Option 1: Go out dancing; it's the weekly funk night all your friends love!
Option 2: Stay home and draft end times manifesto in huge sprawling print until all wits are lost, most of the pages just say "MY VAIN GLORY" on them and are soaked at the corners with saliva, then gripping them in hot fists and flying down the street until falling down at the feet of a middle aged woman walking a pug hybrid. I view her unflappable serenity as proof that she will soon be diefied, so I sputter "Please! The answers!" as fluid oozes from all my facial orifices.
I've put on my dancing shoes but my plans are still very much up in the air.
2/18/10 edit:
totally did both.
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