Last Train to Doomsday

Dark days are upon us, my friends.

Japan fell apart, struck by a tsunami and now impending nuclear meltdown. Libya is a chaotic maelstrom of fire and death with Gaddafi bombing the crap out of his own people to show he's got the hugest dick in the Sahara. Stateside, the GOP is declaring war on Planned Parenthood, National Public Radio and anything else that gives liberals hope.

Also, Charlie Sheen is still batshit crazy and selling out live performances.

If the first two months are an indicator, 2011 is going to be rife with violence, bloodshed and bullshit. We're winging through the end of days, when the cosmic lamb takes a massive dump on the dragon's scaly head and casts the planet's lawyers in a fiery lake.

While destroying all layers is not a particularly ominous portent, the rest is a phantasmagoric nightmare of society winding down.

Those birds dying en masse have cut out of the party early, leaving the few stragglers to clean up the vomit, put the panties back on the soiled debutantes and shut off the lights.

Yes, the party is over.

America, you beautiful dicktease with smeared lipstick and a purse filled with condom wrappers and phone numbers hastily scribbled on cocktail napkins is hooking up for the last time. She's getting one last fuck in before the lights go out and she's in the bathroom deciding who to hook up with. The old gal has mileage on her, and only wants to be ridden hard and put away wet before the Apocalypse.

Speaking of sexually active women in their 30s and 40s, the eastern cougar, once a proud and noble large cat is no more. The elegant beast, which inhabited the forests and mountains from Canada to the Mid-Atlantic has gone extinct. Just another casualty in a world where life is as cheap as a pair of Crocs.

But it's okay. The cougars are only one of the species checking out early. They came to the party, probably brought a bottle of chardonnay, milled around the cheese plate and were hunted to the brink of extinction before they left. They rushed out in such a hurry they didn't even retrieve their coats from the bed.

In a world where death is commonplace and violence and oppression consumed like high fructose corn syrup, the extinction of the eastern cougar isn't big news. Merely registers a blip on the radar.

We're sailing off into the horizon, a planet swinging around the sun, twirling along its orbit while its inhabitants tear apart everything like locusts in a cornfield. But these locusts are particularly angry and carry guns.

So party hard, my wayward children. Imbibe your sweet nectar and devour ambrosia like Olympian gods, for tomorrow we all may die. It might be in a wall of water, a hail of bullets or a nuclear Armageddon. Or we might plummet through a crack in the earth. No matter how we go just remember, like our beloved deceased friend the eastern cougar, we were once alive, once felt the warm sun on our faces, once smelled the sweet air and existed for a short time on this merciless yet wonderful planet.