Around lunchtime on Friday, having coffee with friends, someone mentioned that the world was about to end. It was the first we’d heard of it, and the wife – mildly annoyed – mentioned that it would’ve been nice to have had a bit more notice.
So we skipped plans for a movie and early night and decided – seeing as it was the Apocalypse and all – to instead have drinks with friends and say goodbye.
“Ha!” I thought, “No morning means no hangover!” Definitely no babalazi in Heaven… and you’d probably not notice in Hell – what with all the fire and screaming.
Champagne and questions about what you wished you’d done rounded the table. Regrets were cried over and forgotten. Those who’d lived a good life said they’d wave down at me shovelling soot and stoking Beelzebub’s bonfire.
We wondered if the Four Horsemen would turn up on Harley’s instead, if Jesus would make his comeback on ‘Pop Idol’ or ‘Dancing with the Damned’ for maximum exposure, and whether it’d be brain-eating zombies or Kurt Darren treffers that’d destroy us all.
I couldn’t help wondering if the minority that really truly actually 100% BELIEVED that the world was spitting off the cliffs of Armageddon were sitting in their compound biting their nails with worry, or were they secretly hoping that this time they’d got it right so a wagging finger and a self-righteous “I told you so” could be directed at all the heathens.
Quite probably the latter, because you must look a bit foolish when a week passes and the Big Man hasn’t smited (or is it ‘smitten’) the smelly non-believers.
How embarrassing to have to go to CUM books in Canal Walk and ask for your job back, or repurchase the loudhailer and sandwich board with ‘The End is Hear’ scrawled across it.
But for all we know it happened! The only problem is that the world is so poked and miserable we didn't really notice.
But in Hell the coffee's always cold, your cornflakes usually soggy, and traffic is a bitch... and that's before you get to work.
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