Apocalypse Now What

If you know me at all you will know that I am a little ‘concerned’ with the coming Apocalypse. That time where laws like ‘don’t kill’ become optional, social guidelines akin to giving your seat up on the tube for an old person.

There are a lot of movies and books around about the Apocalypse. Lots of them: From I Am Legend starring every white persons favorite black person, Will Smith to the - we couldn’t afford Kevin Costner so we went with Dennis Quaid instead - Day After Tomorrow to the hotly anticipated docu-drama based on Cormac McCarthy’s helpful survival pamphlet, The Road. I like all these movies where plucky heroes fight the odds in a challenging world ravaged by a natural disaster… except I have a differing opinion about how this end of days will arrive on our doorstep.

I don’t believe it will be giant wave caused by a huge and sudden polar melt or by a mutating virus that kills off millions in one fell swoop. Nope. That shit is happening everyday already! AIDS is awesome at it’s job and there are people still rotting under a blanket of mud in tropical country somewhere because rescue services haven’t got round to digging them out yet. That sort of disaster happens all the time. I believe it will happen because of money. Money will save us and money will end us.

I wake up on a Saturday morning – a normal Saturday:

“Ahh, morning honey, did you sleep well?”

“I feel fantastic as we don’t drink and drugs are for losers so I always feel fantastic on weekend mornings.”

“You stay where you are and I’ll go down t the shops and get us the papers and the ingredients I need to make you breakfast in bed.”

“Oh Husband. You are wonderful.”

“Oh look a blue bird has flown in through the open window and is singing to us.”

I wander down the road and go to the ATM for some cash to buy the artesian breads and cheeses and mutton fed ham that us middle classes have come to enjoy/expect.

The person in front of me in the queue for cash helpfully informs me that the cash point is not working (by spitting on the screen.) Another cash point – same thing. Every time I enter my PIN I get a please contact your bank message. So I do. I call the bank I hear an engaged signal. “ Fuck it.” I think. “I’ll go home and whip something up out of our copious food supplies”. I get home and remember that, like most people, we don’t have copious food anything. We have 132 menus for restaurants with stupid names– so if we want to Thai One On or we need Curry in a Hurry then we’re fine but if we actually want to eat we’re screwed.

Get home and check the Internets… I have a zero balance. I have a what? When did I become Lyndsy Lohan after a weekend of not sucking Persian dudes balls? Zero balance? But then it seems I’m not alone.

The banks stump up on TV telling us not to worry because it’s just another blip on the financial markets. To wake up tomorrow and all will be fine.

It’s not. We go to work. Nobody has any cash. After a day of eating meeting biscuits we head to the tubes. It’s a little… frantic in the streets.

Day Two: Check the copious food stores for something to eat. Start seeing wife as a cartoon pig with an apple in her mouth. Yell at her for not sharing the apple.

Day Three: Head down to the local store to see that smiling shop-keeper who is always so nice to me and always asking me ‘how my wife is’ to see if I can borrow some food. He says no and when he asks me ‘how my wife is’ this time he mimes getting a blow job…

Day Four: Ask the neighbors if they have anything to spare. They don’t know who the fuck I am because none of us know who any one is and besides - their copious food stores are looking like mine.

Day Five: Haven’t eaten for a while. Neither have the rest of the peeps in my neighborhood. That night… LOOTING. That’s the funny thing about looting. It only takes one person to start the chant and before you know it you are running out of M&S with armfuls of women’s underwear and an aluminum pot-set.

Day Six: Mob Rule. Police in the streets. Martial Law. Chaos. And from then on it’s real. It’s everyman for himself. Welcome to the beginning of the Apocalypse.

Now, some people deal with this kind of situation in a rational manner appealing to the better parts of humanity and work through things, all the while thinking of the greater good… while others deal with the problem with some raping.

Raping seems to be the new way of handling any all disaster situations these days. In New Orleans – raping. Any war zone – raping. Afghanistan – raping (except the women there don’t notice the difference, as that has pretty much been stock standard for 1000 years). I bet the whole eating people on the freezing mountaintop after the plane crash thing was not out of hunger but out of an attempt to destroy raping evidence. It’s like raping is just under the surface with everyone and as soon as no one is looking and they are alone – raping! What happened to jumping on the bed and eating ice cream for dinner?

The thing to remember about raping is that it’s not fantastic having it happened to you. There’s an old joke - - 9 out of 10 people enjoy gang rape.

Solution: I’m buying a crossbow. Get ‘drunk’ at a party with me and I’ll ‘talk’ to you all about it. I’m getting three crossbows actually. One that will pierce car doors and is a bitch to load. And two little pistol sized ones… You may think this is silly but remember what I said about the raping.

Why not get a gun?

Bullets can only be fired once and crossbow bolts can be discharged many, many times. I plan on doing quite a bit of killing during the Apocalypse. So much that my Apocalypse jacket will have little sponges sewn under the arms for wiping the people-blood off my precious bolts. I may even get some pre-emptative killing done America style. EG: that dude down at the corner store – he aint gonna make it. A couple of the idiot clients I have to deal with – Do-Do’s! A cross bow is perfect for the culling operation I plan to embark on.

(This goes for all my ‘friends’ too. Don’t come sniffing around the fortress looking for a crust or you’ll get nice and dead.)

The great thing about TV is that I won’t feel anything when I kill someone. I am totally desensitized to violence now. Yay! If I kill someone all I’ll probably feel is disappointment that nobody was around to hear my version of the Queen song ‘Another One Bites The Dust’ and that nobody saw my ace little dance. Apart from that – I’ll feel nothing.

Now we are settled into the Apocalypse and are used to the rules. It’s worth looking around and seeing what the world is like now:

A lot of people will die in their homes waiting to be told what to do. Fuck-em. They were going to die of something soon anyway… The cold or the heat probably. Maybe the flu. Dying from the flu is fucking gay! These people will die waiting to be told what to do because we aren’t a very independent species anymore are we? Most of us would like to hand our free will and ability to think in to some coat check girl. A priest or a fat white person in most cases. Because of this – we can’t do anything anymore.

What do we do that could transfer into a semi decent skill set after the Apocalypse? All we do is send emails and have meetings about the email or, even better, a meeting about an upcoming meeting or the meeting just passed. A meeting about a meeting about an email. I myself am fucking useless. I feel a real sense of accomplishment if I piss someone else’s skidmarks off a toilet bowl. That to me is as close to trapping an animal as I have ever come. But we normal people are better prepared for the shit hitting the fan than the famous! So much better prepared.

I can’t wait until packs of tiny dogs gnaw the fucking eyes out of the vacuous hordes of cunt models and tweeny actresses. I live for the day HEAT magazine is gone. Me and the trees that have lost good friends making that horrid, evil adult incontinence product will laugh and laugh when they are all gone. Models and actresses and presenters and talking fuck-wits forced to sell their spark-plug arses on the streets for food… Okay the models probably wouldn’t notice the difference but we might. What are we going to do with ourselves?

All we do is watch each other and talk about each other. All the food and drink and magic transport machines (including metal flying things with food and drink in them) are handed to us on a plate and all we are good for now is making each other chuckle and then talking about it afterwards. X-Factor, Jordan & Pete, Jacko, Kate fucking Moss… I think the Apocalypse will be a good thing if only to change the bastard subject!

The way we look wouldn’t matter again like it didn’t matter in the old days. We would smash mirrors and use the shards as daggers for cutting venison and for arrowheads. Our hair would grow long and we’d all have dirty clothes and beards. We’d basically look like a that guy in IT that leaves finger prints on our keyboards when he comes to change your email settings after the server shits itself.

With that in mind it might be a good idea to start dressing like you will never be able to change clothes again. Like these are the last clothes you will ever wear and hope like fuck that that the apocalypse doesn’t happen while you are at a costume party or going to job interview or in a boy band. You always see dudes in suits in End of Days films and they are the first to die.

I would also steer away from tee-shirt with jokes or slogans on them. That tee shirt with I FUCK ON THE FIRST DATE, although hilarious now will get old fast (and won’t help you with the Rape Brigades that will patrol the streets with hard-ons and tire irons).

Being a Gay Bear would be a good option. The leather and denim they wear would last and last - and they are surrounded by a community that likes body odor and gutting things (like each other) indoors.

It will be interesting to see what does last:

Libraries and Gyms gone. They are going to be the least looted buildings in the world. No one is going to loot a gym are they? All that wasting energy in gyms gone. Replaced by the need to kill to survive. Frivolous uses of energy will be a no-no and books in libraries will reveal themselves as good for fuck all except makeshift armor and kindling.

Phones and digital cameras are another thing that will be gone. Maybe we’ll be able to be in a moment without recording that moment and showing each other the moment while the moment is still happening … we are becoming goldfish. “Look here is you at a table… this table… now.” Maybe we’ll stop being so addicted to instant pleasures. This bodes well for me, as I am getting older and instant is something that now only applies to pudding for me.

Travel will be impossible. Tourists will be gone. Awesome! We will realize how far a kilometer is. I might head into Camden and have a nice stroll without wanting to declare war on Italy. You never know, Oxford St might be a nice place… except for all the death (admittedly a lot done by me) and raping.

I will miss the Internet for obvious reasons. I will miss the instant access to dancing cat videos. I will also miss cats, as they will be sold as meat on street carts along with tough-guy dogs and poor peoples children.

The men from the boys. The wheat from the chaff. The poor from the white. There will be separation, people. It will be a time of change no doubt but one I, and my new crossbow collection, look forward to.

It will be shoot or be shot. Eat or be eaten and rape or be raped. Come aboard all ye and I will do my best to tuck you under my wing.

The rest of you are fucking target practice.

THWIIINNNGG!