I know I promised to check on yesterday, but I was preoccupied trying to look busy.
At any rate, I’m still here. In fact, everyone I know is still here, which tells one of two things: Either Reverend Camping was wrong or everyone I know is so devoid of grace that we all get left behind. I suspect the former over the latter, but at the same time, pretty much know that the latter was just as likely.
From a completely selfish perspective, I consider it a good thing. I would have taken the Alaska trip regardless, but at least now the roads might be in better shape and gas stations will be open. I’m sweating the finances enough as it is with today’s gas prices. I can’t imagine what the post-apocalyptic price per gallon would be.
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| Crack Kills |
Of all the places to find myself for the end of the world, I have to work the weekend in Washington DC. That in and of itself could serve as fodder for a pretty interesting article, but I digress. As I sat in the Dallas airport, I couldn’t help but notice the other heavenly rejects around me when I came upon this person in the departure gate.
Where is my white robe when I need it?
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