Here we are on the eve of the Rapture and there are so many things I have left to do. I never got to kiss a super model or punch Glen Beck in the gonads.
I didn’t get a chance to go back to Dick’s Last Resort in San Antonio, a city that doubles as Armageddon’s ground zero on a good day. I didn’t get my bike out of the shop and get the chance to ride to Burning Man in Nevada, eat some mushrooms and body paint my fat, naked body.
All of these things would have taken considerable time and planning and, as I’m sure you are well aware of, we only have about 12 hours of normalcy before all hell breaks loose. So with my last half day on earth, these are the things locally that I could do or if I actually believed this idiotic false prophet Harold Camping, I would do.
12 Hours TR (‘Till Rapture)
My first foray of deeds would involve a 30 minute plane ride to Austin, Texas to slap the hell out of Rick Perry. There is no particular reason because there are too many reasons to list. But if I had to pick one, it would be the disastrous way he is allowing our great state to lower itself to the same standards as the backwards, uneducated Podunk states south and east of Texas. His used car salesman persona has worn thin on me and I would hope most Texans would agree with me if they took a real look at him. While I was there, I would swing over to the UT campus and see if I could have a word with the coaching fraud that is Mack Brown. If he would give me just five minutes, I would tell him why, in this life or the next, I will never forgive him for screwing Major Applewhite twice—once in favor of college football’s spare of the century Chris Simms and then by not naming him offensive coordinator. Then it’s off to the airport for a quick flight up to Oklahoma. Where Mark Cuban is I’m sure David Stern isn’t too far away.
8 hours TR
Once on the ground I’ll have to figure out a way to get next to the great and powerful Stern. It’ll probably involve some sexual favors and sparklers, but I’m sure it will be worth it once I get in. As I’m my clothes, I would ask the commish what he was thinking when he outlawed the hand check, took away the competitive balance and allowed the referees to become bigger stars than they should be. I would also ask him why he hates Cubes and how he honestly felt during the 2006 Finals when Dewayne Wade, the Heat and three referees hosed the Mavs in 6 games. I would want him to answer the conspiracy questions about the NBA Lottery and referees setting up games. He could tell me. After all, we’d only have a few hours left with civilization as we know it and everyone could collectively exclaim “I told you.”
While there, I would also ask Cubes to not dance for the remaining few hours we have. In someway his moves are more disturbing than the impending doom. I would stay to watch the game but that’s two hours into the Apocalypse and I still have a few things left to do.
6 Hours TR
Even though I could fly back and save a little time, I would head over to Hertz and rent a car for a nostalgic trip down I-35. I would have to make a stop in Norman to relive my college years, inform Bob Stoops that he is only marginally better than Mack Brown and remind him he is the greatest choke artist in the history of OU football. It wouldn’t be pretty but it would have to be done. I’ve grown a little tired of getting my heart ripped out, January after January. Then it’s on the road for a three hour drive to Dallas.
3 Hours TR
First stop back in D-town would have to be in Turtle Creek so I can have a sit down with old leather face, Jerry Jones. I need to explain to him how I felt that for the past 15 years, my loyalty to the Cowboys has been betrayed and my trust squandered by his refusal to put a real football man in charge of the Cowboys. Hell I would have settled for a decent succession of coaches that had a real input on the direction of the team. Not a bunch of yes men who are only too happy to be the coach of America’s Team.
1½ Hours TR
After a bunch of psychobabble and an ear splitting mutilation of the English language from him, I’d head over to the home of Rangers owner Nolan Ryan and ask him why he gets all the credit for a team he has basically piggybacked on. Actually, there is nothing to ask him. I just think he is as over hyped an owner as they come and he allowed Greenberg to put everything in place and then pulled the rug out from under him. And it’s easy to get the metroplex sheep to believe that he is some sports deity when he only played here five years and never took his Texas team to the playoffs, went to one Word Series and has the most walks, wild pitches and third most losses in league history. Oh, I almost forgot. That whole Robin Ventura thing; over-rated.
1 Hour TR
Then after I’ve expressed all my anger, I will finally head back home, not to spend it with family because I could care less. I don’t need to get drunk or have one last sexual romp either. No I’d much rather sit out at Lake Arlington with a cold one and watch the “Chosen Ones” ascend into heaven. Then I have to get ready for the 7 year party that Camping said was coming after the Rapture.