I know I’m supposed to say I would have sex with the closest stranger I could find that resembled Johnny Depp, or shoot a bunch of heroin while horseback-riding, but honestly, I probably wouldn’t do those things. I hate horseback-riding. I’d probably just end up living my life the way I always lived it, but to a degree of excess that does not require a substantial amount of effort. So here’s how it would go down:
1. I would turn on the gay channel – I think we have two, but I would prefer Logos, because it has endless reruns of America’s Next Top Model and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Then I would try to memorize the curvature of Sarah Michelle Gellar’s nostrils and analyze the racial dynamics of the Thailand model-dwelling abode to try to find some cosmic signal about the meaning of life. Is Jade’s poofy yellow hair a reflection of the wave/particle duality? I think it is.
2. Food. Food, bitch. I would empty my bank account and hire a teenager on a bike to be my food fetcher. Every food that I saw on TV, I’d send him to fetch. The more aerodynamic and breaded the better. Flying Wendy’s nuggets. Spicy KFC wings that fall from the sky. Every dipping sauce there is. But haha, oh you, I would not stop at savory. Sweet! Oh sweets. When I’m hit by a fiery comet, I want it to be with the taste of a Baker’s Square Candy Cane Pie in my mouth. But then on, say, Wednesday of this last week, I would remember that there is food in the world that does not exist on TV. Then I would summon my favorite flavors that do not come from national franchises. I’d put hot sauce, cilantro and sea salt on everything. Who needs that iodine-enhanced, goiter-avoiding table salt shit anymore?
3. The end of the world is a time to feel bad for babies. They never even got to the glorious stage in life when you stop pooping in your pants. They don’t know about such wonders as “30 Rock,” trying and failing at administering Cosmo’s sex tips, gin & tonics, getting high while watching Planet Earth and being able to choose your own bath time. I would hustle away from my couch at least a few times to be in the company of my niece Kaylee (2) and my nephew Levi (0) and I would tell them all about my own adventures. I wouldn’t even use a baby voice, I would use my full-timbre adult voice, the kind I might use while presenting a Power Point to someone with lots of money. All the while, I would hug them and let them watch Yo Gabba Gabba! in case they aren’t somehow absorbing my prized memories as vicarious experiences of their own.
4. Then I would get high and watch Planet Earth. During the part about birds of paradise who dance bizarrely to attract mates, I would weep. Or maybe laugh and order a Treatsa Pizza, depending on how high I am.
5. The end of the world is a time for secrets to come out. Damn it if I don’t seize the opportunity to learn all the deep dirt on everyone. First, I would check Twitter incessantly for confessions. Then I would try to go to public confession-happy places, like churches and bars (if you haven’t inferred that I would be drinking a lot during this week, infer it now). I would carry around a notepad, like Harriet the Spy, nod and make lots of Observations about Humanity. Then quickly I would write a novel about the Real Truth of Being Alive, and all the Pain and Secrets and Unintentionally Funny things it involves. Finally, I would send it into space for aliens to appreciate and enjoy. Maybe they would think me a John Kennedy Toole of humanity.