…just waiting for the end of the world goddammit


People can’t wait for the end of the world.  They want it to happen, and it’s not just the Doomsday Preppers adjusting their gas mask straps in the flickering light of a buried conex box.  Regular Americans are scooping up gold, guns and ammunition like they all weigh 350 pounds and its Black Friday at WalMart.

There are no fewer than five drama shows currently on television that are set in post-apocalyptic futures (Walking Dead, Revolution, Defiance, Falling Skies, Under the Dome, to name a few) and new movies with similar themes seem to pop up up every time I take out a mortgage for a ticket and a bucket of popcorn (The Host, World War Z, Pacific Rim, Oblivion, After Earth, Elysium, among others).

Almost no one with an opinion thinks that this country is headed for great things anymore.  So I guess it makes sense that a reliable number of Americans are waiting for a good old cleansing, whether it come from zombie infestation, massive meteor or nuclear strikes, total economic meltdown, or the most likely possibility, an alien invasion from outer space (also my preference).

There must have been a point in our history when this country became too good for it’s own good.  Perhaps around the time people stopped bending the bill of their baseball caps, but maybe traceable all the way back to women’s suffrage.  At some point, it became so easy to simply survive that people started getting together in groups to demand more and better things, like a bunch of 5-year-olds crying because they didn’t get to pet Shamu during a trip to Disney World.  Give an inch, take a mile.  Now everyone wants “rights”.  Everyone has a “right” to things that are more and more trivial as time crawls onward.

In 1776 Americans had a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  That’s three things, count them.  Now that these idiots (Americans) don’t have to spend 16 hours each day squeezing milk out of a cow tit or beating their children into proper adults with Dad’s stropping leather,  they find the time to sit around dreaming up more “rights” that someone else should give them, like the “right” to a house and a low interest rate, or  the “right” to free healthcare, or the right to a cell phone so that every man, woman, and child can experience Angry Birds like their fathers before them.  How far back in time would we have to travel to balance this madness?  From a yahoo article:

“The earliest colonists — the Puritans who struggled for every mouthful of food and whose yearly death count exceeded that of any George Romero movie — did not have time for the frippery of love and courtship. Marriage was a survival pact. Courtship involved finding a woman of childbearing-ish age who had survived the previous winter. The man plowed things and kept threats of attack at bay. In return, the woman would keep the vermin out of the gruel she whipped up and would provide an outlet for sinful Puritan urges. Urges which would, in turn, provide the young couple with more laborers, so that this circle of mosquito-infested, frost-bitten drudgery could continue until they were released to God by sweet death.”

Yup.  That’s how far back.  Luckily, all old fashions become new again.  So standby for the apocalypse, where we won’t have to argue over whether gays should have their marriages recognized by the federal government, because an alien spacecraft will have decimated Washington D.C. with a total-protonic-reversal beam.

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