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EVERYONE IS TOTALLY FUCKED FOREVER.

Every six months now, humanity gets itself into a tizzy about the latest apocalyptic disaster hanging over our heads and we all shut down for a few weeks while we wait to hear about how we're going to die this time.

Whether it's swine flu, bird flu, AIDS, Face AIDS, salmonella, super AIDS, swine AIDS, swine-bird AIDS, earthquakes, an AIDS earthquake, AIDS AIDS, and/or the coming hurricane that's going to wipe out the entire east coast, something is coming to kill us all in the most horrific way imaginable.

Can we cool it on the fucking hyperbole for a little bit? I mean, I understand that sometimes a crazy hurricane is coming and it turns out to be Hurricane Katrina. But then, sometimes a hurricane's coming and people are stomping grandmothers to get the last roll of Charmin and it turns out to be thirty minutes of heavy rain. Let's just all take a deep breath, why don't we?

I'm going to look like a big-time asshole Sunday morning when we're all underwater and Jake Gyllenhaal will be running around with his father and it's the second ice age and we learn a lesson about how we should have been nicer to Mexico. But you know what? At some point we're all going to eat it, so can we stop living in fear of the latest cool death fad?

This weekend, we're going to be hit hard by Hurricane Irene, or we won't, or it'll hit the Outer Banks, or we're fine, or it's going to rain, or George Clooney is going to surf a wave right through your fucking bay window. No matter what, one thing's for sure: no one knows what the fuck is going to happen.

By all means, prepare yourself and have a plan in case everything goes to shit. But something struck me when I was reading the Washington Post story on Tuesday's earthquake: We're going to kill ourselves out of sheer stupidity before any horrible disaster has the chance to. It struck me when I saw the picture: It looked like chaos on the streets of D.C., with two women clinging to each other, crying.

For a fucking thirty-second earthquake where nobody died or was injured. Awesome.

Calm down, everyone. Things happen. Sometimes these things are not so good, like earthquakes and hail storms and hurricanes. We just whip ourselves into a frenzy and it's like, come on. There's a reason the Final Destination movies are movies, and that's because people don't go around getting their faces slammed into knives or giant logs or shit like that all the time. Real life, unfortunately, is actually pretty boring.

Maybe that's as good a reason as any to start convincing ourselves that these are the end-times. I'll give you that, yeah, it's less boring than work. But Christ, you guys, let's exercise a little common sense every once in a while. Running around your building frantically will not save you from the earthquake. Hurricane Irene will not come with the four horsemen and you being judged for your transgressions.

Or maybe it will. But something gives me the feeling that we'll all be on 495 again Monday morning ready to go to our horrible jobs. Maybe we'll be in boats. But we'll be on 495.

'Glee' bombs at box office, good guys win!!!

We did it! We f'n did it guys!!

Some days, you know, I wake up and I think to myself, "Holy fuck-a-rotten-Jack-o-Lantern, the world has finally lost it." Like the day I saw the first advertisement for the Glee 3-D movie a few weeks ago.

Wait a minute, you're telling me the shittiest show on TV -- where a bunch of 20-something singers are cast as a misfit glee club comprised of every race, ethnicity and disability (whose goal, presumably, is to singlehandedly ruin Jane Lynch's career) attempt to navigate a maze of cheesy caricatures of social issues -- is now coming out with a fucking 3-D movie? You mean I can pay $13 to watch the Eskimo in the wheelchair deal with his girlfriend's abortion while he butchers Bob Segar songs like he's right in my fucking face? SIGN ME UP.

Some days, these things depress me. It's the perfect storm of horrible, awful shit that I never wanted to be subjected to, like 1,000 porta-johns whipped up in a tornado headed right for my apartment. Glee. Ruining good songs. Cheesy attempts at social commentary. 3-D. Movie. It's a shitstorm, a shit-hurricane and shit-hail and it was right on all of our doorsteps.

But then a funny little thing happened this weekend: No one saw it. Everybody considered for a few moments this abortion of common sense, displayed on the same silver screens where John Wayne and Charlie Chaplin once made their living, and we all sort of decided, "$13? Fuck you, Glee."

When the dust settled, Glee had bombed so horribly at the box office this week, that they came in 11th place. Eleventh!! Hahahahahahahaha!!! The most well-deserved box office showing since Green Lantern. Glee couldn't even come within three spots of the Harry Potter movie, which has already been out for a month!

God bless us. All of us. I'm so proud of society today. I want to run around and kiss all of you. You made it happen today. You, you, and you (er, well, not the 500,000 of you horrible monsters that actually went and saw this movie). Take a bow. You've restored my faith in this country until the next horrible thing happens. So, thanks, for now.

Every now and again, something is so horrible it's awesome. But more importantly, most of the time, something is so horrible that it's horrible. The actual title of the movie, I just learned, was Glee: The 3-D Concert Movie. I hate four of those five words (and I'm teetering on 'the'). It's just nice, and comforting, when we can all get together as a society and say, "Oh, that? Yeah, I fucking hate that." Abortion? Gay rights? Education? Health care? We'll never agree. But no matter your politics, your race, your religion, this weekend we all came together and agreed on something: Glee can eat shit. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. is somewhere smiling right now.

It's funny, because the number one movie right now is still the Planet of the Apes movie where monkeys take over society. Some days, I feel like monkeys already have, because, Christ, Glee: The 3-D Concert Movie. But you know what? Then something magical happens, and no one sees it. And I breathe a sigh of relief: Stupid monkeys haven't taken over. It turns out, the monkeys that rule society are a lot smarter than I thought. Good work, guys.

Me and Ikea are the Whitney and Bobby of 2011

Note: Also apparently the raptor is now working. There is a raptor. Watch out for the raptor.

Take the day off, China. You might be assholes who crush our childhood dreams, but you're not the country slowly killing me right now. No, instead it's you Swedish assholes, most notably this guy:

Yeah, keep smirking, you son of a bitch.

If you've ever assembled impossible furniture from Ikea, then you know this guy: He's the happy-go-lucky amorphous semi-human that leads you through your Ikea instruction manual to build your coffee table. Apparently he's also a fucking deaf-mute because instructions from Ikea don't ever have any words in them. Just in case you wanted a "Put the screw in the hole" or a "Hammer the nail into the fucking board," you're shit out of luck. All you get is this guy as your tour guide through the next six hours on a ride I like to call "The roller coaster that ends with you breaking your bed frame and kicking the dog."

It's not just that there are confusing pictures instead of words. No, that's still too nice of our Swedish friends. Every single set of instructions I've ever gotten from the place is written in some sort of crude hieroglyphic language, and anatomically-questionable evolutionary-stick-figure Sven here is only going to smile at me and my problems and suggest this:

Which is Swedoglyphic for "If you look into this box of randomly assembled double-sided screws and cheap particleboard and want to kill yourself, put in a friendly call to Ikea and we'll help you out!" Yeah, all due respect, Sven, but I'll be goat-fucked if I'm going to call Ikea to come assemble my shoe closet or end table for me. I'd rather just break the damn thing trying than admit to the old lady that I don't know how to put together a ceiling lamp.

Look at this shit:

Are you fucking serious, Ikea? Just in case you were wondering, this diagram isn't from the Holmvekbjork homemade bomb, it's for a fucking spotlight. I didn't realize they started a new Hurt Locker line. Jesus, you guys , you don't think you could have simplified the process a little bit? Just screw the bulb in and for the love of Christ, don't cut the blue wire!!

So Rob, why don't you just not shop at Ikea? Great question, self, and I'll answer it: Because everything there is dirt cheap.  It's so cheap that I can actually afford it. You can get a giant wall mirror at Ikea for like $4. You can buy a towel for 50 cents. They even sell small Swedish man-servants for PENNIES ON THE DOLLAR OF WHAT TARGET WILL CHARGE YOU. I CANNOT PASS UP THE DEALS.

And despite the fact that everything at Ikea is cheap because it's all made by child laborers out of particleboard and their own salty tears, their stuff actually holds up. I've had bookshelves, desks and furniture from there forever, which is amazing because of the deathly combination of poor material and the fact that I've never once fucking understood what the instructions meant.

So level with me, Ikea. I've put all of your kids through school already with the amount of shit I've bought there (or maybe you guys have public education through college, but I'm not going to look that up). How about some instruction sets that don't come straight from the fucking space station? Because I love you guys. I love you. But in a week, when my entire apartment falls apart, I'm going to kick you in the meatballs.

Hey, remember books?

You know why everyone in this country is so fucking stupid? It's actually pretty simple. No one reads books.

I was at the old lady's parents' house over the weekend and they have shelves and shelves of books, and I realized that there's a pretty obvious connection here: They are smart, learned people and have thousands of books. I am a bumbling caveman fuckhead and I have tons of books too, except they all say "Goosebumps" somewhere on the cover.

This is why everyone under the age of 30 is retarded. We don't read. Oh, but Rob, I read. Fuck you, who are you talking to? I know what kind of "reading" you do. During mandatory book reading time in middle school, I read Sports Illustrated. That's not reading. There's a reason none of us can think critically, and it's because we consider ourselves readers for slaving through Catch-22 in 9th grade. Yeah, I read it too. It doesn't count and you are a book fraud.

I mean, you're reading a fucking blog right now, and not a very good one. Forty years ago, your parents were reading -- get this -- for fun, if you'd believe it, on their own time. They would crack open a book because it looked good, they would immerse themselves in it, and at the end of the day they'd learn something. If you've learned something from my web site, then God bless you.

I blame Al Gore and the Internet. We live in the age where we have so many available literary options, you can basically choose what media you receive and still feel like an intellectual. So you can still go around assuming you're a "reader" when the things you read consist of Gawker, The Beer Gut and the #thingsblackpeoplethinkaboutwhitepeople tag on Twitter. This doesn't make you cultured. This makes you an asshole.

So that solves the mystery of why everyone's a pretentious hipster douchebag now: Everyone reads some cool, trendy blog called something like "Fart Face" or some postmodern you-don't-get-it crap and cc:'s the same horrible uninformed opinions about society and politics that become part of the public conscious because EVERYBODY IS RETARDED. Wake up George Orwell (Yeah, I remember high school summer reading).

In 2011, you can spend all day reading and not fucking learn anything. Our parents read books, which at the time were not The CollegeHumor Guide to College or I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell or 800,000 Horribly Misinformed Words on Basketball, because, why not? Fuck it, by Bill Simmons and they educated themselves. We just consume media that's the closest to whatever beliefs were already hammered into our heads by television and, I don't know, let's say the liberal media, and there's plenty of these awful opinions to go around (except on my blog).

Look, I'm not above this. I'm just as bad as all of you, but that doesn't mean that I can't mention the fact that we're all borderline-retarded at this point. Someone's gotta take a stand that's under the age of 85, for once. So I'm calling you on your bullshit: Your favorite book is not Fahrenheit 451. Your e-reader full of books you've never read doesn't make you smart. And reading means books, not Tumblr.

Take it from the guy who spent reading time flipping through Sports Illustrated. Do you really want your kid to end up like me?

There's a guy slashing butts in Virginia.

Sometimes I labor and try to come up with funny headlines that I can post to Twitter and get people to read my unfunny humor blog.

Sometimes there's a dude running around slashing butts.

In case you were wondering how my move to Virginia has gone so far, the traffic has been hit-or-miss, I still need to get a new (personalized?) license plate, and oh yeah, some guy has a box cutter and is on the loose in the county I live in, slashing the asses of random women.

I don't know what's more alarming to me -- the fact that there is a butt slasher, or the fact that major media outlets are referring to him as "The Butt Slasher." Seriously? We need to come together and figure out what proper style for someone's ass is, because every story referring to this guy as "The Butt Slasher" is way too hilarious a moniker for a guy who's going on a spree with a knife.

You know who I blame for Butt Slasher? Everybody. I blame everybody. Our grandparents and parents lived in societies that produced great music, art and scientific achievements. We live in a society that produced the fucking Butt Slasher. We're just so stupid as a collective group at this point that I wouldn't be surprised to find out that this guy is just some retard who thinks he's Zorro and he's debonairly (maybe a word) slashing the pants off of unsuspecting women at Forever 21. About a generation and a half ago, they landed on the moon. This generation gives us RETARDED ZORRO.

And yes, I know there were crazy assholes in other generations, but can you really blame Jack the Ripper? He lived in the late 1800s, when showering wasn't necessarily what it is today and nobody had an Xbox. Can you really blame some dude for going psychotic and gruesomely murdering people? Jack the Ripper doesn't exist if he has 100 channels in HD.

We have ourselves to blame. Retarded Zorro was probably raised by television in lieu of his degenerate and/or equally retarded parents. Without a functional adult to tell him that he wasn't really supposed to slash on butts, he turned into the Butt Slasher. The saddest part to me is how unsurprised I am.

Seriously, look around. I bet you can spot two people of the opposite sex who are downright stupid, angry and socially dysfunctional to the point of being completely unable to do something like hold a conversation without making you want to hang yourself in a closet. In the wild, these two would be fucking done for. An eagle or an elephant or a cheetah would eat them and we'd all be better off.

But because we're humans, they're encouraged to get together, procreate and come up with a child who has exactly zero chance of living a normal adult life. This child will grow up to find a partner like him, and those two will keep the cycle going.

And if he doesn't find somebody to love him? He will find a box cutter. And he will slash butts.

No, I'll tell YOU how impossible time travel is

Hey China, why don't we just relax for a second? You have 1.3 billion people and you're all scientists and engineers, and if you wanted to you could cash in the loans you've given out and crush the rest of the world economically. You can, you know, chill out for a second.

Oh, you're not going to do that? You're going to split some photons and prove that time travel is impossible? Okay, now you're just assholes.

Look, far be it for me to tell China how to do things. If they wanted to, they could come and abduct me and make me work in a factory sewing little American flags for the rest of my life. I get it. But someone's gotta come out and say it: Fuck you, China, you're a bunch of assholes.

Seriously, we might be living in the country that paid its best and brightest to tell us that bad food is bad but at least we're not in the business of crushing peoples' fantasies. Yeah, we proved that time travel will never happen. Next year we're sending a rocket ship into infinity to prove there's no heaven. Get fucked.

Sometimes it's just nice to think that things are possible, you know? China is like the parents who don't let their kids grow up believing in Santa Claus. That's great, you guys, now all you need to do is come up with a mathematical equation proving that our mothers don't love us.

Human curiosity is a good thing. It's what makes us invent stuff, like the robots who have taken over most of our jobs and will eventually enslave us. But sometimes we should sit back and think, are these answers we really want? Do we really want to know that we'll never be able to travel back in time and kill Hitler while he's on the toilet? I say no.

Maybe I'm in the minority but I don't want all of my childhood fantasies to be disproven by science. That's not what science is for, and if that's what you're using science for, then you're an asshole. I don't want science to tell me that I'll never live on the moon or shoot lasers at aliens or be cool and attractive. Science is our FRIEND, you jerks. Stop using it against yourselves.

Chinese scientists should be figuring out that, yes, you can have a panda as a pet. Speaking of pandas, come on Chinese scientists, you're busy popping our happy time travel balloons and meanwhile there are like six pandas left in the world. Maybe get your own house straight before telling us that Back to the Future wasn't based in reality, huh? Yeah, I'm taking it to your turf. Now you don't like it so much, do you?

Every time someone gets paid money to prove shit like this, I facepalm. Obviously these people are super-smart because I couldn't understand a single word the head scientist in the article said:

"The main wave packet of the single photon travels no faster than the speed of light in vacuum in any dispersive medium, and can be delayed up to 500 nanoseconds in a slow light medium. Even in a superluminal medium where the group velocity (of an optical pulse peak) is faster than the speed of light in vacuum, the main part of the single photon has no possibility to travel faster than its precursor."

Who in the what and huh? Look, Dr. Du, why don't you "du" yourself a favor (classic) and research things that are actually going to help society and not make us all depressed? Can you find it in your infinite wisdom to find the optical pulse peak of something that doesn't totally suck?

How about this study: 100 percent of shitty scientists make Rob sad.