Yep, the promised Rapture from this past weekend didn’t materialize. Or more precisely, I didn’t de-materialize and ascend into heaven this past weekend.
I don’t know about you, but I was pretty pissed. Disappointed that I wasn’t able to join all my childhood pets at the left hand of god. Or whatever.
Anyways, I totally agree with the sentiments from A Letter to God Following the Cancellation of the Rapture from that noted religious publication, my favourite source of divine wisdom, Cracked.com.
Here’s what the author of the letter, Soren Bowie, has to say:
You screwed me. Not in a literal sense — though I suppose your omnipresence raises interesting questions about our shared levels of intimacy. But that’s outside the point. You gave the Earth a terminal prognosis — a window of certain death on May 21st — and then on a whim, you just changed your mind and canceled it. So while you bask in praise over the next few weeks for saving millions of people, I also want you to remember that you made me look like a complete idiot. That’s on your shoulders now and you have to live with that. I put a lot of stock into your promise of that rapture, and certainly didn’t anticipate seeing anyone I know ever again. Yet here I am … still, left with nowhere to go and standing on the opposite side of awkwardness from girlfriends, neighbors and coworkers, watching what’s left of a bridge burn between us. I think I deserve to know what happened.
I quit recycling too. I gave it up completely. I stopped separating plastics or buying energy-conscious products because I assumed it was pointless now. Well it wasn’t pointless, was it? Now I look like a dick. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to invite a woman to your house with whom you’d like to sexually fuse, and to have her notice that your bulbs are not florescent? I’ll save the trouble of guessing and tell you that the answer is: Very. It’s very embarrassing. Now I have the hassle of hiring someone to pick through my trash and re-separate everything. Plus, I genuinely have no idea how many six-pack rings I let slip into landfills and oceans, uncut, over the past two weeks. Your lies make me feel terrible about myself and that’s not something that friends do to one another. Couples maybe, but not friends.
Hear, hear. You tell ‘m Soren!