That’s great, it starts with an earthquake, birds and snakes and aeroplanes and Geoffy Bruce is not afraid. Leonard what’s-his-name, Herman Munster, motorcade, birthday party, cheetos, pogo sticks and lemonade, you symbiotic, stupid jerk, stir-fried Sandy…It’s the end of the world and I feel just fine. Or at least it is, according to latest whackjob theories emanating from the constantly-wrong mind of the doomsday equivalent of the boy who cried wolf, David Meade.
Meade reckons that this time the world will totes end, according to his usage of “astronomical, scientific, the Book of Revelation and geopolitics” studies. What’s going to kill our civilisation this time? That pesky Planet X, which will somehow manage to slip past dozens of satellites out in deep orbit and collide with our globe. Sort of like that episode of Invader Zim then.
Meade’s calculations say that the number 33 is to blame, as Planet X will arrive to squish us all into cosmic dust on September 23, with a constellation forming over Jerusalem and then kickstarting a series of devastating tribulations. NASA meanwhile, have resigned themselves to resting their faces in cupped hands and whispering “f**king David Meade” as they caution the public to take his claims with a mountain of salt.
Are we laughing at these claims? Yes, yes we are. Hell, we might even be chortling and guffawing at them. What if Meade is right though? What if tomorrow truly is the end of the world? What would you do if you had a day to prepare for the inevitable? Thanks to denial and an abundant supply of towels, I’m immortal. So I’d most likely try to finish the Destiny 2 Raid right before Nibiru lands right on top of me, although I’d imagine the rest of the globe would descend into an All-You-Can-Purge festival of hedonism and chaos.
Would you mend the divide with certain friends and family? Go out in a blaze of glory before the end? Climb a hill and gaze at the stars that mankind will never touch? Maybe you’d find religion, maybe you’d look for a moment of compassion with a secret love or you’d toast the end with a vintage brandy. The possibilities are endless, for one final hurrah that the vast cosmic history of the universe will soon forget as trillions of years tick by on a slow march to entropy.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Critical Hit as an organisation.
Last Updated: September 22, 2017