End of the World Arrives Without Fanfare!

The End of the World Is Here!

End of the world, be it a simple apocalyptic prediction, or the ozone layer leaving the earth, a popular subject.

The first time I ever encountered the end of the world was in a beer hall in Redwood City. My brother and his wife had come to visit, and my wife and I took them to this cheap little place that had the coldest beer, the tastiest pizza, and no crowd.

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Close your bank accounts now!

We sat in the back of the shack and discussed politics, family, sports, and enjoyed the company of intelligent people. Mostly, we talked about how crazy California was.

Suddenly, a cold wind blew through the dimly lit hall. A tall, gaunt fellow with a beard and a bunch of tubes strapped to his back entered the front door. He looked around, saw us, and sauntered over. His eyes gleamed from one drug too many, his clothes were shabby, he tried to appear casual. This was doomsday incarnate…or an action comedy.

“The world is going to end, you know.” He perched himself on the edge of the pool table and began his end of the world prediction.

We looked around, there was nobody to toss the lout out, so we sighed and faced the ominous stranger.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Well, now that you asked…” He slipped the tubes off his back and uncapped them. He then unrolled large maps on the pool table. “This is a seismic chart. You’ll notice that I have put Xs over pivotal shards in the fault lines. This is all in alignment with…” a map of the back side of the moon unrolled and was dutifully weighted down with the slowly emptying tubes, “…measurements I have taken based on…astrological sightings I have compassed out…the animals, you’ll note, are not singing in their cages…the US government has canceled all leaves…the underbelly of a snake in heat is slightly….”

We slowly finished our beers while the harbinger of doom regaled us, enlightened us, and attempted to frighten us with his end of the world fiction.

At last, the bottom of the bottle reached, my brother asked him, “When is this going to happen?”

10:30 AM. Tomorrow. Not sure of the exact second. But you’ll know…you’ll know.”

He gazed at us significantly, and my brother placed his empty bottle on the table, looked at the fellow hopefully, and asked, “Could you lend me ten bucks?”

Silence. The fellow gave a knowing chuckle. He rolled up his maps and charts and left.

That was the first time the world ended for me, but it wasn’t the last. It has ended because of Y2K, it has ended because of Jonestown and various other of God’s good children, and it will certainly end because of global warming.

(I have my own theory of global warming, that it is caused by the endless spewing of gases from unenlightened politicians…but we will leave that for another time.)

That brings us to now. Or, to be more precise, December 21, 2012 at exactly, without deviation, 11:11 p. m. Universal Time. On that great date, the longest night of the year, the sun will be aligned with the center of the milky way for the first time in 26,000 years. This is like the watch stem being straight up. The coils and loops of the great gyres of the machinery of the universe will be set for the big rewinding.

It is not a Big Bang that we will endure, but a reset. And, what happens before a reset? Something has to go wrong. It just has to. I mean, how could something go right unless there was something wrong before it, eh? Go on, think about it, you’ll see that I’m right.

Now, to be fair, to give the opposing view it’s day in court, it has been explained to me that the Mayan calendar, which is the source of all this contriving and machinavating, was written by Mayans. (I know, I’m getting simple here, but that’s only so you can understand. Trust me, you need to understand.) When the Mayans wrote their great page turner they eventually ran out of stone. Sort of like running out of paper. That the end of world, that the world may end, is simply because there was no more room for the calendar to be chiseled on.

I think that argument is specious, at best, for the simple reason that the Mayans are not here to defend themselves. The end of the world for them, apparently, did not wait for the calendar.

Anyway, that all said, when the gears are turned to the breaking point, when the planets are ready to grunt and groan and fall that last meter into the great slot of alignment, on that day all the energy of the galaxy will be aimed directly at poor, plant earth, and there will be nothing–I say…NOTHING–to stand in the way of vast torrents of etheric energies that will overwhelm the planet, cause it to stumble on its axis, swap poles, and the only–I say ONLY–hope is that the Lord God will, in his infinite wisdom, see fit to take ALL the souls existing in body form on this planet and place them on the planet Chorbalis.

Chorbalis is a wonderful little ball of soup delicately poised in the Asfgerplace constellation, which has yet to be discovered, but which, I guarantee, exists. I know it exists because the Mayans are already there, chisels in hand, preparing to write the next saga of our enduring race.

The only problem with Chorbalis is the grymphons. There’s a lot of Grymphons snorkeling in the vishpools. But don’t worry, they never eat more than toes.

AlCaseBooks.com is alluring, presentable, and like a horse in heat. Feel free to drop by and peruse. You don’t have to buy anything, just take off your clothes and run around your computer table and shriek, ‘Woop! Woop! Woop!’

This has been an end of the world prediction.

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