Justin Bieber and the Apocalypse

I saw an absolutely fantastic tweet this morning. There's a picture of it somewhere in this post. I don't know where because I'm posting from my phone which makes the formatting pure guesswork.

It made me do an actual LOL. I laughed out loud at the idea of Justin Bieber as the saviour. The averter of the apocalypse. Then I laughed at the idea of the apocalypse. Then I laughed at Twitter for giving so many people a platform to spout 140 character snippets of hilarious bullshit.

I'm imagining Justin Bieber standing atop a blackened mountain, his shirt torn open, the sky behind him burning with the fury of a world ending.

His hair is defiant. Immaculate. It is our first clue that he WILL NOT STAND BY AND LET HIS BELIEBERS DOWN.

Apocalypse Now? Apocalypse NO.

Staring into the sulphurous sky The Bieber awaits the arrival of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, or whatever the Mayans (didn't) believe was going to carry out the annihilation.

At the foot of the mountain, practically orgasmic in their froth of fanaticism, stand the Beliebers. Thirty one million, seven hundred and two thousand and nine hundred and fifty five of them; screaming. Not in fear at their imminent doom, but in abundant ecstasy at the sight of their teenage deity.

The ground around them begins to crack, rent asunder by the cosmic forces working to reduce humanity to dust. The Beliebers stand strong. Arms linked, faces set in grim determination.

It is time. Bieber draws breath and prepares to unleash his world saving vocals. Mayans be damned.

He opens his mouth, sings the first word of Baby (baby? Probably) and the mountain collapses. The gaping earth swallows Justin and the hordes of Beliebers. The rest of the world is left unscathed.

Justin Bieber the saviour? Bitch please…

Zombie Apocalypse

I don't want to alarm anyone, but I've experienced a moment of clarity.  Sometime in the middle of the night, with the screams of Baby Babberblog as the backing track to my thought process.

Zombies.  I know where they're going to come from.  I have unravelled how the apocalypse will befall us.  Revitalised dead people?  No.  Carriers of some mysterious disease, passed on through germ ridden bites?  Again, no.

Really, really tired people who've got young children?  Yes.  As I shambled around the downstairs of my house last night, alternating between bouncing on the Swiss ball (Godsend! Thank you Switzerland!) and singing Soft Kitty (that moment when you realise the only lullaby you know is from a TV programme? Upsetting.) to the beautiful creature I held in my arms, I could sense a change.

I felt fuzzy around the edges.  My brain felt as if parts of it were falling away, like the end of a biscuit when you've left it in your tea too long.  Or a simile which you couldn't really make work because you were a bit tired.

As I wandered around, inconsolable ball of cute held tight to my chest, I could imagine how I might end up walking out the door and finding all the other parents, drawn together by their shared plight.  We would then rampage (slowly) down the street, attacking anyone who looked like they may have had more than a few hours sleep.  Maybe we would feast on their brains, to get at the juicy sleep that must surely lie within them.  Almost definitely we'd get covered in mud and assorted other muck, our sleep deprived brains would make staying upright a near impossible task.

Yes.  Definitely.  This was it.  Tonight was the night.  Zombies were coming and I would lead the charge.

Luckily, before my wobbly brain went any further wrong, Mrs L woke from her slumber and rescued me.  We had a loosely sensible adult conversation, without any rhyming couplets, we co-operated to get the little one fed and changed, then settled into a blissful sleep.  Then I went to bed.  At seven in the morning.

Zombie apocalypse averted for one more night.