What is it?
A moon, but Super. And an eclipse, and apparently some sort of excuse for behaving like a rampaging gang of Visigoths, because blood.
This is a Supermoon:
|I bring the assurance of your doom. And salty snacks.|
And these are Visigoths:
|Do you think she’s prettier than me?|
Which brings us to the truly terrifying part of the SuperBloodMoon of Doom.
By my math, approximately twelve percent of women will be experiencing PMS during this event. Within the United States, that means around 17 million women will be engaging in their Lunar War of the Uterus. This conflict has unique conditions, weaponry, and tactics. Here is a general representation of what a logistics officer might need to become versed with in order to prosecute this war:
|I’m crying because Andy Cohen won’t retweet me!|
Note that there is little nutritional value, but do so silently, in a different room, and while breathing quietly.
The signs are easy to read, unlike portents of old. It used to be that a seer or wizard would spill the entrails of a goat and read them to divine the nature of an upcoming event. Fortunately, our society is well past such silliness. You merely look for a variety of this woman:
|Why yes, I’d love your mother to come visit for a week.|
So, while celebrity scientists are hailing this event, they clearly haven’t thought the issue through. My prediction for this catastrophic event is as follows:
198, 426 “Why don’t you just marry her, then?”
379, 511 “I think you know what you’ve done.”
597, 842 “That whore? Figures.”
2.26 million tears at every commercial featuring dogs, cats, or old people.
4.6 million cartons of ice cream/bags of chips.
That’s the rough math. Your mileage may vary. While the scientist urges us to look to the heavens, I urge you to look out for yourself.
You’ve been warned.
Terry (From an undisclosed location.)