Armagetting an Erection (say it out loud slowly)

Well, we got another one. Another Rapture is on the horizon.

The saddest of all saints, but also the biggest fan
of accessorizing. Check out them rings! Source

A super bored saint, St. Malachy, wrote an exhaustive list of 112 prophesies, making a prediction of each pope's reign...until he apparently got bored at 112 and gave up. Like a bad writer who can't think of an ending, at his 112th prophecy, he just killed all the characters. Those characters being us, all of humanity. Ol' Santo Mal (check the spanish translation of that) got to the 112th pope prophecy and concluded his prophecy with "the end."

Turns out, Pope Benedict the Retired is the 111th pope. Meaning we are facing the end times...yet again, ignoring the history of apocalypse prophecies resulting from a collective narcissism. (Yes, of course the world is going to end on your watch. No one will last past you, as you are obviously living in the end times, you zenith of human existence, you.).

Source

Thus, for the fifth time in the last two years, humanity is awaiting yet another apocalypse. 

The problem is, I shouldn't know this. This isn't news. This is less news than when some geriatric preacher in Oakland, California arbitrarily predicted the Rapture twice. So, why are the archaic and deliberately vague writings of an obscure saint suddenly thrust into our face like Beyonce's crotch during a Super Bowl halftime show? Because internet/pseudo-news outlets (hi, Huffington Post) are Apocalypse Fetishists. Those Left Behind books must be, for news outlets, what going to a petting zoo is like for zoophiliacs. 

It's really great if you imagine it's a sequel to Growing Pains. Source

No judgment, though (well, maybe a little). Some people get their wand harder than a Philosopher’s Stone for Harry Potter slash fiction, the dredges of the media just has the same euphoric crotch fireworks for Ragnarök. I picture these garbage journalists paying hookers to recite the Book of Revelation.

If you’re ever trying to catch a cable news host, dangle a missing white girl in front of him/her. If you want to catch an internet journalist, first you have to lure him/her off of Reddit using celebrity side-boob, then trap her/him with some sort of doomsday prophecy.

Last year was an orgiastic utopia for lazy internet reporters during the lead-up to the Mayan prophecy. Now, just as they hit their refractory period, boom, here comes this 112^th Pope prophecy. They have to be rolling around naked in printed out pages of prophecies or swimming through a giant pit of flash drives filled with back story and papal history because they finally have content to fill the bandwidth required of them by their overlords.

You are welcome, centaur fetishists.

I think I respect Centaur fetishists more than people who write about doomsday prophecies…myself included.