It was when the ceiling began bobbing and weaving and the floor did a somewhat half-hearted impression of a moving walkway that I became a tad concerned. My first instinct was to run barefoot from the building, abandoning all my belongings to the winds, but this is why I am not built to survive the Apocalypse.
Immediately, I learned the true cause.
“The epicenter in Louisa Virginia is not a coincidence rather part of the plot harkening to the name Louis and The US Plot to since WW1 take down The Monarchy and install Puppet Democracies using MK ULTRA Mind Control. At its highest echelons the entire Government is operated using hypnotic mind control. I know as I am former CIA and a hypnotic MK ULTRA Operative seeking asylum from The US Government for utilizing me against my Free Will,” a man informed us, within moments, in an e-mail with many more capital letters.
This is reassuring.
“This is doubly bad,” Rick Perry will say. “First, because it was caused by government, and second because it was caused by science.”
I’m sure this will come up with the Tea Party later. “Get government out of the business of shaking our homes!” they will mutter. “That ought to be left to the states and God.”
“If Republicans in Congress were willing to put their nation before their vacation,” President Obama will add, “they might have stopped this. I, too, have a plan, but I cannot show it to you until I get off the Cape.”
But now is not the time to predict the response.
I have just returned to my post at The Post after being knocked around like an unsecured light fixture in the honeymoon suite.
I can still see the visions of horror swim before my eyes.
We tried to loot but there wasn’t anything to loot, since we already had six BlackBerrys apiece. We tried pillaging, but you can only take so many button-down shirts and khakis before your wardrobe suffocates. We tried sabotaging the Metro escalators, but nature had anticipated us there.
It reminded me of “Heart of Darkness,” but with a less layered narration style.
There was chaos in the streets.
“The espresso machine is broken!” someone wailed, tumbling into the street with a cry of despair.
Several expensive bicycles appeared to have fallen over. People were eating sandwiches with their bare hands. Others had resorted to standing around in an orderly fashion. Some of them were even texting on their smartphones and reported, pale-faced and trembling, a mere four out of five bars of service.
“The horror!” I murmured. The beasts within us were beginning to emerge.
Naturally, the government has almost shut down and everyone is evacuating as fast as they can. It is the only thing to do. Several drowsy staffers woke up and began drafting bills to refund NASA. We must get off the Earth before this occurs again! Or at least we must get onto 495. That is close enough.
In the chaos, I fought my way to the corner coffee shop, barbarically hissing “Excuse me!” and “Pardon, coming through.” There was no time to be civil. I had left my wallet in the building, deciding that in the new, apocalyptic world, I would survive by my wits alone. “Give me an iced coffee!” I roared, already reduced to the Hobbesian state. “With room for cream.”
For some reason they still expected me to pay.
“Wait 10 minutes,” I grumbled. “You’ll see society begin to unravel!”
Ten minutes later, society did not seem to have noticeably unraveled. I attempted to pay them in quips about topical events, but they did not view this a service worth rewarding with food. In retrospect I am inclined to agree with them.
Surviving by my wits seemed rather a bleak prospect, and I am now looking to the zombie apocalypse somewhat less sanguinely than I was previously.
But perhaps this was the apocalypse.
This is the second earthquake in the D.C. area in less than a year! This is not supposed to happen here. I thought that was why we sacrificed Anthony Weiner. Next we’re going to have locusts legging it in across the plains, and the water in the Potomac will cease to be potable. Or maybe it will start to be potable! Anything is possible in these trying times.
Like most things that start as a vague trembling near Washington, the quake shook the whole coast. It rumbled through Philly — and New York — and Boston. Some even felt it in Detroit, but it might have been something they ate, and we will send them a nice apologetic package of subsidies later.
I earnestly hope everyone is all right.
The Washington National Cathedral appears to be a bit worse for wear, shedding multiple spires. A tower is leaning. Perhaps this was a message from On High, in which case I can only assume that On High wants us to know that the asymmetric look is in this season. There certainly can’t be any objections to the Cathedral, other than maybe that it is “too uncontroversial and welcoming to too many people,” so I hope we can fix it. I am deeply attached to the Cathedral. It’s where I underwent every ceremony in it that an Episcopalian can undergo, short of marriage and extreme unction. I hope it makes it through. If you are a stonemason, you probably should get in touch.
The federal government is now wondering about whether it will be safe for nonessential personnel to return tomorrow. Who knows?
It hasn’t been this chaotic since we expected 2 inches of snowfall a few months ago.