Michael Stipe is a big liar.

Where do we come from? How did we get here? What’s the meaning of it all? I was ruminating on these questions as I ruminated on some ferns, just letting them rattle around inside my walnut-sized brain.

What if this is all there is? What if we weren’t put here for any higher purpose at all? What if life itself is just an accident of circumstance? What if “why” is the wrong question altogether? Whence, then, should we derive our moral code? How should we try to live our lives? Is it enough merely to provide comfort to one another during the brief period during which we exist?

I should feel fortunate, shouldn’t I? That no predator ravaged the nest from which I hatched? That my habitat is replete with nourishing greens? That my mate is strong and fertile? Is it vanity to want more from life?

I admit, I was in something of a depressive mood. How to make sense of this strange and incomprehensible riddle of being?

Then, suddenly, it hit me: An enormous asteroid.

Wear this shirt: at the end of the world. Which could be any time. So put it on right away.

Don’t wear this shirt: to Sunday School. (Monday School through Friday School is OK though, unless you have a uniform.)

This shirt tells the world: “This extinction is going to be MASSIVE.”

We call this color: Kelly GreeeeeeeeeeeenPKSHWHOOOOM

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