Friday, May 20, 2011

This is the end, my only friend.

The world is going to end on Saturday.

I know this because a billboard told me.

Billboards haven’t lied to me yet. Here is a list of evidence:

    July 2007- - A billboard told me there was a sale at Macy’s for one day only.  I go to Macy’s the day after the sale. They told me the sale ended yesterday; it was only one day long.
     September 2009 - - I am injured in a slip and fall accident. I am awarded a structured settlement, but I need cash now. I call the number I see on a billboard. I get cash now. 
     July 2010 - - I view gang related graffiti on an otherwise blank billboard. I am shot by the Latin Kings.

The list goes on and on. 

So, like any good citizen would do, I went to the grocery store to stock up on supplies for myself.  Once the zombies overrun the planet, going to the store is gonna get dangerous.   My thoughts at the time were as follows:

“Hey man…you better stock up on the essentials. Things could get pretty rough when the world ends. Regards, Brain.” 

 “Brain? What are you doing here? I thought I killed you the night I smoked crack with Gary Busey.”

“You came pretty close.”

“Well, thanks for the advice, but I think I can handle this one. Besides, you’ll be nothing but zombie bait by Saturday.”

I left the store with a box of saltines, a jar of Nutella,  and two cases of Fresca. Brain was pissed.

I told him to suck an egg and strolled confidently back to my apartment. Then I turned on the news. More evidence of the Apocalypse.  Turns out “Macho Man” Randy Savage died.  After I finished cursing the Heavens, I thought about what Macho Man must be up to right now.

I imagined Macho Man kicking down the Pearly Gates as Saint Peter nervously snaps into a Slim Jim. Then Macho Man body slams Andre the Giant.  Macho Man and Jesus become the ultimate tag team and defeat evil once and for all. 

This whole scenario is likely playing out as you read this.


See? The afterlife won’t be that bad, assuming you make it to Heaven with Macho Man.

I estimate my chances are 50/50.

That is all, you should(n’t) hear from me again.

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