A person who is self aware of their imminent death usually has a pretty high opinion of themselves. I know I would, it’s a very selfish time to be alive so to speak. All compulsive urges must be realized and all spiritual complexes most come to fruition – the latter is usually that smelly 21 grams found in the departed’s now drivable pants. I probably think of the apocalypse at least once a week, I don’t fear or study it, I merely acknowledge its presence if only for a second. You see, as one of the world’s most foremost slackers I often write off personal responsibilities and civic duties as moot and meaningless simply based on the logic that the world could end tomorrow. Whether it is a sink full of dirty dishes or a Don’t Walk sign I just can’t be bothered because the cool sensation of cosmic annihilation provides a really, apparently rhymey elation. And it feels good, like a cold beer in a hot shower or silk panties straight from the dryer in a cool basement…did I just write that…fuck it, the world might end tomorrow (now do you see the powers I possess?) Uh, but please don’t template this idiotic subsistence as your own, it is a dangerous practice for amateur loafers (you will lose everything) and most certainly catastrophic for civilization (people even lazier than me will inherit the earth…I get chills). That would actually be pretty ironic, I mean tragic, wait I mean hilarious, the world is willed to come to an end after everyone adopts my “the world could end tomorrow” fortune cookie cat shit as some sort of serious ploy towards knowledge and understanding. I now understand why China filters the web’s content.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I always thought that if someone pushed me out of a plane I would be able to fashion a make-shift parachute out of my pants and shirt and land with bare ass grace on top of a hot air balloon. But maybe that’s just me saying I would get bored as I plummeted to my certain doom. Sure the flips and barrel roles would be fun, as would terminable velocity, but I just feel like I could do better, maybe we all could. So, what would you do on your last day if you knew that all that was and ever shall be was coming to an end simultaneously? Ragnarok baby, End Times, how would you spend your last 24 hours, last hour, how about your last 5 minutes? And I’ll give you five good minutes because I’ll say you can travel and manipulate time and space to spend your remaining seconds doing anything with anyone or thing fictional or real.

Are you a lover – would you get naked and make pleasant love to your partner on the back of a tyrannosaurus as it made unpleasant love to a stegosaurus in Vietnam while Metallica played from helicopters dumping napalm all around you? Are you deep and misunderstood – would you pull a five petal flower apart minute by minute and then quote Blake? Are you a multitasking anarchist – would you get punched in the face, shot gun a beer, deflower a virgin, shoot up with heroin while howling at the moon and set yourself fire? Then send the video tape to AFV and make the nation’s head explode? Would you fry an egg on the back of Little Boy, the first atomic bomb as you rode it down to Hiroshima? You could be Conan the Barbarian, you could be Mary Magdalene on birth control or an amphibious Muhammad Ali, whatever the fuck you can conceive here people.

These are obviously extremes, it can be Christmas morning with your family or a great time with your friends, it’s your dream apocalypse, you get whatever you want. The reason I am polling this is because I personally think we should all arrive on one single realistic thing to do in perfect unison. Like fire bottle rockets out of out asses I don’t know.

Let me here you,

Love Ed