The rousing conclusion to my INCREDIBLE novel, Leather to the Corinthians, which will be available later this year. Enjoy.
It’s now that time on the show when we turn to our personal hand-tooled leather bound copy of the Book of Revelations and Traditional Wok Cooking the Old School Way.
Turn to Page 3.
The Book Of Revelations is your handy guide to the obvious signs that the sky is falling, Chicken Littles. The low priests in the high office and the high-on priests in the front office have convened over beers and burritos, sacrificed two small barnyard animals and have DINED AND DASHED. They have scoped out the scenery and it does not bode well.
The dark shadow trail of Armageddon has loomed above us, and jeez, do you know how much a movie costs these days? It’s like they make popcorn out of solid gold. They want you to stay home.
It is said that a lone figure, distant and unclear, will step to the plate and callout the downward spiral of life on this miserable speck of a speck on the Demigod of the Month’s sorry, omnipotent, pimply ass. This figure brandishes a trumpet to punctuate every end-of-life-as-we-know-it Kodak moment.
And when that dark Big Band Sound starts to wail, baby, and get ready to dig the bitter end.
The trumpet blows once, and your Ed McMahon sealed envelope with your possible winnings arrives via registered mail to you EI Rancho Villa style home. This envelope, along with all its contents spells, when the first letter of every sentence in the Free Truck Early-Bird Offer, the word Babylon, which of course is an anagram for SPAM IS COMING. This is also known as the opening of the first seal act, or the falling of the tower of Potted Meat Product.
The What’s On Second Seal is all that typical stuff: the sea turns to fire, the moon becomes the color of money, no smoking signs go up everywhere, the animals finally admit they can talk, and hailstones the size of volleyballs fall to Earth causing irreparable damage to Gulf Coast homes with no hurricane insurance. After the opening of the second seal, clothing decorated with Professional Athletic Team logos is suddenly affordable.
The first stage of the Apocalypse, consisting of the opening of the first and 2nd seals will last approximately 6 months, to begin on a Monday and end on a Monday, with one long weekend off so that everyone can get to know the Antichrist on a private junket to Barbados. Pack sunscreen.
Speaking of the Antichrist, he will make himself known initially through a series of Top 10 hit records in the popular alternative music market. Capitalizing on current consumer trends, he will sell his mark through mass merchandising, social networking, microblogging, direct mail, QVC, and cold-call telemarketing.
He’ll go right to the top, baby.
The third seal involves the arrival of the four dreaded Horsemen of the Apocalypso: War, Death, Famine, and Cheney. Each harbinger brings (hence the term harbinger) their own thematic style of awfulness. This is immediately a disappointment to all four horsemen as War, Death, and Famine have all been present on the planet for some time. Cheney, however, could always threaten to run again.
At this point, our trumpeter blows on fine solo — but is he appreciated? No. Rather that listen to a neat jazz groove, people will stand around, ridicule Christians, drink beer, and buy souvenir T-shirts. Cable TV rates skyrocket (again).
There will also be these pain-in-the-ass people who insist that you stream your media, and upload all you personal data to the cloud. These idiots are to be shot on sight. Trust me, you will be very happy you did.
The fourth seal, when broken, will result in the issuing of fetish leather wear (similar in style to the outfit Mel Gibson wore in the Road Warrior) to each and every citizen. This was not in the original script, but the art director thought it would give it a nice feel or something like that. He mumbles, so who knows what page from Maxim magazine he’s ripping off?
As soon as all the costumes are handed out, the beheadings continue.
The fifth seal, also know as Double Coupon day, and in some mythologies, BOGO day, is when, to a world that seemingly could take no more punishment, rock-bottom prices skyrocket, then hit bottom again. At this point even those hardcore individuals who still had hope in humanity will simply shrug, shake their heads, and hold out their hands as a gesture of futility.
On an even larger scale, all the plain-belly Sneetches will want to be star-bellied Sneetches, and this guy appears and he happens to have a machine that allows them get stars on their bellies and vice versa. The Sneetches get into a frenzy and eventually nobody will know who’s who. Kind of like buying clothes at the Gap.
The sixth and final seal is the big doozy, the final kick in the pants: the Calgon Take Me Away Born-Again Rapture Fiesta. At this point nothing matters — steal a TV, send your Big Mac back because it was cold when you got it, have unprotected sex, jaywalk, trout fish clearly over the limit, have five drinks too many, call your mother, sign up for classes whose times overlap, return your movies late, screw your sister, eat fatty foods, forget your homework, lie, cheat, steal, see evil, hear evil, speak evil, stop making sense, reveal your nefarious/villainous plot because the hero of your story is facing certain death, act like Scott Baio in the morning. In short, everything you do anyway. If there’s something you always wanted to regret doing, do it because big nasties like Godzilla and such will come out of the Earth and crush every trailer park still standing.
And if this wasn’t enough for you, a terrible contagion that will literally cause you flesh to explode off your body will become popular with the late-night set, who will discover infection right around fourth meal. This lines up nicely with a TV broadcast where the President will announce full disclosure, yes there are aliens and all that noise, but guess what, there is a freaking meteor about to hit the earth and life expectancy has gone from 74.5 years to roughly 10 minutes or so. The broadcast is interrupted by agents of the Illuminati, who admit, yeah we pretty much made up everything in your history books. Why? Because, they will explain, they were very, very bored and people are stupid. Then, for that last 10 minutes of ridiculous life, every perpetrating mofo on the planet from the lizard people to the schmuck who designed pill bottles to be hard to open grab the mic and admit their sins.
This is of course too little, too late.
This is the final checkout time, all keys must be at the front desk and any call made will be charged to your room. X-rated movies will be charged as well. Nothing will be left, this is the end of our long and tedious going out of business sale. Somebody has just asked God how many licks does it take to get to the center of this mudball and he has responded: press 3 to delete.
It’s been nice knowing you, Happy Trails and all that crap, don’t let the door hit ya in the ass on the way out, see yuh suckers, thank you Cleveland, Goodnite!