Just As Everyone Predicted

I was rudely interrupted during my monthly blogging travels by a certain impending doom, meaning this had to go on hold for a bit whilst I tended to the much more important things in life: tearfully saying goodbye to all my friends and relatives, sampling an ASDA's-own roast chicken, completing Super Mario Galaxy 2, putting the cat out, bringing the dog in, dancing "The Funky Chicken" on my 75th wedding anniversary and listening to Enya.

Sadly, the whole of creation did not come to an abrupt end on Saturday night and we won't be facing five months of eternal damnation... just as everyone predicted. Either that or we are, in fact, living on post-apocalyptic Earth in which we must face the horrific trials and tribulations of never-ending rain. After all, Saturday's anti-climactic climax of all things was supposed to have come on the anniversary of God drowning everybody and telling a pensioner to build a boat out of some wood and twigs, a length of rope, a cardboard tube from a toilet roll, some PVA glue and cream cracker, whilst carrying through with him two of every other animal to continue populating the planet, yet somehow managing to forget a human female companion what's got a fully functioning womb, thus putting the entire existence of the human race into question if you're going to believe that story.

Anyway, if I am actually here, I've just been for a walk in the rain. It's not burning which I suppose we can take as a positive that we haven't all been left here to die for our sins whilst the divine have reached nirvana somewhere unspeakably beyond the clouds. To be honest, the only person who would've been saved from this great ball of deathness would've probably been Mother Teresa of Calcutta, but since she's already departed from this plane of existence, I'd hazard a guess that Hell on Earth has been going since September 1997 and no-one's batted an eyelid.

The man what brought on all this fear and panic is none other than American Evangelist and "Apocalypse 1994" predictor Harold Camping, who blamed all the gay people of the world for pissing off the big man upstairs and causing certain death on a wide devastating scale, even going on to call San Fransisco the "cesspool of humanity" (if San Fransisco is the cesspool, what does that make Brighton?), although to be honest, if I was burdened with the surname Camping, I'd probably be hatin' on da gayz too.

However, if the world/universe/fabric of reality itself does go kablammo one day as a result of zany fundamentalist say-so, I do hope that charity shops will still be around. I just managed to bag The Nightmare Before Christmas on DVD for two quid. Hold everything! The world's having a going-out-of-business sale! Everything's been reduced to sell! I mean, come on! We've only (apparently) got until October before the planet absolutely, definitely, one-hundred-percent-ly becomes engulfed in flames!

Of course, now that I've joked about that, just you watch as Hallowe'en gets ruined by a massive incident on a global scale which can only be described as "simultaneous pumpkin malfunctions".