So I found out yesterday that my wife and I scheduled our son's eighth birthday party for the day the world was supposed to end.
I'm always the last to know.
Fortunately for my son, who otherwise would have been deprived of various sword-fighting ninja contests and items of Lego merchandise, the prediction of world-endingness was, shall we say, premature. The world did not end--unless, that is, we're living in some weird Twilight Zone episode and we don't realize we're all dead.
I'm really not bothered by people who predict the end of the world. Everyone has to have a hobby.
The only thing that bothers me, I guess, is the evident pleasure the end-of-the-worlders take in everybody else getting royally screwed. That doesn't seem very sporting.
So, for what it's worth, and because (the world not having ended) we're left with time to kill, I offer herewith the following riddle:
How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
Answers next week. Unless, of course, the world ends.