Flying corpses predicted on Doomsday in October
Glenwood Springs, CO Colorado
“Did you ever see that 1978 horror movie, ‘Dawn of the Dead,’?” I asked Husband-Head.
“You mean the one with all the zombies that rose from the dead and roamed around while the survivors hunkered down in a shopping mall?” Husband-Head nodded. “It was pretty creepy. … Why?”
Because now Harold Camping, the 89-year-old Evangelist preacher from California who had predicted the world was going to end on May 21, 2011, has a new story. The end of the world has been extended until Oct. 21.
“Apparently, he says that corpses will emerge from their graves on Doomsday, Oct. 21, 2011,'” I read from a story that ran recently. “It says on that day corpses will be flung out of their graves onto the ground like manure and those who die that day are not going to be buried.”
Husband-Head looked confused.
“Ummm … no pun intended, but who gives a crap?” he pointed out. “If you’re already dead, it won’t matter if you get hurled out of your coffin or if you aren’t buried. I don’t think dead people get all offended by stuff like that.”
Then he broke out into an R.E.M. song.
“It’s the end of the world as we know it!” he sang out loud, followed by a rendition of The Doors song, “The End.”
But the whole “world is ending” thing has made me think about what I would do if I knew it was the final days of my life.
“What do you want to do before the world ends?” I had asked Husband-Head curiously the evening before the predicted May 21 date. “Would you want to go out and have a prime rib and lobster dinner?”
“You know I can’t eat stuff like that – I’m a heart patient!” Husband-Head responded in horror.
I just raised an eyebrow.
But what would you do if it really was your last day on Earth? What would be on your “bucket list?”
“I dunno,” Husband-Head shrugged. “I think I’d want to have a beer with Aaron Rodgers while sitting in the middle of Lambeau Field or maybe drive in a NASCAR race …”
Nice to know I was clearly not included on this list.
“How about you?” Husband-Head asked. “How would you spend your final hours?”
Weather permitting, probably floating around in the pool with a boat drink in my hand.
But as I continued to read, I was amazed at some of the things people who believed Camping’s prediction actually did to prepare for the end.
“Do you know there are people who actually paid to have their pets taken care of?” I told Husband-Head. “There’s even a company called ‘Eternal Earth-Bound Pets’ which is run by a bunch of atheists.”
“That’s absolutely ridiculous,” Husband-Head scoffed. “If it’s really the end of the world; everyone’s going to die, whether they’re saved or not. And who wants to be the last pet on Earth, anyway?”
Obviously, the world didn’t end as predicted because we woke up the next day and as far as we could tell, everything still seemed in tact.
“Maybe we’re, like, dead and we don’t know it, like Bruce Willis in that movie, ‘The Sixth Sense,'” I suggested. “Remember how you didn’t even realize he was dead until the end of the movie?”
Which prompted me to start poking at Husband-Head to test if he was really alive.
“Does THIS hurt?” I asked as I pinched his arm. “Well, does THIS hurt?”
Husband-Head responded by grabbing a pillow and bopping me on the head.
But through the days leading up to the supposed “end of the world,” you had to laugh at people’s sense of humor as they laid pants, shirts, shoes and hats around in public places, pretending they’d been “taken” in the Rapture.
“This all reminds me of that 1998 book series ‘Left Behind,'” I informed Husband-Head. “A bunch of people were on a plane and then all of a sudden, a bunch of them were gone and the only thing left on their seats were their clothes. I think the pilots were gone, too.”
Once again, Husband-Head had a horrified look on his face.
“So what the hell happened?” he wanted to know. “Did the plane crash?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I put the book in the seat pocket in front of me before I finished and after I got off the plane, I realized I had left it behind.”
So far, Camping has been wrong, which is good because on Oct. 21, I would hate to see old friends and relatives being flung out of their graves onto the ground like manure. …
Fried Rice runs every Thursday in the Citizen Telegram. Heidi Rice is a freelance writer who lives in Rifle. Visit her website, http://www.heidirice.com for more columns and her book. Contact Heidi at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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