TEOTWAWKI
by Tro
Farfarello had always secretly hoped that the End of the World would be on a Saturday. It would transition so nicely from a hard week of killing and maiming to… a fun weekend full of killing and maiming; not to mention the likelihood of a three-day-weekend if the day after the End of the World is declared a holiday.
The only problem was, of course, that Farfarello was clearly missing out on the best part. It was already well into a beautiful spring day; birds were singing, cherry trees were blossoming, and somewhere, roughly half a globe away, the world was ending. England was most likely being blown to smithereens at that very moment. Without him! Even if he hopped on the earliest flight out of Tokyo, he probably wouldn't make it in time before the runways at Heathrow were demolished by one of the many hellacious rivers of molten lava that would surely be spewing up from the bowels of Hell.
Damn. Why did he always get the memos so late?
Sighing, Farfarello drummed his scarred fingers on the letter in his hand that was clearly made from human skin, written in human blood, and stamped priority express. At least he was invited to the after-party. Idly, he wondered if he was supposed to bring a date…
-tcb-