A Meteor Exploded Over Massachusetts? I'm Not Impressed

“ Well this can’t be good.” (Image by geralt via Pixaby)

This past Saturday people in Massachusetts were losing their goddamn minds over reports of a white fireball falling from the sky followed by one or two (depending on who you talked to and if that person was from Revere because, look, those townies like their liquor is all I’m sayin) loud sonic booms. I’m not impressed.

Like that’s the first time some kind of flaming object has been spotted careening across the skies over New England? Get out of here! You know what else used to drop out of the heavens frickin unannounced? Canon balls! Musket fire! A little tradition we stahhted with a minor occurrence called The Revolutionary War. Evahh hear of it? And if we didn’t have no ammunition on hand, we made our own. Damn straight. Back then everybody had, like, barrels of gun powder, loose nails lying around, and buckets of tahr sittin out. You would put all that shit together, pack it into a gun and POW! Or if the guy was close enough just whip it at his head. Hand to God, true. You won’t find that in no Kenny Burns documentary.

They said people were panicking, posting–“Is it an earthquake? Are we being invaded?” You think an iron snowball hucked from outer space is supposed to make us nervous? Get out here! You know what was actually cause for alarm back in the day? Witches. That’s right. A whole colony of witches livin up in Salem, doing all kinds of crazy shit: making crops go bad; causin cows to, like, keel over for no reason; ruining perfectly good batches of beer. That last one was not amusing. You mess with a man’s beer, you deserve the gallows. All I’m sayin. These witches would meet up in the woods and get down to some real trashy business with Satan, too. Like, we don’t know for sure, but it was probably, like, definitely kinky foot stuff. Maybe battery powered devices, too. All I’m sayin.

Did we run and hide? No! We jailed those bitches and turned the entire embarrassing incident into a multi-million dollar tourism industry. PS America–you’re welcome!

Supposedly the meteor was wicked big, and like, wicked heavy. Like if the Prudential and Fenway Park made a love baby, but, biggah. Pete Bouchard over on the WHDH Storm Team said it clocked in at 5 freaking metric tons. Okay, but, like that makes you tough, Meteor? Like here’s a scenario: Meteor vs. the entire 2004 Pats roster with Tom Brady recovering from knee replacement surgery and suffering a wicked case of food poisoning. No contest. Meteor would be cryin in its Cheerios! Get out of here!

You know how we know tough? Exhibit A: The Freakin Puritans. Them settlers lost something like 65% of people the first winter they were here. Froze. Stahved. Got bored and wandered into the ocean, who knows?! And you know what their leader, John Winthrop, said: “Nut up and do better next year.” End of pep talk. And they did and that’s how the Kennedys happened, but Kenny Burns ain’t talking about that, is he? B: The most awesome baseball franchise on the planet–The Boston Red Sox.

First the team cursed itself when it traded Babe Ruth to the New York Stankies and, my friend, if anyone DARE tell you that shit is not real you must take it upon yourself to do God’s work and throat punch that asshole on. the. goddamn. spot. Yeah, even your Grandma. She should know bettah. Second, the fans had to endure 86 years without a championship trophy. The only other people who had it tougher were Cubs fans, but those people have deep dish pizza and the Bulls so, it’s negligible, and, clearly, we are the more aggrieved and stalwart pahhty.

And so the meteor comes screaming out of the sky and BLAM! Into the ocean. It didn’t even hit nothin! We’re supposed to take this thing seriously? Get out of here! You know what we absolutely do not joke about in these parts? Our commitment to progressive ideals and the democratic values instilled in us by the earliest generation of patriots engaged in the philosophical, political, and spiritual enterprise responsible for laying the foundation of America’s most ambitious and still unfinished undertaking: the pursuit of a more perfect union.

But, like, if me and my buddy, Bobby, end up goin out on Bobby’s cousin’s boat with, like, a couple of fishin poles, a coolah of Coors, and like some magnets to see if we can, like, catch a piece of this thing, like that would be pretty cool, too.