Rapturific! The View from the Sky

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I got raptured five days ago. I know. And I totally wasn’t expecting it. But I’ll tell you one thing. Right in the midst of my rapturous assent I started panicking about all you schmucks LEFT BEHIND. It really sucked too, because I realized I was the only one floating away. I always thought at least Michael Landon would join me. Then I thought, “Oh yeah, he’s dead already.”

Then my next thought really comforted me, “At least my dog, Fluffy, will be taken care of by a professionally vetted and secularly loving non-Christian post-rapture pet handler — all thanks to After the Rapture Pet Care. I mean, if so many people are doomed to eternal hell, than at least one of them should earn a decent wage caring for my precious dog, right?

O.K, O.K. Maybe I wasn’t raptured. Anyway, I got better. And I don’t even own a dog, or a pet of any kind. But seriously? I’m a little upset for two reasons. First, my morals prevent me from taking advantage of people the way that ARPC (after the rapture pet care) has with their professional service (all for the low, low price of 10 bucks). Second, I wish I would have thought of it.

How many of you have already paid the ten bucks? Raise your hands. Don’t worry, unless you’re at work or at the library or something then you’re all alone. (If you are at work just turn your head a little and sniff like you’re doing an armpit check. You’ll look totally normal.) Raise your hands! I have family in Texas, people! That’s what I thought. Like half of you. (Yes, 3 out of 7 qualifies as half if you round up.)

Extrapolate that to the several thousand people living around the world (at least that’s how many I have proof of) and that’s like half of several thousand people times 10 bucks, or in other words, a buttload of cash. Here I am slaving away at the keyboard to produce this blog post day after day (well twice a week anyway) while some pet-hating, arm-chair swindler has bested me and my “tour of Hollywood Leprechauns” website. What the frick?

It wasn’t that long ago that as a nation we preferred to eat our pets rather than to pay some be-pimpled pickpocket to ransack our valuables while slumping Alpo into a dish as our precious Fifi barks at the sky where we just floated away. Is it just me? Or is something amiss?[divider]

By the way, for a self-guided tour map to all the best known Hollywood Leprechauns send $10 to the RedneckGranola at my new address. Thanks.

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