The Following is Satire:
My Fellow Americans,
As most of you know there is a particular date approaching that is causing many of us some concern. It is not only troubling Americans, but millions around the world as well.
Several ancient cultures, most notably the Mayans of what is now Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula, have predicted that on December 21st the world will end. Personally, I am rather unsure about such predictions.
However, rest assured, if the end of the world does come, or begins to occur on December 21, I, your Commander-In-Chief, will be most regretful and disconcerted over it. After all, how will the end of humanity look if it occurs during my presidency?
That’s right, America. Unlike the rest of the world’s seven billion citizens, I have been given considerable angst at the prospect of a nuclear holocaust, or a global polar shift, or a human-extinguishing pandemic, or giant asteroid, or whatever else it may be that wipes out humanity on December 21st. Because, let’s face it, having the world end will look anything but positive for my presidency. It certainly is not optimal.
As the world approaches its possible extermination in less than two weeks, I cannot help to think about how the end of all life on Earth may impact my legacy. After all, who wants to go down as the president who reigned during the end of the world? Good grief, how embarrassing, you know?! Who wants to be the American president that presided over the annihilation of humanity? It could totally ruin me! I mean, geez, really, talk about having egg on your face… How humiliating!
The Egyptians, the Hopi Indians, Nostradamus, the Mayans, Hindus, along with other ancient cultures and mystics have all said that at least something “catastrophically life changing” will occur on December 21st. Will we wake up on December 21st with the Earth’s magnetic polar caps shifting, throwing the entire planet into a month-long, cataclysmic earthquake that will leave every building on Earth leveled, billions dead? Or will a comet impact the planet, igniting the atmosphere and engulfing us into an inferno the likes of which will rival Dante’s?
Or will there be someone on December 21st who gets sick and dies … but not before causing those around him to get sick and die, too. Then their whole town will get sick and die, then their closest city, then their country, then the continent, and then the entire world! Yes, every human on Earth could get some hideous plague and die, and nothing and no one in the universe will ever know there had even been a Planet Earth, or human beings; everything that has ever happened on this twirling rock will be gone, meaningless, all for naught; may as well never occurred at all!
And I, moi, will be the U.S. president in office when all this goes down, huh? Ahh man, just my damn luck! This whole world-ending-thing will cast such a shadow over my presidency. Nothing that I strived for and accomplished will be remembered – only some crappy-ass “humanity-wiped-off-face-of-the-Earth” event. It’s just not fair!
And if there is some afterlife or Heaven-place we all meet up in again, everyone who was alive on December 20th will be like, “Oh, look, there’s Obama, the guy who was the American president when the world ended. Eeew, what a’ loser! What a’ dork!” … I won’t be invited to any parties. I won’t have any friends. Michelle and the girls will think I’m a failure as husband and father. Bo might even bite me when I try to pet him (dogs are very intuitive; they know when their owners have been the president of the mightiest nation on Earth during the Mayan apocalypse or not).
Dear God, Allah, Vishnu, Zeus, Almighty Rock Mother (whatever you are up there), I humbly, officially and publicly beg of you: If the end of the world is to come sometime, please let it not be while I’m president, okay? Otherwise I will be so embarrassed.
Life-ending catastrophes have happened to Earth before, and will no doubt happen again. But if possible, Lord, please let seven billion people and who-knows how many species of plants and animals die after I am president. If not, I don’t know how I’ll be able to ever show my face in public again.
It’ll be worse than when I slid on the soccer field after lunch in second grade and let a big dooky slip out into my corduroys … I went home early that day, crying, holding my backpack around my butt so no one could see – but they all knew; they could smell it. All my classmates laughed at me. Mom came and picked me and I feigned sickness for two weeks because I was too embarrassed to go back to school.
So on December 21st, God, please don’t let me be that seven year old boy trying in vain to hide the enormous dooker in his corduroys. Please! I don’t want to ascend to the afterlife with that poopy-pants/gee-I-was-the-guy-in-the-White-House-when-the-world-ended feeling. It’d be just too distressing. If so, Lord, you’ll make my Christmas, and I’ll owe you one, big-time … Whatever that “one” may be, I do not know, but I’m sure I’ll find someone else to pay for it. Thank you! -
Barack Obama, President of the United States of America
The Preceding is Satire: