Living In Apocalyptical Times
Robert Paul Reyes
October 16, 2005
Halloween is right around the corner, and there is nothing scarier than little costumed brats extorting candy with the threat "trick or treat."
But is something more frightening on the horizon? Is that the four horsemen of the Apocalypse that I hear, or is that my neighbor's Pinto sputtering home?
I cringe as I hear of wars and rumors of wars, I tremble as a plethora of tsunamis, earthquakes and hurricanes of biblical proportions ravages our planet -- I wince as I open the newspaper or turn on the TV. If global warming doesn't destroy us, then an avian flu pandemic will surely wipe us out.
I won't cry out for help to a Jewish carpenter who died some two thousand years ago, and I won't wait for a starship to zoom me to a galaxy far away -- so I reach for my Valium and hope for the best.
Jerry Falwell promises that I will be spared the wrath of God, if I will only believe in Jesus, hate gays and feminists and sign over my life savings to his ministry. But I don't want to surrender my dignity, morality, brains and bank account to save my soul.
My pantry is stocked with Doritos, Ding Dongs and Cheetos, but another monster hurricane or another Paris Hilton reality show, and I may load up on freeze dried food, canned food and bottled water.
If I can survive a horde of trick-or-treaters beating down my door, I should be able to survive killer plagues, monster storms, hypocritical televangelists and bimbo celebrities like Ashley Simpson and Lil' Kim.
But is something more frightening on the horizon? Is that the four horsemen of the Apocalypse that I hear, or is that my neighbor's Pinto sputtering home?
I cringe as I hear of wars and rumors of wars, I tremble as a plethora of tsunamis, earthquakes and hurricanes of biblical proportions ravages our planet -- I wince as I open the newspaper or turn on the TV. If global warming doesn't destroy us, then an avian flu pandemic will surely wipe us out.
I won't cry out for help to a Jewish carpenter who died some two thousand years ago, and I won't wait for a starship to zoom me to a galaxy far away -- so I reach for my Valium and hope for the best.
Jerry Falwell promises that I will be spared the wrath of God, if I will only believe in Jesus, hate gays and feminists and sign over my life savings to his ministry. But I don't want to surrender my dignity, morality, brains and bank account to save my soul.
My pantry is stocked with Doritos, Ding Dongs and Cheetos, but another monster hurricane or another Paris Hilton reality show, and I may load up on freeze dried food, canned food and bottled water.
If I can survive a horde of trick-or-treaters beating down my door, I should be able to survive killer plagues, monster storms, hypocritical televangelists and bimbo celebrities like Ashley Simpson and Lil' Kim.
Print
Email
