So tomorrow - May 21, 2011 - is supposed to be the end of life on this planet as we know it. And if God is extra-terrestrial, omnipotent, omnipresent and effervescent, it should be the end of life on Mars too - and reality shows. You know, I've heard this sort of thing all my life. Every now and then some wayward religious Bible group calculates the coming of the Lord and other catastrophic calamities about to befall us all. Now I'm not disputing Scripture. Really, I'm not. But seriously. Do you really think Jesus would come in the middle of allergy season?
Doesn't seem right to me.
Can't they be more specific? I have plans tomorrow. If they can pinpoint the day and the year after all these millenniums and sordid crusades since the beginning of time, surely they can tell me if 2:00 pm is too late or too early for me to get a manicure. I do not want to go to Heaven without one.
Presuming I go.
If my great-grandmother were here to read this blasphemy, she'd tell me to paint 'em red and send me straight to hell without supper.
And what about us common everyday Christians who just have faith in God and all things pure and lovely that goes along with it. Do we get to go too?! Or do we stay behind to suffer in the fire and brimstone existence outlined right down to the last horrid detail like ordinary Presbyterians? I don't think I deserve to languish in torment while the earth is being swallowed up in natural disasters and sex scandals - that would be a total waste of blog opportunities.
Doesn't seem logical to me.
And why is it called Judgment Day? I've read the Bible from start to finish. Twice. That is not supposed to happen until the last Chapter. Even the Book of Revelation doesn't reveal the revelation or the end of time. Only the end of The Book. And besides, I only made it to Leviticus this time and I've read nothing thus far about plowshares, spoon-bending or calendar changes.
I like Lily of the Valley talk and peace-I-leave-you-peace prose better.
It's so much better for my blood pressure.
And besides, if the world were truly ending tomorrow, don't you think I'd know?
Everybody knows that.
Which reminds me, according to the sign-holding media-seeking prophets, I should be dead by now.
It's noon tomorrow in Australia already. I guess the Rapture Preachers forgot about those Down Under.
If Jesus had snatched up all the good people in the world, Google would have stopped googling hours ago and no one would even be able to find information on the end of the world.
Think about it.
And do you really think people with the Secrets of the Universe would be holding up cardboard signs on the street corner? I don't think so. They could have saved so many more of us by email spam. And seriously, didn't they think to Tweet?
If they're so full of wisdom, knowledge and mad mathematical skills, they should have been settling the dispute between Palestine and Israel instead of spreading fear among the teetering masses. I would have enjoyed seeing that before my demise - even for one day. But perhaps a sacred calculator doesn't count what counts when it counts.
However, in spite of my skepticism, in honor of Doomsday I'd like to submit a list to the Lord of those people and things I'd love to see disappear tomorrow. It's a once in a fast fleeting lifetime opportunity. If you don't mind. Oh, I don't want Him to hurt anybody (like He would!) I'd just like to experience my last day on Earth without their whining and posturing and evilness.
1. Osama Bin Laden (Oops. Too late.) 2. snarky telemarketers who hang up on me 3. Rush Limbaugh 4. the person who wrote "99 Bottles of Beer on The Wall" and 5. the ugly vegetable known as rutabaga.
It has to go. Really.
I think I can put up with everyone else for another thousand years or so.
I will be up 'til midnight tomorrow night making sure I don't miss any epic global shenanigans.
If I do, I promise to report it, that is, if I'm still coherent after beaming to Heaven at the speed of light in the dead of night. It's a good thing I wear pencil skirts. They travel well.
I don't think I can adequately express my appreciation to Reverend Camping and his crew for speeding up the culmination of my Bucket List. Before tomorrow (which according to my Biblical calculations as reported in the Book of Numbers) I should really learn to to spell Apoca..Apaco...Apalcyl...Alpaca...Apocalypse. There. Pay my taxes, inspect my car, return my neighbor's mail, apply for a Visa and renew my driver's license. I'd hate to be in jail when Jesus finds me.
I suppose they're entitled to their interpretation of course, I respect that, but couldn't they have at least provided us with insider trading tips, warned us ahead of time to use all our frequent flyer miles or constructed a foolproof lottery number formula based on some crazy simulated formula of 6, 6, 6s?
Even heathens deserve to know.
Who said left-behinders on the short list of life shouldn't enjoy their last days?
Somebody should have told me to empty my Bucket List bucket sooner.
There's no time to call Hugh Jackman now.
Sure she'd have to change her magazine from O to Uh-Oh if she'd made such a tragic faux pas but that's small potatoes for a woman of her apostolic influence. And besides, she started a brand new television revolution on this highly advertised cusp of fire and brimstone.
She's too smart for that.
Doesn't seem likely to me.
Not to quote Scripture or anything, but to everything there is a season (Ecclesiastes 3:1)
Apparently, this is the season for kooky people.
But just in case....I ain't drinkin' no Kool-Aid tomorrow.