None of the Time

My watch doesn't work.
I'm assuming it's the battery.
Though I'm concerned that it may be related to the crack in its face.
Which wasn't there before Christmas.
I'd try to replace the battery myself, but I'd likely swallow one of the little screws.
Besides, batteries aren't flown into town until the 22nd.
Well, that's AAAs and AAs.
I'm not sure if watch batteries come on the same flight.
The same sea plane.
You should see people down by the docks on the 22nd.
Milling about, clutching their TV remotes and their remote-controlled helicopters.
They swarm the plane when it arrives.
I still wear the watch.
Because juveniles find it impressive.
And after three years, I'm accustomed to the weight.
Like I need to off-set my equilibrium.
I walk into enough door frames as it is.

Everyone will be so surprised when the world ends.
Except me.
John Cusack.
And the Mayans.
Those Mayans saw it a mile away.
A very funny person named Damon Tschritter said that the Mayans predicted the calender would end in 2012.
But, really, they should have estimated about 450 AD.
That's bastardized. It's much better when he does it.

Anyway, while we're treading water next to the polar bears.
And you're trying to swim to Tim's.
Wondering why there are no land masses anymore.
I'll float by you, shrug my shoulders, and say:
"What'd you expect? It was called Consumerism!"