Kevin Brennan Is Self-Publishing His New Novel
It just dawned on me. The apocalypse has commenced!
I was trying to explain to myself all the crappy things that have been happening on this globe, from climate change to Trump’s election, when it occurred to me that everything is connected.
It’s not a coincidence that we’ve lost our national mind the same year Britain does. Or that California is getting doused with record-breaking rains just as Italy signs on to the earthquake-a-week plan. Or that each and every one of “President” Trump’s cabinet appointments has been chosen because of their documented objection to the mission of the department they’ll be running. Or that corporations like Volkswagen calculate the risk/benefit ratio of equipping their cars with smog-test defeat gear and decide it’s worth it to pump forty times the allowable toxins into the air if it means boffo sales. Or that our leaders think that more than thirty million people losing their health insurance is a reasonable price to pay for the political satisfaction of repealing Obamacare. Jerusalem looms in the news too. Oh goody.
You know I could go on. And on.
All of this can mean only one thing, and that is that the End Times predictors were right. Mostly they thought the shit would hit the fan around the year 2000, so we’re already running a little late. No, these have not been particularly delightful years since then, so it’s not like we made the most of the delay. September 11th. The Iraq war. The war in Afghanistan. The Great Recession. 2 Broke Girls. So much devastation.
I think we can all agree that Donald Trump is the Antichrist. It’s good to have that settled, so we can scratch Barack Obama off the list, and all the other progressive people Jerry Falwell accused of it at one time or another. It’s clear that Johnny Rotten was just kidding when he claimed the moniker. Not sure, though, what he meant by, “Cos I, I wanna be anarchy! No dogsbody!”
Now, the good news, as I understand it, is that the Antichrist only rules for forty-two months. I know, that’s just a little bit shy of four years, but at least this tells us that Trump isn’t a two-term Antichrist. Small blessings, eh? On the other hand, he will dish out a lot of pain over those forty-two months, I’m sure, and it won’t be a barrel of laughs. For one thing, we’re all going to have to have the mark of the beast on our foreheads if we want to buy food and stuff, but instead of “666” It’ll be something creepy, like the image opposite. Right there on your forehead.
The Antichrist is doomed to wind up in the lake of fire, but for all we know that could mean he heads down to Mar-A-Lago, having been “fired.” Impeachment? We’ll have to wait and see.
I don’t know what proper behavior is during the apocalypse, so I guess the only thing to do is wing it. I have to admit, I did not see this coming. What does one wear as civilization unravels and it begins to rain brimstone and frogs? Should one still buy season tickets? Where can I get some magic mushrooms? So many questions …
Whatever the case, take care of yourself during the coming tribulations, and keep telling yourself that forty-two months isn’t so very long, then it’ll all be over with. Bigly.