Being a Non-Christian Means I Get Your Pet, Right?

So, fueling off of yesterday’s blog regarding the End of the World proclamations of the folks at wecanknow.com, it has been brought to my attention–by the ever vigilant, yet slightly askew Kimberly Kennedy–that I neglected to cover a very critical aspect of the forthcoming Rapture: What to do with your pet.

We’ll call this section of the blog, “So, You’re Being Raptured, Section 2, sub-section 43a: What to do with your pet.”

It seems that you’re on the list to ride the G-train to Heaven, and when the Rapture comes, you’ll be making your way with millions of Christians, while the remainder of the heathens stay behind to be dominated and controlled by the Anti-Christ for the five months leading up to the End of the World.  That takes care of that, right?  I mean, naturally, there is sadness for those whom you may love, to some varying degree, that were not wise enough to embrace Jeebus, and make him their BFF (or would it be BFFE–Best Friend for Eternity?), but that’s the way the communion wafer floats in the grape juice, right?  They had their chance.  But–and this is a horrifying thought, I would think–what happens to your pet?  What becomes of Fluffy the cat, or Bruiser the dog, Golden the goldfish, or Tyrus the turtle?  They didn’t have their say.  Nobody asked them if they wanted to accept Jeebus as their Lord Owner and Feeding Savior.  What if they wanted to be Christian?  Even Noah had to rescue the poor beasts of the Earth before the Great Flood, so what now?  You can’t very well leave your pets with…with…non-believers, can you?

Well, don’t fret, because the good people (and aren’t they just the best for being so thoughtful, and willing to pitch in?) at After the Rapture Pet Care have your answer.  Here’s a video to help out!

Lookit!  Real testimony from the website!

It’s a real concern, and a legitimate concern. Our pets are given to us by God for us to care for. We are stewards of their lives. Should we simply forget them at the Rapture, allow them to starve or worse?

Real…and legitimate.  Wow.  Powerful words.  Powerful.

But who are these Caretakers, and why should you trust them with your pets?  Well, right there on the Home page is your answer:

Most Volunteer Pet Caretakers fit this description:

  • They are atheist or another non-Christian religion.
  • They love animals enough to register with us even though they do not believe there will be a Rapture (or are agnostic about it).
  • They are not paid, so they are not signing up simply to make a quick buck. In fact, they’ve agreed to care for the pets they rescue as their own, including being financially responsible for them.

We match Volunteer Pet Caretakers by location and the types of pets they wish to care for. Some Volunteer Pet Caretakers will care for any type of pet, while others express interest in only caring for particular animals, such as only dogs or only cats. They have agreed to seek out other Volunteer Pet Caretakers to help them with our mission if the Rapture occurs. Each Volunteer Caretaker will be given access to our database of animal shelters and other animal rescue groups so they can quickly find other animal lovers to help rescue your pets.

Now, I’m not trying to suggest that God might require you to submit paperwork at the Pearly Gates, proving that you have made proper arrangements to have His Creatures cared for, but you might not want to take that chance.  You might not want to be the one in line that gets dropped through a cloud like a trapdoor on a stage with the simple pull of St. Peter’s Magic Lever of Descent.  You might–just might–want to avoid the spiritual embarrassment of nullifying an entire life (or five minutes, depending on how last minute you repented) of Jeebus Faith by taking a spare few minutes for the pets you love and adore, and ensuring that they will be cared for until the End of Time (or sooner, if they don’t survive the five months We Can predicts).  Just sayin’.  The Pope may not think too highly of condoms, but sometimes it’s better to be protected than to roll the dice on behalf of other lives.

Don’t wait.  He who hesitates, hesitates.  Your pet loves you, and will be very, very, very, very sad to see you go (unless you own a cat).  So sad that you might want to take a few moments now and have a good cry, and plead to God to allow you to bring your pet along, and that they’ll be really good, and not pee on the clouds, and you’ll keep them in your corner of Heaven and He’ll never even know they’re there (which He will, but, hey, semantics, right?).  But after you’ve cried long, and hard, and come to realize that every day between now and May 21st will be one in a series of Last Days You Spend With Your Beloved Pet, run to your computer, fall over it if you have to, but save these poor pets lives before they die of absolute, and utter, loneliness and despair.  It’s your chance now.  Your…last…chance.

Don’t fail your pets.  Save them now, like they couldn’t be Saved while you were there.  You can Ascend knowing they will be cared for.  They will be loved.  They will be fed.  They will play, and find some sense of happiness in your departure.

For at least five months anyway.  Then, like the rest of us, they’ll be dead.

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?