Notes on the Apocalypse

Fifteen minutes until the end of the world.

Oh well. Could be worse.

Seriously, at least we're not in some huge candy-cane fantasty land where all our dreams come true. Imagine if that was the case and the world ended - what a real bummer that would be!

Fourteen minutes.

Sorry, thirteen.

Why do people obsess over predicting the end of the world, anyway? What's the big deal - I mean, either you're going to be proved wrong or no one will be around for you to be smug at. All you're doing is spending what little time may remain you being dubbed a total retard by everyone when you could be out there, right now, eating hamburgers, riding camels, watching women urinate and murdering people!

Twelve minutes.

There are worse ways to spend the last few minutes I suppose. This time I'm not bleeding to death. True, there is so much more I'd like to do - finally get round to seeing the last Sarah Jane Adventures, finish typing up my planned audio scripts, complete that retail course, get the books that a certain book retailer has promised me over the internet.

And not NEARLY enough sex, needless to say.

Ten minutes left.

I might as well finally reveal the shock ending of my Youth of Australia Apocalypse story I've never really got round to writing. Ooh, nine minutes, better hurry up. So, our heroes have discovered that the world is to end. They argue and bicker and sing in an entertaining (and hopefully not-too-obviously-ripped-off-from-the-Goodies) manner. As the last... eight... minutes tick down to zero, farewells are said, truths uttered, and everyone gets everything off their chests as their imminent deaths draw ever more imminent.

The countdown runs out. Bang.

A big flash clears to show our heroes, as one of hundreds of thousands of naked people wandering around a beautiful afternoon garden. Dave, still not a hundred per cent sure of what the fuck just happened, asks Andrew for clarification. He explains that at the appointed hour, the entire world and everything on it was destroyed. The spirits of the entire human race rose up into the afterlife and passed through a kind of "collander" to seive out the pure and impure souls.

Unfortunately the only pure souls were two brain-damaged retards and a pedophile.

God, slightly suspicious about the result, tried to pass through the collander himself and when THAT didn't work, realized the last few million years had been based entirely on a false premise. Apologizing profusely to mankind, he restored them all to the Garden of Eden and promised not to be so judgemental in future.

As our nude heroes sit in Paradise, Nigel is the first to admit how utterly boring it all is.

Well, five minutes left. Is this how I die? At the computer, waffling on about all the things I haven't done? Compared to drowning in my own blood as an ambulance man politely asks me to stop dying and open the door, it's an improvement.

Four minutes.

The Slap was rubbish, though, huh? I mean, if you want a truly dramatic situation to come out of "physically educating" a small child, don't make said educator a drug-snorting wife-beating gangster who repeatedly tries to kill other main characters. I mean, where's the shades of grey? It might as well have been called The Tying The Child To A Railway Tracks As An Oncoming Train Approaches With A Ticking Bomb Tied To Them.

Two minutes!

Oh, what last words can be said?

Well, Kadaffi had some belters this morning as he preempted his own demise. Facing a very undignified final stand, a bit like the last episode of Blake's 7 but not so charismatic, the guy faces his executors with the words:

"What did I ever do to you?"

One minute!

Seconds remain! The world will cease to exist, probably before I finish this sentence and there's nothing to be done to...

...

...

Oh. The world didn't end after all. It was just some mad Yank. Again.

On the plus side, this means I still have readers for my final blogs.

Yay!