Friday, September 22, 2017


This panic party is getting me down. I have been watching for the End of The World As We Know It now since about 1976. I have stayed up late at night while the rest of you went thoughtlessly off to sleep. I have suffered much, burning the midnight oil, and other expensive liquids, while I watched for stray comets and rogue planets.

I am going to have to hand in my resignation in the cosmic disaster business and let some younger man take up the task.

Back in 1999 Professor Rodney Eyesquint of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology informed me that a star of the fifteenth magnitude was in the process of exploding. He found it in the north quadrant of the sky about a block from the Betelgeuse Court House. I told him he better take out a patent on it at once since it had not been previously seen before. He did just that, and by the time the US Patent Office sent him his official patent, the wretched star had dimmed down to the second magnitude and had nearly gone out.

Folks, it just ain't worth it..... all the trouble peeping at the cosmos expecting to one night find something new and terrible to use to terrify you poor gullible gloom and doom suckers.

So, here we are with dire predictions of tsunamis and a deluge of frogs and fruit cake tomorrow, September 23, 2017.

Where did all of this start?

Nostra Dumb Bass predicted the end of the world tomorrow, and he did it 500 years ago from his front porch in downtown Provence, France. His house can still be found and visited at No. 3, Fromage Puant Street. Old Nostra predicted that September 23 would be the end of the world for sure. He said there would be a big shortage of milk, bread, Copenhagen snuff and toilet paper, and the peasants should make a rush on the nearest market to stock up.

So, what to do?

I am doing nothing about this. I will wake up tomorrow morning and watch the sun come up, and Nibiru can go take a hike in some other universe. Thus, now that I have drawn my last paycheck as a disaster watcher, you people are on your own. You have no one else to blame if you wake up and Nibiru is in your front yard. Old pasta shoota Nostra and I have warned you.