Selling rapture insurance was really quite a stroke of luck for us here at the Vomitola bunker. Lambchop is building houses and making a bikini library out of all the money that’s rolling in, just in case we don’t get to use it. Not that we’d get raptured, but it might catch on fire because it is paper. I bought an F-16 and a Boeing 747-8 because Gulfstreams aren’t expensive enough anymore. I also bought John Travolta to fly the planes for me. He’s not going anywhere, let’s be honest. He’s the last to know. Or maybe that’s his wife.
So now we wait. Wait until when, exactly, I’m not sure. I’ve heard 6 p.m. on May 21, but does that account for time zones? Surely the world doesn’t revolve around Eastern Standard Time. I need to know if I will have time to fit in the rest of my pre-rapture plans. Like should I bother making brunch reservations?
I also think it is our mission to leave a message for posterity for all alien civilizations that might encounter our ravaged planet in the future.Â They will need to know all the most important things about the cream of our society, namely us. Well, Lambchop has the most adorable feet, and I really hate surprise raisins in food. Not that I inherently dislike raisins, but I do like to know if they are in the cards before I take a bite. Lambchop is also a painter of some renown. Lord knows how many times I have awakened to find her handiwork on my face!
There is so much more to say than even those most important facts. We’ll be broadcasting the entire contents of Vomitola.com into space for the next 10,000 years, assuming of course that Sir Ian McKellen can finish the audio in time. I can’t wait to hear how he interprets the animated GIFs of a nonplussed Bea Arthur.
We’ll also be providing clear explanations as to why God saw fit to smite our world, in simple terms all creatures can understand:
Please, alien bringers of hope, let such mistakes not be repeated. Xenu, forgive us our foolishness.