By the Comics Curmudgeon
Readers! Are you aware that each and every one of you are mortal, and will die? I know, pretty depressing, right? Even worse than the dying -- which, by all accounts, doesn't sound like any kind of picnic -- is the fact that, by sheer chance of health or age, millions upon millions of unworthy chumps will outlive you! Sure, those jackholes will themselves die, eventually, but don't you kind of resent them for getting to find out who wins the 2093 World Series or whatever when you won't? I believe that this sort of resentment is exactly the psychological origin of the notion of the End Times, when not just you but everyone is killed by nuclear fire, or perhaps raptured up into the skies to be Judged by Our Lord. Such an important event has of course been studied in great detail by the most learned theological thinkers of our day (i.e., political cartoonists).

Click on the comics to make the more visible to thine sight!

As any student of the End Times will tell you, the coming of the apocalypse will be heralded by signs and portents. And as any foaming paranoid loony will tell you, the government knows about all these signs, man, and they're hiding them because they know that if we know, we'd freak the fuck out. For instance! It's a little known fact that each and every one of the astronauts we've sent into space since 1984 have come back to earth as terrifying plant-human hybrid monsters. (I think we're all familiar enough with the prophecies in the Book of Habakkuk to recognize the implications of this.) These so-called "planimals" are generally hustled into the Oval Office for a brief presidential interrogation before being executed with weed killer. Fortunately, the government has not had to do much by way of covering these incidents up, since Americans more or less lost interest in space exploration after we kicked some Russkie ASS, on the moon, in the '60s.

Nevertheless, our political leaders, having been tipped off, are doing their part to minimize the impact of the end of the world! Unfortunately, since Obama and his cabal of Muslim-atheist Chicago mobsters has taken over, there are very few government officials left with enough knowledge of the Bible to prepare in a theologically appropriate manner. Based on vague memories of episodes of Davey and Goliath that they watched in college, while high, they have chosen whatever defense contractor came up with the biggest kickback to build an Ark to save the best of our civilization. Unfortunately, the two American children they chose to be the new Adam and Eve were plump and extremely delicious looking, and were devoured by the assembled animals before the rains even started.

But, never mind this rain business; what most people want to know about the End Times is: Will the dead walk the earth, as angels, or zombies? Will our loved ones rise again so that we can yell at them like we used to? More importantly, will our favorite celebrities be revived, so we can finally get their autograph and/or force them to read that script treatment we wrote years ago? Nobody knows! But it's best to keep wondering. For instance, literally the only thing keeping Texas in the Union is the fear that John Wayne will rise from the grave and wreak terrible vengeance upon them. Seriously! If not for terror of the shambling, mouldering corpse of The Duke, Texas would have been an independent country with its own nuclear arsenal 20 years ago.

Anyway, what will become of our beloved pets after the apocalypse? I mean, if Jesus comes back for His chosen, we've got that covered, but what if the end comes in searing atomic flame? The beloved movie classic A Boy And His Dog implied that our pets will be our faithful companions during the post-atomic horror, but in fact, as this image demonstrates, it's more likely that they'll just eat us, leaving bloodied watches and other bits of indigestible accessories scattered about the landscape.

Oh, and in case you're still pissed about Terminator Salvation not including enough nuclear warfare and are wondering how our atomic destruction came about, this is how: robots. Giant gay cowboy/mullah robots, made out of phallic nuclear missiles, fighting each other, while ever so delicately mincing about on their pointy and incredibly impractical missile-feet. There. Are you happy? Do you feel like you know enough about this situation? Gay cowboy robots, I tell you.

So, yes: end of human civilization as we know it, whole cities going up in flames, mountains of corpses, humanity reduced to a stone age level, etc., etc. Among the stunned survivors, a legend is born: The Lady of the Bathtub, a magical faerie who, if you gently took the knife from her hand and kissed her, would arise and restore Health Care to everyone in the land! But nobody can bring themselves to do this, because her mouth is smack dab in the middle of her neck. GROSS.


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