Illustration by Megan Addler
What would you do if you were guaranteed the world would end on Dec. 21?
Honestly, I hate my family. If the world were to end on Dec. 21, I would go to Zaphod’s with no underwear, buy sixteen of every one of their drinks, get blackout drunk, and have sex with someone I don’t know coming out of Barefax. A lot of dirty, dirty sex. It’s going to be a rough morning if we’re all still here on the 22nd.
I would want to accomplish something for myself before the world ended. I think finishing a marathon is insanely impressive, and I would feel at peace—or maybe just really exhausted—if I ran 26.2 miles (42.195 kilometres) before we all kick the bucket. Of course, I would need to get the heck out of wintery Ottawa to do it. I think a loop around Laguna Beach would be just perfect.
World ending? What else is there to do? I’m getting everyone I love together at my place on the 20th (B.Y.O. whatever you want) and we’re going to have the best apocalypse party ever. We’ll get wasted, watch movies, dance until the floor cracks, and have sex in the kitchen. Let’s build a campfire in the front yard and sit around it, telling the truth about life and having holy moments with each other until the sun doesn’t come up in the morning. Hand in hand, let’s watch the earth crack through my back window. This is a night for love and friends.
I recently read on Twitter that many impressionable young people can’t eat and are too worried to sleep due to end of the world fears. If I truly believed Dec. 21st would be my last day, my reaction would be the total opposite. Why not try as many delicious foods as possible, with no worries about calories or health, and sleep endlessly? Like an inmate on death row, the last dozen meals and dreams should be epic.
If I absolutely, positively, knew when the end of the world was going to occur, I would totally drop everything, collect my meagre savings, and live out my dream of partying in style in an excellent foreign country while wasting as much money as possible. Rooftop party in Tokyo filled with sake and arcade machines? Yes, please. Australian outback bonfire complete with break-dancing kangaroos? I will throw all the money necessary at whoever can make that happen. Partying hard in an abandoned swimming pool underneath an art gallery in Germany? Just tell me where to go. I will be there.
I would make out with that one friend I always had a secret fantasy to kiss, while in the shower, drinking a Diet Coke (hell, make it a regular) so that the cold drink travels down the inside of my spine and the hot water down the outside. My favourite music would be playing in the background, and the smell of bacon and fresh-baked cookies would be wafting up the stairs and under the bathroom door. I would know that there would be unlimited making out, bacon, cookies, my dog, and Starbucks peppermint mocha Frappuccinos in the afterlife.