Missed Apocalypse Day One -- admitting there's a problem

My first clue that I had recently missed the Apocalypse was the realization that all the people around me are assholes. Seriously, I can’t imagine a group of people less deserving of being snatched from a scourged Earth by some giant puffy arms of some giant puffy Jesus than the group of louts that I encounter on a daily basis. Of course this means that I too didn’t make the cut; but really that comes as no surprise. I mean between the things I did to Heather Locklear in the early eighties (things she isn’t even aware of) and my more recent forays into the pleasures of daytime drunkenness and careless abandon, I really wasn’t expecting much. It’s just that as I sit here patiently in the tire store reviewing the blatant overcharges on my bill and watching as rubber tires made via a toxic process are mounted without care on my gas-guzzling car while at the same time my old tires make their way to a landfill where they will remain well after I’m dead; and as I try to avoid the strange seven-year-old boy with a runny nose who is also at the tire store and who thinks that it is fun to follow me around and mimic the things I do; and as I make no attempt to disguise the contempt and downright hatred I hold for this boy and his not-even-close-to-being-hot mother, I can’t help but think that the “End of Days” have passed me by. Oh well, at least we are all in it together.