It’s Rapture time. Do you know where your dog is?


Holy eschatology, the end is near. Worthy folks across the land are wrapping up their earthly business and getting ready to be summoned, or assumed, or maybe just whooshed into heaven at 6 p.m. Saturday.

There has been much debate on whether all good people will ascend en masse on May 21 or in groups over the next couple of months, but 89-year-old Harold Camping, prophet and MC of Judgment Day, is unequivocal on this point. The Rapture will be an all-in-one-day affair, like one of those mass weddings presided over by the Rev. Moon in the 1980s. So spend your savings and forget your debts, amen.

But don’t forget your pets. There is still time to connect with the good folks at Eternal Earthbound Pets who, for a small fee, will make sure you’re not too sorely missed by the “four-legged and feathered friends” you leave behind to await world’s end.

Some preachers have doubts about Camping’s prediction, and many skeptics have pointed out that rapture time will vary according to what time zone you’re in. But would you take the word of naysayers and risk the health of your pet(s), not to mention the wrath of the Divine Timekeeper?

BTW, those of us who remain unraptured can look forward to a few months of lag time while the Divine One puts the final touches on Armageddon. Not a bad prospect if you stock up on the right drugs and the greatest hits of Mahalia Jackson.

Footnote: In case the Rapture doesn’t happen, there is still a good chance the Rupture will. The latter is from novelist Gary Shteyngart’s Super Sad True Love Story and refers to the near future when the United States goes bankrupt, microcomputers eliminate privacy and the government does away with the poor. Now that’s a prediction I can believe.

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4 Responses to It’s Rapture time. Do you know where your dog is?

  1. mt says:

    Nice headline.

  2. Margaret Battistelli says:

    If I can’t take my pussy, I’m not going.

  3. S. Brown says:

    Does this mean I can stop taking my anti-cholesterol pills? Because if I’m going or I’m not going, the pills ain’t gonna help. Now let’s think about this: Going means a whole lotta church, right? It means sitting through truly endless hours of something I grew tired of long ago. And I saw the heaven movie with Kelly what’s-her-name and she looked awful dyke-y even then, and I think I’d rather sit in church than stroll through a movie-set park with her. So if going on Saturday probably means nonstop church or Kelly, maybe I’ll stay. If McKenna is right, and we get a few month’s grace before Satan and his anti-Christers start cattle-prodding us, which gives me the summer on my sailboat. But there’s no way out, is there? That is, there’s no third option. You can’t just die and be dead. You can’t have chow mein with eggroll. Your choice is: heaven, or hell on earth followed by hell in hell, and no pills can change that. It’s a truly rotten choice but I have long thought you might be able to enter some sort of waking-sleep state in heaven, where you just drift off into your boat and sail away. And I’ve read that bacteria thrive in the cracks in the ocean where lava boils. So maybe, after a century or two, you could acclimate yourself to hellfire. Then you could go about your business and it wouldn’t be much worse than living in South Jersey between a Wal Mart and a Wendy’s. All the same, I don’t know. You say it’s Saturday?

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