Countdown to Finality

So, you have 26 days left until the Rapture.  Are you ready?  Made your Rapture Party Plans yet?  Have you found a home for your pet yet (that is to say, for those of you who will be leaving us)?  Have you made your Bucket List?  Get on it people!  There isn’t time to dilly, or dally, or hesitate!

Then again, utilizing a quote I heard during my recent trip to NYC (I can’t claim right to this one, but I will use the hell out of it): “Why can’t you quit?  Jesus did.”  So, maybe you shouldn’t do anything.  Just let it happen.  Heat up some queso, prop up your feet, refuse to shower and watch 26 days of television.

Hell, forward all your bills to the people at We Can Know, seeing as how they’re so up on this whole Rapture shibang.  I mean, can’t there be some type of legal spin on making plans around their May 21st date…you know, in the unlikely event that they’re wrong?

Dammit.  I just paid off my car.  Should have thought that one through a bit more.

Still, maybe this isn’t really a bad thing at all.

I feel secure that my publisher will still be around, since I know God isn’t terribly fond of Faerie worship or purple highlights, so at least Flutter will still arrive in August.  And since I’m not necessarily targeting Christians with my books (well, targeting, yes, but not in the publicity sense), then I can rest assured that my audience will still be around.  In fact, this may be a boon to the publishing industry, now that I think on it, because it will eliminate…er, I mean, remove all the people who are most traditionally likely to whine about literary content.  Vampire Porn for everyone!  Hopefully Stephanie Meyer is taken.  I can’t stomach anymore of her work.

I’m actually thinking that the bulk of people at Twitter and Facebook will still be around, so we’ll still have that.  To boot, all that Christian clutter will be gone, so no more scrolling through the rants and praise to Mr. Jesus.  Heck, little boys all over the world can roam free, safe and secure in the knowledge that their pants won’t be removed by some God-horny Man of the Cloth, so that’s good.  Then again, won’t all the Men of the Cloth who engaged in that activity still be here?  Hm.  Rule of the land!  It’s time to put these imbeciles on a remote island with a few other undesirables, and have an And Then There Were None reality show.  Given the dearth of candidates, and only 12 slots (should we remain true to the story), I’m thinking several continuous seasons of this will do fine.

Fortunately, we’ll still have this:

So that’s cool.

I’m actually feeling confident that the bulk of television shows, actors and actresses, producers, directors, musicians, writers, artists and executives will still be around, so I guess Hollywood just keeps rolling.  I mean, they didn’t stop for Pearl Harbor or 9/11, did they?  Can’t seem them seeing this any differently.  So, we’ll still have a major portion of our art intact.

This solves our energy crises, doesn’t it?  And food shortages?

Can we get back to community-based lifestyles, and weed out the box stores?  I can promise you all non-Christian based indie bookstores will still be around.  They didn’t break for Amazon or B&N, so I figure the Rapture won’t kill their inspiration either.  Should be plenty of stock and, as mentioned, better quality to choose from, so there you are.  Another win.

Looks like the recession is over.  Jobs for everyone!

May have to entertain that Trump for President thing, after all.  He’ll still be around.  I mean, it would appear that every politician is a Christian, or so they would have you believe.  Surely they weren’t lying about that.  I’ll vote for him.  Although George Clooney might be more interested now that there’s no real backlash to him running, right?  Hell, all of Hollywood might put their name in the hat if they can do so comfortably knowing that there’s no one left to call them out on their loose-running morality issues.

What else?

You know, this may very well be the greatest Litmus test in the whole of testing things that aren’t what they purport to be.  I sense a great deal of finger waggling, post Rapture, with some, “Ahhhhhh, I knew you weren’t a Christian!” in for good measure.  Playground rules apply.  Those shamed are cast into the Pit of the Unwanton Liars Who Used to Be Bullies But Are Now Just Stupid Dummy Butts.

Yeah, I’m liking this post-Rapture world.

I need to go stock up on cheese.  Feel free to do the same.  In the meantime, what did I forget?

May Showers Bring May Flowery Deaths

So, yeah.  You’re going to die soon.  Just so you know.  The people at We Can Know can even tell you when.  To the day.  Behold, the End Times:

So, I should hold off on that June Cruise deposit, yeah?

For the record, this is not a joke.  This group of 4 ministries has decided, through biblical prognostication, that the Rapture will, indeed, take place on May 21st, 2011, and that actual end of the world will occur on October 21st, 2011.  So, basically, if you’re a Christian, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for.  Finally, the Word will be proven true, and you will be ushered into Heaven, where you will live out your spiritual days in the warm embrace of a loving God.  Conversely, if you are not a Christian, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for.  All the Christians will be gone, taken from the world in a flash, leaving you with a world bereft of dogmatic Believers who like to shake bells, throw pamphlets at you, and clog up lines at Golden Corral on Sundays.  it’s the world you’ve always dreamed of.  For five months, anyway.  At which time, your little fantasy land gets gobbled up by a God who is perturbed at your sinful ways (but isn’t at all displeased with allowing Miley Cyrus to continue living, go figure).  There’s a silver lining, though.  You have the next 6 months, and 18 days to do whatever you want , and then you can repent on May 20th, find some Holy-type to dunk you in water, and smile a lot, be fine the next day, and take the G-train to Heaven.  Just a thought.

But, maybe you don’t like baths.  I don’t know.

If you’re in need of a tutorial, the folks who created the video program at Xtranormal can be thanked for letting our Christian friends make this tutorial:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8yDWXNKPtNw&feature=player_embedded]

It’s not as funny as the Geico commercial.

So, where does that leave us?  Well, I’ve done the whole bath thing, and been certified Jesusian, but have since reneged on the agreement, and gotten all dirty with sin, and written books that sort of, well, mock the whole process, so I’m guessing that I’m not on the G-train.  And since it may have been a one-shot deal–I’m guessing that you can’t have two baths with Jesus in a lifetime, and sell that you’re totally serious about it this time–I have to deal with the reality that I have, give or take being stabbed in the eye, about eleven months in which to enjoy my time on this rock.  So, rather than fret about the end of the world, I’ve decided that I’m going out with a bang.  I’m sure this list will need some editing, over the period of Doom-to-be that remains, but for now, it’s a start.

  1. Listen to every Justin Beiber song until I have them memorized.  Attend concert on December 23rd at Phillips, and squeal until my voice cuts off.  Buy t-shirt.  Why not, right?  I mean, it’s not the New Kids or anything absurd like that.
  2. Contact Warner Brothers, and plead with them to move up Deathly Hallows Pt 2 to May 20th (I can just hear it now: “Yeah, I was going to get baptized, but it was either that or watch Harry Potter.  Pretty easy choice, I think.”), or to implement a post-Rapture contingency plan to ensure the release of the movie.  I’m not dying before I see how it plays out on the big screen.
  3. Find a booth at Waffle House, and stay there for 24 hours.  Eat everything on the menu.  Enjoy the next 24 hours, alternating between the toilet and the tub.
  4. Host a Rapture Party on the rooftop of the tallest building that will accept money.  Watch the Christians float into the sky, and create a pool for “number of airplanes crashing into buildings as Christian pilots are taken”.  Rig pool so that you win.
  5. Move into the largest church I can find on May 22nd.  Host readings of Apocalypse South every Sunday, readings of Flutter and Anointed every Wednesday and Friday, and change the sign outside to read: “God is good, God is Great, WTF, did I just inherit a Chruch?”  Misspell ‘church’ intentionally because Russ Marshalek will want it that way.
  6. Get a job at Starbucks (because we all know they’ll still be around), and ask to be paid in coffee.  Drink only coffee until the world ends.  Never sleep again.
  7. Begin reading the Mark Twain bio.  Put it down three days later when it becomes apparent that there isn’t enough time to finish Volume 1.
  8. Walk part of the Appalachian Trail with an ATV.
  9. Acquire the most expensive computer available (depending on availability when the looting begins).  Strip it of every program, and create a screen saver that reads, “What are you doing, Dave?”  Leave it on until the world ends.
  10. Host a “naked party”.  Invite no one.
  11. Watch every Star Wars movie in succession, enjoy them immensely, then write a 400 page letter to George Lucas detailing how much better they could have been if he hadn’t directed any of them.  Reference Empire as the platform of awesomeness that it is.  Hand deliver to the first person you encounter, and thank them for buying Statewide Rapture Insurance.
  12. Create a Twitter account for a Christian who you know has been Raptured.  Tweet from Heaven.  Tell those remaining (I just deleted, “left behind” three times…I just can’t say it.) what they need to do in order to be Saved.  Hint: it involves cheese being delivered to my chruch.
  13. Make enough Kraft Mac N’ Cheese to fill the bathtub.  Bathe in it.  Bathe in it real good.  Like it like you want it, mmmhm.
  14. Find a replica Darth Vadar costume to wear from October 18th through October 21st.  Speak only in Vadar lines, and die with your helmet off.
  15. Call the ex-wife on May 22nd, and remind her that she didn’t get Raptured either.  It goes both ways, apparently.
  16. Find some D&D goons, and suggest your chruch as a fine place for a week-long campaign.  Play all week, so that you can die knowing that you’re a rogue Elf with…
  17. Learn D&D terminology so as to better define your character before you die.
  18. Make the trek to Chicago, and find a seat in the bleachers at a sure to be empty Wrigley Field and yell, “you suck!”  Do the same in NY at Citi Field and Yankee Stadium, before returning to Atlanta, and Turner Field.  Do the chop for six straight hours.
  19. Call all my friends (none of them will have taken the G-train, for sure), and let them know they don’t have to worry.  I’m still awesome.
  20. Call my Jewish friends, blame them for everything, and say, “I told you this would happen.”
  21. Find Seth MacFarlane, and thank him for being such a delightful bastard.  Let him know that you got yourself checked, and your not retarded.

This isn’t done, but I’m too impatient to save it and wait.  Who has ideas?