Posts Tagged ‘apocalypse’

apocalypse_2024

 

As those grim commercials about old people coffins might say, “It’s never too late to plan for your future.” And that’s exactly what this is. I have set my goals for 2014. Now it’s time for me to set my goals for 2024.

-Win Jennifer Lawrence back. I figure divorce will be really common in 10 years and J-Law and me will have a few of them. I’m pretty sure we’ll marry at least half a dozen times and end up together. It may surprise you that I don’t plan to marry Malin Akerman. She has fallen ill in my eyes ever since she had a baby. She will also be gross and in her 40s in 10 years.

-Don’t get eaten by my neighbor. Cannibalism Holocausts are just one week of a food shortage away from happening. Have you been to the grocery section at Walmart recently? They never have anything good. The end is near.

-Set the new home run record. I’m predicting I will get hit by a car at some point. After reconstructive surgery I will be built with the best parts of every baseball player. I will have Mark McGwire’s forearms, Barry Bonds’s swing, Sammy Sosa’s English (it will help to avoid interviews), and Rafael Palmeiro’s erect penis. I think I’ll hit somewhere around 180.

-Destroy all machines/electronic devices I own. This will have nothing to do with a machine uprising. This will be more about a cry for help.

-Go a month without getting carded at the bar. Imagine how young I would feel to be nearing 40 and have no one card me at the bar! Of course, bars will be run by robots then and since 90% of the population was killed by a meteor, the drinking age will be 7. It’s only at 7 because that is the age all children are required to kill a person to earn adulthood.

-Travel more. I’ll probably visit Jupiter or maybe I’ll go to the post office like I promised myself I would 10 years earlier.

-Register to vote. I am nor was I ever a registered voter. Can you be one and then cancel? That seems so permanent. I would like to register in 2024 though because Hitler III is running for Czar of America and I want to vote for him. He’s not as evil as his granddad. America also has Czars because everything is very retro to Russian culture.

-Finish the first season of Orange is the New Black. Nah. It wasn’t very good.

-See a woman naked. I don’t want the first woman I see naked to be a picture on the computer. I’m realistic. I probably will never see a woman naked until 2024. I also do not count seeing someone run naked after a nuclear reactor blows and the clothing is burned off them. That happens in 2017 a lot.

-Be a better person. Since it’s 2024, all I have to do is pay the government and they will give me a certificate that says I am a better person. The future is easy.

What are your 2024 goals?

I’ve always had a fascination with the End of the World. In 2008 I saw an advertisement on a bus for a special on Nostradamus and dropped everything I had going on in life to watch the 5-hour spectacular. Unlike most things referred to as spectaculars, this one had no glitter or dancing which was a tad disappointing. No musical numbers means no toe tapping and no toe tapping means less fun.

To harp onto tomorrow’s impending doom (I’m not referring to how I intend on moving a mattress up 3 flights of stairs) I have decided to give a short rerun on things I have written about on the Apocalypse. Well, two things really and you’ll probably not read either so just great. Possibly the last post I ever do on this blog will have been for nothing. Oh well, it may have been nice knowing you but probably not because when has someone ever been right on predicting something so far in advance?

I present to you an old blog post I did called Mayans as well as an old spec script I wrote what was now almost 2 years ago based on the show Community. Enjoy them both or most likely neither.

Mayans

End of the World Survival Skills and Party Planning

The fifth and final stage of death is acceptance. Pundits will argue the final stage is splattering on the ground after being pushed off a building. This theory has been debunked as not everyone dies after being shoved off a building. I have been shoved off lots of things. Jungle gym equipment, chairs, my own pride, beds, an ant hill, and off the person doing the shoving. You may think I might try to stop this from happening so often. Getting shoved hurts. But what I have learned is that certain things in your life must be accepted. Having two open palms push me out-of-the-way is one of them.

(Don’t let the Minnesota licenses fool you. Soul Asylum are dicks. This song is actually about shoving me. They would sing it as they ran down the hallways trying to find me, somebody to shove)

Acceptance can be tough because in a way it’s giving up. At the same time accepting things also allows you to move on. The biggest thing I have had to accept in life is that I will never become a professional athlete. No matter what I do I have no chance at ever making millions of dollars playing sports. I pretty much set this to be all I would do with my life. I didn’t bother studying in school or showing others respect. I had an almost .700 batting average when I was 10 years old. I was a defensive and offensive monster during recess football. One time I even scored a goal during soccer while I was the goalie with an awesome punt. For me to bother with books was silly. Things didn’t work out though. I blame getting off the nasal spray I was on which contained steroids. They never made me stronger or anything, but knowing I had steroids ingesting themselves into my body gave me the confidence I needed. Now I live my sports dreams vicariously through creating myself into video games and raising my abilities as high as possible.

I have also come to accept that good things will never happen to me unless I go out for them. We all hear stories about how someone was masturbating in a Starbucks bathroom when they discover a lottery ticket on the toilet seat. They scratch it off and voilà they’ve got $50. I feel guilty going into businesses merely to pleasure myself in their bathrooms. This popular occurrence will never happen to me. If I want to be rich I need to stomp on other people’s dreams. It’s a hard thing to accept. I always try to be nice and help others. Get this, I actually offered to listen to somebody else’s problems the other day. How insane is that? I know if I really want a lot of money I will need to start telling these whiners to fuck off. Bill Gates didn’t get to where he is by playing therapist. He got there by scamming friends.

(Apparently this is Bill Gates’s daughter. She’s hot in the states where the age of consent laws are 16+. In the other states she’s only adorable and will one day make a man very lucky)

People’s perception of me is something which is hard to understand. Am I likeable? I don’t think so. I think I fall into the category where you have to roll your eyes and say “Oh you!” I’m like David Blaine in a way. Nobody really likes him, but you know if you stick around enough you may have front row seats to disaster. I am enough aware I am not the person I wanted to be. I had hoped I could be charismatic, charming, suave, calm, and larger than life. I wanted people to be drawn to me. Even the most brilliant people in life would sit down at my feet Indian style to listen to what I had to say. When I say Indian style I mean the ones with the tomahawks. I think you know that. Indian people from India don’t have enough room to sit. Their sitting style would be on top of 4 other people. I have to accept who I am. Continue to evolve into what it is I want to be, but accept for now I am good enough.

(Those dicks Soul Asylum also wrote a song about Indian trains. Runaway Train is about Indian people falling off the tops of trains. Look up the lyrics. It makes sense)

The hardest thing for anyone to accept is their surroundings. Anything we cannot directly control can be difficult to agree to. The way other people behave is a hard one. People actually dislike other people so much that they are willing to make sure that person no longer exists. This is called murdering someone. It sounds kind of ridiculous when you think about it. Most murders happen because the person cannot accept what it is the other person has done or is doing with their life. Someone might be affiliated with a different gang. Someone might decide they want to date someone else. Someone might even have things in their own life they cannot control which gets them murdered. Accepting others is difficult. It’s one of the few social issues they teach you in school. It’s also the main social issue you learn can ruin your own life because people are not nearly as accepting as they say they are. I know I’m not. Not that it’s their fault, but I wouldn’t mind seeing most people with different viewpoints from me die.

The one thing we must all accept is on August 9th, 2012 the world will come to an end. There is nothing any of us can do. What we need is someone to save us.

The fourth stage of death is depression. Lots of people suffer from depression. I knew a girl who was diagnosed by a doctor with it. Before being diagnosed she was very happy. After being diagnosed all she did was mope. I didn’t much like her anyway. Now that she knew she was depressed and could start behaving this way I felt more comfortable being nasty to her. She would take it. Besides this idiot, there are real people who have real depression. Not the kind caused by the power of persuasion. For you, the true downtrodden, I offer you tips today on how to ease or possibly cure your wasteful existence.

Depressed people love lists. Did you know David Letterman fans kill themselves the more than Jay Leno fans? It’s no coincidence. They watch Letterman for his Top 10 List. Jay Leno fans are too cheery. They laugh at other people’s typos. They’re mean nasty people. And since we have determined depressed people enjoy lists, I will make the rest of this post in list form.

(When Jay Leno was named Johnny Carson’s successor, Letterman tried to kill himself by blowing out his own brains. He survived but will forever have to live with the gap tooth the bullet gave him)

Eat A Lot: Nothing cheers me up more than eating a lot. Food eases pain. It’s common knowledge. Remember that part in Field of Dreams when the voice said “Ease his pain” then Kevin Costner bought James Earl Jones a hot dog? Find your true comfort food. When you get sad eat as much of it as you can. Soon you will forget about the troubles in your life. If you’re anything like me, you will spend the rest of the night on the toilet. My comfort food, high fiber cereal. It’s healthier than cake because the box says so.

Eat Nothing: After eating a ton you’ll probably hate yourself even more. Especially if part of your sadness comes from hating the way you look. Nobody wants to look fat. Well, I’m sure somebody does. Somebody also took a shit in the sink when I was in high school. More shits have been found in the sink in my high school than men who have walked on Mars. We are doomed as a civilization. Sometimes eating nothing at all makes me feel just as good as eating a ton. I feel lean and fit. Like if I did this for another 60 days I might be able to obtain abs. I’ll probably also be very dizzy and near death, but I’ll look awesome checking myself out at the gym.

(Abs like these would be great. You know, the abs stoners insist they have because they spend all their money on drugs instead of food. If I can lift you over my head then you don’t have abs. You’re just almost dead)

Watch A Movie: May I suggest not watching Taxi Driver? This is by far the most dangerous movie in existence. It almost got Ronald Reagan killed. It’s my go to depression movie though. Problem is idiots like John Hinckley Jr. take it too seriously. I wouldn’t recommend watching a children’s movie either. The movies kids watch are too happy. Why when I’m bawling my eyes out into some popcorn would I want to see everything work out in an animated character’s favor? Watch something with an annoying ending. Like that Marcy May Marlene Malcolm movie. If you’ve seen the movie you get what I’m saying. If you haven’t, imagine the Wizard of Oz ending in the middle of a line by the gay lion.

Workout: Exercising raises endorphin levels and raised endorphin levels make you happy. That’s what I overheard a bald black man say. It’s true though. Exercising does make people happy. Until you get a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Then you just want to give up and die in the bath tub with a dozen donuts in your naked wet lap. If you’re going to exercise to help your depression I recommend having someone weaker and uglier than you to do the spotting. You may get injured, but at least you look better by comparison. That should cheer you up a tad.

(How does this picture actually exist? I think I found my soul mate)

Socialize: Most depression is caused by antisocial behavior. Except masturbation. I don’t think that has ever made anyone depressed. I find even just yelling something vulgar out my car window at a stranger helps to make me laugh again. I don’t care what people say, socializing is any form of talking to others. Even if it does involve speeding away in a car. Be forewarned, do not socialize with other sad people. Sad people like to bring others down to their levels. So I guess what I’m really trying to say is you should just masturbate instead of taking the risk.

Play With Animals: I don’t mean in a sadistic way either. You should never have animals fight each other. Unless it’s a really cool match-up like a shark versus a lion. I’m not sure how they could ever do that. If you have the chance I think even the head of PETA will give you a pass. They kill their animals anyway. Animals are natural givers of joy. Petting a dog, hugging a cat, or flushing a goldfish down the toilet cannot help but bring a smile to the face of even the most evil person.

(Ever since I was a boy I have been afraid of something attacking me from the toilet. This picture has brought back my rational fear)

Treat Yourself: Whatever it might be, go out and give yourself a treat. Ice cream, a walk in the park, taking a bath, telling your boss to go fuck himself, anything your bleak unwanted heart desires. There’s nothing wrong with you for being depressed. Depression is an emotion. Like happiness, joy, and love. Three things you probably know nothing about. But maybe if you try a little and stop sulking, grab life by the horns, you can find some sense of happiness. Find what makes you happy and do it.

What do you do to cheer yourself up when you’re feeling blue? Don’t say listen to music. I’m making this blog more accessible to the deaf. You’re being insensitive if you go with music. Being insensitive is the last thing you want to be right now as the world is about to come to an end on August 9th.

The second stage of death is anger. Anger is an emotion. One met with a red face and clenched fists. Angry people can be scary looking. Their voices rise. Their farts seem intolerable. I get angry a lot. Rarely do I shout. I’m more someone who will mutter things under my breath. I cannot tell you how many times I have been pissed at someone and as soon as they turned the corner I gave them the double middle-finger. Some people may say I’m a coward for doing this. I say I’m saving my grandma from fainting.

(Yes I flip off my grandma. She was a Nazi war criminal. She had very little involvement in WWII. If you’re not part of the solution then you’re part of the problem. She’s the one on the right here dining with her college roommate’s boyfriend)

Today I want to talk about things that make me furious. I’ll stay away from topics like murderers, child rapists, and line cutters. These screw-heads are clearly hated by us all. I would like to instead focus on my inane anger issues. The times when even I sometimes think I need to take an anger management class.

1) Not having the bathroom to myself

I hate whenever I go into a public bathroom and other people are in there. I like to do my business in private. Sometimes after peeing I like to lift up my shirt in the mirror and remember what shame looks like. I can’t do that with others around. More than not being alone in the bathroom I hate seeing someone head for the bathroom right before I am. I feel obligated to remain seated for at least a little bit. I don’t want to get into some weird situation where I have to pretend to wash my hands longer than need be because he’s too busy hogging the hand dryer. This happens to me at least once a week. To solve the problem I’m thinking about going back to diapers.

(North Korea’s version of ballet. They get as many people as they can to put Depends on over their clothes then they clap in unison. Diplomacy is no longer an option)

2) People who do not respect personal space

When I say personal space I mean anywhere near me. I do not like people to be present. Whether it be in a car one lane over or in the same theater while I am watching a movie, I hate the presence of others. Sometimes I will hear my neighbors outside talking. Instead of going outside to escape a gas leak I will hide inside until their conversation ends. This is how much I hate others. I would rather suffocate to death than have to exchange pleasantries.

3) Unfriendly cashiers

I gave a cashier a $20 bill for a $14.96 item. He gave me back 4 cents. I asked him where the rest of my money was. He told me I gave him $15. Is there a $15 bill? I was not aware. I imagine picture on this bill is someone like Martin Van Buren or Tipsy Gore (or whatever Al Gore’s wife’s name is). I love a cashier who smiles. I guess when I think about it they’re only happy when they’re ones who can work for tips. The rest always seem as miserable as I am. At least they don’t have to stare at their ugly face like I do.

(Keri Russell is just happy to have work after Felicity went off the air. I bet she only works at this restaurant because Ben comes in frequently)

4) Receiving voicemails on my phone

Whenever I get a voicemail I always get excited. I imagine someone has great news. Such great news that they had to call me to tell me about it. Never do they have anything worthwhile to say. They were either bored or have run out of monthly text messages and have to call me a jackass with their voice. Listening to voicemails is so annoying. My mom used to leave the longest voicemails imaginable. I always gave them two minutes then decided it was best to just call her to have her tell me she saw a deer on television. Please do not leave me voicemails without extremely exciting news. I’m always afraid someone has died and I was taking a poop when you called. Now whenever I poop I will be afraid another loved one will be passing on.

5) When someone is a “good writer” then I read their stuff and don’t get it

I’ll admit, I’m pretty dumb. No, really. I swear! Don’t let the brilliance of this blog fool you. I have a very difficult time comprehending even the simplest tasks. I never used a real toilet until I was 17. My home was not carpeted so we managed. What do I consider a good writer? That’s a hard question to answer. To me good means entertaining and understandable. Less is more. What I hear from others as good can be overly complicated and leads to nowhere. I hate books that are overly descriptive. A story should go somewhere. It should have more to say than whatever the moral of the story is. At the very least I shouldn’t be zoning out thinking about movies. If I’m reading your book and thinking about movies you have not done your job.

6) People who ask too many questions

What qualifies as too many questions? More than one. Young people ask too many questions. It really aggravates me. Some might describe my feelings as being “irked.” Young people have bad instincts so it makes sense. That’s why you always hear about high school kids dying in humorous preventable ways. Go with your gut instead of asking someone for the right way to do a task. If you make a mistake, who cares? Someone else will fix it and correct you. If you’re smart enough you’ll remember forever how to do it right.

(The golden days, back when only boys were allowed to ask questions during class)

Plenty more things in life upset me. I’m going to limit this to 6 because as I said earlier, there are things that make all of us angry. There is no point in me going deeper into them. Plus, the world is coming to an end soon. I have things to do before it does, like find the right kind of diaper to wear.

The first stage of death is denial. Isn’t that what Kurt Cobain keeps saying in Smells Like Teen Spirit at the end? “In denial! In denial!” I’m not sure. Kurt Cobain lacked speaking clearly even without a shotgun down his throat. Denying anyone of anything can be hurtful. You can deny people access to anything. You can deny yourself. Denials are all around us. I denied myself a shower this morning. I need to show up to work smelling as badly as possible. I want to be asked to go home for causing a distraction.

Why do denials happen? Jealousy! I blame everything on jealousy. A girl once denied me her phone number. She was jealous if we ever stood aside one another naked I might show her up. She was flimsily built. Her hair on par to a wet rat’s back. I only asked her for her phone number because she was Amish and I wanted to see if they were allowed to have phones. They’re not. They’re also not allowed to put me down nicely without laughing about it with their friends.

(Stop giggling about Mary turning me down and churn some butter you bitches)

Certain establishments must deny certain people admission. Back in the olden days women and minorities would not be allowed into some businesses. No longer is this the case. Now there are places where women and minorities only go. Women have their Coach Purse stores, their nail salons, and planned pregnancies. Minorities have their rap concerts, fried chicken joints, and cash checking centers. I’m allowed into each of these places. I would rather not go into any of them. Boredom and bullet wounds are always on the horizon. Bars do not allow people under the age restriction into their door. If you’re cute enough you can usually get inside despite being underage. Most bouncers are pedophiles. They only applied for the job because they thought it involved knee bouncing. Knee bouncing, the pedophile’s version of stamp collecting.

(Disgusting)

Only one building on earth has my picture placed on the wall behind the counter saying I may no longer enter. Next to my picture is one of Nelson Muntz and George Lucas. This place is a restaurant down at the Jersey Shore. During my early standup comedy days I thought being funny was saying words and phrases like “fart”, “vagina”, and “up your ass and around the corner” were a surefire way to get laughs. The owner of this restaurant/comedy club that can seat 20 jerk-offs did not appreciate my attempts at humor. He folded his arms to let me know he was angry and Italian then told me I was not welcome back. Since my email address at the time was Cheekstheclown, they assumed I would be some dorky clown who makes dumb animals. Now my email address is TimBoyle109. Does this mean I’m some dorky idiot mathematician?

(Nope, don’t see me. Why are the two black guys near each other? The one is sandwiched between two Asians. Why, because he can’t do it on his own and he needs some help from the Chinese? Such a racist cover)

I deny people things at times. I deny my dog food all the time. He’s always begging. He should be happy enough I allow him access to my bathroom to sleep in to beat the heat. Right now he’s lying by the front door wanting something. I can’t figure it out. He probably hears the ice cream truck. Christ he’s fat. I also deny people into my life a lot. It’s difficult for me to allow someone new to enter. Meeting someone new is work. You have to get to know everything about them and then accept their flaws. Yuck. It’s frightening. What if they don’t like me? What will they think of my strange moles? What will I think of their strange scars? How long into our friendship do I ask about them? This is why I can never make new friends. I jump too quickly to worry they have some murdering father after them who is coming to finish the job. I do not want to be collateral damage.

(I don’t want him to tug on my hair either. Hair pulling is only for the bedroom. Even then it’s annoying. Stop trying to seem tough. It’s hair. You’re not strong for being able to pull it ladies. It’s decided, I’m shaving my head)

A good undertaking we can all do is to deny less, invite more. Denying anything from your life can have reverse effects. You may binge on whatever bit of whatever it is you deny yourself once you get ahold of it. Most important you should not be in denial about yourself and who you are. This can leave you less aware. You become more vulnerable to the monsters out there in life. Get past stage one of death and this end of the world thing on August 9th will be a lot easier on you.

Since the Doomsday Clock refuses to cooperate with mankind and the world will most certainly end on August 9, 2012; I have decided to prepare you for the end. With my help, over the next week or so I will guide you through the 5 Stages of Death.

This was another installment of poorly constructed Microsoft Paint pictures.

One day the world will end. No matter what you believe in this is fact. Something 6,000 years old, like earth, cannot possibly last too much longer. Armageddon is nearing. A homeless guy with a sign told me so. He believes that the end is nigh so badly that he was willing to take the door off his home and write about it in his own feces to warn others. Of course the door to his home is a cardboard sign. I think it used to be a Cap’n Crunch box. What he couldn’t tell me was how everything would come to an end. That’s my mission today. To scare paranoid people.

The most obvious way the world will end is like that movie The Happening. Flowers and trees will convince people to commit suicide. I don’t get how a patch of grass could ever control somebody’s survival instincts. What a bad movie. M. Night shouldn’t be allowed to make movies without ghosts. And Bruce Willis has to get shot by a naked guy in the bathroom in the opening scene to all of these. It’s the perfect formula to a memorable movie.

(From the film The Sixth Sense when Patrick Swayze suffocates himself with the palm of his own hand)

Actually, I think the most plausible way for the world to end would be a meteor. It happened before. Millions of years ago. It crashed into the Yucatan Peninsula which is located right next to Mexico. Darn! Poor meteor travels all this way to take out Mexico and it just misses. We’re probably due for a meteor to crash into us. Occasionally they do smash into earth and cause inconvenience. I know there was a bad one in Russia around 100 years ago. It burned down a forest. So a meteor’s impact is about as powerful as a man chucking a cigarette out the window into a pile of leaves. When did the power of a meteor decline so badly? You used to kill dinosaurs and The Flinstones. Get your act together meteorites! You’re an embarrassment to all things catastrophic.

Floods, fires, diseases, and volcanic eruptions are the boring ways for us all to die. Floods sound too thirst quenching. Fires can be prevented by stop, dropping, and rolling. Catching a deadly disease means you need to stop shaking so many hands. And the only volcanic eruption we need to worry about is the one in Yosemite. Supposedly that entire National Park is something called a super volcano. Don’t let the word super fool you. Usually super means good. Like Superman or Super Fresh. A super volcano does not rescue orphans or offer great weekly deals. It explodes then causes a chain reaction of other calamities. My knowledge of Yosemite may or may not come from the movie 2012. Best part of that movie, nothing bad happened to Africa. That’s where they say that they were going to head off to. I’m sure those Warlords will be thrilled to see John Cusack show up with the wealthiest white people in the world.

(The African Welcoming Committee, headed by Joseph Francis Kony)

More recently it has been thought that computers may kill us all. If anything the computers will make us all sterile. We’re more likely to have a Children of Men on our hands than a Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines. Can’t we always defeat them by throwing water or coffee onto the robots? I can’t even sweat onto a keyboard without it giving me problems. Some believe that it will not necessarily be big giant cyborgs attacking us. The more likely scenario would be that every electronic device breaks. We’ll be scrambling around to find solar-powered toasters. Probably start eating each other out of our lack of crispy morning treats. Pillsbury will be out of business. I guess we won’t care too much. The only way they’d be able to advertise at that point is via billboard. We’ll all be too busy unwrapping television cords from around our children’s necks to take notice of the latest marketing scheme.

There are more science fiction-type ways for the world to come to a conclusion. Things like alien invasions or nuclear holocausts. It would be kind of funny if we use our nukes to kill the aliens but it kills us all at the same time. Funny probably isn‘t the correct word but I‘m running out of steam here. The likely hood of aliens invading seems to me like it would have already happened by now. Aliens never procrastinate. A nuclear holocaust is very likely. I would place a bet that this is how the world will eventually come to an end. Is it wrong to gamble on the extinction of the human race? I’m over 21 so it’s probably legal.

(Say what you want, this is a gorgeous way for us to all die)

How do you hope the world ends? I’d mark out for a zombie uprising. The way you kill zombies always tips everyone off on how creative of a person you are.

I have a lot of sick fantasies. Most involve girls from high school, duct tape, a dark room, VA VA DOOM!!!, and me in a rabbit costume. Others are more realistic and much sicker. How sick? You be the judge.

Sick Fantasy Number 1:

I want a debilitating injury or illness that leaves me hospital bound. Thinking logically, I don’t want this. I don’t want the pain or fear of having something seriously wrong with me. It’s a terrible thing. Thinking illogically, this is a thought that gets me hard.

Being in the hospital means a lot of great things. For one, I don’t have to go to work. I don’t mind my job. It’s just the waking up and going there that’s annoying. If I’m hospital bound, I don’t have to go through that stress of dragging myself out of bed so I have enough money to pay for the gas to–get me to work? Shit. That doesn’t make sense.

I’ve ever spent much time in hospitals. I have no memory of ever spending the night in one. Television and movies have tricked me into thinking hospitals are fun places. All desks have lollipops and all nurses are sassy. It seems like fun. I can lie in my bed and write all day long. I haven’t been in a hospital since the Internet was readily available. I can only imagine how much fun it would be now to be there recovering after a car accident. You could play The Sims all day long and nobody will think you’re wasting your time on a fake life instead of a real life. You’re sick. All is forgiven.

In 3rd grade I had a project due that I was struggling with. It involved a lot of gluing, not my strong suit. I remember silently wishing that I would get hurt and not have to finish it. A week later I broke my leg. My teacher said that I didn’t have to finish the project if I didn’t want to. I lucked out that time. I had an injury that I recovered from easily and got out of working with construction paper for a week. My true sick fantasy didn’t come true, but I got what I wanted out of it. An excuse to be unproductively lazy.

Sick Fantasy Number 2:

I guess this is the same as my first in a way. I still want to delve into it to try to convince myself that it’s something I would like. Delve is the correct word, right? When you want to dip your hand into a topic? You only ever delve into ideas and thoughts. Nobody delves into a swimming pool or a pair of underpants. We really need to use the word more.

Onto my fantasy, I want to be in a coma. Actually, I don’t. Or maybe I do? I’m not sure yet. I think it would be kind of cool though to be one of those people who are in a coma for a few years and then comes out of it. You know, if I had a baseball hit me in the head right now and didn’t wake up for 5 years, so much would be different. The president might be someone I’ve never even heard of. At least one celebrity that I like will be dead. A new genre of music will exist for me to hate. I’ll get to fast forward through the bullshit of it all and go straight into the future. Time travel doesn’t exist? Ask those who have been in a coma!

I know this would never happen. My family wouldn’t be able to afford it. That’s funny in a sick sort of way. Most people who survive long stints in a coma come out of it with gigantic medical bills. They have to spend the rest of their lives paying off the bills. Liquid steak is expensive. Here you are, a medical miracle who survived all those years on life support and they slap you with a huge bill that your stupid family has given you because they thought it’s what you wanted. The worst thing about being in a coma would be that you could never write a book about your experience. It would just be “One second I was studying for my mathematics final at university, the next I was turning 40.” Living with a coma might not be as much fun as I thought. I still wouldn’t mind it. Using the logic of numbers, if I sleep for 5 straight years then I won’t have to sleep for the next 5. Imagine all that I can get accomplished!

Sick Fantasy Number 3:

This might be the most common one and the only that another human being can agree with. I want to live in a post-apocalyptic world. I don’t mean a sad version of it either. I mean a cool Mad Max one. I want to wear spikes on my shoulders. Have to fight cannibals with big swords that I don’t know the proper name of or where I got it from. That’d be so badass.

After the apocalypse, law would no longer matter. I can do whatever it is I want and know the thrill of what it’s like to kill a bad guy on a motorcycle. I think that would be really neat. I mean, I have to die someday. Why not it be with the chance to experience a present day society and that of one after nuclear holocaust?

I know how I’d want to die too. I would want to be fighting some bad guys and they’d kill me in front of a good friend. Possibly someone I have mentored. He’ll vow vengeance and go on a historic mission to claim that vendetta. He’ll kill a whole army of bad guys in my honor. I’d probably get a school named after me or a statue made to my likeness. Too bad at that point schools will be brothels and statues will be steel sex dolls. We can kill the earth, but we can never kill the human libido.

When the Apocalypse does come next year on December 21 at exactly 12:21 PM Mountain Time like Jesus said, things are going to get hairy. Many of us will die terrible deaths. We’ll be consumed by tsunamis, fall through the cracks in the earth, and one of us will be crushed by that car that hangs out of Planet Hollywood restaurants. Then there are some of us that will survive. Those of us who are prepared. We’ll have food, guns, joke books, and other imperative items that ensure survival. I hope I’m one of those people.

Finally there are those of us who have no clue that the Apocalypse is coming and yet will still survivor. They are stoners. I believe that stoners will be the last earthly beings, as long as they continue to be able to grow their pot supply and they don’t accidentally break their copies of “Grandma’s Boy” or “Dazed and Confused.”

The Apocalypse is set to happen on a Friday. Stoners all over the place will “light it up” as the cool kids say, and wait out the end of the world in their apartments/mom’s basements. What gives them the biggest advantage in a post-life world is that they have been preparing for this time their entire working 12 hours a week lives.

Storms and volcanic ash will blot out the sun making it dark at all times. Stoners usually don’t wake up until around 4 in the afternoon anyway. In the winter, that’s an hour of sunlight that they see, tops. They don’t need sunlight to survive like the rest of us. They’re like super heroes, but lazier and with no real power. Maybe they’re more like Popeye but instead of spinach it’s marijuana.

Something else that we’ll all have to worry about during the Apocalypse is food. Another thing that stoners seem to be able to survive without. At least, that is, real food. Forever stoners have been training their bodies to survive on non-perishable, man-made snacks. Twinkies have the urban legend surrounding them that they never go bad. I read in a Yahoo article that they do go bad after about 2 years, but when has a stoner ever eaten food that wasn’t expired? As long as the food supplied to the stoner doesn’t involve any hand-eye-coordination in opening, stoners will eat like kings. Three year old picky eating kings!

The biggest advantage all stoners have is getting out of a sticky situation when they’re in trouble. In the new world, stoners will be yelled at by tribal chiefs in mud skirts that used to be executives of major corporations. For years stoners have been manning up by being yelled at by their parents. They’re built to survive brute force to the body and mind. What stoner hasn’t crashed a car and survived? You find me one and I tell you the shit he’s smoking isn’t any good. Don’t let their thin arms and lack of shoulders fool you, stoners are tough sons of bitches who know how to get out of any trouble that comes their way. Unless they’re grounded again. Then they’ll probably need a ride somewhere.

If I’m wrong about all of this and stoners are the first to die, then it doesn’t matter. They won’t care anyway. The rest of us could learn a lesson from them and be more apathetic about life. It may help us live longer.