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February 6, 2007

2.6.07

Today's excessively cheerful topic is: The End of the World.

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David: Custodian

The last living thing on Earth was a kind of mold. It lived near the equator, on a rock that hadn’t existed when humans had inhabited the planet. It called itself Frank and it contained the essence of everything that had ever lived.

Frank spread itself thin across the surface of its rock, soaking up the feeble rays from the bloated red sun above, and it remembered. It knew everyone and everything that had come before, and it loved them all. Frank sighed happily; the long journey was over.

Frank was at peace.

Above him, the sun began to contract.

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Stacy: Closing Time

“I’m serious, I just heard it on the news. There’s a comet heading this way and it’s going to wipe out all life.”

Her big blue eyes got even bigger, as the tears started.

“No, baby, it’s ok, I’m here. Why don’t we go back to my place and just crawl under the covers. At least we’ll have each other until the… sniff …end.”

She took put down her drink and slid off the barstool, taking his outstretched hand.

A sultry brunette slinked by, eyeing the blonde pityingly.

“Jesus, Director Griffin, don’t you ever get busted on that comet line?”

Read more from Stacy's .

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Ted: Ms. Savage: Time Guide

"Miss, you are pregnant. Congratulations." The doctor looked happy to be delivering this news. The big asshole.

He didn't understand that I had spent the last 28 fucking years working on an education, starting my own business, and making a name for myself. There was no one else in this business as good or as tough as me. Not bragging, simple truth. And my fees showed just exactly how well my clients thought of my talents.

But pregnant?!

Shit, my life is over. My world!

I finally decide to lose my cherry, to another guide no less, and this happens.

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Jeff R.:A Turn for the Verse

(With woefully inadequate apologies to Robert Frost)

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice,
Still others floods, or plague, or else,
Get overrun by rabid mice.

Or maybe one night God won't set
His alarm clock,
And gravity will cease to work,
And we'll all fly right off this rock.

Perhaps a glowing meteor
Or toxic spill
Will make the graves give up their dead,
And zombies for our brains will kill.

Of course, there's always us: a war,
Or accident
Or Elder Gods who own the Earth
Might show up, asking for back rent.

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Tanya: Untitled

“I can’t believe you got us this room,” she whispered, looking out from the balcony at the twinkling city below. It was surprisingly quiet, but they could hear voices of other people sitting outside. Most of them were whispering too.

He hugged her gently, then returned to the luxurious penthouse to drag the chairs outside. Opening the Perrier Jouet, he poured them each a glass. They toasted and nibbled Godiva truffles, holding hands and giggling like teenagers.

Finally, she snuggled against his shoulder and they were silent, watching the first of the nuclear warheads as they streaked across the horizon.

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