Rest ye wee little worries, for the Rapture will happen.  How could that crazy guy in the Port Authority Bus Terminal be wrong?  Just because his trousers double as a toilet, he may still have god’s ear.  But what if doomsday comes and goes, and no one notices?  I mean, what if it does not change anything?  So the good people of the Earth all get whisked away in a flash of light or a slight drizzle.  Do you know many such worthy fellows?  The only truly perfect person I can think of is my dealer.  Any time, day or night, you can call that guy.   My mother is not on my speed dial, but Jayjay really comes through.  You people are not likely to miss him, but I am picturing a dark future indeed. 

So I have to keep my votives lit for all-out annhilation.   Now is not the time to relax our expectations.  The world is my oatmeal cookie, and I am going to eat it!  In deference to  you, Mary, the raisins are well advertised.

I have a friend who, though he claims to appreciate science fiction, is raining on my Rapture parade.  Tired of the whole business, it would seem.  Tough tomatoes, cretin, I am going to continue to cheer for the demise of this preposterous civilization, and the checks will keep rollin on in.  Licketysplit has her own bunny mansion and a jet for each tender little foot.  I am designing a line of feminine hygiene products.  Tampon$, made entirely of money.  All the Real Housewives are clamoring for them.  Stuff with cash, ladies, time’s running out!