Royal Internet.

As 2006 swoops down upon the helpless frightened minions of 2005, claiming them for its own evil purposes, two facts are abundantly clear to me.

First, 2006 is already riddled with the same empty promises, false hopes, and impending disasters that were the sanctimonious trappings of 2005. But this is no great revelation to you, oh Reader of The Aaaron, and The Worst Blog Ever, as you are already possessed of either a prodigiously well articulated sense of quiet despair, or a insurmountable and unquenchable taste for self-denial. Either of these powers should by now have revealed to you this first indisputable fact of 2006. This is not the shocking news that has roused me from my torpor to fulfil my undeniable duty to you: the Reader.

The terrible truth that I must now reveal to you in fact resides on my bedroom floor. It is indeed my trash receptacle, which I have now neglected to empty for approximately two months. They have been a reliable, joy-filled two months for me. But by some fluke of nature (I am widely regarded as quite tidy) I have been unable to summon the energy to dispatch its terrible untold contents. Yet, stranger still, the trash has not filled the void of my pho-trendy waste basket and overflowed into my room. Rather, the bin seems to be growing less full by the day. I fear that the point of no return has been reached, as my designer-on-the-cheap Martha Stuart Kmart classic trash container is already far to massive for man or machine to heft. I first became aware of the problem when, two days ago, I absentmindedly decided to toss an errant credit card offer. The offending junk mail crossed the event horizon of my trash receptacle and vanished. In the picture provided, you can see my super massive can of vile filth beginning to warp the very fabric of space time.



Needless to say, we are all fucked. 2006 is going to be worse than you can possibly imagine, as Scientists estimate from the rate that I am burning through styrofoam fast food cartons, gum wrappers, death threats, and cease and desist pleas from the ACLU, that by early March we, all of us, this planet, will be consumed, rended limb from limb, by the gravitational pull of a super massive ball of waste. Our only hope is that the doomed inhabitants of an alternate time line command a terrible cyborg soldier to return to the past and force me to empty the trash five weeks ago. HA. Enjoy your time on Earth you frauds.

~Matters