Countdown to the Summer of 2010

To some, the summer of 2010 might seem far off. Eighteen months, when looked at as a whole, can seem like a long time. For the most part, I don't even know what I'm going to be doing in 18 days, let alone 18 months. But that is changing, and for good reason: during the summer of 2010 the world will converge on South Africa to bear witness to the most important sporting event every quadrennium. Fuck the Olympics, this is the World Cup. I swear to the blogging Gods I will be there in some capacity in 2010, documenting the revelry and debauchery as it transpires, in REAL motherflipping TIME! That, or I'm just going to get really drunk and hope to avoid contracting AIDS.

How am I going to pay for this epic, worldview altering journey? No f'ing clue right now. Handouts are not only welcomed, but encouraged. It might be a good idea to just start walking now. Although traversing through the Sahara and/or rainforests with a Nando induced boner is probably a bad idea.

If I suddenly disappear off the face of the earth in 18 months, please check the gutters, brothels and/or opium dens of Cape Town or Johannesburg. Or inside the gullet of one of the famed jumping great white sharks that get so much attention during Shark Week. Either way, it will be a hell of a way to go. And that's fine with me.

The preliminary itinerary includes:

• Taking in a US soccer match, possibly with an American flag draped over my shoulders. It shall be known as the Shawl of Freedom.
  
• Drinking until my liver bursts.
• Assassinating Cristiano Ronaldo.
• Avoiding the following creatures: lions, rhinos and anything else that could possibly gore, maim and eviscerate me.
• Procuring a deadly spider and smuggling it back into the country, then unleashing it on a quaint town and watching havoc ensue.
• Finding the world's largest diamond to cover any additional costs that I might accrue during my travels.

Sacrifices will need to be made in order to make this happen. So from this point forward, no more Lily Pulitzer pants, Grey Goose vodka or Kobe steak. It's TJ Maxx, 5 O'Clock vodka and dirt. Don't expect me to be much fun for the next year and a half. Sorry, friends, but 2010 is calling and it's sweet Siren song is just too strong to ignore.