If This Is The End, Don’t Tell Me
I need oxygen. My eyes feel like they have 400lb weights hanging from my lids. It’s 5 in the evening and I miss Vegas. I miss the oxygen that they freely pumped into the casino. I want a girl to bring me free drinks. I want to look at a wall and not see a clock. I want to be in a place where televisions don’t exist. Where the financial markets haven’t collapsed. Where the only decisions I need to make are red or black.
For all the misery I endured, for all the money I lost, the sleepless nights I had, and the toxins I consumed, at least I didn’t have to endure election politics, financial crisis, hurricanes, locusts, and the plight of mankind.
It’s the apocalypse. And I can’t handle it.
Somebody make Wolf Blizter stop. CNN has become the Catastrophe News Network. 24 hour coverage of death and destruction. If the world is going to end, I don’t want to know about it. If this is the doomsday prophecy then send me back to the desert and let the government test H-bombs on me.
Because if the end is going to happen, I might as well be drunk, standing at a craps table, trying to roll a hard four.
