-----------------------------------------------------------------
Many thousands of years ago, there lived a young Mayan boy, whom we shall call Joe. Now, Joe was fascinated with the night sky and would spend hours each night watching the stars. Many of the stars already had names, but as Joe watched the sky night after night, week after week, month after month and year after year, he began to assign names to more of them. He also began to notice that the stars followed a pattern that was repeated every year. He also watched the moon travel across the heavens, periodically hiding its face from view. And so, working from his observations, Joe began to calculate and create a calendar that could last into the eons. For decades, Joe would write down the next few months and then chisel away at his round stone. Joe only took enough time away from his project to go his wedding, which his parents arranged, and each night work diligently to get her with child. However, he never took enough interest in his children, nor they in his work, to consider passing on his knowledge of the calendar. So it was that when he was a very old man, at least in his fifties, his health began to rapidly decline and his sight, which had begun to fade from his years of staring at the symbols he had carved into the stone, finally left him. Now, he was in a bit of a pickle. He had finished his written calculations up until the winter solstice of the year we now call 2012, but there was no way to finish even this much. So, he begged his oldest son, whom we’ll call Paul, to finish his project, at least insofar as his last calculations. At first, Paul wanted to refuse, having a bad case of daddy issues and all, but his mother and wife made him reconsider. This was, after all, his father’s last wish, and the gods would most likely be angry at Paul for disrespecting his elder more than they would be angry at Joe’s many, many years of neglect. So, Paul relented and, over the course of many years, put the last few symbols on the stone. There was plenty of room left for more years, but Paul didn’t know how to calculate them, and Joe had died, happy in the knowledge that his son would carry out his final wish.
And so, the millennia passed. The knowledge of the calendar, what little there had been to begin with, was lost. When the first person stumbled upon the calendar, he wasn’t exactly sure what it was. Then, the Mayan’s written language was deciphered and someone realized it was a calendar. When yet another person realized the last date on that calendar translated to December 21, 2012, he didn’t think much of it. His research assistant, given to wild flights of fantasy, went a bit squiffy and determined for himself that this was a sign that the world would end on this particular date. Although he knew he would be long dead when the calendar ran out, he still felt it was his mission to let everyone know that their descendents would have nothing but death to look forward to. He was a particularly cheerful fellow, was he not?
Scientists, theologians, fiction novelists and scriptwriters, and people who are just plain off their rocker have bandied about many theories on how the world will end on this particular date. Some would say, “They can’t all be right!” But I ask, “Why not?” It is my theory that the world will end as a direct result of Santa Claus. I can see that you are confused, but that’s okay. As it turns out, you aren’t aware of the real story of Santa Claus, but rather the crap you have been spoon-fed throughout your life. Once again, not your fault, Santa has his hand in that, because misinformation is his bread and butter. I, however, have seen past the candy cane façade and discovered the truth. It was a dangerous mission, but I was up for the challenge.
Santa Claus is actually an alien from the planet Elifan. This is indeed why he is referred to as a “jolly old elf.” But, more than that, he is a political refugee from that planet. Thousands of years ago, he crashed at the North Pole. He was accompanied by many of his most faithful servants and friends. Santa is, in fact, a prince of his planet whose throne was taken by the evil—okay, I never actually learned his name, so I’m going to call him Steve. Santa decided that since he was going to be stuck on our planet for the foreseeable future, and because he was pretty much immortal, he might as well stay busy, which is where the whole gift-giving thing came in.
Anyway, this is what will happen: Steve, having finally figured out where Santa is hiding, will descend upon the earth. He will pick the 21st of December for two reasons:
1-It’s a Friday, and given that he knows most Earthlings look forward to this day and he believes we’ve been hiding his foe for the last thousand-plus years, Steve believes this would be the best time to destroy our world. Therefore ruining Friday for one and all.
2-It’s the Friday before Christmas. Knowing that this is Santa’s big day, Steve will want to ruin that as well. He figures—rightly so—that by Christmas day the world will be pretty well screwed. Or, at the very least, upset by what happened on the weekend that not even people who celebrate Christmas would be looking forward to that day.
So, Steve flies his ship over the North Pole and Santa’s secret base and unleash all kinds of alien hell upon it. (Don’t worry kiddies, Santa will escape—it’s kinda his shtick). This bombardment will crack the polar ice caps, beginning the slow process of melting the ice as we have so long feared. The governments of the world will try to figure out how to save as many people as possible, but let’s face it; they’ll mostly be worried about themselves and their family, so the rest of us are rather screwed.
In the midst of all this, there is a terrorist in eastern Fuckukistan who has decided that now is the perfect time to bomb the U.S. and get himself his 72 virgins. No one will ever really know this guy’s name, so we will call him Bob. Come on folks, we all know the end would come at the hands of a guy named Bob, we just never really voiced that opinion. Any who, Bob will hijack the nearest plane strapped with sundry explosives and head for the middle of the U.S. Now is not the time for big gestures, just maximum destruction. As an Illinois resident, I figure this will be the part where most of my state will bow out of this little drama. So from here on out, the rest of you are welcome to the crap that is about to really hit the fan. Because Bob will not stop at merely strapping explosives to his chest—he will also pack a goodly amount of known and unknown pathogens, making himself a flying chemical bomb. These chemicals will cause a small percentage of the leftover population to turn into raving mad, flesh hungry, death-proof creatures. That’s right folks, I’m calling zombie apocalypse. Of course, there will be at least one rich American who will try to escape by flying to Europe, but that’s just going to spread the chaos because there is always at least one infected individual waiting to ruin it for everyone else. So, after aliens attack, the polar ice caps begin to melt and a terrorist bombs the crap out of the U.S., the final battle for human life will be between the living and the undead.
Meanwhile, Australia will be down there like “WTF, mate?”
THE END!!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ah, now don't you feel better? No? Oh well, at least I had fun ;) For those of you who have not wasted their lives on the Internet, that last line was stolen from a flash video that came out when I was in high school. Here's the link for those of you who have not yet experienced the awesome: http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/end
Well, that's all for now. Have a good rest of the week! Oh yeah, and COPYRIGHT. So now if you steal any part of this I can hunt you down and feed you to those zombies Bob created :)
