In the beginning, there was nothing.

And there wasn’t even much of that.

Just the occasional dollop of nothingness splattered haphazardly, and without design, on a canvas of absolute void.

And then the big belch happened. And everything that was ever going to be anything came to be. The very stuff that would someday be birds and bees and rocks and mimes and carports and elk and Stephen Fry and mocha lattes and girls and boys and, oh, just everything, popped into existence in a fraction of a cosmic second. Even if you’d been there you would have missed it, it was that quick. And it was awesome.

A sun was born and planets formed, in that way that they do. And at least one of those planets, a bluish/greenish affair of middling size, made the hitherto unprecedented mistake of forming rudimentary life. Like a forearm tattoo of Boba Fett flipping the bird, it just seemed like a good idea at the time.

From there things moved rather quickly — evolution took over and blobs became bigger blobs and they, in time, became fish and, without much delay, and skipping over a bit here & there, they became you and me and everyone.

Unfortunately, it was really all just a great big waste of time.

Because through a series of ridiculous and unlikely events, all of it — time, space, Stephen Fry, everything — would come screeching to a dead halt on the morning of April 2nd, 2010. And utter nothingness would once again reign supreme.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.