Holy crap, the world ended! It really did. No kidding. You’re just dreaming that you’re reading this.
There I was sitting on my recliner catching up on Justified episodes and all hell broke loose. I should have known it was coming because Syd and Symon (my pesky little critters) began acting funny. Syd sneaked up to my chair and swatted my elbow. (It itches now. That fucker!) Symon found a plastic gum pack wrapper and started stalking it as if he were on the beaches of Normandy. Guess I was too involved in my show to notice.
Then there was a thunderclap and a huge (age-spotted) hand reached down and ripped the roof off my house. I stared in amazement out of the hole overhead and saw this old dude with long white hair in a fancy gown surrounded by floating bodies carrying suitcases.
“Somehow I don’t think my home warranty is going to cover this.”
“I hate to say I told you so, but …”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Nobody likes a know-it-all, even when he’s the Creator and such.”
“So, it’s safe to assume you’re not coming.”
“Oh, hell … I mean heck, no. Thank you for the invitation though.”
“You know, things are about to get quite toasty in your neighborhood.”
“That’s cool. I’m over this marine layer thing already.”
“All right. Say, would you be interested in running things down there while I organize these floating souls?”
“Sure thing. Hey, do me a favor though.”
“Send Randy ‘Macho Man’ Savage back down here, will ya? That guy always cracked me up … Ooh yeah!”
Then I noticed some Christian friends of mine being somewhat unChristianlike. They were giving me the finger(s) while floating upward. Pricks. I’m too mature to get involved in a “nya, nya” game, so I just mooned them.
Some good things are coming out of this:
- Most of the Republicans are gone now.
- The entire southeast section of the country (excluding Miami) is vacant.
- No more suited douches banging on my door on weekends, causing a premature start to my hangover, while trying to get me to read some silly pamphlet that contains no nudity, and is therefore not something I would peruse, even during my morning post-coffee dump.
- I won’t need to explain the concept of dinosaurs and prehistoric man to Bible thumpers.
- There will be less traffic on Sundays and a new day for bingo.
- No more boring end-of-the-world movies and books.
- I can finally delete that whiny R.E.M. song from my iPod playlist the way I deleted Prince’s “1999” back in 2000.
- No more NASCAR.
- More red wine for me.
- I can cuss like a sailor without any concern about retribution. Fuckin’ A!
If you wake up tomorrow in the billowy clouds surrounded by choirs of young boys, glowing halos, and a continental buffet featuring angel food cake, go ahead and pat yourself on the back for selecting the right team. I’m going to barbecue.
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