This Probably Isn't The Time To Embrace Humanity

I found myself out in the world today, and saw for myself what the Apocalypse will look like. It will wear shiny jackets, chew gum, and have frost-tipped hair. It will clack along ahead of me in black stilettos, cramming a fifty year old wide load ass into designer Jordache jeans so tight you can hear the threads thrumming on the verge of self destruction. It will stagger in front of me wearing shorts in November, a football jersey draped across a beer gut, a bovine look of emptiness in its eyes. It will attempt to drive a Cadillac into the side of my car, then glare at me for having the audacity to hit my brakes, for being on the road it wished to drive upon. It will feel the need to look upon Vulcan Ninja and myself, sneer to its friend that we are 'goth misfits', and walk away, bottle blond hair bouncing above a cancer casket tan.

It will also break your heart. It will be a small puppy hopping up and down beside a woman who looks like her interest in her pet could be set by an egg timer. It will be a old man still rocking the Brylcreem, shuffling in East London with faded blue jeans, clutching a scratch and win ticket in his hands, with that look of Maybe in his eyes. It will be a man drinking beer before one p.m., shouting about some injustice to the cold November air from his pulpit of a chipped picnic table. It's a squirrel curled in a fetal position in the middle of King Street, it's tail whipped back and forth by the cars kind enough not to hit it again.

The Apocalypse will be the sound of a helpless heartbreak slowly drowned out by the roar of selfish indifference, culminating in a flurry of Tweets about a sale on hair products at Wal-Mart.