To Whom it May Concern on May 22nd

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Dear Whomever,

As I sit here jotting down the last bit of what I could think to write about on my last day here on Earth, it suddenly occurred to me that I probably should atone for a few sins and probably attempt to cleanse my horrifically bleak soul. Ha! That’s a good one, obviously I am going directly to Hell without passing GO and collecting $200. Just a little pre-checklist humor there. Okay, on with my final observations of life on this Earth. Oh, and just in case you’re wondering what the shit is going on with this, I’ve been told by various reliable sources that the world is going to end on Saturday, May 21st. So there ya go.

First I’d like to thank each and every President from 1974 (my birth year) until now for fucking up this nation in his own special and fantastic way. Good on you cats; you all really proved that no matter how highly the nation places you in its regard, you can still shit on us from the highest possible position in the free world. Hurray. I don’t know when this government ‘for the people and by the people’ turned into a colossal cluster-fuck, but I’m sure glad I was around watching a lot of it happen. I can now drop to the fiery furnace of Hades with that little nugget of knowledge removed from my conscious. On to number two.

Secondly, I have a bit of a bone to pick with reality TV. I’m not too sure what luddite decided to come up with shows based on actual events happening live so the home audience can sit, gape-mouthed, glaring like stupid sheep at the television, but I’d like to drag them out into street and have them shot. The very idea that we honestly should give three shits about what a handful of douchebags are doing behind typically closed doors is absolutely beyond me. But here we are: feeding the genre like hungry hippos. It just goes to show that we’ll watch anything force-fed to us in a large enough quantity.

Thanks thirdly, world, for not coming up with something far sooner to replace gasoline. I did a little math and it turns out I’ve spent, roughly, seven billion dollars on fucking gas! That’s patently ridiculous! The shit is made from fossilized animals that died off millions of years ago and I know for a fact that there’s a shitload of that stuff buried all over the damn place and I’m still forking out over 3.50 to run my car! Sure, lately we’ve been offered electric cars and even vehicles that run on the waste from fast-food restaurants, but not in price ranges those of us not handed free cash can afford. We still have to sup the crude oil teat, and I’d just like to extend my hand to those making money of mass rapings! Swell work there, assholes!

Fourth, let’s take a second to clear the air about the inane absurdity of ‘Going Green’. I suppose it’s the very same people who think this ‘End of the World’ bullshit is true (whoops, buried the lead there…) who also believe that tossing a few plastic bottles into a ‘recycling’ truck and not huffing hairspray in your backyard is going to fix the planet. Look, whether you take the translation of the Bible literally (by the way, it’s a guideline not a set of stereo instructions) or you even believe in a looser translation, you have to buy into the fact that the world is only about 7000 year old. You have to because you are a sheep. In reality -proven fact, son- the world is BILLIONS of years old and has gone through hundreds of transformations and millions of living beings, each of which has left its own indelible mark on the planet and, by the way, none of which has done a damn thing to it. It’s here, it’s gonna stay, and nothing we do is gonna change that. Recycling is a huge wad of bullshit.

Fifth, and finally, I need to complain about your kids. I love my children more than anything, but I do not love yours. I’m not going to, for one second, claim that my children are any more well behaved than yours, but I will say that my kids are not incredible assholes like yours. I don’t mean to be a jerk, but look, your son is a little shit and everything he says to my kid is bullshit and then I have to hear about it, too. So please, tone down your own oodles of crap that drools from your gob so your kids don’t repeat the same crap to my kids. Cuz your kids are retards.

Well, Earth, that’s my little diatribe about the world on which I lived. But, since it’s the Rapture and all the Saved are now waiting in line at the Gates of Heaven pointing out their names in St. Peter’s hotel registry, I’m actually stuck here, alone, waiting for the Anti-Christ to wreak havoc on what’s left until my bus to Hell arrives on October 21st. So I’m not really sure who’s reading this, but whomever it is, can you bring me a beer?

Stew Miller