Cheers to the End of the World

Well, this is awkward.

One minute I’m sipping tea, thinking about laundry,

the next, boom—instant apocalypse.

There goes my weekend plans,

and probably the grocery store too.

Who even pressed the button?

I bet it was Carl from accounting.

Always had that twitchy look, like, “Yeah, I could end civilization, no big deal.”

Honestly, we should’ve seen it coming.

Now, everything’s glowing.

Is that supposed to happen?

Do I have time to Google “what to do after nuclear blast?”

Probably not.

Oh wait, no Wi-Fi. Fabulous.

I never thought my last thoughts would be this boring.

Shouldn’t I be having some profound reflection on life,

like, “Ah yes, I understand the mysteries of the universe!”

Instead, I’m here wondering,

“Do cockroaches really survive this stuff?”

Why didn’t I learn to fish?

I can barely make toast.

Now I’ve got to rebuild society?

With what? A pocketknife and a leftover granola bar?

Sure, let’s repopulate the earth on that.

Totally doable.

At least I won’t have to pay bills anymore.

That’s a win.

But… taxes? Oh God, what if post-apocalyptic taxes are a thing?

I can already see it:

“Dear Survivor, you owe us 40 radioactive potatoes.”

I could cry, but what’s the point?

Might as well enjoy the view—

giant mushroom cloud, kinda artsy in a “world-ending” way.

Maybe there’s a silver lining?

No more traffic, no more meetings,

and hey, at least Carl from accounting’s gone.

So, cheers to the end of the world!

I’ll just sit here glowing and think of something clever to say.