Remember Me for the Final Countdown

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I want to be remembered the way that hair band Europe are remembered for The Final Countdown: as a miracle of biblical proportions that not even the ice pick of time (wielded by Sharon Stone) can dilute.

That’s what I want, and everything I do is moulded by the lyrics of The Final Countdown.

In some cultures, a man’s virility is measured by how many times he can mention The Final Countdown in any five minute or five hundred word period.

I don’t go in for the idea of culture too much myself, but some tribal rituals do carry grains of truth The Final Countdown.

One of these years on New Year’s Eve the world will end (so many people have been wishing for it to happen for so long it must happen one day). In that case, The Final Countdown should have been playing on your stereo, because there’s no Final Countdown like the final one.

Remember on New Year’s Eve this year during The Final Countdown that this countdown might indeed be the final. If so, do not bother putting the toilet seat down. We’re heading for Venus, my friends. Heading for Venus Final Countdown style.