Wow. Just…wow. That was spectacular. Remember the part where Satan’s face appeared on all of our inner-thighs? Or when those royally pissed off angels swooped in and strategically planted a hair in the food we were eating just as we were a little over half-way done with the meal; thus filling us with that horrifying moment of realization: “Did I just eat a whole bunch of hair?”
Damn, the rapture and the ensuing chaos was truly a sight to behold!
At first I was scared. But then after the four horsemen began firing mystical energy out of their hands, killing all within the 6-mile-wide blast radius, I felt like I was living in a badass action movie. I was leaping over abandoned cars, taking cover in darkened passages ways — at one point I was holding on to the landing things under a helicopter as Famine fired starving African children at the chopper. It was nuts.
I’m sure none of us will soon forget when all of those volcanoes sprung up in the middle of all major cities around the world (the order of which was dictated by their time zone, of course) and they spewed forth a fiery stream of everyone’s unresolved daddy issues. As heathens burned in the liquid angst, they screamed such things as, “But why weren’t you there for me!?” and “All I wanted was some validation, papa!” There were so many daddy issues being blown on to streets that it was like watching an episode of Lost, just with more volcanoes that spewed daddy issues.
And how about when the seas boiled and everything smelled like that one respectable Red Lobster in town that actually has their shit together and doesn’t half-ass your order? It was almost as if everything were right and perfect in the world, but then we heard about the millions of people that had boiled to death at sea while trying to escape the madness, and we were all like, “Awww, man. That sucks. But at least it smells like succulent shrimp and decent service!”
And all that was only in the first hour! By Saturday, things got even crazier!
Demons stood on every street corner, twirling their signs, begging you to eat at their newly opened restaurants that serve nothing but the organs of non-believers. My god, were they amazing sign twirlers!
The dead rose from the grave and roamed the earth, but they didn’t get to do anything because everyone enacted their zombie apocalypse contingency plans and killed every zombie within an hour!
That’s not to say that it was all spectacular. Some of it was a letdown. Like when God came down and lectured on and on about believing in him or something. I don’t know. I was distracted by the heavenly soldiers that were cramming people in to other people, and then cramming those people-within-people in to various livestock. Before long there was a legion of semi-living, completely-grotesque, mostly-human Turduckens walking around and, for some reason, screaming about sales at Ross Dress For Less. Honestly, not even God could compete with counter programming that strong.
The sad part of the whole thing is that it’s over. All the madness has subsided. Now we have to wait a full five months — Oct. 21, 2011 — before the true end of the universe comes around. That’s a whole five months of boring nothingness before even crazier stuff happens. I can’t contain my excitement. I can’t wait until I am dissected by the frog I dissected in high school biology class. I can’t wait until we all re-experience that one time we farted loudly while talking to that hot girl or guy in the silent book store. I can’t wait until those demons show me a vision of my future in which the universe does not end, I get married, have a child, and that child grows up to become a congressmen that fails so miserably that his job that his only great achievement in his career is getting a Saturday afternoon talk show on CNN where he has to ask frivolous celebrities about what they think of the day’s most pressing political issues.
It’ll be horrifying and awe-inspiring.