Last night I was working on a Mother’s Day post for the magazine (it will be up tomorrow! Lots of good gift ideas for you.) when Twitter informed me that the president would be speaking to the nation at 10:30 at night. On a Sunday. And no one knows what he’s going to talk about.
At first I was like, “Hmm. Surely this doesn’t have anything to do with interrupting The Apprentice just to stick it to Donald Trump, only to update the nation on, say, Libya. Or BirthCertificateGate. Or unemployment.”
Then I wondered about other more terrible possibilities, listed here in the order that they entered my brain.
- He’s been caught doing something bad and is getting in front of it.
- He’s resigning.
- He’s dying.
- His wife is dying.
- His dog died.
- Biden is dead.
- Biden has been dead for five years.
- We’re going to war.
- There’s a missile headed for Florida.
- Nuclear attack is imminent.
- Ice age is coming.
- Radiation from Japan has entered our atmosphere and be on the lookout for extra appendages to begin sprouting from your foreheads.
- Taser-resistant drunks.
- Aliens. Mad ones. Damn.
- Zombies. REALLY HUNGRY ONES. SHIT.
- ASTEROID. SHIT ASS MOFO. (imminent dying makes my potty mouth act up)
- THE EARTH’S CORE HAS COOLED AND THE EARTH WILL STOP SPINNING AND UNLESS HILARY SWANK SAVES US BY DIGGING TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH AND SETTING IT SPINNING AGAIN, YOU CAN KISS YOUR NUTELLA GOODBYE.
- THE SUN IS GOING TO EXPLODE.
I’m not even joking. My grasp of astronomy and geology is that terrible.
I said to myself, “What if the sun is going to explode?” How’s that for internal panic as every disaster movie you’ve ever seen comes rushing to you and suddenly you wonder if Obama is going to become our Bill Pulman or our Morgan Freeman? Will he fight the aliens himself? Will he save himself? Will a giant tidal wave carry my house to California? IS THE SKY FREAKING FALLING FOR REAL?!
By the time the news had finally leaked that Osama Bin Laden was dead at the hands of American soldiers (something I had almost given up on ever happening), I was clammy and shaking from fear of the unknown. And then I got a little bit pissed.
I mean, thank God he’s gone, but you know what, White House? The next time you’re going to tell me the president is going to address the nation unexpectedly on a Sunday night when half the east coast is in bed, and you’re not going to even give us a hint what it’s about, the new rule is that you have to at least tell us if it’s good news or bad news.
You got that? You say, “America [/Bernie Mac], the president will address the nation in one hour. Don’t panic. IT’S GOOD NEWS, AMERICA! EFF YEAH!”
Or you say, “America, the president will address the nation in one hour. Be sure to tune in if you’re still alive at that point in time. Also, anything tries to breach your doors, kill it with fire. Unless it eats fire, then try water. LOL. We don’t even know.”
At least let me know if I need to panic and prepare for aliens or zombies or Bruce Willis-resistant asteroids.
Maybe give it a Late Night Presidential Address Panic Scale. Where one is “All’s Cool” and five is “Five, four, three, two, one, boom.”
Save me from my imagination next time, okay?
That said. Osama is dead. America. Eff yeah.