The hurricane is going to destroy every single building in New Orleans and kill every cat and parakeet and then go north and take over the world and kill us all. It'll have to turn left, and right, and go north, and south, to do that; but it will. Trust me. It will.
Ehm.
When my sister was diagnosed with the worst of the worst we sat together. We talked. We laughed. We cried. We drank. Okay--I drank. A lot. There was a hurricane approaching and there were kids and cousins and sisters and brothers and strangers in living rooms and waiting rooms and hallways and barrooms and closets and all of them were in the projected path of the hurricane.
We never denied what might happen. It did happen. But we never ran screaming around the fucking room that the fucking world was going to end. We laughed. We smiled. We worked. We wept the worst weeping we've ever seen. We did not predict what we did not know. We hoped, and kept our eyes open.
SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU DIRE FUCKING FUCKS.
Okay, I almost deleted that. But, obviously, I didn't. Grow the fuck up.