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Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Alternate Endings

            With the Rapture media event recently past, I thought it might be a good time to look at other world ending scenarios. It isn’t my desire to add to the anxiety bonfire started on Saturday; so, if you feel overwhelmed with doom and gloom stop reading and immediately watch Mary Poppins or even an episode of The Brady Bunch. When you feel better you can come back and read the next item on my list of gruesome endings. 

            Chocalypse Now

            In a dark, mirthless lair an evil scientist develops a genetically engineered blight that causes the world’s cocoa crop to wither and die. Within weeks housewives and children turn into confection-starved zombies that wander cities, towns, and hamlets in search of hidden hoards of sugary gold. Husbands and fathers work tirelessly to save their candy-craving loved ones from a fate of chocolate undeath. When the last stockpiles of chocolate are depleted civilization collapses into bitter heaps.
            What kind of a fiend could contemplate unleashing this sort of madness on the Earth? Ask yourself that next time one of your family, friends, or co-workers turns down a heavenly chocolate morsel.


            The mild form of this viral infection is known as Bieber Fever. Teenage girls are especially susceptible to this plague. Onset of the condition usually manifests in loud screaming and wild gyrations of the body until they eventually swoon into an unconscious euphoria. The virus is unique in as much as potential victims seem to seek out the means to self-inflict the disorder and flee all attempts to treat them.
            Unfortunately, Justinestis-bebierium, as the disease is scientifically known, has reached pandemic proportions. In the advanced stages, secondary infection can target the family and friends of the primary carriers of this pestilence. These collateral victims lose their appetite, become feverish, and eventually lapse into a coma. During this period of inactivity the bacteria swiftly act to transform the pseudo-dead into exact duplicates of the idolized singing sensation.
            Riots are known to ensue whenever two or more of the Bieber clones come together. The carriers are drawn to any Bieber-esque figure they see; however, the transformed victims have a wide range of reactions to one another. The most common interaction is to take turns performing and admiring the experience that is Justin Bieber. In other cases screeching, hair-pulling fights may ensue in an effort to prove that they are the one and only real Justin Bieber.
            Inevitably, society devolves into a single multi-continent concert that never ends.

            Clown Wars

            It isn’t always disaster or disease that accounts for the Earth’s last days. Sometimes hubris brings about the downfall of mankind. In this case, a cable network with a penchant for comedy announces “The World’s Funniest Joke” contest. When it was over – no one was laughing.
            Contestants paired off in gladiatorial style matches. They started with comedy basics; slap-stick at ten paces. The comedy rolled off the battlefield like bad toupees off Donald Trump. Then things got serious. Seriously funny that is. Barbed innuendos were broadcast into homes all over America and then Europe. Other countries retaliated against the laughable assault. Entire arsenals were launched against the unwary citizens of the world: stealth limericks, aerosol dispersed punch-lines, and bomber dropped monologues.
            As nations crumbled under the unstoppable power of raw humor, people on the street took up the cause. Joke dealers made fortunes catering to people’s funny bones. Puns, quips, and one-liners became the tools of comicality for the average man and woman on the street.
            It all stopped when a satire impeded Minnesota retiree shouted, “That ain’t funny. It ain’t funny at all.” The world teetered on the brink of cosmic absurdity and was brought back to the safe haven of theatrical tragedy by Bob Johnson, a bitter seventy year old.
            Way to go, Bob.

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