Listen up, baby bears: 2016 is almost over, which is good because this year has been a goddamn trash fire burning so hot and so stinky, and left many of us bedridden with exhaustion and malaise. And the winter of our discontent has barely begun! It hasn’t even started yet. We’re just pre-gaming right now.
Look, 2016 sucked. It sucked hard. Prince and Bowie died, Alan Thicke was called home, too, and we’re in the midst of a whipped cream drought that’s got all of us out here crying into our naked lattes. Worst of all, there are huge racial and economic issues plaguing America that we need to deal with. Are we on the road to giving our children weird-ass post-apocalyptic names and sending them into arenas to fight to the death? Yes! If your kid is named Meridian or McNzY, you’d better start teaching them spear tricks RTFN!
But while we’re doing all that, as the holidays begin and Xanax pills wane, we all need to find ourselves a hobby for, like, two days. A week tops. Then we’ll go back to figuring out how in the hell we’re going to dig ourselves out of this mess we’ve gotten in.
Fortunately, since the week between Christmas and New Year’s is traditionally dead in every way, we’ve got some time to attend to all the little things before we have to start girding our loins. Who will live? Who will die? Will your favorite show be canceled? Will you ever find love in the barren wasteland? No idea! You’ve got plenty of time to deal with that!
But first, let’s let off some steam by:
Let’s be honest, the past few months of weirdness have absolutely had an effect on your sex life. How can you properly consummate the horizontal tango when you’re wondering about what your role will be in the weird futuristic rebellion. Will you be a worker drone or will you lead people dressed in weird capes in an assault on the capital?