Okay people. It's been a long goddamn year. Almost 365 days of goddamn longness. Our heroes are dead or disgraced. Our villains are stumbling into power. Our sex alien rockstars have returned to their home planets to tell Elvis he was right to get out early.
As far as I'm concerned, civilization has two remaining hopes: Sir Pat Stew and Ian McKellen. Benedict Cumberbatch and Tilda Swinton would help, but you know they're going back to their home planets soon. No, Stewart and McKellen are the last good things in our crumbling human experiment. Besides The Rock. I assume The Rock will be fine.
It is humanity's duty to come together and protect Patrick and Ian. Do you really think you could face another day if you heard that Jean-Luc Picard tripped in front of a bus? That Gandalf was mugged and left for dead? I couldn't. Just the thought that Magneto and Professor X would never work their problems out on screen would put me on Xanax for a month.
We need round-the-clock protection led by Idris Elba and an on-call medical team reporting to Hugh Laurie. I'm talking everything from the neighborhood watch to NATO. This is where we draw the line. This is where we do not go gentle into that good night. This is where we stand together and raise our middle fingers to the cold blades of time and fate.