My Post Apocalypse Confessions

Hey Mayans, “Good Job Good Effort.”  Counting on you to have done some research and be correct in your end-times prognostication, I proceeded accordingly with my half revenge/half bucket list for yesterday.  Well, as we all know now the world didn’t end, so since you failed at your ONE responsibility, you’ve forced me to write the following apologies:

To my boss,


I must apologize for that choreographed song and dance number in the breakroom yesterday.  Despite the eloquently written lyrics, you do not physically resemble or speak like an unstable baboon, nor does your body odor remind me of low tide in Jersey.  Additionally, that toupee actually looks damn good on you.  Quite stylish, and a sneaky bit sexy, actually.

To Roy Jones Jr,


Please disregard the email I sent to your manager asking for a fight and questioning your manhood.  Pretty sure the things I said in that email were the cough syrup talking, and despite my proclamations to the contrary, you are a much better boxer than me.  So let me state clearly, for the record, that I will NOT take you on anytime, anywhere,  I do NOT think your shaved head makes you look like my childhood teddy bear “Mr Snuggles,” and I’m reasonably certain your favorite color is not “Bok-Bok Chicken Pink.”

To The Fine Folks At Visa,


Um … my card was stolen.  Yeah.  Stolen.  I’ve never even heard of “Captain Cheetah’s Girly Dance Palace,” let alone spent $8,000 there.  Not me.


To my neighbor Kevin,


Even though we like different sports teams, I now see it was wrong of me to chemically burn “Steelers Suck And Your Kid Is Ugly!” into your front lawn, even though both of those statements are true.  I will indeed pay for the seed and fertilizer to regrow grass in the affected areas, provided you return my grill tongs you borrowed for your 2007 Orange Bowl party.

To the U.S. Congress,


I apologize for nothing, and meant every word I sent to you in that video email, especially the derogatory statements about the marital status of every single one of your parents when you were born.  I do, however, hope you took my expletive-filled diatribe about the I.R.S. in the joshing manner in which it was intended.  That part was a joke!  Haha!

To the owners of The Upscale Rental Car Company,


Yeah, you know that Aston Martin I rented yesterday?  On second thought, maybe I will take that insurance.  What? No, no reason.  Where is the car right now?  it’s someplace safe.  Very safe.  I swear.  Now, about that insurance, is this the form?


To my wife,


Yes, dear.  I’m sorry.  Yes, dear.  You were right, I was wrong.  Yes, dear.  It was all my fault.  Yes, dear. (*NOTE* Mayans actually off the hook for this one, as I say these things every day.)

To my waistline,


I have nothing to apologize to you about, Mayans or no Mayans, you begged for those cookies … and those cupcakes … and the coconut milk ice cream … for breakfast.  So just shut up and accept this salad … starting tomorrow.


To Y2K,


You are officially off the hook for “Stupidest Mass Hysteria Event Ever.”



Stephen Thomas has been a professional comedian and writer for the past seventeen years, and a season ticket holder in Cleveland’s Dawg Pound since 1991.  You can follow him on Twitter @15stephen15 , or on his Facebook Fan Page HERE.  Send hate mail and money to funnyman1515@hotmail.com

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