Callan Bentley reminds us it’s the end of the world today.
He gets to spend it playing in the field. I’ll be talking to people with broken cell phones. I’d offer to trade, but I wouldn’t wish my job on people I actually like.
Anybody got any good post-apocalypse parties planned? Starting a pool on what Harold Camping’s excuse will be this time? Or are we experiencing apocalypse-fatigue and just planning a lie-in with an improving book this evening?