ASTERISK THE WORLD TURNS

From the desk of Chronos, the God of Time

2022*

I, Chronos, God of Time, whose immortal hand inscribes every single event of every single year in the Book of Time, hereby decree the following.

This year, 2022, will receive an asterisk. From now on, whenever you use it, it should look like this: 2022* So sayeth the keeper of the official record.

Chronos rule #48-B states: “Anything considered dubious or achieved under unusual or tainted circumstances should not be counted in the official record and gets an asterisk.”

“Dubious.” “Unusual.” “Tainted circumstances.”

Sound like any Julian calendars you’ve lived through recently?

An asterisk is not a medal.

I do not give them out because I’m feeling giddy about your prospects.

Humans, I watch you every day and you’ve got the same look the dinosaurs had before the asteroid hit, if the dinosaurs were unvaxxed and rat-assed.

Before I pick up my quill and write down what you did today, I have to put on the Crazy Goggles. Not a metaphor. My Crazy Goggles are leather and brass and still don’t begin to explain what the fuck you’re doing down there.

The big volume that used to be called “2021,” is now called, “Epilogue.” Those blotches on the pages? Tears and spit-takes.

I had lunch with Cassandra the other day and we started comparing notes. Before you dismiss her, and everyone does, she’s predicting some stuff for homo sapiens you do NOT want to hear, trust me. VERY persuasive priestess, Cassandra. “Chronos,” she says, “I’m not being an alarmist here. 2022* NEEDS AN ASTERISK. You’ll thank me later.”

Remember, I have literally seen it all and I only give out asterisks to years when the cheese of Life has slid all the way off the biscuit of Time.

Like, 1936*–1945*, obviously.

And 2020*. And 2021*. And now 2022*.

I hope everyone realizes the neighborhood you live in now.

My question is this, lots of stuff happened during the past two years, but should any of it actually count? Is it fair to compare this time to any other time? Not in my book.

Putting a little star* by the number tells everyone this is officially a fucked-up time*, and we all KNOW it’s a fucked-up time* and it should be seen forever AS a fucked-up time*.

It means all the usual standards and values and assumptions about what a year ought to be like, need to go right in the dumpster. Which is on fire and smells like burnt camembert and ass.

I figure, let’s just give 2022* the asterisk treatment now, in January, and then we won’t have to debate it in October when it starts raining toads. I wish I could share your optimism that things will get better, but from where I sit, 2022* is shaping up to be one long toad shower.

I also do this for future historians, who will look back at the past two years and figure that all this craziness had to be myth, folklore, or tall tales. Hopefully, the asterisk will say to all those who doubt the facts, hold my beer, pendejo.

Minotaurs, kraken, unicorns, that didn’t happen. Marjorie Taylor Greene, that actually did.

World, you’re two years and change into an epic cock-up, and when you finally come to, you’re gonna have a migraine, and you’re gonna ask, what was that? People will nod and sigh and say, forget it, kid, it was Asterisk Time.

Dubious*. Unusual*. Tainted*.

Do your Uncle Chronos a favor. Slow your roll, OK? Take a breath. While you’ve still got 12,773,985 minutes left.

Time, out.