HEY, SOLAR FLARE. YEAH, I'M TALKING TO YOU, LOSER. THE FLARE-LOOKING THING, IN SPACE, THE ONE THAT'S SOLAR. You stink. Yeah, I said it. You are the worst solar flare ever. You are a pink fluffy unicorn of solar flares. You are a fragile porcelain mouse of solar flares.

HEY, SOLAR FLARE. 


YEAH, I'M TALKING TO YOU, LOSER. THE FLARE-LOOKING THING, IN SPACE, THE ONE THAT'S SOLAR. You stink. Yeah, I said it. You are the worst solar flare ever. You are a pink fluffy unicorn of solar flares. You are a fragile porcelain mouse of solar flares. You are a Hallmark Christmas ornament of solar flares, one of the ones with puppies waiting for Santa or something. One time in 1999 I had to evacuate my hometown for a hurricane that ended up sputtering out over the Atlantic and arrived as basically a vaguely lively spring shower, the kind that you would go out an frolic in and that was really good for making sure the azaleas were blooming. You are the Blooming Azalea Spring Shower of solar flares. 


Sigh. My apologies for using valuable newspaper industry resources to yell at a galactic event that I do not remotely understand, but I have good reasons:


1. I find that most of my problems can be solved by yelling. 


2. It wasn't even a galactic event, really. This big-shot solar flare that was supposed to burst forth from the sun, scorch its way across 93 million miles of cold black space and rock the Earth like a solar hurricane did what I can best describe as jack poop, given the inconsiderate confines of the average newspaper reader's sensibilities, and apologies to my grandmother, for whom "jack poop" is probably pushing the limits of what's acceptable discourse among respectable company. (Sorry, Grandma, I write dumb jokes, and "jack poop" is kind of right in my wheelhouse.)


This solar flare was supposed to be a Big Space-Deal. It was supposed to knock space stations out of orbit, scramble GPS systems, cause your microwave to begin receiving satellite radio signals which would be pretty awesome actually, flatten power grids, cause the Earth to begin rotating in the opposite direction and ruin your cell phone signal unless of course you have AT&T, in which case your signal hasn't worked in six years anyway and hey maybe a solar flare would do you some good. It was supposed to be a monster, one that would cause disruption in the planet's magnetic fields, which would have cause tremendous chaos in electronic devices worldwide as well as made a huge mess of everyone's refrigerators. And it was to have been the LARGEST IN EONS, at least since the solar flare that killed the dinosaurs (look it up, that's just science), at least since the solar flare that killed President Abraham Lincoln (listen, I'm not going to argue facts here). 


Or maybe it was supposed to be a monster? I don't know, because obviously I have no idea what a solar flare is. I know basically that it is something that explodes off the sun, and comes to Earth, and if the rich tapestry of American cinema has taught me anything it's that ribbons of fire flying off the sun are rarely things you want coming within walking distance of your house.


Indeed, you will pardon what may very well sound like over-excitable concern upon hearing that a large and fiery space thing from space was winging its way toward Earth. If I have learned anything over the past few years, it's that we're almost certainly all going to die from some sort of death ray from space, and, you know, Mayans and everything. Between those guys and Harold Camping, you hear "solar flare" and all you think is basically "cosmic death ray" and Martians and the blacking out of the sun and Martians again, because I'm kind of scared of Martians. 


And what happened? NOTHING. Zero. I've had greater disruptions in my cellphone service from driving underneath overpasses. 


If you want to make fun of the solar flare, too, contact Jeff at jvrabel7@gmail.com, jeffvrabel.com or twitter.com/jeffvrabel.