The End of the World

Wouldn’t it suck to win the lottery right now?

Imagine pocketing the lump sum of $250 million.  Your dream of a big house, fancy cars, and a trip around the world has just come true.  You’ll never have to work another day in your life.  Then, on the way to the bank, a giant fireball suddenly appears up in the sky.

Kaboom!

There’s a potential Twilight Zone episode in there somewhere.

………………..

In case you missed it, the world is going to end on December 21, 2012.  At least, that’s what some ancient Mayan calender predicts, which marks the final day of a 5,125-year cycle.  Never mind these savages spent most of their lives running through jungles and commonly sacrificed virgins to the gods.  Today, some people actually believe these tribesmen possessed unique insights into our future.  Despite their civilization utterly vanishing without warning more than a thousand years ago, they have supposedly alerted us to the very day when life on earth will end.  Now, that’s impressive.  Hell, I can’t even figure out what time Monday Night Football comes on each week.

This is a lose-lose proposition for a shitload of people.  First, we’re all pretty much screwed if the prophesy comes true.  We can all agree on that.  I don’t see a lot of upside in the entire world’s population being sucked into a deadly black hole — although I sure as hell will be applauding when it’s Kim Kardashian, Howard Lederer, and Donald Trump’s turn to enter the giant celestial vacuum cleaner.  That’s almost worth hoping it will happen.

But if the prophesy is false, some people out there will have lots of explaining to do.  There’s going to be enough egg on the faces of soothsayers to make the world’s largest omelette, assuming we all miraculously wake up on December 22nd, and there’s still an earth under out feet.

But reality never stands in the way of entertainment.  Right now, cable television networks are falling over themselves.  They’re running every apocalypse-themed show they can get their hands on.  The plot is always the same.  Various theories are parroted about how the world is going to end.

So, what will happen if humanity gets lucky, hits an inside straight, and somehow manages to survive the end game?  Will all the doomsday shows be wiped from the stockrooms and be tossed into a giant dumpster?  Will all the pseudo-scientific books written by quacks and so-called visionaries suddenly hit the discount bins at the Dollar Store?  Will anyone out there step forward and apologize for being bat-shit wrong?

Hell no.

We’ll talk about it for a day or so, and then move on.  Then, some other lunatic theory will eventually surface.  Another “end date” will be discovered.  Maybe it comes from some stone carving found in Asia.  Or, ancient scrolls uncovered in the Middle East.  If a bunch of dusty parchments once found in the desert could transform a third of humanity into mindless lemmings, then just about anything is possible.

……….

Fear is an industry.

Fear is a very lucrative industry.

And, there will always be a market for it.

It’s why we buy guns.  It’s why we purchase insurance.  It’s why we stand needlessly in long lines at airports.  It’s why we live in gated communities.  It’s why we sacrifice civil liberties.  Fear sells.

Fear is a commodity.  And, we can’t get enough of it.

Make no mistake.  When December 22nd comes, the machinery of fear will hit the restart button.  The Mayan lie will be replaced by a new vogue.  The marketplace demands it.  And so yet another cottage industry of wackos will resuscitate their fear rackets — those that warp the minds of people with inadequate defenses in education and logic.  They’re utterly defenseless from the onslaught to come.  Gullible viewers, listeners, and readers so desperate to know something which cannot be foretold — namely the future — will slowly but surely start to believe the bullshit again until we get another scare, and another and another.

Fear is hotter than sex or oil.

………………..

So, what happens if I’m dead wrong?  Literally, dead wrong.  Nothing, I suppose.

I mean nothing in terms of personal consequences — other than having the joints pulled out of my sockets by gravitational forces and my skin being singed like a crusty marshmallow along with all the rest of you.

If the planets and stars suddenly align and we’re all sucked into outer space, there won’t be anyone left to apologize to.  You’ll all be gathering your pets, reading your Bibles, and screaming your lungs out.

That said, let me take this opportunity.  I believe in taking responsibility for my actions.

If I happen to be wrong and the world does come to a horrifying end on December 21, 2012, I want to say this here and now.

I apologize.

I was wrong.

Peace made.  Bases covered.  Over and out.  Beam me up, Scotty.