Well, it seems that winter is over. At least, the only part of winter that matters. Snow has melted, the decorations have been cleaned, and in just a few hours we'll be partying into the worst part of winter that most certainly shouldn't matter... New Years Eve.



Don't get me wrong, the festivities and food are on point. It's silliness at it's finest, but there is a part of New Years Eve that I dread every year. Just 20 minutes ago I found myself being dragged off to a "celebration" over at Goofy Speedway by Sir Max. There was a bit of a big problem upon arriving, though: There wasn't anyone there.

I asked Sir Max what was up, and before I could run I suddenly realized what was happening. He took out his button and activated the fireworks, shooting up gleaming, beautiful bursts of color into the newly-lit night sky. The colors, shapes, and sounds were magnificent as the fireworks boomed across the stars.

...And it was perhaps the most horrifying event I have ever encountered. "A late Christmas present," he says! "To make up for your fear of explosions," he says! He's just lucky none of them hit me this time. If I see one more set of fireworks, I tell you... Every hour? Until January 2nd?

Well, if you need me, I'll be nowhere. Because if I say where, my house is going to explode. Again.