Only four more days until the Rapture and we are pretty stymied about what to do with the rest of the time.  To be sure, our “To Do” lists are as crammed and full of squiggles as ever.  But do I really need to rotate my wardrobe when there are only 4 days left of spring? Surely, closet space will be plentiful with so many of you vacating to the clouds or being eaten by radioactive mutants. 

Like most things in life, I find myself getting excited but then ultimately bored and depressed by the prospect of the world coming to an end.  It is a joy to think of not having to show up to work on Monday, perhaps to spend the day armoring a stolen car or working on a painting.  No longer will I have to listen to your children whine at breakfast at the cafe, while you indulge their wretchedness to a faulty degree.  But I know that something will come along and ruin it for me.  Like Burgess Meredith in the Twilight Zone, I will trip and shred the last remaining pair of David Bowie’s pants, left on this rock beneath the unbearable sun without Pants*, forever!  The giddy excesses of the post-Rapture world, the murderous looting will subside and I will still be required to do paperwork.  Ho Hum.

And yet I do not envy those who will be Rapturing on up to Heaven.  The idea does not appeal at all,  for infinite reasons.  But need I say more than:  Christian Rock Music.  Seventh Day Slumber anyone?  No, thanks. 

But I have to hand it to my better half, the Rapture Insurance business is booming.  We are going to make a vacation yurt thatched entirely out of money.  Obscene displays of wealth will have to be managed quickly.  What if they are simply not meaningful in our end time aftermath?  Who could have foreseen that our already vague and listless existences might yet become *more* meaningless?  Oh now you see why it is all so dull to contemplate.  I had better get back to my finest mixtape yet, “Goodbye to the Human Race”. 

*Not just any pants, but very sexy pants.