Monday, February 2, 2009

DESTINATION 2012

I keep hearing that December 2012 is the supposed Dooms Day we've all been obsessing over for our entire lives. The dreaded end of all things. This is only the beginning of 2009 & mini-Bedlam is already upon us. Watch the news & convince me otherwise.

It's times like these that I admire society's cast aways.

Take the homeless, for example. Do you think they're worried about pale horses & swarms of locusts? Ask them about pestilence, & they'll ask if the free clinic has a vaccine for it. If they get 72 cents tossed at them & luck up on partially eaten curly fries, life is good. How grand is it when your only worry is being clubbed about the nose & throat by some destitute teenagers? Or being out-hoboed at your usual loitering nest by the new vagrant in town? Ever seen bums fight? It's the saddest hilarity since the Hidenburg crash narration. Worst case scenario for them if Armeggedon were to happen, at least then EVERYONE would be homeless, so the playing field will be leveled.

Next, consider the alcoholic. If the end of time is as chaotic as the bible leads us to believe, I want to be drunk that day. All that liquid courage & blind rage would surely come in handy when demons come to devour my soul & have their way with my insides. Think about the last time you drove drunk, all alone, in the middle of the night on an empty highway. Remember when you finally looked down at the speedometer & noticed it read 127 mph? Yet, you kept soaring down the road, bat outta hell style. Why? Moronic bravado. That's just the blatant lack of self preservation & reckless endangerment needed to stay alive during the Apocalypse. Pride & prejudice would bear no weight in a world where humaniod refugees would eat your butt cheeks to survive. As a bonus (!?), I've heard people taste like chicken. El Pollo Loco be damned. Sobriety is boring as it is, but add horrific, mind altering terror & there's a tremendous chance that pants-pooping is the only thing certain.

Imagine the sun melting into the sea, rivers running with blood, total darkness & despair. To the average crackhead, that was Monday. The inversion of reality predicted during the sunset of mankind would equate the time lapse between last hit & next hit to a crackhead. The primal search, the anxious desperation are no different than that of when said addict looks for, then finds large lint balls & tries to smoke them from a hollowed out ink pen. In a land constrained by extreme selfishness & unavoidable conformity, you'll find crackheads & cockroaches hand-in-hand outliving even the most decorated commando. Picture Rambo, going through major, unmedicated withdrawal.

Lastly, the mentally ill. They've been gearing up for this scenario from the first time their socks tried to bite them, & every time their reflection laughs & tells them to put bleach in the orange juice. "The meek shall inherit the Earth", & what's more meek than a grown person who NEEDS protective head gear at all times? What threat would Gabriel's horn-blowing pose if I can't stop slapping my own face long enough to use a fork properly? If anyone's equipped to contend in the mouth of madness, it's the tongue. Funny thing is, I've always wondered what if all the "crazy people" were in actuality sane, & their biligerent ramblings were the warning signs we're waiting for. All these years, & we thought Jacob was arguing with his shadow.

So what did we learn?

We've only got less than three years left to becoming alcoholic, crack addicted, transient lunatics if we wish to make it through "hell on Earth". After that, this whole "being alive" deal is going to be way overrated.