Z: Looks like people misinterpreted the Maya calendar. The world didn’t end on Friday.
She: I was never perfectly clear about the time that was supposed to happen. Once it was 12.21.12 in Australia and China, did people really think the world would end by time zone? It would be like some kind of giant wave on a CNN info-graphic, where the lights go out zone by zone.
Z: The real meaning of the calendar can now be revealed. It turns out that the Maya calendar wasn’t predicting the end of the world; it was actually predicting the end of “She Said, Z Said.”
She: That makes much more sense. There’s no way they could have predicted the end of the world 5,000 years ago. But it couldn’t have been that hard for them to predict something important, like the end of our column.
Z: The Maya were some of our most loyal readers. They loved a good Internet column about maize.
She: But it’s tough to keep a column going when your readership is extinct.
Z: Stupid Maya. Very selfish of them to die out like that.
She: We do still have one exceptionally loyal reader. He always finds us witty and urbane.
Z: Sure, but he’s your dad. He’s supposed to. And he’ll laugh at anything.
She: I just wanted to make sure I thanked him for five years of loyal reading.
Z: Five years? Seriously? We did this for five years? I’m not sure I’ve done anything for that long. Is the Maya calendar even that long?
She: I also wanted to make sure I thanked all our other readers. We’ve had a great time writing this column, and I hope that you’ve had a great time reading us. Or at least been mildly amused.
Z: And just to make it clear, for those of you who imagine that we create these columns out on the veranda while we drink our morning coffee, or that we sit across from each other at his and hers desks and bark out snappy dialogue at each other, it’s all true. That’s exactly how we write our column.
She: The only trick is getting our old typewriters to post things to the Internet. And to find clothes that look good in black and white.
Z: I also want to apologize to our 13-year-old son. I know that he was very excited for us to chronicle every detail of his puberty on the Internet. Now he’ll have to find ways to ruin future job prospects all on his own.
She: We can still post incriminating pictures on Facebook for him. Because we can’t completely ignore how funny it is to be the parents of a teenager.
Z: I also want to thank Bill Macfadyen and Noozhawk for giving us a comfortable home. It was a great ride, but I guess they want to focus more on something called “news” now.
She: And less on hawk?
Z: Beats me. It sounds complicated, having to know things. It’s much more pleasant to yap witticisms at your lovely wife all day.
She: Yes, I can hardly wait for you to stop saving all of your best zingers for our column.
Z: If they only knew how much self-censoring went on in the last five years.
She: Not to mention the copious notes I’ve been taking for my next work of “fiction.”
Z: That you’ll publish when I’m dead, right?
She: It certainly looks that way, at this rate.
Z: We shouldn’t forget that the Maya calendar doesn’t only predict the destruction of the universe — er, our column — but also the recreation of it.
She: Are you saying our column is going to come back to life?
Z: No. But there are definitely some new galaxies to be conquered out there.
She: So you want to go from writing a website column to creating a new galaxy?
Z: Sure. But only if it’s a mildly amusing galaxy.
She: Yes, dear.