Looks like someone’s being careless with The Rapture again…



I am offishully sick an’ tired’a THIS gink.

It’s on account’a him what you haven’t heard frum us in so long. When I hurd what that he’d said about May the 21th bein’ just sumpin’ like a warm-up round fer Judgmint Day an’ that th’ main event, fifteen rounds ta th’ finish, no standin’ eight-counts, no bein’ saved by th’ bell, wuz atchilly gonna be on Ocktobur th’ 21th, I figgered, how kin th’ guy be wrong twice in a row so quickly, right? So, as a preckaushun, I glommed onta whatever I could get my hands on…

(Editor’s note: from my house, that is…including my computer. Thanks, buddy.)

Don’ menshun it. Then I holed alluvus up in Fun Central (locashun undisclos’d as bein’ an Offishul Seekrit), an’ waited fer th’ inevitbbul, figgerin’ mebbe th’ Rapture frum Jurassic Park er wherever th’ Rapture comes frum might git lost on th’ way ta such a outta-th’way lockashun, an’ we’d get us some time bought ta see if mebbe we could raise th’ cavalry er a passin’ spaceship er God er th’ Flyin’Spaghetti Monster on th’ e-mail, an’ loophole our way out th’ whole mess.

(Editor’s note: except that e-mail only works on a computer if you have a land line or wi-fi, neither of which Fun Central has.)

Th’ absents of both tellafone an’ why-fye bein’ ever furthermore proof of why it’s th’ funnest place on Earth. Which is still here, an’ I’m glad fer it, but I mean, what a gyp. Can’t Mr. Doomsday git nuthin’ right? I mean, I had some cold hard cash ridin’ on this, an if th’ suckers I bet with realize what that th’ Earth’s still here an’ not all Apockalypsed up er nuthin’, then I got some serious coin ta raise aluuv a suddin.

(Editor’s note: let’s not get into the details of how Sparky was planning to collect if he won.)

My plan had sumpin’ ta do with subbin’ in fer St. Peter at th’ Pearly Gates, an’ settin’ a cover charge fer Heaven. Anyway, what’s this thing whut Mister I-Want-to-Pass-over-inta-Camping-Ground’s got with th’ enduv th’ world, anyway? Has he got real estate in some other partuv th’ Soler Systum that he wants ta unload after we all get evicktud offa this here planutt? An’ what’s his deal with bein’ so bent outta shape about th’ number 21? First it’s May 21, then Ocktobur 21…always with th’ 21’s he’s plannin’ Doomsday fer…whut—wuz his muthur scared by a blackjack dealer when she wuz carryin’ him?

(That may not add up to the end of the world, but it’s the end of what Sparky had to say before he trailed off into even greater unintelligibility than usual. For those still interested in whether the world is going to end, I suggest spending a few minutes with these gentlemen from Beyond the Fringe.)

P.S. All I’m going to say, Sparky, is that is the LAST time I let you house-sit for me while I’m travelling. I bent the rear axle on the Funmoblie using it to break down my front door.

Uncle Fun

P.P.S. Aw, whut’s a couple’a concrete barricades an’ some extra padlocks b’tween friends?