This morning at work I delivered the bad news to Colin: Sheila has lain with Mr. Gillespie. Colin took me at my word—a rare display of faith. Presumably the light of Truth was shining from me. The fact is, I have a nose for fornication, and those two reek of it.
The revelation had a dramatic effect. Colin went into the washroom and there was a lot of smashing and screaming. When he emerged, his knuckles were bloody and a vengeful wrath blazed through his NHS bifocals. He stormed off towards Mr. Gillespie’s office, grabbing one or two heavy objects from desks as he passed. Good deed done, I decided to take the rest of the day off. I took the elevator with Linda from HR. Some commotion reached us as the doors were closing.
“Did you hear that?” Linda asked as we descended. “Sounded like… smashing. And screaming.”
“That, my child, is the soundtrack to the End Times,” I told her. “Have you let Jesus into your life?”
She just stared at me.
“Then you better get used to it,” I said.
She smiled nervously, and I almost pitied her.
That weight-lifting Neanderthal next door has terrorized me for long enough to warrant a considered response. It’s doubtful the heathen is literate, but with nothing to lose, tonight I dropped a note through his letterbox. To summarize:
- Body-builders are reputed to be compensating for something. It’s remarkable to think that your brain may in fact not be your smallest organ.
- God is on my side. If you doubt this, look for me tomorrow. When you can’t find me, look up. I’ll be waving.
- I don’t believe we evolved from apes but for you I’ll make an exception.
I realized I was feeling the bliss not just of the impending union with the Almighty, but of free expression. How liberating, to say what would remain unsaid for fear of consequence! In this spirit, I was moved to tweet.
Twitter is a wonderful way to spread God’s word, but the Rapture is upon us and that mission is now defunct. The damned of today are forever damned. So I took the opportunity instead to confess the truth behind the Great Dog Poisoning Mystery of 2009.
Lord, the fuss that was made about the death of twelve filthy animals! A small sacrifice, I believe, for a peaceful and sanitary neighbourhood. I tweeted again, speculating that similar measures might be taken against the growing tribe of slothful youths defiling the local environment with their Satanic hoods and moronic slang. All in fun, of course (I appended a clarifying ‘LOL’). After all, from tomorrow the sinners of the world will have more pressing concerns.
Sleep is unthinkable. So I shall sit here and await the Rapture. And you, who remain; you, reading this diary: enjoy the smashing and the screaming. The Apocalypse belongs to you. You’ve earned it.