Once we are all on Gideon’s Island, all hell is going to break loose. I’m going to put forth my best effort to redeem them, entertain the masses, and make myself millions. I plan to allow the show to go on for decades, at least until the ‘contestants’ all reform or die out. There will be non-stop games and competitions to earn ‘rapture points,’ and one long running experiment.
-An Honest Education or Home School Hell?
This would be a Jeopardy-style game show for those lucky seniors about to graduate from that esteemed classroom at Mom’s kitchen table. Our young scholars will answer such questions as;
-What kind of dinosaurs did Adam and Eve have as pets?
-Is the NRA one of the three branches of government, Yes or No?
-What is the square root of 25?
-Are colleges evil? If so, how evil?
-Why do men have nipples?
Unfortunately, the losers parents will face criminal prosecution, but the lucky winners will get to choose from a vast array of employment opportunities such as;
Restroom attendant for Larry Craig.
Page for Mark Foley.
Masseuse/Meth-dealer for Ted Haggard.
Or, if Sarah Palin wins in 2012, The Attorney General of the United States. But only if they ever make it back off of the island.
-Pin The Tail on The Antichrist!
This name is taken straight from their own lingo. Since they will no longer have world leaders, the liberal media, or the communist elitists to accuse of being the devil incarnate, they will have to start picking among their own people when looking for a scapegoat to blame for the islands problems. This will cause them to turn on each other quicker than McCain’s campaign strategists.
-Live By the Old Testament, Die By the Old Testament.
This won’t be a game so much as a fair and balanced way to hold them to their own belief system. Since these zany zealots are so fond of Leviticus and other antiquated scripture to judge others, I thought it would be fun if the rules of the same era were applied to them. For instance…
~If anyone is found working on the Sabbath; and this includes cooking, gardening, or cleaning, they shall be put to death. –Exodus
~If anyone is found eating fried shrimp (At Denny’s) they shall be stoned to death. –Leviticus
~If anyone were to get their hair cut, especially around the temples, they shall die. –Leviticus!
~If anyone is found to plant two different crops in the same field, or wear a garment made of mixed fabrics, they shall be burned to death. –That’s right folks….Leviticus. And since we’re all living by the wonderful Law, I wonder how many men will sell their daughters into slavery, as is sanctioned in Exodus? It might be tough to find all the bulls, goats, and possibly an odd son or two for God’s demanded sacrifices though. This never ending game will be a hoot! At least they won’t have any scary homosexuals jamming things down their throats anymore. Many more games and competitions will be played later, during the tribulation period.
In an effort to prove that God did not pick them (or their race) personally, ‘lift up their spirit,’ or ‘enter their heart’ through holy osmosis, we will have a good old fashioned baby swap. We’ll have them raise a few babies born in the Middle East and have some hard core Muslims raise a few of their kids in Qatar. When the Muslim kids are speaking in tongues, and their kids come back reading the Koran, hopefully these sycophants will see that religion is not based on God loving America best, but is based entirely on geography and environment. This might dissuade them from thinking that foreigners are evil and scary because they had the gull to be born outside of the US. They’ll probably end up opening a Gideon’s Island version of Gitmo for their own kids, but you never know.
We will have all of the best special effects technology, and throughout the show will be playing elaborate practical jokes on the contestants. Many jokes will include taking most of the cast to another island in the middle of the night (telling them they won a reward), then blaring trumpets from the sound systems, and leaving empty piles of clothes scattered about. When the remaining people wake up to find that they were the only ones not raptured, it will be pure comedy gold. Another series of jokes will include God (voice by James Earl Jones) ‘talking’ to people, telling them he needs them to assemble a cast and put together an off-off-off Broadway show of Bye, Bye, Birdie. This will keep anyone from having too much free time to organize an armed resistance.
Every two weeks we will have the audience vote out one person that they find most capable of redemption; Ironic I know. They will phone (mo money) in their votes and the ‘winner’ will be secretly drugged before bed. Then while they are asleep, they will be taken to another island. They will be replaced by look-alike actors on the main island. The person who was voted ‘most likely to not be a fuckwad anymore’ will wake up to discover that they are in the afterlife, and have landed in a purgatory-like realm with both benevolent and malevolent creature like this running around…………..
The angles and demons will try to teach them that their time on earth was a gift. They were supposed to do the most good they could, while enjoying every precious second. If they want another shot at life, they will be forced to go back to earth, and volunteer as community organizers and gay rights advocates. Of course, God will have to have his camera crew follow them around every second. We’ll just tell them that God loves ‘The Office’ and is working on a sitcom/fake documentary using quirky characters with another chance at life. They can’t question God, so they’ll accept it. Hilarity will ensue.
After a couple of years, when the main cast is cut down to half of the most vile, reprehensible assclowns, we will create the ‘real’ rapture. All of the actors will leave in the middle of the night, again only leaving behind dentures, piles of clothing, and jewelry. After we blow the trumpet our ‘stars’ will wake up to realize that they now have to face the tribulation period, the one that they loved envisioning the evil heathens having to endure. There will be plagues, marks of the beast (I was thinking a mark they’d have to receive to get a 10% discount at the Wal-Mart. They couldn’t turn that shit down), signs in the sky, Amy Winehouse will sober up, Perez Hilton will go straight, Tom Cruise will come out, and Christian Bale will take his lighting crew out for drinks. We’ll have Andy Dick come on the island to play the role of God, and Maury Povich will play Satan. Both Povich and Dick will be given a wide berth of improvisational latitude. The last seven years of the show should be the most entertaining and enlightening. And absolutely fucking hilarious.
It is my honest hope that this massive social experiment/nefarious scheme/reality show will truly make the world a better, and dare I say, more Christian place. And will finally bring me Bruckheimer money.
Before you get all self righteous and indignant, let me very clearly start out by saying that of course I don’t want anybody to die. I don’t even want anybody to get sick. I know that none of you do either. What we do want, and in fact love though, is the next big scare.
I know that I’m not the only sick twisted individual. I know that most of us are all the same. I’ve seen the heart of man and found it lacking. If it does not affect you directly or anyone you know, then let er rip. It’s finally something substantial to talk about at the water cooler, the local pub, or the opium den; wherever it is that you gather and converse. Whoever you are and wherever you go, you can plainly see the barely concealed glimmer of excitement and hope that there is something, anything, going on.
We are now officially a society of grinning, yellow parka wearing, weathermen swaying on the white sand beaches of Key West, huffing and puffing at the camera about how this is the big one, this could reach a cat 5. While behind us looks for all the world, exactly like a corona commercial espousing the virtues of tranquility and alcohol.
Most of us grew up on ‘The A Team’ and ‘Knight Rider’ (before Hasselhoff could be found making sweet love to a Wendy’s hamburger with his face.) We grew up with ‘Rambo’ and ‘The Terminator’. I know that I was definitely supposed to be ‘Indiana Jones’ by now, damn it. Instead of running through the jungle, kung fu fighting, and blowing shit up in spectacular fashion, most of us (although not me, ha-he) are rotting away in a post-industrial wasteland, lit by phosphorescent lighting, sitting, always sitting, in a cubicle. I doubt that even ten percent of us are living up to even our most mundane childhood fantasies. So when a chance for excitement comes, any chance, we cling to it with a quiet desperation.
We love it because we love adrenaline, it’s the last vestige of our fight or flight animal nature. Most of us are now so far removed from any real danger that our minds clutch at the slightest promise of any true, real, red alert, elevated risk, dangerous danger. Even if it’s in the form of a 100 degree temperature and some aches and pains. Possibly the dreaded nausea. Yes people have died, but more people die from bizarre S and M accidents. Swine flu is scary because it’s the unknown and the unknown is always scary. Beautifully, deliciously, scary!
It’s must be absolutely terrifying for Muslims as the biggest disgrace they could ever endure is being buried with a pig or part of a pig. It’s one of those things that you wouldn’t do to your worst enemy. This would be like getting raped by Satan at the cellular level. That would suck. Getting raped by Satan I mean.
Anyway if I was wrong about human nature there would not be so many 24 hour, all ridiculous all the time, news networks out there. CNN, MSNBC, Fox, The Doomsday Channel, and the always popular Apocalypse Nightly. If you really pay attention it’s always ‘the end’ on these shows. The end of our civil liberties, the end of our sovereignty, the end of America as we know it, the collapse of Glenn Beck’s emotions, the explosion of Bill O’Reilly’s head. The end of the world, baby!
All I’m really saying is that I think everybody (especially me) still daydreams that their life will miraculously turn into an action movie. It’s exactly these kind of news stories, this fatalism, that keeps the ‘I Am Legend’ flame lit. Yep, it’ll be Will Smith and me kicking ass, taking names, and saving humanity. Well maybe Will Smith, me, and Sanjay Gupta.
I looked, and there before me was a white horse.
The first roofer came swooping down from another village in a white range rover. The second on a red Suzuki motorcycle, and the other two caught rides from somewhere. No, this isn’t another reality show idea. Unfortunately, it’s been my life over the past week.
See, since last Monday they’ve been working on my elderly Spanish neighbor’s roof.
This is nothing like you would ever witness in the states. These houses were erected Fred Flintstone style six hundred years ago. They literally built them with large stones and mud. To do the roof back then they just added large, not necessarily straight, wooden logs. On the top of which they layered long thin pieces of slate, followed lastly by dirt on the very top. Then over the years they either added beautiful Spanish tile or ugly asbestos corrugated roofing material. Guess which one my neighbor used, which is now being torn down and ripped up. Yea!
When they redo a roof they literally rip the top off of a house. Therefore they rented a big aluminum dumpster, which was strategically placed right outside my bedroom window. All that’s left is to start the chainsaw’s and let er rip.
I don’t know how well you can imagine what 40lb slate rocks falling three stories into an empty aluminum container might sound like, but I would say something akin to a nuclear bomb being dropped in the Grand Canyon. This started about 6:00 am on a Monday morning with no warning. I think I had about 2 heart attacks and a stroke while pissing myself at the same time. I honestly thought that a cataclysmic event had triggered the apocalypse.
Now that the initial excitement of a new job has worn off, the roofers have slowed the pace to one slate slab every three or four minutes. I have a nine pound miniature dachshund who will probably be in therapy for years. I think he’s still in mild shock. He does come out of his shock long enough to first scream a high pitched tirade, followed by an armor piercing howl (as only dachshund’s are capable) each and every time another slab hits the dumpster.
Don’t forget though that this is Spain, so after every 20 minutes of work they take a 30 minute cigarette/coffee/brandy break. Said break is usually just taken on the roof. My neighbor’s roof just happens to be level with my terrace, which in Spain is usually the only outside space that you have. I may have forgotten to mention that our only bathroom is built onto our terrace. Kind of cool sometimes, this is not one of those times.
I can’t describe how wonderful it is to wake up to Armageddon then have to practically walk by four drinking, smoking roofers perched ten feet away, all to take your morning piss. Good times.
Every time we have to open the back door, which is often, two or three inches of asbestos laced, 600 year old dirt gets free roam of our home. I can at least console myself with the knowledge that this will all be over in four or five short months. Or maybe a year.
And the fourth roofer rode in with a pale horse. Its rider was named death, and Hades was following close behind him.