Part One.
Half past “god damn that can’t be right” rising Ronnie crawls over nocturnal Nancy, poking her in the ribs with the people’s elbow on his way to a scary disconnected telephone that had not been there was he passed out 2 hours ago, picking up the magic receiver of doom to hear unearthly predictions about the future from a ghost, again.
“The world Ends on August 29th, 1997.”
The old man wearing the President’s pyjamas is more annoyed than frightened by this spectral intrusion of prophetic nonsense throwing a spanner at his good night’s sleep. “You don’t have to keep saying that every-time. I know. FDR knew, We all know that the planet doesn’t make to the end of this century. Move along.”
“Then do something about it.”
“Tell me who to nuke, I’ll chew it over with my guys, get the wife’s 2 cents, and then circle right back to you.”
“America.”
“What?”
“Nuke it, and the world will prosper for 5 thousand years.”
“America?”
“America.”
“South America?”
“No.”
“Central America?”
“No.”
“American Samoa?”
“No. Really? American Samoa? Really?” The last fertile server farms, hiding from shellfire, on a Cursed Earth grimaces.
“So why are you calling Karnak?”
“You will be shot tomorrow.”
(Click.)
Half past “god damn that can’t be right” rising Ronnie crawls over nocturnal Nancy, poking her in the ribs with the people’s elbow on his way to a scary disconnected telephone that had not been there was he passed out 2 hours ago, picking up the magic receiver of doom to hear unearthly predictions about the future from a ghost, again.
“The world Ends on August 29th, 1997.”
The old man wearing the President’s pyjamas is more annoyed than frightened by this spectral intrusion of prophetic nonsense throwing a spanner at his good night’s sleep. “You don’t have to keep saying that every-time. I know. FDR knew, We all know that the planet doesn’t make to the end of this century. Move along.”
“Then do something about it.”
“Tell me who to nuke, I’ll chew it over with my guys, get the wife’s 2 cents, and then circle right back to you.”
“America.”
“What?”
“Nuke it, and the world will prosper for 5 thousand years.”
“America?”
“America.”
“South America?”
“No.”
“Central America?”
“No.”
“American Samoa?”
“No. Really? American Samoa? Really?” The last fertile server farms, hiding from shellfire, on a Cursed Earth grimaces.
“So why are you calling Karnak?”
“You will be shot tomorrow.”
(Click.)