Daily flash mobs would be mandatory. Preferably in front of my house. Why? Because who can be gloomy when THIS is happening?

Instead of being powered by gasoline or electricity or flux capacitors, cars will be run entirely on music by Prince.

When the recyclables gather in a large enough pile, they will simply band together like a Transformer and walk their way to the recycling plant.

Childbearing will make the female body MORE youthful and beautiful, rather than causing breasts to look like two oranges in tube socks.

Coffee will be the national beverage and mandatory for anyone over the age of seven.

Life on the Internet will no longer be measured in numbers (see also: Klout) but upon hilarity of cat videos.

Split pea soup will be banned because, well, obviously no one should eat something that appears to have been shot out of my baby’s pooper.

Babies will be born sleeping through the night, doing complex geometric equations, and ready to go to work to buy their parents diamonds.

Pants will remain entirely optional, even in polite company.

There will be no “polite company.”

People who use the words “organic,” “sustainable,” and/or “nosh” in the same paragraph will be banned to the ALOT Island along with anyone who substitutes ellipses for periods.

Moon Pies will ACTUALLY be made of bits of the moon.

Detergents that don’t include OxyClean will be banned. The legacy of Billy Motherfucking Mays must live!

Steve Irwin coined the “stupid people antagonizing wild animals” television shows. Which got him dead. Which means that no one should repeat the formula.

For the love of all that is holy, no more reality singing competitions. American Idol was the clear winner and it’s gone the way of the condor. Or whatever we’re calling Paula Abdul these days.

——————-

Dish, Pranksters. What else should we add? Because when I rule the Universe, you’re all co-rulers.

(Scene: 6PM in hotel conference room. Five people sit around a table introducing themselves to an audience)

Girl 1: “I’m from Think Geek. I’m responsible for all of the social media from Think Geek. I also brought awesome swag.”

Girl 2: “I’m from NASA. I work with the NASA blog and Twitter account.”

Guy 1: “I’m from Wired.com.”

Girl 3 (uncomfortably looks at hands): “I’m um…Aunt Becky. From Mommy Wants Vodka. I write a thoroughly mediocre blog.”

(audience stares at her)

Girl 3: “It’s um, a MOMMY blog.”

(audience stares)

Girl 3 (laughs uncomfortably): “Sometimes I write about my vagina.”

(audience stares)

Girl 3: “I have an amazing Band of Merry Pranksters. On my blog. They’re the best people on the Internet.”

(audience glares)

Girl 3: “Except, um, you.”

(audience is beginning to leave)

Girl: “I’m in a bathing suit holding a chainsaw in my Twitter avatar.”

(audience smiles and nods happily)

Works every time.

By the time I arrived in Maryland, I’d already been in the airport for what seemed like eleventy-billion years. Before I arrived – just as I arrived at the airport – my 9AM flight had been bumped to 11AM and I was set to miss my connecting flight. By a long mile.

It appeared, though, that fortune was about to favor the really stupid as I charmed the lady from US Airways into moving me to a straight-through flight from Chicago to Maryland. This was no small victory.

My day seemed as though nothing, save for sitting at the airport terminal for three hours, could touch it. I was invincible. I was brilliant. I was about to take the ride of my life.

(total lie)

And then, my friend Nic picked me up from the Maryland airport, new copy of SkyMall happily in hand, and we went out to lunch. Then? My day just got a hell of a lot awesomer. Because I found THIS:

For 5 bucks, I too, could have a kit for all of life’s unexpected moments. Eagerly, I wondered what could be in this quixotic pink case. A light saber? A NEW copy of SkyMall? A billion dollars? A unicorn on roller skates? I simply couldn’t guess.

I was understandably depressed to learn that all this brilliantly pink case contained was some tampons. Like one. Not even a CONDOM or a copy of “Your STD and You.”

Sad.

After leaving the sad pink case behind, Nic prepared to drop me off at my hotel when we saw this:

And then I spent the rest of the weekend confused.

I drove a shitballs Ford something or another that was probably manufactured well before I was born to learn to drive. And in Maryland they allow – nay ENCOURAGE – students to learn to drive on a Corvette?

I considered jacking the student driver, but I was suitably underwhelmed by Maryland and figured I probably didn’t need to spend the next 8-10 years there in jail. Better to be busted for something in Chicago, where my “mob” connections might land me a really spiffy cell.

The rest of the weekend was spent moaning in a dark bedroom. Migraine. It appeared that Maryland didn’t agree with me.

On the flight home, I got stuck in some southern backwoods airport for an extra hour. An hour I blissfully listened to a couple near me fight about The Bears and a drunken guy loudly complain about people from Chicago. I’d have knifed him with a homemade shiv, but I left my toothbrush at the hotel.

When I finally stopped laughing, I opened my eyes and saw this: something so magical I so as to evoke tears in my hardened heart. Something so magnificent as to require photographic evidence, if only to document that such a time was really, really, really real:

If you, Pranksters, are not weeping at the sight of a man, vigorously playing with his testicles while loudly on the phone with someone, well, your heart is more hardened than even mine.

And so, with a quick tug on his penis, this guy made certain that my trip to Maryland, was, for a moment, perfect.