Precog hog.

I don't quite like countdowns; after all, a countdown is a glamorized deadline with an objective of celebrating mediocrity, as opposed to setting a detrimental threshold for something to be accomplished. It's something that sounds mightily cold, especially from me, but countdowns can just be as perplexing as anything else.

Fortunately enough, we only mostly encounter countdowns commemorating happy occasions.

However, if we were all armed with the knowledge of the future, countdowns could be the most morbid things ever; imagine being able to know the precise moment someone dies, thus throwing a bash in their honour. Or how about preparing a double frosted marble cake to mark that specific moment where your marriage breaks down? You could sit back in your car in helplessness while you slowly bide your time, waiting for that final, final collision that you'll never be able to wriggle free from...how about a beer?

It's a good thing that we're not clairvoyant, then.

Even that bastard Nostradamus couldn't get everything right.

But if I were to be armed with the information of what would happen next, I don't really know if preventing it would be the right thing to do; an act of making things right might, in fact, draw you one step closer to the inevitable. Early Edition comparisons aside, and to paraphrase Tyler Durden once again, mayhaps it would be in our best interests to let the chips fall where they may.

Then again, when armed with the knowledge of the future, if we were to make a countdown out of celebrating a morbid moment of banal finality, it wouldn't be a celebration of mediocrity anymore; it'd be celebrating that one experience in your life that would change it. Permanently.

Here's to the future. And to tuna.