Posts Tagged ‘Rapture’

Buckle-Up, Sugar-Tits, because rocky is the road...

Buckle-Up, Sugar-Tits, because rocky is the road…

Greetings Wayward Traveler,

Weary as ever, I see. Come in, come in; make yourself at home. Warm your stockings next to the electric fire and I will pour you some of this Polish cherry brandy I’ve come across through my speculative wagering in the Occident. You’ve arrived at this threshold, of course, for the same reason as in years past: to peer into the crystal ball which is my mind for knowledge of the path ahead. Well, buckle-up, Sugar-Tits, because rocky is the road and as Caesar said on the far side of the Rubicon, “the die is cast”.

Without further ado, here is your 2015:

  1. Putin, like a Phoenix, will rise from the Ashes of his Demise and Escalate a New Cold War!
Vlad Putin inciting chaos in the Ukraine

Vlad Putin inciting chaos in the Ukraine

2012 – Putin re-ascended to Russian presidency as I predicted
2013 – Putin demise did not occur as I predicted, but
2014 – Putin’s demise did occur as I re-predicted.

Despite a great start of 2014 for Vladimir Putin, what with hosting the Olympic Games, annexing a fine piece of real estate and Cossacks whipping Pussy Riot punk rockers, the year ended with Russia in financial ruins. After Vlad seized Crimea, the Western Establishment along with the Saudis reacted with more than just sanctions: markets were manipulated to drop the price of oil to deal a devastating blow to the Russian economy. Why all of the cheap gas lately? It is the result of the Establishment telling Vladimir Putin to go fuck himself.

And fuck himself, Vlad has. With nowhere else to turn, the desperate Vladimir has signed-off on his pound of flesh to get into bed with the clammy ghosts of Mao. Yes, the great loan shark that is China is all that is keeping Russia afloat. What comes next will be global strife as Vladimir tears off his tattered shirt and gets back astride his bear to lead the Russian people into another age of anti-West paranoia, bringing us the next Cold War. This time, it will not be quietly fought over an East and West Germany, but rather East and West Ukraine.

China wants American military focus out of the China Sea and a new Cold War would help. The Military Industrial Complex wants constant armament and a new Cold War along with the constant anti-Jihadi defense build-up is a dream come true.

  1. New Drinking Establishments will be constructed like Cyber-Cafes for Virtual Socializing

Between Google Glass and Facebook’s purchasing of Oculus Rift (for $2 Bill, no less), people will be wearing a lot more shit on their face in 2015. The shift from flesh & blood socializing to online social networking will escalate as virtual reality features come into play. Why go to a traditional bar to meet underwhelming local personage when you can go to Ralph’s VR Café, sit alone in a cubicle slurping martinis through a straw and cyber-mingle with drunks from all over the world? Why go to a brick & mortar shopping mall when you can strap on your Virtual Reality mask and meet your friends in a virtual market where you can legitimately shop for anything (even try on clothes after you enter your biometrics)? In the future, we’ll go to virtual nightclubs where our avatar bodies dance with a whole lot more rhythm than we’re capable of in our physical form. We can go to brothels, opting to be either the john or the prostitute, depending on whichever role you wish to assume. Just imagine: instead of driving over to Applebees for another Friday night with a dyspeptic spouse, you can head down to Ralph’s VR Café and link-up with the animated avatar of some lonesome man/woman on the other side of the world (or the other side of your duplex) to tango or overthrow ancient Carthage.

Terms like ‘friend’, ‘community’, ‘society’ will become increasingly vague as a simulated dream world overtakes reality.

  1. Green Co-Opt Gyms will be a Thing

All they need to do is figure out how to collect energy off of a stair-master like they do a wind turbine and then BOOM: you will have a cottage industry of Co-Opt Gymnasiums where energy exerted into the machines creates storable power to be sold into the infrastructure. Members of these gyms will receive monetary benefits for the amount of output they put into the gym (within reason, the incentive will come with a ceiling to keep the gym-rats from hogging all the spoils). Think about it: if you commit to 10 hours on the excite bike or 8 hours on the elliptical or 6 hours on the treadmill per week, you will pay off your gym membership with the reusable energy you create. Green gyms with benefits: this will be a thing.

Intermission #1: So How Does Vic Do It?

How do I do it? How do I know shit with such accuracy (evidenced by my 2014 success rate)? Well, you should realize time isn’t just relative, it’s all bullshit. Imagine a bowling ball suspended over an egg crate hung by dental floss over a smoldering Jacuzzi pit of bubbly warmth. In this scenario, gravity = gravity, bowling ball = time, perception = egg yolk and you are the one cleaning up the hot tub.

Make sense? No? Okay.

  1. Hot Meat Pies will be the Culinary Fad of 2015

I don’t really understand the “Paleo Diet” as such a thing would require us keeping our wisdom teeth to gnash on tree roots and the like. Right? Regardless, or irregardless as the kids are saying these days, meat & potatoes are IN while carbs are OUT. Imagine, now, a Chicken Pot Pie where the crust is carbohydrate alternative like… I don’t know, tree root? Either way, what I see is a move towards hot meat pies, loaded with plenty of meats and starches and kept together with buttery gravy and held into place by whichever shell is non-carb.

Look for it – hot pies and wisdom tooth implants.

  1. Cuban Cigars Flood Market

Obama has opened the flood gates, allowing for limited trade between America and Cuba. This is going to have a profound impact on the trendy cigar bar scene in the United States. While any aficionado can tell you the world over from Toronto to Tokyo is rife with Cuban cigars, here in the States we have been sans Cubano (due to special interest influenced foreign policy over the last few decades). In the prior void of the esteemed Cuban tobacco, industries in Honduras and the Dominican Republic have prospered offering their version of tobacco (Cuban seed grown on local war-torn ground) stogie. Once the current market adjusts, Cuban cigars will become available at a great premium due to high American domestic demand. The Cuban originals are not necessarily superior in quality, but their reputation alone may drive Honduran and Dominican companies out of the market.

  1. Next Big Virus Hysteria Will Emerge From Asia

While MERS and Ebola stole headlines in 2014 after popping up in Africa, the world-ending disease/virus to emerge in 2015 will be out of Asia. There are more pigs in China than there is tea. More pigs than you can even imagine. If you imagine an absurd number of pigs in China, that number would be less than the amount of pigs floating dead in Chinese rivers. So here is the fun thing about pigs: the dirty bastards are the French Academy of Cuisine in regards to cooking up new diseases. Swine can swallow bird flu and man flu because swine are fed and eat everything, including dead birds and man shit, and then swine digestive systems will reimagine all these bugs into a superbug then become depressed and drown itself in a river to wash up in Shanghai only to be served at Taco Bell and voila! you have a world-wide pandemic of Flying-Pig Flu H37N50.

Intermission #2: back to How Does Vic Do It?

Srirachomancy: it looks like Jesus, or wait, maybe its just John Belushi...

Srirachomancy: it looks like Jesus, or wait, maybe it’s just John Belushi…

This is how I predict the future: it is a black magic divining craft I like to call Srirachomancy. First, I find a breakfast sandwich. Nothing vegan as Srirachomancy requires at least two separate animals to be sacrificed for this to work. An egg & turkey sausage sandwich is fine, even though both meats are fowl. Pork of some sort would be better, but whatevs… Sandwich secured, I squirt a blazing drizzle of Sriracha sauce atop the highest layer of meat before pushing down the sandwich top. English muffins work much better than croissants for obvious reasons (bagel’ll work in a pinch). Once the sandwich top is settled, lift it up to reveal the splatter on the ceiling. Srirachomancy involves interpreting the red-splattery result of the collision between solids with the spicy liquid in-between acting as our medium.

So now you see as I see…

  1. The Old will get Older and the Young will become more Anarchistic 

There is a twilighting of talent as the Baby Boomers fade into the great dusk. This is occurring in the corporate world and, perhaps more troubling, in the skilled labor arena where trade guilds are lacking apprentices to fulfill the next generation of carpenter, electrician and plumber. Why is there no skilled labor amongst the heaps of unemployed youth? Blame the Establishment (Creditors, Realtor Association, Chamber of Commerce) for selling the populace with messages of how glorious college education is because education is money and money gets real estate and real estate is the American Dream no matter the cost. Such messages end up with Americans outspending what they will never earn only to lose what they briefly had. The American Dream is a banker’s sales pitch: become indebted, work hard and become free once you pay-off the debt & vigorish. But that vig is a bitch!

Financial leverage is a tricky game. If you are a commercial entity with capital to spare, leverage that shit. If you are a student with only your future at stake, leverage becomes another matter. This new generation emerging from college is realizing the dream they’ve been sold is a trap of indentured domestication. Obama pledging, as he has recently done, free community college tuition is nothing more than a drug dealer offering a couple free scores in order to drive up the dependency. This isn’t about furthering education; America needs more electricians and few liberal arts degrees. This is about increasing the number of potential debtors to the banks who want to own us all.

This is a cocktail that will incite civil unrest. What happens when you tree a r’coon or back an opossum into a corner? They lose all of their political ideals and turn to anarchism.

  1. ISIS/ISIL is on the Decline while Roguishness Overall Thrives

Currently, ISIS/L is being bombarded with air-strikes. These will increase and continue until the desert buccaneers are nothing but a loose bunch of highwaymen doing little more than bootlegging oil and spreading jihadist sexually transmitted diseases in the name of their prophet of choice (fyi jihadis don’t wear condoms).

Of course, Islamic Radicalism will remain constant. Yemen will become a drone playground while Europe and other ports of entry will continue to be terrorized by the Jihad on Tour. Even if Yemen sinks into the Earth’s mantle, the radicals will find the next rogue state haven. The War on Terrorism is a new cottage industry for the Industrial Military Complex who consider indefinite terror threat good for business. Get used to it: until the robots rise up and exterminate us or aliens return to hit the reset button, world wide jihad is the new norm.

This threat of random jihadist violence will increase the armament of local police forces (despite a disastrous 2014 in Ferguson and everywhere) as well as home-brewed militias. 2nd Amendment exaggerators will find reason to furnish themselves with rocket-propelled grenades, laser death-rays and whatever other lethal shit pops up on the internet, which is exactly what the Military Industrial Complex has brainwashed them to do (subliminal “buy more guns” messages can be found in their mayonnaise if you stare long enough).

  1. Crypto-Currencies do not go away

Bit-Coin and many other alternatives are here to stay. This is a good thing. Crypto-Currencies cannot be counterfeited or manipulated, which is what has the Establishment queasy. Here is how it works: the crypto-currency’s worth is based off the difficulty of solving the mathematical problem built into the programming. Imagine gold’s value not being judged by the karat or the ounce, but rather the swings of the axe against the earth or the hours of sifting through river silt. This is how crypto-currency works. The inherent value of currencies put them out of reach of governmental control. Local economies can be made more sovereign by switching to crypto-currencies versus depending on the dollar, the euro or other garbage out there. What is strange today will be the norm tomorrow.

  1. Jesus will Return in September

Halleluiah!

Jesus returns this September!

Jesus returns this September!

Yes, we are approaching the next prophesized END TIMES date in September of 2015 when Jesus is supposed to make his comeback and vacuum up all the cool people to take back to Heaven or wherever. There is a sub-set of conspiracy theorists devoted to the literal interpretation of REVELATIONS and how the events around us fit into the prophecies. I call them the Revelator Crowd. What they are especially tickled over with this coming September is the coincidence that Pope Frank will be Stateside for the assumed Return! Aussie and Germanic and Brit and Israeli Apocalyptophiles probably do not give a damn about Frank in the USA, but American paranoiacs certainly do. What does it mean? Is Pope Frank coming to America because he realizes Jesus is rapturing Americans first? Or, YIKES!, could it be Pope Frank is actually the Antichrist journeying to America to seize control in the post-rapture power void?

Either way, End of Days is Nigh. Which makes for interesting conversation.

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Come-to-Jesus moment (according to the internet) – An epiphany in which one realizes the truth of a matter; realizing the true weight or impact of a negative situation or fact; acknowledgment that one must get back to core values; moment of realization; turning point; sudden regret at driving all the way to Nashville.

BAYOU SAINT BASIL, Fla

Habits turn into patterns and patterns create predictability. In my line of work (freelance skullduggery), predictability is best avoided*. It is rare for me, Vic Neverman, to habitually patron any given establishment, yet within crawling distance of St Bas Trailer Park resides a watering hole familiar to this horse. It doesn’t take the casual observer long to see why I might frequent said establishment: most notably the blonde behind the bar. Upon my entry on this night in question, her smile beamed at me like a Fukushima firefly** before her brow furrowed in faux suspicion, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to see you again until November.” To this, my mumbled response was more coy than sly, I got thirsty…

*Predictability is #17 in Vic’s Paranoid Guide of Avoidance, right behind #16 GPS Devices and ahead of #18 fondue restaurants.

**Ironically, the prison-style tattoo on her neck under her right ear might just be a radiated bug of some sort

The name of the blonde beer-monger is not Jade Thunderbrook, but Jade Thunderbrook is what we are calling her. Jade was curious as to what business had me away (almost until November) in the first place. As she poured me a pint of a dark menacing draught, I told her as much as I dared about my new line of work up in Tennessee. Her reaction was quizzical, incredulous even, “The ‘Jesus Business’? …You?” Yup. Me. Vic Neverman, soon-to-be apocalyptic evangelist.

Vic and Layla during presentation of True 1st Thanksgiving (between Vikings and Sasquatch)

Vic and Layla during presentation of True 1st Thanksgiving (between Vikings and Sasquatch)

It was a new racket, this Jesus Business, and certainly not one I had in mind when driving up to Nashville last weekend in search of profitable endeavors. Even the drive to Tennessee was an unexpected digression from our regular programming. This story has no clear beginning, but this particular chapter began to be fleshed-out a week ago when I was summoned to The Cheese Pit, a fondue restaurant under a freeway bridge somewhere on the east side of Orlando. The summoning was by a former employer, a woman as wicked as she could be saintly, Layla Santana Crow. She had a new job for me, “Drive Mom to Nashville.” That beast? I laughed over Layla’s cauldron of boiling cheese. Not a chance. Layla, a former South Florida weather-girl, has always had a knack for persuasion and this night was no exception. By the time my gut reverse-engineered the digestion of my under-seared chicken, I had agreed to join her plot.

There’s an old saying in Tennessee — I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee — that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can’t get fooled again.

-President George W. Bush

“Mom” was the 3 ton (curb weight) Ford Über-Truck that belonged to Layla’s husband, Cyrus Lee Hancock. The nickname was inspired by the curse I shouted at first glimpse of the four-wheeled locomotive, “Mother of Grendel!” The name stuck. The machine was designed to plow through whichever antagonists that came across her bow – hurricane, United Nation globalists, zombie outbreak, etcetera, etc., et al. You see, dear reader, Cyrus Lee Hancock and Layla Santana Crow were, in fact, “apocalyptalists” – essentially, apocalypse capitalists. They formed the OASIS survivalist sect (where I was briefly employed as a rescue diver (PADI certified)) in preparation for the 2012 Maya Apocalypse. The End Date of 12/21/2012 did not come with Armageddon, but it did leave OASIS with an empty bank account before the members could come looking for an End of the World refund. Where were the funds or the founders of OASIS in these post-apocalypse days? Layla had disappeared to Costa Rica while Cyrus Lee jetted off to Central Asia with the IRS chomping at his heels. 10 months later… Layla Santana Crow had returned to her favorite Floridian fondue haunt and Cyrus Lee Hancock had found asylum in the hills of Tennessee. Cyrus Lee wanted his toys back without having to risk a trip to Florida – which is where I, Vic Neverman, came in. I was to deliver to him his favorite toy of all, the monstrous truck, “Mother of Grendel”***.

Vic pulls Mother of Grendel into the parking lot of the future Church of the Revelator

Vic pulls Mother of Grendel into the parking lot of the future Church of the Revelator

***Each tire, which Cyrus Lee plans to upgrade, cost $315 with an extra $275 spent in bullet-proof rims. The exterior is painted in a metallic blue, giving Mom a shiny “bling” to assist in her extravagance. Mom also bears a tramp-stamp of a machine gun decal on her back window, which is of great assistance when attempting to merge into freeway traffic.

Leaving Bayou Saint Basil at the Hour of the Wolf...

Leaving Bayou Saint Basil at the Hour of the Wolf…

Other than a few moped casualties, blown away in Mom’s jet-wash as I skirted my way across Atlanta, the journey from Florida to Tennessee was relatively benign. Before setting out, Layla assured me the truck was street legal and was not transporting any contraband (guns, gold, girls, pills). I left my home at Bayou Saint Basil during the Hour of the Wolf, making the most out of the pre-dawn darkness while avoiding toll roads and other highways highly visible to DOT**** cameras. Cyrus Lee equipped the truck with a scanner that could pick-up Highway Patrol radar, Homeland Security drones and garage door openers. The resulting steady beep of the scanner detecting spook devices acted as paranoid musical accompaniment to the trip. Mother of Grendel moved north by northwest like a bowling ball: brute force and determined momentum crushing all asphalt in her path (along with the occasional moped).

****DOT is the Department of Transportation, which is in itself a puppet bureaucracy of Big Brother.

Hour of the Wolf +12, I arrived in Nashville.

Cyrus Lee Hancock helicoptering in the Himalaya

Cyrus Lee Hancock helicoptering in the Himalaya

“Welcome to NashVegas, the rhinestone buckle of the Bible Belt!” Cyrus Lee Hancock ushered me into the Nashville suburb-scape. He paused a moment as his eyes wandered lovingly across the frame of Grendel’s Mom, “God, I missed her.”

Compensation for my transportation of Mom to Cyrus Lee Hancock came with as many caveats as a traveler insurance policy. Cyrus Lee was broke, too broke to pay me for my cannonball run, but he did have the “Opportunity of a lifetime, no! The opportunity of an afterlife, an eternity!” I groaned, Oh, Jesus to which he confirmed, “Exactly. The End is Nigh, my friend. It is time we prepare for the Rapture.”

Within moments of arriving in Nashville, I met Cyrus Lee’s neighbor and apparent legal counsel, Dwayne. Dwayne, wine drunk as he was, happened to be a talent agent for aspiring “evangelical entrepreneurs.” Through Dwayne, we would establish our religious alter-egos, setup a commercial loan through local banks and begin shepherding our flock.

We? I asked.

“That’s right, Vic.” Cyrus Lee winked along with his salesman smile. “Or shall I start calling you ‘Reverend Bucky Swoon’? I don’t have a Tennessee State Driver’s License for you yet or a Passport in Bucky’s name, but I did manage to get your Clergy ID card as well as a Concealed Gun Permit.” He could sense I had my doubts. “Look, bro, Tennessee may have her share of Evangelical preachers, but they haven’t seen the likes of us, yet. Between your paranoia and my survivalist skills, we can take this Rapture idea to the next level! And let’s face it, ‘Vic Neverman’ is a little too… ‘Zionist’ for the likes of Tennessee. Your ‘Bucky Swoon’ persona is much more fitting. I even have an idea for what we are going to call our church. Instead of ‘the Church of Latter Day Saints’, we’ll be ‘Church of Modern Day Saints’. Just that, you know, we’re not Mormons. Unless you can convince Layla the practicality of polygamy, she listens to you more than me, so that’s all you, man.”

It took me a beer & a half to convince Cyrus Lee “Church of John the Revelator” was a better apocalyptic fit.

better to keep a good conscience with an empty purse, than to get a bad opinion of myself, with a full one.

– Davey F’ing Crockett, Tennessean extraordinaire

Dwayne, Cyrus Lee’s wino talent agent, went on to recommend certain business components necessary to take advantage of our constitutional right to Freedom of Religion. Cyrus Lee Hancock was already thinking about possible ‘End Dates’ when Jesus would return and begin the Rapture. “We need enough time to get the church established, but not so much time that we lose the scare factor.” Dwayne recommended getting started with complete assimilation into Tennessean culture. “Sweet tea and stock car!” Cyrus Lee raised his dismal can of domestic piss in a salud. “We need to learn how to become real southern gentlemen. You know: the kind of gent who is chivalric enough to remove his lawnmower-branded baseball cap before he is going to hit a woman.” Cyrus Lee followed his laugh with a frown when he saw my reaction. “C’mon man, I’m not advocating the hitting of woman, we just need to appeal to the fucking savages who would. We’ll be better than Robin Hood; we steal from those douchebags and feed the poor.”

“You’re qualifying us as the poor, I take it?”

“Dude.” Cyrus Lee grimaced. “I’m so fucking poor, my debt is larger than the GDP of Paraguay – if that is even a country, I am not convinced. Yeah, if anyone is poor, it’s this dude. On that note – do you have cash for a cab? We need to go downtown and start this assimilation.”

Gustave Dore's vision for Babel

Gustave Dore’s vision for Babel

After paying off our crook of a cab driver, we made our way along the downtown strip of “NashVegas”. The scene looked familiar enough, harking back to blurred memories of my past escapades in West Tennessee’s Memphis. Yet something was lacking here… where was the low-thrum of a bass guitar rattling my bones? It seemed the Blues of Beale Street was not present here; rather, it had been replaced by twangy popcorn country. The illuminated neon signs and the confusion of tongues made NashVegas a candidate for Cyrus Lee Hancock’s very own Babel, yet this prophet of doom was not looking for sinners to repent. As we approached a street corner where a handful of orthodox evangelists were insinuating my guilt through their bullhorn preaching and flier delivering, Cyrus Lee Hancock did not begin to march to their drumbeat. Nay. This dude grabbed their own game and beat them over the head with it.

Neverman in NashVegas

Neverman in NashVegas

“The End is Nearer than you think, friend!” Cyrus Lee Hancock sang as he climbed a bus stop sign like Gene Kelly dancing his way through a storm of frogs. With his Irish/Italian hybrid charisma and faunal carnality, Cyrus Lee quickly stole the attention away from the more Gothic & Orthodox Evangelists. Using his verbose doublespeak, the newly christened preacher, Cyrus Lee, singled-out the bullhorn-wielding ringleader of the street missionaries. “You! blower of false trumpets and sucker of the seeds of evil, You! are not doing the Lord’s work, rather you are working against Him!” Pedestrians in the carnival of transgression became charmed by this novel distraction as the missionaries were stunned into silence.

“Your hate and your spite and your contempt is not bringing people closer to God, it is pushing them away! You sew derision and you pave a path not to salvation, but to vulnerability. You trample the people under the weight of your elephantine guilt, leaving them susceptible to a master who will welcome them under his roof and will not admonish them for their nature. You are ushering this flock right into the hands of the Devil, himself!”

The missionary evangelist with the bullhorn looked around at his team, unsure of how to handle this unscripted development. Cyrus Lee Hancock, facing the growing flock of the curious, drew the attention to his opponent, “My friend here in the dark flannel says he is here to serve the Lord, but the only lord he serves from his knees is a dark one. Who is he, this stranger in generic branded jeans, who feels justified in casting sin down upon you, the children of the Lord? Who does he really serve? Not you! Who might I serve? Let me tell you: I am here to serve you!” Cyrus Lee Hancock shook his double entendre in the face of the public and they willingly reached for it and gulped it down. “I am here to serve the harlots, the misfits, the tramps. I will turn none away. Give me your undesirables and I will mount my army, I will mount them all against the coming of the Anti-Christ!”

Cyrus Lee’s opponent (or prey) reached for his bullhorn, “You are the Anti-Christ! You are the devil!” He was greeted by a chorus of boos from the pedestrian hordes who had gathered to watch Cyrus Lee Hancock perform. Even the bullhorned missionary’s celibate minions began to beg him off the soapbox.

“Man is inherently flawed, I am sorry to say.” Cyrus Lee Hancock shrugged to his newfound fellowship. “My friend with the false trumpet would have you resent your very nature. He would rather your life be one of darkness and flagellation. I beg to differ. The End is Near! But now is no time to turn against ourselves. Instead, let us prepare and become the leaders in the Second Coming we are expected to be.”

fireballThe converts lined up. John the Revelator never saw this coming in his sulfuric steam-bath hallucinations. Cyrus Lee Hancock had found his rock upon which he would build his church: cinnamon-flavored whiskey. It was baptism by Fireball. I did not partake.

“If I am going to drink whiskey, I am going to drink whiskey. I’m not going to dilute it with a breath mint.” I explained to Jade Thunderbrook, 44 hours after the baptism.

Jade Thunderbrook nodded as she digested all of the detail. “So, do you want to see a menu or are you just drinking tonight?”