Above my desk is a tarot card I mysteriously found in my kitchen a few months ago. It was from an incomplete deck, which I have been told is bad luck. I took the card anyway because I liked the look of it, which is just as good a reason as any other.

On it, an enormous blond-haired angel blows a horn while pale, naked humans rise from their coffins to greet the sound with outstretched arms. They’re so excited, I imagine, because wherever they’re going is probably a whole heck of a lot better than being stuffed inside a god damn coffin.

I look at this card at least once a day and say aloud to absolutely no one at all (no friends): “Hurry the hell up already.”

When is judgement day? I wonder. Is it today?

So I sit here at my desk and wait. I have no wooden box to spring from, not yet, but I will meet the wail of the trumpet just the same. I do not know anything of the process after that, but I will say to the creature in charge of my fate, if it will hear me, “Do what you will, but know this, sir: mostly it was bad, but I really did try my best.”

Once I met a lady from Los Angeles and she told me she wanted to come to my house and meet my cat and sit by a fire in my backyard

I didn’t know why she wanted to do those things, but I told her she could

I figured it would be nice, or whatever

See, she had good taste and was ten feet tall and had a cat and lots of plants

She told me she wanted our cats to be friends

But there was a bluegrass festival in Golden Gate Park, and she went to that instead

I didn’t hear from her after that; it must have been a really good bluegrass festival

And so she never got to meet my cat

And so she never got to sit by a fire in my backyard

A week later I was at an Apple Store in Pleasanton feeling like a rusted-out oil drum full of dead gophers and there she was on a god darn iPad advertisement hung up above a row of computers

Man that was so weird

standing there watching them dance i thought that maybe i was sad after all that humans would eventually die

and riding home i was cold and my skeleton ached and i wondered how many times they have heard me screaming and hollering under lonesome oakland tunnels

What you do is you take a staple gun and you pin a bunch of Pop-Tarts to the back of, say, convicted felons or political enemies or whatever and then barricade them inside an abandoned football stadium

Next you release hundreds of half-starved raccoons

Maybe they’re rabid as well

Film it live, put it on pay-per-view or whatever

But seriously: how far off are we from having televised sex on stage in the middle of abandoned football stadiums

Just a bunch of people fucking on stage for all the world to see

Sponsored by Toyota and Doritos and all that shit

I’m thinking ten years or so

People want heaven and they fear hell and what they fail to see is that both are within their grasp right here and all they have to do is choose

They have chosen hell!