I Feel Fine

I'm very glad that I took the time last Sunday to mow the lawn. Even though the skies were threatening and it began to spit rain as I finished the job, it was a relief to have a nicely manicured yard before the end of the world as we know it came. I'm talking about the Rapture. It's been a great reason to make sure that I get little things done around the house. No more dishes left in the sink. Get those cobwebs out of the corners. I know that it's all coming to an end, but I can't help but think that I will have other things on my mind once the fire and brimstone show up.
See, we're supposed to have five months of earthly torment starting today that will last until the universe collapses on October twenty-first. My first reaction would be the cynical one, which would be to ask, "How will we know when this particular torment begins?" I think I speak for many of us who have lived through the last decade or so and wonder how much worse the End Times might be than the second Bush administration.
The next reaction would be more proactive: My family and I have a plan in case of an earthquake, and even though I have probably assured my own personal damnation after years of making fun of people and things that might have assured me a trip to Paradise, I would like our last five months on Earth to be comfortable. As it crumbles around us. We've got a tent, and Clif bars, and a wide assortment of canned goods. I suppose it would be everlasting torment to be stuck in a tent with all that fruit cocktail and no can opener, but we were careful to put one of those in the kit as well.
We've even got a plan to figure out where the rest of the tribe has gone if we get separated. Since land lines will probably be down, we will make a cell phone call to my mother, who happens to live in a more seismic-friendly state: Colorado. In the event of a biblical catastrophe, I figure she's still a pretty safe bet, as she's about as reverent a person as I can name. I understand this is a sliding scale, but since I don't have Harold Camping's digits, she'll have to do.
In the meantime, I hope you all have Internet access for the duration of our time in agony, but I will encourage you not to spend your last five months looking at Lolcats. I'm pretty sure that it is Satan's work.