"This Millennium Group, they really believe all that stuff; Nostradamus and Revelations, the destruction of the world?" - Bob, Millennium

 

Nostradamus The Boy bringing you our creepy New Year’s prediction page. I wandered in and asked him why he was dressed like that, but all he would tell me was, “Ask not, Father, and yea, verily, ask not why the cat is missing half of its hair.” Typical.

Predictions are very tricky things. They require insight, guts, and, for the really good ones, at least some consumption of beer. As rumor has it, Nostradamus would get plowed on Natural Light® and then write his quatrains down, which explains why they sound like something a drunken Frenchman would write.

For the record, I am not French.

So, here, Internet, are my predictions for the future. I may (if I remember next year) score myself and see how I did. Do not take these too seriously, and sell your house, and then hole up in the woods with 17,000 rolls of toilet paper and enough ammo to make the Chinese army blush. Unless you were planning to do that already. If you were, add some jerky to your stash.

January will be a fairly boring month:

I think (going out on a limb here) it may snow, someplace in the lower 48 (53 if you’re Obama) states.

GM will likely show up at Congress and say, “When we said we needed $15 billion, we really meant $15 trillion. An intern in accounting made the mistake on the calculations for what our power bill would be for that hot tub we’re putting in that will seat all of Michigan.”

After getting confidential briefings from the Treasury Department and the Federal Reserve Bank, Obama will immediately demand a recount of the 2008 election, and claim that he cannot serve because, well, he’ll think up a list. McCain will decline the recount, and then ask a bunch of kids to get off of his lawn. Joe Biden’s hair plugs will be unavailable for comment.

February gets more interesting:

I get used to my bifocals, and begin chasing kids off my lawn. The Super Bowl™ ends at halftime with the crowd rushing Bruce Springsteen after he shows off one of his nipples in a wardrobe malfunction. He claims it was all Justin Timberlake’s fault. Then Al Franken shows up, and they make out. Remember, prophecy isn’t an exact science.

Deflation¹ begins to really mess with the economy, starting with “The Price is Right®”. Drew Carey will have to admit that the new Corvette, trip to Acapulco, and personal space shuttle is only worth $1.78, and that’s at MSRP. In related news, a seventeen year old will be depositing his check from delivering pizzas. He banks at a Citibank and accidently sign a contract and find out he owns Citibank. Citibank will not let him out of the transaction.

March comes in like a lion, but goes out like a small Key lime pie. Al Gore demands seconds, then explains with a whipped-cream covered lip, that the pie is a sign of Global Warming®. He then chastises the rest of the country for using Redi-Whip©, since, “it’s scienfificalslsdfy proven that it kills polar bears. Manbearpig!”

In April GM, Ford, and Chrysler determine that they can no longer manufacture cars and maintain a profit, and instead focus on the newly lucrative Pez® dispenser market. This requires a $123 billion injection of funds from the Treasury for retraining of their workforce using magic beans they bought on the way to market and solid gold Etch-a-Sketches®.

In May, all major banks determine that their model of “lending money to just about anyone who has a pulse” may have had a small flaw. Given Federal government pressure, banks now begin lending to the dead. George Washington buys a condo in Miami, right next to Thomas Jefferson’s.

In June, people who live in Blue States determine that all the food and gasoline are produced in the Red States. They protest that they are the leading producers of “smug” and have the lots of investment bankers.

In July the Wilder family goes on a slightly humorous vacation. I may stub my toe, or, more likely, nearly sever a non-essential limb and perform slightly humorous home surgery. Who can say?

In August, I will write about how darn hot and sweaty I am, no matter where we live.

In September the NFL© will resume play. To save on money, they will only play local games. The Houston Texans® lose to the Ft. Bend County Junior High All-Stars 48-23. But it was closer than that. Houston then demands a new stadium, to keep up with Dallas.

In October, the Dow Jones Industrial Average reaches a high of 12. I’ve saved enough spare pocket change that I buy the New York Times©. Circulation goes up 2300% my first week as editor, with the “All Dilbert” issue being the highest selling newspaper in history, right after my “Moose and Swimsuit Issue” featuring Drew Carey.

In November, many turkeys will be unpleasantly surprised. (Dang, that nice farmer guy fed me for months. I didn’t see that coming.)

In December, with a near 100% certainty, I believe it will snow somewhere in both the Eastern Republic of America and the Southern Hegemony of America. The Western Kingdom will have snow in the Duchy of Washington. King Arnold the First will proclaim a day of eel fishing and free gruel for all.

¹Deflation is where Paris Hilton’s becomes even less valuable than previously.

I’ll leave you with this from Fred Thompson. Love him, hate him, he’s absolutely right in the following (apolitical) message, and if you’re interested in the difference between Keynesian and Austrian economic thought, drop me a line. I encourage you strongly to listen. It made me chuckle, and, it’s safe for work.