The semester is over, friends. It’s been a great ride that I’ve loved sharing with all of you.

Next year, something similar will be said about life itself.

End of days is coming, people. It’s been predicted centuries ago by civilizations more advanced that the Hot Pocket that Dec. 21, 2012 will spell doomsday.

Imagine Y2K, Hurricane Katrina and the Lions/Packers Thanksgiving game snowballed into one massive rapture.

Suh can’t stomp his way out of that one.

Long before our time, this has been known to be humanity’s demise. What are you going to do with your final calendar days on planet Earth?

Call this my ‘Mayan bucket list.’

While writing for a university newspaper prevents me from disavowing college courses, I can say that finishing my bachelor’s degree doesn’t top my list of things to accomplish.

My editor just informed me I cannot say that either. Looks like I won’t be writing for The Post next year.

Over the course of my last days on Earth, I plan to forego all the inhibitions that have prevented me from living to my fullest.

This year, a personal goal of mine is to get obliterated beyond thought on crazy cocktails. I will fear no more ordering spiral-colored fruit flavored drinks to appease my friends, and by the blender.

I’m talking potential death here by alcohol poisoning. I’ve never understood why people seem to love a perpetual drunk. On rare occasions, I enjoy a drink, otherwise I suffer through alcohol consumption for the good of socialization.

I’ve always preferred waking with a sound body and mind to migraines and roll-over blackout mistakes.

We’re going to take that philosophy and tie it in a burlap sack, pump some bullet holes in it and toss it out of a moving van somewhere on a desolate strip of I-75 (after sanitizing the fingerprints.)

Stinginess won’t play a part, either. Find me closing down a bar somewhere and I’ll blow my savings account on you, too. Money won’t matter when the meteor showers start so what’s the point of having it?

That coincides great with foregoing physical fitness.

I’ve spent my last few years depriving myself of flavorful delicacies to harness that frail feminine figure I’ve been trying to attain.

Cakes, cookies and pies galore! I’m going to stuff my gullet full of sugary-sweet saturated fats and carbohydrates until I double my body weight. I can’t outrun a tidal wave or swarm of locusts, so I might as well kick my feet up on the front porch with a ton of pound cake.

I feel before I completely bloat my proportion though, I should take the time to conquer one of my biggest fears – speaking to women.

All right, I have done that, but often my advances are laughed off or more frequently slapped across the face over whatever demeaning acts I have uttered from my clueless vessel of a skull.

Case and point – “Ever been kissed by God, on the butt?”

Major medical breakthroughs have removed the lacerations from my cheeks.

One of these times I will hit it out of the park when I find that right woman and if condoms still serve a purpose. I can pop open my dusty three-year old box of Trojan His Pleasures (for the guy who doesn’t really care.)

Before I start a kerfuffle, I do have some serious actions to commit before the world ends me. I still want to conquer my fear of heights by skydiving, vote for Herman Cain, and win a game of Scrabble by playing the word ‘uterus.’

Don’t let my plebian plans muddle yours, though. Some of you will set your sights up high and want to change the world, or edit the trajectory of the planet in a failed attempt to save society as we know it.

Will you spend your final moments living in vices, being virtuous, or adapting sentences based off Panic! At The Disco lyrics?

I plan on reliving the best memories of my life on all three of these points of life. On my last night on Earth, I want to be able to look up at the sky falling and not have any regrets of not living.

And if in the very unlikely off-chance the world doesn’t end, I’ll be quite a lonely chap sitting atop the tallest hill in Oakland County drinking alone in the dark.